Torched (20 page)

Buddha picked up on it too. “Is that a problem?” he asked.

“No. But didn’t you say Livia offered to help if we needed it? I’m nowhere near her level of expertise. Maybe she can—”

“No. Figure it out.”

“Okay, boss,” Biff resigned.

Torch leaned back in his chair. “I think we should pay their warehouse a visit tomorrow. Lure them to their own fucking turf. We’ve got twenty-two to their fifteen. Might as well grab the guns while we’re at it and have a little fun.”

Buddha nodded. “I’m with Torch.”

“Think Viktor would appreciate a head’s up about what his kin’s up to?” Zed asked. “It could buy us a favor down the road.”

“Yeah. Doubt he’ll be too happy about his right-hand man starting a losing war behind his back. Let’s vote. All in favor?” Buddha asked and looked around.

A chorus of a
ye’s
resounded.

Buddha slammed down the gavel. “Unanimous. It’s settled. Everybody get some sleep, it’s gonna be a long ass couple of days. Let’s meet back here at eight. Gauge and Mace, you call the rest of the crew and get their asses here too. We need all hands on deck.”

: : : :

It was done and over with. My nerves were even more shot on the way back home, but I’d managed to keep it together at the clubhouse and that was all that mattered. I was still trying to figure out what the fuck had possessed me to fire off a gun in front of a biker clubhouse, and how that outrageous idea even lingered in my mind long enough to actually go through with it.

But, they got their warning and I was still alive. Fuck it, a win was a win.

Ty stayed on my ass the entire way home and parked his bike outside the garage.

“Stay here,” he demanded as I took off my gear, then proceeded to walk around the entire house. I let him do his thing, despite having motion sensors and cameras linked up to my cell phone. He was just following orders, I assumed.

“Keys,” he ordered with an outstretched hand as soon as he came back around.

“You’re wasting your time. This place is secured,” I said, tossing him the keys anyway.

“Can’t be too careful.”

“Oh, give me a break,” I said. “We both know you’re here to babysit. Nobody’s coming for me.”

“I do what I’m told,” he shrugged, then opened the door, flipped on the lights, and looked around before walking in. The alarm started going off, both inside the house and on my phone. I punched in the code to turn it off.

I let him wander around while I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of merlot. He was young, early twenties maybe, and had a buzzcut to top off a clean-shaven face. If it wasn’t for his gauged ears, tattoos, and the cut, he could have passed for a yuppie or military recruit. I couldn’t tell if he was tense because that was his natural disposition, or if he was still pissed off about my entrance at the clubhouse.

“Beer?” I asked, after he’d made his way back down.

He looked at me suspiciously.

I laughed at his paranoia and handed him a bottle. “What? You think I’m trying to get you drunk and take advantage of you? Relax, tadpole. Just being a good hostess.”

“Thanks,” he muttered. “I’ll be on the couch.” With that, he turned on his heels and planted his ass in my living room.

I shook my head at no one in particular and threw some leftover pizza in the oven to heat up. Dealing with Serpents was hunger-inducing. I was famished.

A few minutes later, I pulled the pizza out, divided it onto two plates, and made my way to the living room too. I had work to do—a job I’d already put on the backburner over the past week—but that could wait. Ty’s hostile energy was filling the house and we needed to get a few things straight.

“Here,” I said, handing him the plate. “Don’t worry, I didn’t spit on it.”

He raised his eyebrow and took the plate. “Didn’t think you did.”

I plopped on the couch and turned on the TV. “Did you get in trouble?” I asked.

“For your stupid little stunt? Nope.”

Awesome, it was like having a conversation with a passive-aggressive child.

“Listen,” I sighed, “I know you guys don’t like feeling like some chick got one over on you—”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Only because you don’t want me telling Torch that you gave me attitude.”

His icy glare was enough confirmation.

