Page 60 of Retribution
Before the guy could say anything, Pee Wee, Brute, and Scarface were on him, and the man shot in the air. Damned fool, he didn’t stand a chance. The three bikers cut him down in a short time. The guy went down in a heap, sputtering and choking on his own blood as it flowed from his cut throat.
“What the fuck?” Sparky asked as he approached Cobra. Several members were behind him.
“The fucker came outta nowhere. Had a gun. I’m pretty sure the assholes inside the lab heard the shot,” Cobra said, his eyes fixed on the dude on the floor. The man lay still with a leg twisted awkwardly behind him, a pool of blood spreading around him.
Iron bent down and picked up the gun then wiped the blade of his knife on the dead man’s pants. “We ready to get this shit over with?” he asked.
Sparky nodded and motioned to Cobra to open the door.
When Cobra looked inside, it was as if nothing had changed; he couldn’t believe the dumbasses didn’t hear their colleague’s gun go off. The music still blared and he figured it probably had drowned out the shot.
Cobra wrinkled his nose and flexed his fingers around the piece in his hand as he pushed open the door and stepped inside. All of his brothers had their guns drawn as they rushed into the room. The fucking assholes making the shit still had their backs turned as the bikers ambushed them.
“Too fuckin’ easy,” Cobra muttered under his breath as he put his gun back in his waistband and took out a hunting knife from one of his boots. In battle, he preferred to get up close and personal if he had the choice, and the stupid fucker in white shorts moving his hips to the music just pissed Cobra the hell off.
He covered the distance quickly and in less time than it took for the preppy shitass to figure out what the hell was going on, it was too late. Cobra put his left hand over the guy’s mouth, his right knee into the small of his back and his blade against the punk’s throat.
One slice and he was down, his small brown eyes glassing over. The fucker bled like a pig, but Cobra stepped away from him and looked around the room. Four other assholes had come into the room with guns drawn, and he had no idea where they’d come from. The scene was like a snippet from some urban fantasy movie where the deafening music played on while fists crunched against jaws, bullets whizzed by, and blood splattered in the air.
By the time it was over, two Steel Devils had been injured—Voodoo taking a bullet in the shoulder and Scarface bleeding from a knife stab in his leg. Big Pat’s crew fared much worse—all had moved on to the big meth lab in the fucking sky.
During the melee, someone had turned off the music, or maybe a bullet had busted up the player, but at that moment, only the sound of smashing equipment reverberated through the lab.
“Damn, I thought this would’ve at least been a fuckin’ challenge,” Cobra said to Sparky.
“Me too.”
“Did Hulk and Razor take Voodoo and Scarface outta here?”
“They’re already on their way to Missoula, and Grinder’s already called Medicine Man to come over and do his magic,” Sparky replied.
“Good thing’s Razor’s a paramedic,” Cobra said.
“Yeah, he knows what the fuck he’s doing.”
Brute walked over to the duo and nudged Sparky with his elbow. “We ready, brother?”
“Fuck, yeah,” Sparky replied.
“We’ll use their shit to blow this fuckin’ building to hell.” Cobra chewed the inside of his cheek and grabbed the bottles of lighter fluid on the counters. “Yo!” he yelled then threw several containers to Pee Wee, Iron, Brute, Viper, and Boulder. The other brothers had gone in the basement and brought up some of the accelerants that were on the metal tables.
“Let’s make this baby burn,” Cobra said.
Each brother shifted all around the room and poured the fluidt on every available surface, knowing that there was enough flammable, toxic chemicals to light up the place like it was the fucking Fourth of July.
“Crash, boom, bang, motherfuckers,” Sparky said as he chucked a bottle of ammonia under one of the tables. “I’m doing the goddamn honors, so get the fuck out.” He lit a match.
“I got your back,” Cobra said, standing in the doorway. Several of the brothers had left the building and started walking toward their bikes.
A great flash of fire-like lightning immediately ensued, and it sprang up, reaching for the ceiling. Cobra and the others dashed out of the building, running through a black and dismal cloud of acrid, lung-burning smoke. They bolted across the street as they headed to their motorcycles. Cobra’s eyes stung and teared, but he didn’t stop to wipe them until he was firmly on the seat of his Harley and switching on the engine.
He raised his fist in the air then separated from his brothers, who headed in the opposite direction. Cobra had to get his ass to the motel to find out why Dakota had been giving him the silent treatment that whole day.
Idling at a red light, Cobra double-checked his phone. Nothing from her.Shit!She was probably deep in a romantic comedy movie binge or maybe even asleep, making those little snore noises he found so fucking cute.Yeah, that’s it.
Cobra ignored the bile that rose from his gut and the fear tickling at the base of his brain as he burned rubber and sped to the motel.
