Page 41 of Property of Riptide
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Riptide
As I turn around to join my brothers in the back of the brigade, my eyes latch onto Van and the fear spread across her face has my fingers twitching to take her in my arms and hold her, but that won’t accomplish anything besides getting every damn one of us killed. We knew we could be attacked by the Dragons along the way, it was a real concern of ours after seeing one of their henchmen on the rodeo grounds, and if we hadn’t been traveling with women and kids this wouldn’t be anything but another day in the life of the Kings. But we’re escorting precious cargo, and that’s what has me ready to fire off a few rounds instead of keeping them alive to interrogate.
My Bluetooth comm reconnects with my brothers and I hear Indiana and Icer jointly growl. “They shot the fucking SUV!” Indiana shouts. “My woman and daughter are in there. I’m going to rip their heads off and piss down their necks.”
“Take their bikes down,” I order. “We need to disable their rides so Van and Zoey get some distance from us and are off theirradar.” These pussies aren’t on Harleys, no the shitheads are on crotch rockets, which means they can maneuver through the foothills in ways we can’t on our rides. “Don’t let them jump the median and get into the dirt or we’ll lose them.”
“Out of sight, out of mind,” LoneStar grits out.
“If you can, take out their wheels,” Scripture advises.
“How do you propose we do that?” Rebel asks. “They’re moving so fucking fast I can’t even see them turning.”
“Aim low,” Icer states with nonchalance.
“Good advice,” Rebel returns, sarcasm laced in his tone. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Now’s not the time for wisecrack remarks, guys!” I thunder as we start circling the men shooting at us. I’m right handed so the fact that I can’t use my dominant arm pisses me off because when I use my left hand, I don’t always get a bullseye hit on my target.
As one well-defined machine, we take Scripture’s recommendation and start shooting lower toward the ground. We’re not wholly successful, but together, we manage to pop one of the riders’ tires and he goes soaring over his handlebars through the air.
My men and I, we have a warped sense of humor and the guy whose tires we just took out hits the ground, his neck at an awkward angle, Icer starts singing, ‘Another one bites the dust’ and we pick up the chorus. Metal clashes as we continue chasing and shooting at those intent on harming our loved ones. We have better control of our machines than these dipshits dobecause they begin taking their own people out by wrecking into each other.
“It’s like watching dominoes fall,” LoneStar cackles.
“It’s funny watching them scurrying around like ants,” Rebel adds.
“They’re doing our job for us,” Scripture maniacally laughs. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”
Shade, one of my two psycho brothers, begins whooping and hollering. “Come closer, we’ll pet you between the ears before neutering you.” As the last word leaves his lips, he lifts his pistol and fires, instantly paralyzing the man he had in his sights by shooting him in the spine, severing his cord.
“I’d high-five you if I could, Shade,” Icer tells him.
“Why do we let those two ride together again?” Indiana asks.
“Because of that,” I remark as the two take out the last man standing.
“Not gonna lie, pres, those two together scare the ever-loving shit out of me,” Indiana states.
“Don’t be a pussy, Indie,” Shade sneers. “We get the job done, it shouldn’t matter how we do it.”
“I’m not a pussy, Shade. I just don’t think the two of you should be ganged up together and let off your leashes. It’s a known fact that on your own you’re menaces, but together, that’s an entirely different set of circumstances.”
“Compliments are making their rounds lately. Stop doing that, I don’t like it,” Icer conveys as we pull our bikes over ontothe shoulder, shutting them down, and swing our legs over the saddles.
“Yeah, fuckers. Don’t make the emotionless one feel,” Scripture teases. “You’re still a dick, Icer.”
“Thank you,” Icer says in return.
“That wasn’t a compliment, brother,” I tell Icer.
“Maybe not to you. To me, it was,” he grunts. “The only one I’ll accept.”
“Fuck me,” Indiana sighs, hanging his head as he rips his helmet off. “I guess we need to wield insults Icer’s way to appease him.”
