Page 57 of Retribution
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Cobra
“Here,” Grinder pouredhim a double and slid the shot glass and the bottle across the bar top. “You look like you could use it.”
Cobra grunted, picked up the shot, toasted his MC president, and downed the tequila in one long swallow. The liquid caused a fire in his belly. Normally, he wasn’t one to drink on the job, especially since he’d gotten out of the joint. Cobra preferred being clearheaded when there was actual shit on the line like lives or a livelihood, but judging by the rest of his brothers, they didn’t roll with the same rules.
That night Cobra wanted to be on high alert. Even though this bastard Big Pat was a two-time operator, some unexpected shit could go down if the club was too cocky. He glanced at his phone to see if Dakota had texted him back, but there was nothing.Probably napping after all that washing.He chuckled under his breath. The things that woman did to him were off the charts. Each day he found himself growing closer to Dakota, caring more about her, and wanting to spend more time with her.Thatwas a first for him.
When he’d left that morning, the forlorn look on her face as he closed the door behind him squeezed his damn heart something fierce. It took everything he had not to blow off work and go back into the room and spend the day with her. It tore him the fuck up to leave her alone, especially at night, but he didn’t have a choice. Hehadto be here with his club—they were his family, his bloodline. Besides, club business was club business, and it always came first. Citizens never fucking got that.
Cobra knew that Dakota was dying to know what he was up to with his MC, but even if he could tell her, he wouldn’t. There was no reason for her to see how he could deal out damage and revenge with no emotion like he was ordering a pizza or planning out a garden. Dakota saw something different in him. Cobra could see it in her eyes every time she looked at him when she thought he didn’t notice. She’d never understand how he could compartmentalize the acts that were required at times in an outlaw world.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Have another one, bro,” Iron said as he set a tumbler in front of Cobra.
He shook his head and pushed it toward his friend. “Nah, I wanna be clearheaded.”
“Big Pat’s a fuckin’ lightweight.” Iron picked up the glass and threw it back.
“Even so, we gotta treat each mission like it’s war. Trouble comes up when a person lets his defenses down.”
“Cobra’s got a point,” Brute said as he sidled up next to the two bikers.
For the past hour, the club had been planning how to take Big Pat off the dealing circuit. It was bad enough he was dealing date rape drugs, but it was an even bigger thorn in the club’s side that the dirtbag was manufacturing meth on Steel Devils’ turf.
“Did you confirm the location I told you about?” Cobra asked, sitting back in his barstool and putting his boots up on the one next to him. “The warehouse off of Industry Road?”
“Yeah, we’ve had a couple of prospects watching it. It’s the fucker’s meth lab. He’s got a bunch of clean-cut pussies working for him, and they keep pretty consistent hours. That dumbass needs to take a fuckin’ cue on how to run an illegal business,” Viper said as he slapped his palm on the bar top.
“Yeah,” Razor agreed. “What the fuck happened to all thegoodbad guys? All we got now is a crop of goddamn posers in their place.”
“They just work on greed and no fuckin’ brains,” Viper replied.
“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth.” Pee Wee brought the beer bottle to his lips.
“Yeah, well, we’re coming for that motherfucker, and he won’t know what hit him. We’ll show him what happens to pussies who think they can pull something over on the Steel Devils.” Hulk punched his fist into the palm of his other hand with a loud snap.
“That’s the plan.” Cobra tapped his fingers on his knee and looked around the room. “The club gave the fucker a free pass in Lolo, so the way I figure it, Big Pat has used up all his chances.”
“Damn straight.” Razor took a long drag from his lit cigarette.
“You gonna be up for the fight, dude?” Scarface said as he stood next to Cobra.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Cobra replied as he dropped his feet to the floor and straightened up on the barstool.
“It’s just that you’ve been nomad for quite a while, and the occasional head busting isn’t the same as living the life every day.”
The two bikers locked eyes, and Cobra clenched his jaw as a surprising burst of anger lit up through his sternum. Along his journey, he’d met nomads who’d lost the passion for the club ways, but not Cobra. The rage that fueled him when he slipped into the white nothingness to handle his job as their enforcer was slithering into his bloodstream now. As simple as flipping a switch, and he was back.
Scarface’s gaze sharpened and he grinned, narrowing his eyes. “Fuck, there you are, bro.” He punched Cobra on the arm. “Welcome back.”
Fury riled him, and Cobra flew off the stool. He reached out as he lunged for Scarface and grabbed him by the neck in a span of a heartbeat.
“Fuck you, asshole!” Scarface yelled as his hand moved toward the inside of his cut for a knife, no doubt.
In a fluid movement of reflex, Cobra swiveled his hips a quarter turn and yanked his arm that was still locked around Scarface’s neck, and squeezed harder. All he had to do was flex hard and let his biceps do the work to snap Scarface’s neck.
