Free Outlaw's Bride by Nicole Snow Page A

smoke, dropped it to the floor, and ground it into the concrete with his boot.
    “Who's the rat? We know you've got one embedded in my club.” Pausing, the Prez locked eyes with the prisoner, drowning him in an icy stare. “You can't save yourself, boy, but it's not too late to save your friends. The sooner we shut this thing down, the quicker we stop killing each other. Your friends don't have to end up buried beneath ten feet of concrete too. Flapping your gums just might save a few lives.”
    For a second, the bastard's eyes lit up. I wanted to believe he'd talk, but they were never so altruistic. The average cartel soldier was a selfish, violent little shit. They didn't have a code like the average MC. It was all business to them, and their whole damned enterprise was killing.
    Besides, I didn't like the energy going on there, especially the way he looked at the Prez like he was doing him some great favor.
    Sweet terms never mattered to these fucks. Nobody's ever happy about going to their grave. They either scream for a mercy we'll never give 'em, or fight us 'til the bitter end.
    No compromise.
    The Mexican squirmed in his restraints, making some noise like he was about to talk. Blackjack leaned down, holding his ear closer to the asshole's face.
    Shit, I didn't fucking like this. Two steps forward, and Asphalt started shaking his head, warning me to back the fuck off before the Prez found out I was treating him like a goddamned idiot.
    He knows what he's doing, asshole! Asphalt's eyes said. You're out of line.
    Brass' look was even worse. He mouthed a few words, and pointed to the spot next to him, right where I'd been standing before.
    I blew the Veep off. Only needed a couple more seconds to know whether or not this was gonna go how I expected.
    Alejandro coughed, mumbled something that sounded like go to hell in a thick accent. Then the fucker jerked like a fish leaping up to catch a bug, caught the Prez's ear, and sank his dirty teeth in.
    Growling, Blackjack held his ground, punched the fucker in the face. The cartel boy had a grip like a gator, and I had my nine millimeter out in a heartbeat, pressed to his temple.
    “No, son!” Blackjack roared. “Don't you fucking –“
    Too late. The blast of my bullet going through Alejandro's rotten brain shattered the Prez's words. The dead thug slumped in his chair, and the Prez pulled his bloody ear away, holding a hand to the side of his head.
    Asphalt and the prospects surrounded us, staring at the grisly scene in disbelief. Prez looked at me, disappointment shining in his eyes. Brass walked up, and before I knew it, his fist nailed me in the face like a heavy stone.
    “Asshole! We were all reaching for his throat, and you know it. There was no reason to blow his goddamned brains out.” The Veep's lips twitched, his face creased so angry he looked at least ten years older. “What the fuck were you thinking, Roman? Tell us!”
    I turned my back, refusing to say shit. Didn't help that I barely had a clean answer myself.
    Why'd I do it? Because my fists were hungry, and the cartel turd beginning to rot in his chair was wasting our fucking time.
    “Boys, clean this miserable piece of shit up and take him to the bone yard out back. Make sure he's buried deep, VP. Roman, you're with me.”
    I fucked up. It wasn't like I didn't know it. But the Prez was making a big mistake if he meant to give me a long lecture.
    Yeah, I'd let my bloodlust do the talking, but I'd saved his damned ear too. The punk asshole never would've cracked, not after twelve hours of torture. I'd seen his type too many times to count.
    We could've carved that fucker up, piece by sloppy piece, and he'd still spit in our faces, maybe try to take somebody's nose off too, if we didn't rip out his teeth first.
    Soon as we got out back, the Prez threw his full weight into me. I hit the wall with an oomph. He'd always be smaller and older than me, but he was one mean bastard when he wanted to be, and no