Page 31 of Rough

Beard took a few steps toward Crip, and half of his men followed. He nodded toward me. “Big boy called us pricks. You’re just trying to figure out a way to back out of it, now.”

“Never backed away from a fight in my life,” Crip said. “But, believe me, this isn’t one you want to start.”

Beard lifted his kutte slightly, exposing a pistol.

Crip clapped his hands slowly and softly as if he was applauding a 400-yard tee shot at a prestigious golf tournament. “Hot damn, you’re old enough to buy a gun. Either that, or you’re dumb enough to steal one--”

“I think it’s time you, big boy, and the Mexican leave,” he said.

“Fuck yeah, it is,” one of them in the rear shouted.

I took a step forward. Crip reached to the side and planted his hand against my chest. “Not yet.”

Beard laughed. “Not yet? What? He bullet proof?”

“There’s two ways we can do this.” Crip said flatly. He glanced toward the bar, nodded once, and then returned his eyes to Beard. “You and your band of merry men can leave and not come back. Or, you can choose to stay. If you choose to stay, it’s going to get ugly. The bloody kind of ugly. It’s decision time.”

Beard coughed out a laugh and lowered his chin. His eyes darted downward and then came right back up. “It’s loaded. Ready to drop all three of you turds. I ain’t askin’ you again. Leave.”

My ears began to ring. It was go time.

I really didn’t want to get shot, but I wasn’t about to let a bearded idiot with a pistol prevent me from protecting the president of my MC from being disrespected. My guess was that I could drop him with one punch before he got the pistol that was wedged between his tight jeans and his beer belly freed.

Before I had a chance to react, Crip snatched his own pistol from beneath his kutte and held it at arm’s length. With it pointed directly at Beard’s mouth, he took a few steps forward.

Beard’s eyes went wide.

“You’re as dumb as you are ugly,” Crip said as he took one more step.

With his pistol now a matter of inches away from Beard’s face, Crip slowly reached for the exposed pistol wedged in dumb fuck’s jeans.

“You so much as twitch, I’ll plaster your brains on that fat little friend of yours who’s standing behind you.”

As my eyes shifted from man to man, Crip pulled the pistol from Beard’s pants with his free hand.

He handed it to Cholo.

“Now, I’m going to talk, and you and your buddies are going to listen.” His tone raised slightly. “This bar is claimed property of Filthy Fuckers MC. For the unknowing, that means if any of you come back here, for any reason, you’ll be trespassing on our territory after being warned not to. Believe me fellas, it won’t end well for you.”

While I continued to survey the men, the sound of Pete hollering caused my butthole to pucker.

“You! By the jukebox!” he yelled. “Drop the pistol!”

I didn’t have to turn around to know that Pete had his shotgun pulled. Realistically, shooting it from where he was positioned wouldn’t be terribly effective, but it was an intimidating sight for those standing on the receiving end of the barrel.

My eyes shot toward the jukebox. A middle-aged man with a long gray beard held a pistol at his side. His nervous eyes told me he wished that he hadn’t pulled it out. I slowly walked in his direction.

“Shoot this prick if he moves, Pete,” I said.

“You got it, Pee Bee.”

I elbowed my way through the group of men and held out my hand as I stepped in front of him. With reluctance, he lifted the pistol, barrel down.

“Fucker’s registered to me,” he said as I took it from his grasp.

“Tough luck.” I shrugged, and then looked around. “Anybody else armed?”

No one responded.