“What the fuck?” Klutch said.
“Someone’s getting their ass beat,” Rags replied.
“Stop!” The anguished scream turned Smokey’s blood to ice.
“Fuck, that’s Ryan,” he muttered. “I gotta stop whatever shit’s happening.”
Klutch nodded. “Let’s go.”
Smokey shook his head. “We got club business with Ray. You guys go on. I can handle this on my own.”
“Ray’s not going anywhere if he knows what’s good for him,” Rags said as he picked up his pace.
“We can deal with him after we help out with your brother,” Klutch said.
Smokey nodded, knowing he’d do the same thing if it were any of his fellow brothers’ family. The bond between the Insurgents was stronger than that of blood. It was a dedication to each other’s lives, something citizens could never understand.
Smokey sprinted ahead. “Then we gotta move now.”
The bikers kept to the shadows of the buildings as they continued down the alley. When the voices became louder and more distinct, Smokey jerked his head to the right, pointing to Rags to circle around. With a quick nod, he slipped around the corner. Klutch motioned that he was going to the left and disappeared down a pathway. Smokey stood against a wall for several seconds scanning the area, then began moving slowly, like a panther stalking its prey.
When he rounded the corner at the end of the alley, he saw Ryan on the ground, grimacing and writhing, while two men kicked, punched, and stomped on his abdomen and genitals.
Molten anger ran through him, but he pushed the feeling aside and focused on what needed to be done. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rags behind an evergreen, and Klutch plastered against a brick wall. With the cool detachment of an assassin, Smokey took out his Glock 17, equipped with a silencer suppressor, and aimed it at one of the bully’s legs.
The man stopped mid-kick, a mask of confusion covering his face, and then cried out, “Fuck! I’ve been shot!” before crumpling to the ground.
The other attacker jumped away from Ryan and started to run, but Rags cut him off at the pass while Smokey strode over.
“I don’t got no beef with you guys”—he pointed at Ryan—“only with this pervert. He messed with my sister.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Smokey asked as he grabbed the man by the front of his shirt.
“He did sick stuff to her.”
“Bullshit!”
The shaggy-haired man held up his hands. “He did—I swear.”
He tightened his grip on the man. “Like what? And if you lie to me, you’ll be joining your friend on the ground, only you won’t be breathing.”
“He showed her his dick.”
“And?” Klutch said as he walked over to the guy on the ground.
“He touched her.”
Smokey cast a sidelong glance at his brother. “Is that true? Did you touch his sister?”
“No,” Ryan choked out. He tried to stand, but he stumbled. “I’d never do something like that.”
Nodding, Smokey turned back to the man, frowning. “Sounds to me like you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
His jaw tensed. “Sure about that?”
“I’m just telling you what my sister told me.” Sweat ran from under the attacker’s hairline, trekking down his pallid face, with a rank odor of perspiration and urine emanating from him.