Page 80 of Beast

But Icansend him a message to let him know retribution is coming.

Thanks to word on the street, I know he’s hosting the annual St. Boniface Mayor’s Luncheon. An exclusive event where rich people talk about themselves and how great they are, while drinking champagne and eating canapes that cost more than a week’s rent to some.

It’s held on the lawn of his multi-million-dollar estate. An ostentatious mansion with immaculately clipped green lawns and a sparkling pool the size of a football field, all paid for by the corruption he hides so carefully from the town.

In less than an hour, guests will roll up in luxury cars. Out of towners. Investors. Strangers. And they will disappear behind the well-secured walls of the estate and enjoy their canapes and cocktail food in the fresh afternoon air.

Well, according to Boney’s plans.

The Knights, on the other hand, have a different plan.

Right on the dot of midday, a landscaping truck carrying two tons of steaming horse manure pulls onto his street, and despite a lot of arm waving and screaming from the security guards at the gate, it reverses onto Boney’s driveway and dumps the giant pile of manure right in the middle of it.

Flies and shit sprawl across the pristine white cement.

The gates open, and a furious Boney comes flying onto the street, eyes bulging, face red, and his white suit glowing in the sunlight. He starts screaming at the driver who looks unfazed.There must have been a mix up at the depot, he explains with complete apathy,something Boney will have to take up with the boss.

And when he does, Boris, the owner of the company will tell him to go fuck himself. He’s a regular at clubhouse parties and thinks the mayor is an asshole.

The truck drives off, and Boney looks horrified as a pungent pile of shit steams beneath the warm midday sun on his driveway.

“Goddamn it,” he screams.

Hands on hips, he looks around, wandering what to do. He’s got a prestigious list of guests arriving within the hour and we just dumped a giant stink bomb on the driveway.

That’s when he sees us. Sitting across the street on our Harleys, enjoying the show.

He storms over to us looking like he’s about to pop. “You sons of bitches. You think you will get away with this?”

“Think of it as a thank you present,” I say, my gaze red hot behind sunglasses.

“I’ll goddamn sue. I’ll fine you. I’ll fucking —"

“You’ll fucking what, try to run us out of town? Hasn’t worked so far, and the way you’re going, you’ll die trying.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Fucking yes, that’s a threat. Right out of the goddamn horse’s mouth.” I lean my forearms against the handlebars of my bike. “You need to get it into that thick skull of yours that if you fuck with us, we’re gonna fuck you back. Except, we’ll fuck you back repeatedly.”

He steps forward, his voice dangerously low as he barely contains his rage. “I haven’t even started to fuck with the Knights. Do you hear me?”

Grinning, I ignore the threat.

“Smell that, Boney?” I sit up straight and suck in a deep breath of manure stink. “That’s the sweet fucking smell of revenge. I’m sure your guests will enjoy it.”

“You’ll pay for this,” he seethes.

I scoff and start my bike. “Enjoy your tea party.”

While Boney loses his cool on the sidewalk, we roar off into the afternoon, leaving him and his pile of steaming shit behind us.

Obviously, this wasn’t the revenge I was chasing. It’s an inconvenience at the most. But it will have to do while we deal with the bigger fish in the pond. We can’t afford any more heat on us while the situation with the Psychos plays out, and while we hunt down the elusive Mr. Big.

But Boney’s retribution is coming.

Something far more painful.

And there will be nothing but ash left when we’re done.

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