“Tell you what,” I said, flipping through the guide to look for something decent to watch. “I’ll tell him you were nothing but professional and focused if you get over your bullshit with me. I didn’t have a choice. It was an emergency and I knew you couldn’t interrupt church. That’s against some kind of prospect rules, right?”

He frowned, clearly losing this argument. “Yeah.”

“So, what the hell else was I supposed to do? You didn’t get your ass kicked, I didn’t get shot. We’re both winners.”

He smirked. “I get it… It’s cool.”

“Good. Now let’s see what kind of trashy shit we can find on TV.”

His shoulders loosened up a little and he let himself get comfortable, as I settled on some badly-acted Sci Fi movie about killer mutants eating their way through the citizens of San Francisco.

I could sense him glancing at me and looked over. “Bitches, right?” I asked with a wink.

He grinned and shook his head in amusement. “You’re alright with me.”

: 12 :

“Gang’s all here. Six vehicles, two blocks away,” Biff called out, his eyes glued to Liv’s tablet. “Wish I knew how to do all this shit, it’s so much easier than going in blind.”

It was mid-afternoon and Torch—along with half of the Serpents army—was waiting in the middle of a warehouse in an industrial part of northeast Denver, their bikes safely out of sight within the insulated steel walls. The others were posted around the perimeter, on the assumption that Maric’s men weren’t so stupid that they’d all come in through a single entry point. They’d be able to see them either way, thanks to the GPS tracker on Jovan’s car and cameras Liv had installed around the property.

This shit would be cake. Red velvet.

Torch didn’t know how she’d done it, but one of Jovan’s burner numbers was included in her offering. He’d taken pictures of the crates of AK’s and Sig’s being stored at the warehouse, and sent them off to him.

They needed all the splintered Kraja members to show, not just a few, so snatching Jovan’s kid and nanny to draw them out had been discussed. In the end—even though none of these assholes cared about the women and kids in Linwood—Buddha made the executive decision to stick to their outlaw code of leaving families out of business. The threat of their pile of guns being stolen would be enough to make them all come running.

“Four vehicles pulling around the back, two in front,” Biff updated them. “Maric and… six bodies, moving in.”

Muffled shouts and banging rang out.

As the garage door went up, Maric strode in, flanked by a three goons on each side, guns drawn. The look of determination fell off his mug when Beanie, Tank, and Jet snuck up behind them and pointed their own weapons. They were effectively surrounded and that little bitch, Jovan, looked like he was about to piss himself when he realized that there were twice as many guns on them than they had on the Serpents. Or maybe he’d just been taken off-guard to see who he was dealing with, since they hadn’t identified themselves on the phone.

He didn’t get a chance to spew any bullshit before every brother inside swooped in, throwing punches and tossing Serb garbage to the ground where they belonged. Torch grabbed the dirtbag closest to him and kicked him in the nuts, sending him screaming to his knees. He pulled him back up to his feet by the shirt, before sinking a fist into his face. Blood started pouring from his nose and mouth.

Immobilized, he barely whimpered as Torch rolled him onto his stomach, pulled his arms back, and slapped zip ties around his wrists. He kicked him in the kidneys for good measure.

Elf, Chew, Monk, and Bird dragged in the ones they’d fucked up outside and tied them up too.

Within seconds, the only Serb left standing was Maric himself—now unarmed with his hands tied behind his back—looking about twenty shades paler than when he’d first walked in.

“I take it you know who we are,” Buddha said as he holstered his piece and walked up to him.

Jovan didn’t seem to be in the mood for polite formalities. “What the fuck is this?” he growled.

“You know
exactly
what it is, you fucking piece of shit,” Buddha hissed. “Did you honestly think you’d take down my club and hurt my town?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Yeah,” Buddha smirked, “bet you have a real short memory now. You know who has an excellent memory though? Viktor Maric. I think you two are related, right?”

