Oh, hell no.
One of them gets a grip of my damn hair, yanking me backward, and it takes all I have to not fall on my ass. Spinning around, I slam my arm down onto his wrist, breaking the contact before I punch him square in the nose. His hands come up to his face as he screams out in glorious pain, but before I can rejoice, another one kicks his leg out and catches me off guard.
Four men leap out of the van, piling on me, grabbing various limbs to keep me from flailing. I manage to get a few decent punches in, a couple of kicks, and a knee to a groin, butultimately, they manage to bind my wrists behind my back. Next is my ankles, with a pathetic rope tied by a fucking amateur.
They throw me into the van and jump back inside themselves, sliding the door closed before it wheelspins away.
“You’re not an easy one to pull a snatch and grab on.” The dark, raspy voice is the complete opposite of sexy. It sounds like he smokes fifty a day and then some.
I can’t make out any of their faces because…masks, but I can see their eyes, and when I spot a particular one—singular—I smile. The tangy taste of blood coats my tongue so I know my teeth must be covered. I hope it grosses these wankers the fuck out.
“What’re you smiling for, bitch?” One-eye snarls at me.
“Ugh.” Flopping my head backward, I roll my eyes. “When are men like you going to stop calling women bitches? Is your small-dick complex taking up so much of your brain that you can’t think of anything better?”
I’m rewarded with a punch to the gut, winding me, making my breaths come in quicker, but I laugh anyway. The knot on the rope tying my wrists together is almost undone. The one around my ankles, that I’m conveniently sitting on after shuffling myself, is also loosening off.
“The only reason you’re still alive is because the boss has plans for you. His daughter wanted you dead. So keep your fucking whore mouth shut and maybe I’ll tell him to take it easy on you.” It looks like One-eye is the leader here because he’s doing all the talking while the others just glare at me.
Six men in total; one driver, five in the back. Easy.
“That Mr. O’Malley, by any chance?” I’m confident that I’m correct. It seems I really made an impression on them.
More snarling in my direction from the five in the back, and I have no idea how far away the final destination is, so I don’t have time to waste on trying to get information for the club.
The rope is finally loose enough to escape. They all have guns, two of them have some cool looking daggers, and everything else is too concealed for me to make out in the dark van.
Twisting around on my ass, I kick out at one while punching another, rolling quickly toward the others. I whip my hand inside another’s jacket and grab his gun, removing the safety and wasting no time in shooting two of them in the face. One man gets a shot to the chest, another to the groin, and now I’m facing One-eye. The driver is swerving, nervously glancing backward, wondering when he’s next, but I’ve decided he can deliver my message to his boss.
One-eye is quick, and he manages to kick the gun from my hand and lands another into my stomach. Before I gain my breath, he punches my face and I know that’s going to swell because fucking ow.
Slipping and sliding in the blood all over the van floor, I scramble to get away and grab one of the newly dead men’s guns. I spin onto my back, pointing the gun in one-eye’s direction, willing myself to come up with some witty line like they do in the movies, but nada. Instead, I shoot him in the eye he has left before crawling forward toward the driver.
“Stop the fucking van.” The gun is pressing into his temple and the guy is trembling with fear. Good.
He does as he’s told, screeching the van to a stop.
“Now go home and tell your boss to leave me the fuck alone. His daughter is a fucking spoiled cuntwaffle and he should keep her on a leash.”
Without a word, the man shudders as he nods his head, his hands firmly on the steering wheel.
Satisfied with his scared response and the piss all over his pants, I slide open the van door and practically fall out onto the side of the road.
The van speeds off into the distance but I lose my focus pretty quickly and I have no idea where I am. Then I remember the prick to my neck just before I shot One-eye and I deflate because…fuck.
I’ve been drugged.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Grinder
“Let’s fuckin’ gooooo, PsyMacko!” People are jealous of how clever I am.
It’s the first race night of the year and this place is on fucking fire. Teams from neighboring counties and even a couple from South Carolina have joined us tonight. The system is pretty simple. Text messages go out about a race and an hour before said race happens, the address is sent.
The secrecy behind our races is an added layer to the excitement. Cops usually have an idea of what’s going on but we’re generally a couple of steps ahead of them. We’ve been shut down before but no matter how hard the sheriffs try, they can’t outride us. Not now, not ever.
“I don’t think that’s how name blending works.” I look down at Paxton, Bear and Athena’s kid, and frown. He thinks being a teenager makes him an authority on all things, but Uncle Grinder’s about to give him a lesson on the facts of motherfuckin’ life.