Page 57 of Rags's Awakening
“No. How far away are you guys?”
“Another few minutes, then it’s showtime.”
Hawk appeared from behind the equipment shed, flanked by Puck and Razor. His expression was tight and determined.
“We keep this shit contained. If it escalates, use your knives, chains, and kill-lights before a gun unless one of these fuckers pulls a piece. We hit hard and fast. Any questions?”
The men shook their heads then trudged forward.
They saw the members of the Devil’s Reign leaning against their Harleys, arms crossed, smirks plastered across their faces. A section of the fence had been torn down by the motorcycles which pissed the Insurgents off big time.
“They just keep giving us more reasons for the beatdown,” Throttle hissed.
“Yeah.” Rags kept walking.
Then he saw the bottom rocker.Colorado. Big and bold—a middle finger thrown up at the brotherhood. Rags stepped ahead of his brothers. One of the Devil’s Reign members pushed off his Harley and stood straight with arms crossed, feet wide apart.
“That patch doesn’t belong here,” Rags said, voice low.
The big guy had long, matted greasy hair pulled into a braid. A tattoo of an Uzi crawled up his neck, and naked women inked across both arms.
Greasy cocked his head. “Who says?”
“Take the fuckin’ cut off,” Rags said, every muscle tensed to pounce.
The biker’s grin widened. “This ain’t comin’ off unless you wanna come over and take it.”
For a man his size, his fist moved fast, but Rags was faster. He ducked and slammed his shoulder into the man’s ribs, stunning him. Before Greasy could land another punch, Rags caught him with a hard right to the head and knocked him to the ground.
Then all hell broke loose.
The other Devil’s Reign bikers surged forward at once, roaring like animals. The Insurgents met them head-on. From the corner of his eye, Rags saw two Devil’s assholes jump Throttle. Throttle stumbled before kicking one of them in the balls. The guy folded with a groan. The other rival landed a fist to the side of Throttle’s face. Diesel came flying over, grabbedthe man off Throttle, threw him to the ground, and stomped him with a steel-toed boot.
Crack!Blood splattered across the dirt.
As Diesel and Throttle beat down two more rivals, Rags fended off a biker rushing Chas. The man’s hand dipped into his cut, the Glock gleaming in the fading sunlight. Rags kicked him hard in the shin, the spikes on his boot ripping through denim. Blood streaked across the brown grass. Rags ripped the Glock from the man’s hand and pistol-whipped him. He stuffed the 9mm into his cut and whirled around.
Hawk was beating the shit out of Greasy. Puck was fighting off two rivals. Rags charged in, grabbed the back of one attacker’s cut, and yanked him off Puck. He hurled the man into a fallen log. The bastard hit it with a loudcrackand rolled, coughing up blood.
The musty smell of sweat mixed with the metallic scent of blood. Curses and shouts were swallowed by the cool breeze. As Rags turned to see if he could help a brother, a Devil’s Reign bastard grabbed him from behind in a chokehold, crushing Rags’s windpipe. Rags clawed at the thick arm, but the guy squeezed tighter. Struggling to breathe, Rags shoved back with everything he had, but the asshole was a brick wall. Then Rock barreled into them, ripping the rival off Rags and throwing him down. Rock’s fist came down like a sledgehammer, and the man’s head bounced off the dried leaves.
Rags stayed low on the ground, dragging in air, coughing. Rock grinned at him, and Rags raised his fist in thanks.
“You okay, dude?” Rock asked, patting his back.
“Yeah. Damn, that fucker was strong.” Rags’s laugh turned into a coughing fit.
“Why don’t you head back?” Rock said. “We can wrap this up.”
“No fuckin’ way,” Rags growled.
“Gotta help Razor,” Rock said, dashing away.
Rags barely caught his breath before a boot smashed into his ribs, knocking him sideways. “Fuck!” Rags hissed, as white-hot pain shot through him.
He blocked a second kick with his forearm. The Devil’s Reign biker, a stout, vicious-looking bastard with a shaved, tattooed head, charged him. Rags ducked under a wild swing and drove an uppercut cut into the man’s jaw so hard his teeth clacked. The man staggered, giving Throttle time to grab him and slam him face-first into the trunk of a pine tree.
“Motherfucker,” Throttle snarled.