“Fuck you,” Jovan seethed. “Viktor’s past his prime, just like your little club
.
”

“Our
little
club, huh?” Squid piped up. “Might wanna look around, dipshit.”

Jovan’s eyes narrowed. “What are you going to do? Kill us all… here… in the middle of the day? Might be hard carrying out so many bodies on your… what do you call them? Hogs?”

Buddha pulled a suppressor from inside his cut and started screwing it on his piece with a smile. “Unlike you, we planned a little ahead. Don’t you worry, we’ve never had a problem moving corpses before. But see, I have dinner plans tonight and I’m wearing my good shirt, so I’d rather not show up late covered in your bodily fluids. No,” he shook his head and casually waved the gun, “I think we could try talking our way to an understanding first. Why don’t you start by telling me why you need us out of the way. What’s your game here, Jovan?”

“I’m not saying shit.”

“That would be a mistake,” Torch warned.

This was how the motherfucker was going to play this? By playing dumb? Stupid fucking move.

He walked up to Maric and slammed him in the temple with his fist, hard enough to hurt but not render him useless. “Let’s try again. I don’t think you wanna push your luck. We’re not very patient men.”

Maric stared him down defiantly, his jaw clenched shut.

So be it, they could do this the hard way.

Torch snapped his fingers at Mace, who got a giddy twinkle in his eye. He pulled out his knife and a lighter, then used the flame to heat up the blade. Oh, he was giddy alright, Mace lived for this shit. Once the metal was toasty and glowing red, he knelt down next to one of the Serbs and held the blade close to the asshole’s ear. “How about you, motherfucker?” Mace growled, “Do
you
know why your boss is starting a war he can’t win?”

“Fuck you,” the unlucky fella huffed.

A smile crept across Mace’s face. “Fuck me? That’s not a very nice thing to say.” He pulled the guy’s head back by the hair, shoved the knife into the poor bastard’s ear, and twisted.

His screams of pain were so loud and hideous that every sphincter in the room had to have puckered. Fortunately for Mace’s victim, it wasn’t long before the tip of the blade reached far enough in his brain to kill. Blood pooled out onto the concrete floor.

Maric didn’t even flinch. He fucking laughed.

“You think this shit’s funny, huh?” Buddha asked.

“I think you underestimate my men’s loyalty,” he snapped.

Buddha chuckled at his unrelenting stupidity. “
You
underestimate my mens’ ability to cause pain. We have all day to play. Unfortunately, not all my guys have Mace’s precision. Sometimes they get sloppy.”

That
wiped the smug grin off the bastard’s face. Torch swore he could see Maric’s nose twitching. He was a gangster though, born and raised, and it would take more than the threat of watching his boys suffer to break him.

“Do your best,” he huffed.

“Challenge accepted!” Grimm yelled out, holding up a pair of pliers in one hand and a rusty hacksaw in the other. He gleefully scoured the floor for his own human plaything.

“That’s too bad,” Buddha said, patting Maric on the back. “But looks like we’re in for a fun day.”

Zed walked up to Torch, kicking every scrotum in his path. “You ready?” he asked.

Maric looked back and forth between the two of them, probably expecting to be tag-teamed. But they weren’t going to kill him, they were about to do much, much worse.

Torch gave Maric’s shoulder a squeeze. “Wish we could stay, buddy, but I’m a little low on cash and need to get rid of some junk. Know any good pawn shops in town?”

Maric’s face fell.

: : : :

A bell chimed as they walked into ZZ’s Pawnshop. The shithole smelled of cigar smoke and moth balls. It could have used a remodel about forty years ago, but Torched doubted that the owner, Viktor Maric, gave a rat’s ass about interior decorating. The place existed for the sole purpose of being a front and meeting place for the Kraja.

Unfortunately for Viktor, they hadn’t come bearing good news.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” he asked with a slight Slavic accent from behind the counter. He had an intimidating presence for sure, it probably scared away half the legit customers he could have snagged in the area.