Page 110 of Smokey's Distraction
“Yeah. It looks like most of the fuckers are in the main room. A couple of them were fucking a chick in the kitchen.”
“How many women are in there?” Chas asked.
“I saw about five. The assholes are snorting, boozing, and fucking.”
Tank rubbed his hands together. “This is gonna be easy as fuck.”
“I gotta go. Shadow, Hubcap, and I got sentry on the east side of this shithole,” Axe said.
The four men bumped fists, relaying their mantra, “Insurgents forever, forever Insurgents.” Keeping low, Axe disappeared into the darkness.
Smokey fixed his gaze straight ahead, every muscle in his body on alert as he waited for Rock’s order to attack. Just then, the front door opened, and Skeet walked out onto the porch. It took all of Smokey’s resolve not to shoot him on the spot. The SOB set up his brother. The image of the two men beating a scared, helpless Ryan, made Smokey’s blood boil, and he grunted angrily.
Tank, hearing Smokey’s short breaths, whispered, “Easy now. You got time for all that. We gotta wait for Rock’s signal.
“I know. I just can’t wait to stomp on that fucker’s balls.”
Skeet leaned against the brick wall and whistled.
“The fucker’s calling the dogs,” Chas said hoarsely.
Smokey’s body grew taut. “We gotta move.”
Then the signal came—a beep on their phones.
“It’s party time,” Smokey whispered, dropping low to the ground.
The men fanned out in a wide circle as they moved toward the club.
Whistling again, Skeet walked to the edge of the porch, his head turning right and left as he snapped his fingers.
Coming around the side, Smokey saw Puck and Bones on the opposite end of the lanai. Skeet, seeing him as well, whirled around, rushing toward the door. Smokey jumped over the railing at the same time Puck did, both of them running toward Skeet.
The ex-Insurgent looked over and yelled, “Fuck!” Pushing through the door, he screamed, “We’re under attack!”
The loud music drowned out what he was saying, but with him swinging his arms around wildly, the music finally died.
“They’re—”
Smokey tackled him from behind, dragging his flaying body back onto the porch as Puck, Bones, Chas, and Tank rushed into the club. From the sound of splitting wood, Smokey guessed that Rock, Throttle, Animal, Jerry, and Wheelie had gained entry from the back.
“You fuckin’ traitor!” Smokey shouted as he slammed his fist—replete with large, silver skull rings on each finger—into Skeet’s face.
“Get the fuck off my property!” Skeet yelled back as his steel-toed boot made contact with Smokey’s shin.
A sudden gush of pain jolted through Smokey’s body, dropping him to the ground. Grabbing Skeet’s foot, he yanked him down as well.
“You think this piss-ass excuse for a club can wear the Colorado patch?” He punched Skeet in the face. “That’s for disrespecting Banger.”
The ex-Insurgent tried to fight back, but Smokey was straddling him, pinning his arms down with his knees.
He landed another blow. “That’s for disrespecting the Insurgents.”
Skeet groaned, bucking under Smokey’s weight.
Anger and hate fueled Smokey on. Pulling his arm back, he delivered blow after blow. “And that’s for my brother, Ryan.”
The weathered wood was stained from the spattering of Skeet’s blood. On the final punch, Smokey heard the familiarcrunchas he snapped the traitor’s nose into something grotesque.
