Rider: An MC Club Alpha Male Romance Read Online Free PDF

vaporizing whatever was left. But that’s overkill. We used them for long range missions, where the fifty’s power would stand up over several kilometers. Or for taking out jeeps and trucks. Or…
     
    “Helicopter killer. You heard about Bolo, didn’t you?”
     
    I shrugged. I had. I knew Bolo—a son of a bitch, just as bad as Fatman, but Haitian, focused more on the housing projects. We ran different parts of the city, different parts of the county—Bolo’s guys didn’t cross us much and I think we all preferred it that way.
     
    Still, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of simultaneous dread and satisfaction, knowing that Bolo’s entire operation had been demolished in a single night and that he was being held without the possibility of bail in some federal penitentiary hellhole, his lawyers trying to figure out how they could explain away his seized cellphone records, not to mention the tons of cocaine and guns.
     
    Satisfaction because it made me feel like I had hitched my horse to the winning cart. Good to know that bad guys like Bolo still get what’s coming to them.
     
    Bad guys like me, a little voice in the back of my head couldn’t help but remind me.
     
    But there was dread too because I knew we would expand to fill the void left by Bolo’s boys. There would be violence. There would be bloodshed. And Fatman had started rattling his saber.
     
    “The FBI fucked him up. Helicopters, troop carriers, the whole nine fucking yards. I tell you what, I’m not going down like that. One shot from this sucker and BOOM—no more flying Feds.”
     
    “Do you even know how to use that thing?” I asked absently, knowing the answer already.
     
    Fatman pointed to a chimney sticking up from one of the half demolished factory buildings.
     
    “You see that? That smoke stack?”
     
    “Sure I do. I’m not as blind as your last wife was.”
     
    “Just watch, you clever son of a bitch.”
     
    He clacked a round into the chamber, cocked the rifle, and, sweating and grunting like a diabetic hog on its last legs before the slaughter house, lay prone, cradling the rifle. But once it was in his hands, it came alive. He aimed it easily, with relaxation and confidence.
     
    A single round cracked out of the rifle, a small cloud of smoke bursting from the barrel. Less than a moment later, the smoke stack shattered, bursting into a miasma of finely ground steel dust.
     
    “Not bad. You just have to see them before they see you,” I said with a shrug, trying to give the impression that I was unimpressed, trying to keep him from getting too confident.
     
    “Oh, I will, Fang. I will,” Fatman said, wiping the sweat from his brow and cackling. He sat back up and squinted at me in the sunlight, looking like some sort of demonic Buddha.
     
    “I know the Feds are coming for me,” he said with a snarl. “And I’m not going down without a fight.”
     
    Why was he telling me this? Did he… Did he know?
     
    I was tempted to kill him right then and there. I had my gun on me. I’d be able to draw it and execute him, one single round to the skull, before he could turn the rifle on me. Even if he had handgun hiding somewhere beneath that blubber, my reflexes were still faster than his, no longer dulled by drug addiction.
     
    But no. Stick to the plan. Stick to the fucking plan. Hold off. If I killed him, they’d hunt me down. I figured I had no chance of evading them, not in the long run.
     
    The only way, the only way to survive, the only way to get out of this gang alive… Was to take them all down.
     
    And so, I held my fire. I just shook my head.
     
    “You paranoid old son of a bitch…” I muttered, stalking back into the clubhouse.
     
    “Hey, Fang… Can’t wait to meet that new lady of yours. When you gonna’ bring her by?”
     
    “When I’ve fucked her so many times that I don’t care if any of these cocksuckers stick their dicks in her too,” I shot back, not even looking over my