Outlaw's Ride: An MC Romance Carter Steele (if you liked this book TXT) 📖

there and help. I thrashed wildly, but caught a heavy, full-hand slap across the side of my head that was hard enough to daze me.

“No, I think we'll be staying out of this fight,” Patrick said to me in voice low enough that Mikhail wouldn't be able to hear. He squeezed my arms painfully tight and pulled me close enough to him that I could drown in his rancid mix of BO, cheap cologne and stale coffee breath.

“Patrick! Get this prick off me!” Mikhail shouted, bashing Wreck in the face and breaking his nose. The Russian looked to have the upper hand in the fight, but it was a bloody, messy, painful-looking exchange that would leave its mark on him for the rest of his life.

Wreck for all his injuries had latched onto Mikhail's clothes with his bad hand and wouldn't let go. For every strike Wreck got in Mikhail got in two, but it didn't seem to matter. All the trauma had finally reached a tipping point for Wreck. There would be no more negotiation, no more compromise now that Yoga was dead. The fury had taken over. Wreck, now fueled by only rage, would not stop until either he or Mikhail were dead.

Mikhail finally broke Wreck’s grip and backpedaled toward the biker’s discarded pistol, desperately trying to put some distance between the two men to put a proper end to the fight, but in the scramble he tripped over Yoga’s corpse and toppled onto his side. Wreck had dropped to a knee and wheezed, his injuries finally catching up with him.

No… I can’t let it end this way.

Wrenching suddenly to the side I was able to pull Buck’s decorative spoon out of my sock. The handle had a surprisingly sharp point, nowhere near that of a knife but with how hard I brought it down it was good enough to bury into Patrick’s thigh. He screamed and I was able to twist out of his grip. I dashed to Mikhail and kicked the gun in his hand as he raised it to fire at Wreck. I connected with the gun too high and caught the metal against the bottom of my shin sending a stab of pain up my leg as it fired. The shot was wide and missed Wreck but Mikhail didn’t let it go like I hoped, instead he turned it on me.

“You die too, bitch,” he growled the words at me. Horrified at staring down the barrel of a gun, my body froze. Wreck screamed something but I knew he was too far away to help. Unable to do anything, I snapped my eyes shut and braced for the gunshot that followed.

There was more screaming and firing but I didn’t feel any pain aside from my shin. Was I in shock? Or had I been killed? I opened my eyes to find neither.

With his last modicum of strength Buck had thrown himself on top of Mikhail at the last second. He’d been shot several more times, but the hate and pain at losing his brother had given him the strength to pull the knife he always carried and bury it into the side of the Russian’s neck.

Both men bled out in a heap next to Yoga’s body. For all he endured Buck died with a hint of a smirk on his lips at having gotten his revenge in the end.

“What a fucking waste,” Patrick grunted pulling the spoon out of his leg. I wasn’t strong enough to stab it too deep, but I took some small measure of satisfaction in the painful grimace on his face at having to remove it. The gun was back in his off hand so I didn’t let too much of that show. “Not at all how I wanted that to go. Sure I was planning on getting rid of Mikhail but would’ve preferred it was after the sale of the trailer.”

“Are you OK?” I signed to Wreck, then quickly slipped under his arm and grabbed his waist to assist him in getting his feet under him. He wasn’t the type of man who asked for help readily so feeling the amount of weight he needed to put on me just to stand up was concerning. His face and arm was a bloody mess and he felt tenderized all over. For as tough as he was now that most of the adrenaline spike had worn off there’d be no more extended fist fights in his near future, at least not any he could win.

I would have to find a way to protect him now.

Gunshots rang out just outside with a few rounds skipping off the reinforced walls of the trailer. My first thought was that help had finally showed up, but then I bitterly remembered that the cops in this part of town were in Patrick’s pocket.

“Ah, would that be the last member of your little club then? The Mexican fella?” Patrick asked with obvious false sympathy. “Looks like you’re the last man standing for your nomad chapter of the Devil Kings. Congratulations.

“If it makes any difference I didn’t know Mikhail was going to do that. But I guess that’s what happens when you and your crew wipe out half of his crew in what was supposed to be an ambush.” Patrick adjusted his glasses up and chewed on his lip as he pondered his next step. “You don’t happen to have any other million dollar properties you want to discuss? With your friend dead I’m willing to guess the trailer is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I’ve only got one thing left for you.” Wreck held out his empty hand, curled the bottom two fingers into a pretend gun and whispered the mouthed the word Bang.

“Oh how defiant of you till the bitter end,” Patrick snorted in feigned amusement. He fished a lighter out of his pocket, lit it and unceremoniously tossed it toward some gasoline dampened rags. The impact caused the flame to go out.

“Goddammit,” he cursed then walked