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O Come, All Ye Sinners
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Hellraiser’s Reckoning by Amo Jones
Thunderstruck by MariaLisa deMora
Out of Sight by Giana Darling
Hollow Heart by Anne Malcom
Borrowed time by Chantal Fernando
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Thunderstruck by MariaLisa deMora
Hands grappled for a hold on his arms, strong fingers digging in, blunt nails leaving furrows of red behind. Wildman dropped to a knee and countered, willing to risk a bite as he yanked hard on the jaw of the man in front of him. He pulled and twisted, dislocating it with a sickening snap and leaving it wobbling in the wake of the man’s screams. A figure approached from the side and he burst from the crouch and used the top of his head to blast that assailant’s nose flat on one cheek, the flowing blood black in the shadows.
Another came at him from the side and he met them halfway, tucked his shoulder low, hefting the body high into the air before he yanked it down across his lifted knee. The crunch of bone resonated through him, and he twisted the man’s head around until his neck popped and bulged obscenely, dropping the still-twitching body to the shell and gravel driveway. When there were no immediate threats, Wildman took a moment to glance around.
His old mentor Po’Boy was in the middle of three men, but he was the one holding them there, which told Wildman he was not only doing fine, he was likely enjoying himself. Twisted straddled a man to the side, his president’s fists pounding the face to an unrecognizable mass of flesh and bone. Get him, man.
Four more individual skirmishes, four more wins for his brothers and friends.
Tonight the Incoherent MC had taken on an advance guard of the Mexican cartel that had been trying to horn in on their IMC territory, something that had been locked down and undisputed for decades. This had been planned as a preemptive strike alongside their allies in the Caddo Hobos MC, and one that looked entirely successful. Tonight, the cartel hopefully relearned the lesson that the IMC and CoBos didn’t give a shit what the motherfuckers wanted, and were entirely willing to pay in red if needed.
A sound from behind him had him spinning around in a crouch, scanning the area close to him. They were in a trucking company’s compound outside Baton Rouge, and until the first gunshots had ripped through the air not five minutes ago, the night had been riddled with bullfrog cries ahead of the approaching storm. Lightning played along the edges of the rolling clouds overhead, occasional bright flashes bringing everything into a stark focus.
It was one of those bursts of light that gave him his first glimpse of her.
The vent in the rear door of a trailer parked nearby was open, wired that way so it would take a fuckton of intent to close it. That ain’t right. The sounds of the fight faded to the background as thunder crashed, the accompanying flash highlighting the woman’s face behind the mesh, the single eye he could see wide and frightened—and staring straight at him.
The next lightning flash showed an empty hole.
He shook his head. There was more than one reason for a person to be stowed away inside a truck trailer, but in this case, given the owners of this company were the dirtbags currently breathing their last in the haze of dust floating through the air around him, Wildman was confident whatever this woman was, the one thing she wasn’t was a terrorist.
He ducked low and ran to the side of the trailer, dragging his piece from where it dug into his waist. An odor of unwashed bodies hit him, sweat and shit, and so much goddamned fear. The air reeked of it, something he was far too familiar with. Nope, not a foreign terrorist or one of the mules the cartel uses, she’s here involuntarily. There was a murmur of conversation from inside, quickly silenced. And not alone. At the back of the trailer, he scanned the lot again, seeing only friendly members still on their feet.
Lifting a hand overhead, he waggled his pistol side to side as he gave off a soft whistle similar to a dove, gratified when Po’Boy’s head immediately lifted and turned his way. With a single powerful blow, the man finished off the enemy he’d been holding upright with a fist around his throat. Then Po’Boy gave his own whistle and came Wildman’s direction, bringing three additional men with him.
Wildman met him at the doors, hand already on the latch. Under his breath, he shared what he knew. “At least one woman, from the smell an unwilling guest of our friends.”
Po’Boy nodded and stepped back, bringing out his gun while the rest of the men moved so they formed a deadly arc of iron and bone. My brothers. Same patch or not, he felt the same about every man here. With a brusque nod, Wildman turned back to the trailer.
The latch moved quietly under his hand and he drew a hard breath, holding it as he lifted and pulled in the same movement, throwing both doors wide. Silence greeted him, the shadows far at the front of the trailer holding their secrets. Clothing and blankets scattered the floor he could see; a large rat sat on its haunches and stared at him with black eyes before scampering towards a drain hole.