HARDCORE: Storm MC(140)

She continued to repeat this silent prayer even as she heard her brother grovel on the ground in front of Gaspar, snuffling all over his boots and begging him for mercy. Hearing it made her feel like she might throw up. She'd never heard Hunter sound like that before. He sounded like someone had shredded his mind and soul, and she wondered if he'd ever be able to recover from all this, even if they somehow made it out alive.



No time to think about that now. Focus, goddamn it. Your chance is coming. Wait for it.



Missy heard Gaspar sigh dramatically. “You still do not understand. All of these words, all of these chances to finish this, and still you believe you can dictate how this ends. It seems that regrettably, another demonstration is called for. Put her down here, next to me.”



Missy felt herself lowered to the ground, the grit and gravel digging into her scalp. It only increased the pain in her head, but she still commanded her body to remain limp. She heard Gaspar kneel next to her, and felt the warmth of his breath on her face.



Almost, she thought. Almost.



She felt the cold point of a knife press against her thigh and braced herself for its sting.



“So where shall I make my first romantic incision, then, do you think? Here?”



The blade lifted, and a few seconds later she felt it again, pricking her abdomen. As Gaspar moved, Missy could hear the soft creak of his leather holsters.



Almost...



“Or here?”



Now.



Missy's eyes flew open and she jerked upright, snatching the pistols from Gaspar's belt. Her fingers fumbled them for a split-second, but Gaspar's surprise bought her the extra sliver of time she needed to find her grip and hook her fingers into the trigger guards.



As Gaspar skidded backward on the ground and Missy raised the guns, she heard Cain yell, “Now!” There was a flurry of activity as the Eagles realized this was their chance—some tried to grab the guns from the men who were guarding them, while others just tackled the cartel enforcers.



Missy badly wanted to aim her first shots at Gaspar, but since she had his pistols, she knew he was the least of their threats. Instead, she leveled the gun-sights at the cartel men and blasted as many as possible, giving the Eagles the edge they needed to gain the upper hand.



One enforcer fell with a bullet hole between his eyes, followed by another, and another.





Chapter 43



Cain



As Cain and the other Eagles grappled furiously with the cartel members, he saw several of the enforcers get shot in the head and realized that Missy was picking them off.



That's my girl, Cain thought giddily as he wrestled an Uzi away from one of Gaspar's men and used it on him.



He spun to find another opponent, only to find that most of them were being handily dispatched by the Eagles. The cartel goons were either dead, dying, or being beaten senseless by the bikers they'd been threatening only a moment before. Hunter was on top of Hector, foaming at the mouth and smashing the man's head against the ground over and over while screaming a frenzied mantra: “Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck...!”



Cain ran over to the ground where Missy was sitting and crouched down, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”



“He's getting away!” Missy yelled, pointing. “Shoot him!”



Cain looked to where she was pointing and saw Gaspar running down the road as fast as his legs could carry him.



He glanced down at the Uzi in his hands, then tossed it aside.



“What the fuck are you doing?” Missy demanded.



“No accuracy with this thing,” Cain replied coolly, walking over to where the bikes were parked. “Not at this range, anyway. Be right back.”



Cain kept his eyes on the retreating figure of Gaspar as he mounted his bike, revving it. He pulled off, riding up behind Gaspar until he was so close he could hear the criminal's panicked footsteps even over the roar of the engine.



Gaspar stole a glance over his shoulder and Cain saw the man's eyes bulging with terror.



“This one's for you, Gooch,” Cain muttered.



He gunned the engine and ran Gaspar down in the middle of the road, feeling the satisfying thump of the man's body under the bike. The machine almost lost its balance, but Cain righted it quickly, pulling it off to the side and shutting it off.



Then he dismounted and walked over to Gaspar.



Gaspar's body was twisted in an unnatural angle and he groaned loudly, blood trickling from his nose and mouth. His eyelids fluttered as he looked up at Cain.



“Please,” Gaspar panted.



“Fuck you,” Cain replied, raising his boot and stomping on Gaspar's head. He repeated this over and over, kicking and smashing until there wasn't much left of Gaspar's skull but an oozing, splintered pulp.