Page 132 of Tracking Luxe

Remembering Tiny's lifeless body.

Only the gurgle of Grinder's breathing alerting to signs of life.

Rider's men spread out as per his orders beforehand. No one made a move, though it was more than evident from the growls and curses that each of his boys wanted to rush forward, to kill every Russian for what they were seeing.

Grinder no longer looked flesh and bone.

He was blood and agony. They'd truly done a number on him.

Turning hate filled eyes on Grigori, he was so ready for this motherfucker to be six feet under.

With any luck, Preacher was in place on the roof of the building across the street and was looking at Grigori through the viewfinder of his sniper rifle.

One pop and this whole shitstorm would be over with.

"I have great admiration for you, Rider. We will be wonderful partners,da? Make lots of money for all concerned, this is my wish." He spoke like they were best friends sharing steak and Sunday football.

The man had tried many avenues to attempt to force his club to get in line and all had failed.

Until now. He could hear his father's contempt ringing in his ears.

Most missions and runs the club went on were not pretty, if he wanted pretty he would have gotten a 9-5 job a long time ago. What Rider wanted was to succeed. Ridding his town of this new mobster injection was just the latest in a long line of nasty jobs he'd accomplished.

What Grigori didn't realize, Rider never backed down.

He didn't see the revolver until it was too late.

it was already in Grigori's palm.

Already pointing.

Every man reacted a second too late as a loud pop sounded and Grigori, that crazy motherfucker put a bullet in his own man's head.

Capone dropped the corpse.

Everyone had pulled weapons. Noise deafening.

"You, crazy fuck." He spat out.

"Da." the other man grinned and returned the gun to his pocket and dusted off his hands. "Now. As you have seen, no one is indispensable to me. I fear that is not the case for you." he looked pointedly at Grinder who was rousing his dark head, blood dripping into the floor.

"D--don't ... don't do i-ii-it, Prez. Fuck 'em all."

Rider swallowed the concrete in his throat. But before he could talk, a body pushed through the crowd behind him and came to stand at his shoulder.

"This is fun and all, but some of us have places to go and it doesn't include breathing in the toxic fumes of Russia. How about I take the almost corpse there, and you and Rider can have a chat." Offered Jamie.

It was long enough for Rider to move himself slightly, into the casting brightness of the sun throwing shadows all around the once youth center, he gave the impression he could give a fuck about being here as he strode to the window and back again, making sure to stay out of Grigori's eye line. Come on, Preach, take the fucking shot.

It took everything Rider had not to reach forward and strangle the cocky man with his bare hands.

Instead, he gave a nod of agreement. "Let my man here take G. I'll get rid of my boys, you do the same. We can talk."

Grigori flashed a sly, cunning smile, as if that's all he'd been waiting for.

Within moments Grinder was handed over, Jamie and one of his took him outside to the waiting SUV to transport him to the nearest emergency room before he bled out.

And then moments after that the room cleared.

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