Page 82 of Ryder

I hit him in the shoulder, careful not to kill him. Oh, no that’ll come later.

He howls in pain as I put the safety on and shove the gun in the back of my jeans. Then I pounce. I lay into him with punch after punch until I’m on top of him, pounding his face in. He tries to cover himself, but there’s blood pouring everywhere. Not what I fucking need.

“You wanna try that again, asshole?”

“She… she was a liability. I got good money for her, but because I fucked her face up so good, nobody wanted to pay top dollar.”

I put my hands around his neck and choke him. He struggles, trying to buck me off, but I’m too strong for him. And I’ve been preparing for this day for the last three years. I let go, sucker punching him in the gut over and over, then I resume my strangulation. This shit is fun.

The fact this bastard waltzes into my city, acting as if nothing’s wrong, thinking he can just pick up where he left off… it fuels my rage.

“Should’ve stayed away,” I growl. “Should’ve fuckin’ stayed the fuck away!”

I press down harder as he snarls and growls, almost passing out, then I let go. He chokes, gasping for air, but I’m not done. Realizing I’m not gonna make it to the warehouse, I pull theblade from my boot. I slash across his face. “This is for markin’ my girl.”

He howls in pain and I elbow him in the nose. He’s gasping now, disorientated from the lack of oxygen, the bullet wound and my blows. “I didn’t?—”

“Don’t,” I warn. “Save it for the grim fuckin’ reaper because he’s the only one you’re gonna be answerin’ to where you’re goin’.” I stab him in the side as he bucks, then right into his wound. The howl could be heard in Baton Rouge, so I cover his mouth with one bloodied hand. Then I press down on his larynx with my elbow. His eyes bulge, and he has one last attempt at struggling, but he’s no match for me. I watch in sweet relief as the life drains out of him. His pupils dilated as he chokes, taking his last breath as I push down harder until he stops moving.

I spit in his face, shoving off him as I wipe my bloodied hands on his shirt.

When I turn, I see Bronco, Priest and Nevada in the doorway.

“I brought the truck, but it looks like you need a body bag, my bad,” Nevada quips.

“Jesus, Ryd,” Bronco moans. “You really couldn’t wait till the warehouse?”

I stand, pulling my knife out of his stomach, also wiping that on his shirt, sticking it back into my holster.

“No,” I say. “I couldn’t.”

“Gonna have to get this shit cleaned up, make it look like he checked out,” Priest says.

“I’ll call the prospects. They can have the fun task of blood removal from the linoleum.”

“Could've been worse.” I shrug. “Least there’s no carpet.”

“You okay?” Bronco asks in all seriousness.

I nod. “Yeah, I’m better now.”

“Good, because you gotta get cleaned up and pick up the baby’s smash cake from Sweet Treats before they close.”

I’ve never killed anyone with my bare hands like that before, but there is a sense of calm that comes with taking out a piece of scum like him. As though I’ve personally done the world a favor from this scumbag ceasing to exist.

I might not be rewarded in heaven, but I’ll certainly feel better about keeping the streets safe from pieces of shit like him.

My priorities haven’t changed over the years; if anything I’ve only grown even more protective of my family. Having kids changes you in all kinds of ways. The terror of anything happening to them is unimaginable.

But this? This was for my wife.

Justice has been served.

PART II

PRESENT DAY

17

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