Page 6 of Iron Hearts
“I’m gonna hurl,” I managed, and did just that. I heard one of the medics say into the radio on their shoulder, “We’re going to need a second bus for a female, possible TBI, over.”
“Copy that, 3148, dispatching that second unit now…” I heard.
I turned my head, groaning, and Gemma’s face filled my vision.
“I called your mom, don’t worry,” she said, and I groaned.
The last thing I needed was my mother coming up here with my three super little brothers having a conniption fit over my getting hurt.
Or maybe that’s just what I needed. Who didn’t want their mommy when they were hurt?
CHAPTERTHREE
Striker…
“You gotta be shitting me,” Enigma said, wide-eyed.
Shadow shook his head. “Not one bit,” he said.
“Look at these fuckers, just bold as brass,” Skull said in his thick Cajun accent, leaning back in his chair.
Renegade looked like his legit first name – Stormy. I was always a little jealous of the fact that Renegade’s legit government name was something so cool.
“So, what we gon’ do about it?” Pope asked with a savage grin.
Shadow had gotten a call from one of the waitresses down at the Iron Horse in Ormond Beach, about forty-five minutes south of us. Said the Bloody Scorpions had ridden in like they owned the place, and the manager, Charlie, had been too pussy to stand up to them. That one of those pig fucking sons a bitches had gotten handsy with her, and when security had finally gotten off their ass to step in, that the fucker’d knocked his ass clean out.
Now that? That wasn’t really no thing. What’d happened next when one of the other girly little bartenders had stepped up? Nowthatwas fucked up. He’d backhanded that bitty thing into next week. So bad, both Big Dawg and the little girl had been taken to the hospital by ambulance.
It was clearly these dumb motherfuckers pissing on Ormond Beach like a dog marking its territory. Problem was, Ormond Beach wasn’t a foothold we’d be willing to let the Bloody Scorpions have.
Granted, we had only a few chapters scattered throughout the Sunshine State. Us here in St. Augustine, the boys up in Jacksonville, and another chapter over mid-north of the state in Ocala. We were creeping our way down, establishing strongholds, but apparently, the Bloody Scorpions had their own designs on parts of Florida.
I didn’t like that. None of us did. Not one bit.
The Iron Horse had always served the biker community, no matter who rode in or how they rode. You showed up on two wheels, you had their respect, and they showed you hospitality with pride and something like grace. They’d always operated as a sort of neutral ground – no colors, no fighting, and no fuckin’ turf war garbage. So, this shit? This shit was fucked up.
Not just a slap in our face thinking they could just waltz this close to or even inside our territorial lines to fuck around, but the fact they thought they could do it without finding out.
This was blatant. According to Shadow's contact, they’d come in enough numbers that the bar had been afraid to eventryto enforce their own rules with good reason. Those boys were used to fightin’ and breakin’ up fights. They knew when they were outmatched and outnumbered. My best guess is that they knew that the Bloody Scorpions were spoiling for a fight. One they hoped they could avoid by just playing it cool. Problem was, the Scorpions had no fuckin’ chill, the big fuckin’ babies.
“I’m going to put in a call up to Jacksonville and over to Ocala,” Renegade said judiciously.
“What kind of numbers are we talking?” Switch asked.
“Shit,” Pope said with a laugh. “Flip your switch an’ you’re good to take out at least seven of ‘em dawg.”
“Yeah, I’d say that’s a conservative estimate,” Switch said with a savage grin. “Problem ain’t gettin’ started. It’s who’s gonna stop me from merc’ing one or more of their asses. I like living on theoutsideif you know what I’m sayin’.”
“Fair,” Pope said. “More than fair.”
“Jacksonville and Ocala,” I said, getting right back on task. “Then what?”
“Then we ride on down there and put a stop to this fuckin’ nonsense, yeah?” Skull asked.
“That’s about the right of it, I reckon,” Pud said, staring off into space.
“Sounds like a solid plan,” I said. “Only going to work if we show up in more numbers than they got, which takes time.”
