He broke down in a wild laughing fit a second later. “You're both fucking numbnuts. Come on.”
Wheeler looked at me and shrugged. We all got on our bikes, started them, and waited 'til Frig take the lead.
His ride wouldn't last long enough to waste another sip of good whiskey.
The terrain got fucking crazy, even by my standards. I struggled to keep my bike from sputtering as it sank into the sand, tore through thick gravel, following the faintest outline of what used to be a road.
We were descending a slope, and just about to take an even higher hill, when Frig's shit gave out.
He must've been doing forty or more down the hill. He couldn't do a damned thing to stop his bike from picking up more speed when his brakes fucked up, and we watched the asshole soar halfway up the next hill, before sliding backward, screaming his sick head off.
His bike went off the road and slammed into a patch of boulders, just on the edge of a ditch. We waited 'til we heard him screaming to ride up and follow him, taking the path a lot more carefully.
“Pinned down. Just like a fucking rat,” I growled to Wheeler, pointing at the hot mess in front of us.
Frig's leg was caught between the rocks and the smashed remains of his bike. Had to be broken, smashed to bits after the blow he'd taken.
He'd probably fucked up his spine too, judging by how he squirmed. I smiled. It was just enough to make his pain a special kind of hell, rather than numbing his agony.
That smile got wider as I stepped up. Fucker was still conscious enough to see us, and the light blub switched on in his head about a second later.
“Fuck! You motherfucking, cock sucking, two-timing pieces of shit!” Asshole reached for his gun, but a bullet flew through his hand before he got it.
Wheeler had some awesome aim. Almost better than mine, sometimes, though I'd never tell him to his face.
The jackass lifted his shot up hand and sucked blood from it, still screaming out his pain and rage. Then we caught up to him, and the real party started.
Wheeler got him in a choke hold while I opened my knife. There was no need for fancy explanations or even taunting.
I carved him up. Had to concentrate to make shit look right, especially when I ripped open his shirt.
Whoever had given him his Grizzlies MC tattoo had done a shitty job. Wasn't easy following the edges as I flayed him to bits, but I managed.
Frig only started screaming when Wheeler took the whiskey we'd brought, poured us a couple shots, and dumped the rest all over his fresh cuts. The asshole must've went blind from the pain, and we both knocked back a nip before we got back to work.
The sun was setting by the time he finally bled out. Thought he'd died right there, all slashed to pieces, but his head snapped up when he heard our boots crackling through the sand.
“Ass...holes...you fucking leaving me here? Your own goddamned brother...dying with the birds...fuck. Fang's gonna rip your throats out a thousand times worse, stuff your balls down the gash. You...your bitches...both your fucking kids. They're dead. I'll see every brat your balls ever make in fucking hell, assholes. I'll –“
I spun around, pulled my nine, and shot him right through the throat. Something about that shot didn't do him in instantly, or maybe the asshole was a little stronger than we thought.
We heard him choking halfway to our bikes, where we polished off the rest of the whiskey.
I reached into my saddlebag and pulled out the bloody Scorps cut I'd taken off a prospect's bike last night in Vegas.
“Think it'll work just to cover him?” Wheeler asked.
“Yeah. It'll take weeks to send a crew out here to find him. By then, Fang'll be too pissed to think sideways. He'll take it for what it's worth and rain down hell on the Scorps.”
“Fuck, brother, if I hadn't seen myself naked, I'd think you've got the biggest goddamned balls in the world.” Wheeler slapped my back, pouring the last of our bottle down his throat.
“Don't thank me 'til we're safe and sound. It's going to take years, a work in progress, and this is just day one.” I held the Scorps cut close, heading back to where we'd left Frig's carcass, ready to toss it over him. “I don't give a shit how long it takes. I'm the man who's going to clear out this club. They'll all die, Wheeler, all the dirty ones. Some day, I'll see Fang killed too, and every other rat bastard who smears his shit on this patch. That's the only way I'll ever feel good bringing Lizzie home.”
Wheeler didn't speak 'til we'd wrapped up, thrown our charade over Frig's dead face. “Wait, Blackjack, what about your woman? Are you telling me you're not planning to grab her and bring her home? What the hell you planning, brother?”
I never answered. I'd been doing too much thinking, and I had to act, even when it killed me.
The easy part was finished. Now, I'd pay a heavier price for my sins, and watch my soul turn pitch black one day at a time.