Page 73 of Diesel's Perseverance
“We’re not backing down. We’re men, not fucking pussies,” Demon gritted.
“Shit’s gonna hit the fan,” Banger said as he came up to Diesel. “You carrying?”
“Yeah.”
“The fucking badges will be here the minute a citizen calls nine-one-one. Your ass will be back in the pen for a long time if you’re caught.”
“I’m an Insurgent, and I stand with my brothers,” Diesel said.
Banger nodded. “I’d do the same. Ditch your metal if the damn badges get here and we’re still around. Panther and I agree that we go in hard and fast, then get the hell outta here. The Grim Henchmen will back the East Bay assholes, but we outnumber both clubs. I’ve been telling our members to use their metal only if necessary. We go in with fists first and knives if needed. I know these fuckers aren’t gonna fight fair, so if we need to escalate, we will.”
“That fucker Cano is with the stupid Henchmen.” Diesel glanced over, and his stomach lurched. Cano was gone. “Shit!” A sick feeling spread through him. He’d gotten caught up in the drama with the loser club disrespecting the Insurgents that he took his eye off his target. Now he was back to where he’d started—nowhere.
“Where?” Banger said, cutting in on Diesel’s self-recriminations.
“He’s gone. Damn it! I fuckin’ blew it.”
“The asshole’s probably in with the Henchmen. After this shit’s over, we’ll find the SOB,” Banger said.
“Yeah. I let my emotions get the better—” Diesel was interrupted by Viking racing up to the Grim Henchmen’s booth and pushing it over.
Several Angry Disciples rushed over to their president, and then all hell broke loose. Insults and fists flew as Diesel, Tank, Throttle, and Rags joined in the fight with the Henchmen, while Banger, Demon, and Crutch took off in the opposite direction, where a major brawl was taking place at the East Bay Dogs’ booth.
Viking was on top of a Henchmen, pummeling his face while another Angry Disciple kicked the downed biker in the ribs. Diesel spotted a Henchmen with greasy hair and a matted beard whip out a straight-edged knife from his cut and rush over to Viking. Diesel sprung to action—a Bowie knife flashed in one hand—and with his other, he grabbed the Grim Henchmen’s long hair, threw him to the ground, and pounced on top of him. The knife dropped out of the downed man’s hand, and Diesel squeezed the biker’s throat with one hand.
“You scumbag asshole! Tell me where to find Peter Cano, or I’ll cut your fuckin’ throat!” Diesel skimmed the blade across the outlaw’s skin and drew blood.
The greasy-haired man’s eyes bulged as he felt around for the knife on the ground. Suddenly a sharp pain spread between Diesel’s shoulder blades.
“Fuck!” he said, springing up and then turning around.
A burly man with a bun of blond dreadlocks held a blood-stained knife, his eyes glinting with hatred.
“Fuckin’ asshole,” Diesel gritted as his fist, decorated with silver skull rings on several fingers, bashed the biker’s face. Blood gushed out of the man’s shattered nose. The grease mop on the ground sputtered and coughed as he tried to stand. As Dreadlocks lunged at Diesel, he smashed an elbow into the side of the Henchmen’s skull, high on his temple. The man dropped to his knees, and then Diesel kicked him with a steel-toed boot, sinking into the outlaw’s side, stomach, and back. Dreadlocks’ hands instinctively flew up to ward off the blows, his knife falling by his side.
From the corner of his eyes, Diesel saw Throttle swiping up the knife, sliding it in his cut, and then kicking the shit out of the greasy mop on the ground.
With both Henchmen writhing and moaning on the grass, the two Insurgents rushed over to help out Viking and some of the other Angry Disciples who were in the throes of battle.
“Where’s Demon?” Diesel asked above the fracas.
“He’s teaching the East Bay Dogs a lesson about respect,” Throttle said.
Viking was beating the hell out of a Henchmen, and Diesel spied Smokey fending a rival member who slipped his hand under his cut while he rushed toward Viking, and he ran over. The handgun shone under the late afternoon sun. Diesel grabbed the man’s wrist from behind and slid his hand under it. In a flash, the man’s arm was pinned behind his back, and Diesel pulled him down, taking the gun before the guy crashed onto the dirt. Rage consumed him like a wildfire, and he pistol-whipped the rival as blood splattered around them.
Citizens scattered, screams and gasps punctuating the sounds of anger and hate. Several discarded packages of items recently purchased lay on the ground.
The pain in Diesel’s back was excruciating, and he straightened up, hoping for some relief. All at once, a muscular Henchmen sucker-punched him, and he crumpled to the floor.Fuck! I let my guard down.His brain screamed as he gasped for air. Out of the corner of his eye, the big lug’s black boot aimed for his gut. Slipping out the knife from his cut, Diesel stabbed the asshole’s knee. The guy bellowed, and Diesel sliced the man’s shin. Blood flowed. The biker went down like a tree in the forest: loud and crashing. Still catching his breath, Diesel propped up on his knees.
“Take my hand, buddy,” Rags said.
“Thanks, bro.” Diesel gripped Rags’ blood stained hand.
Pop. Pop. Pop.The staccato shots punctuated the chaos.
“Get the fuck outta here,” Banger yelled as sirens screeched the air.
Diesel, Smokey, Rags, Throttle, and Animal ditched their weapons and bolted. Diesel knew he’d be looking at fifteen years plus if he was caught carrying metal. They were all carrying ghost firearms: guns lacking serial numbers, making them untraceable.
