Integrity Has No Bounds Read Online Free Page B

to
his shoulder rig. He’d made it especially for his body, mainly
because no one manufactured what he was looking for. The daggers in
his boots were checked and the throw down was taken outside to run
a round through before going into his saddlebags. He’d hate to
leave it behind, it was a sweet little .380, but as far as a weapon
for practical use, his hands were way too big to use it
comfortably. He had others, but this one he’d already taken it to
the grinding wheel and removed the serial numbers. The bullets were
wiped clean before he slipped them into the mag. In fact, every
centimeter of the gun was clean, no prints.
    He looked around the place before he left.
The logs were hand hewn and he’d built the entire place almost
exclusively by himself. When he needed help, he’d called in a favor
from Tank, Baron, Lonnie, and Gunner. They were the only people who
knew about this place. He didn’t spend much time here, most of the
time he lived in the bungalow down the block from the garage.
    He mounted up and started hunting. It was six
thirty and full dark, but the darkness didn’t bother him, he
embraced the feeling of wind on his face and it pissed him off that
he had to wear the brain bucket required by the law in this state.
He was flying his colors and drove down to the state line hang out
where bikers from both sides of the state lines bent elbows. There
were fights almost nightly, but there were times a man had to feel
alive, and at times like that, this was the best kind of place to
go for the fight he was looking for.
    Tonight he wasn’t looking for a fight, he was
looking for one asshole, and he would find him, no matter how many
fuckers went down between now and then.
    As he’d expected, the parking lot was
crowded. The place was a dive, but it was clean, and the beer was
cold. The bouncers at the door looked close when he walked up and
nodded. They nodded back at him, and he entered the darkened room.
There was a band tonight situated behind chain-link fencing, and
the sight triggered a memory about a band singing behind a fence,
with a rowdy crowd throwing everything from vegetables to beer
bottles at the fencing.
    At first glance, he didn’t spy any Swamp
Kings and was disappointed. Those fuckers were putting him to more
trouble than he wanted to deal with, but once he found them, life
was gonna be fucked up for those he picked for fun and games.
    He made his way to the bar and signaled the
skimpily clad bitch who was flirting with a beefy motherfucker
wearing a Burning Bastards cut.
    She turned to look at him and he saw she’d
been scrapping with someone. The black eye and scratches on her
cheek were hard to miss. She came over to him and gave him an
admiring look. She got the look that some women get when they were
attracted to him. He had to admit she was good at that look,
probably got her a lot of tip money to pay for the arnica oil based
cream to heal her bruises and wounds.
    “Well hello there, big man, what can I
getcha?”
    Damn, her voice was so high pitched that it
almost hurt his ears, the bitch sounded like a cartoon mouse with a
lisp. He ordered a Miller Lite and waited for her to give up on
enticing him into buying her a drink. She had nice tits, and the
butt cheek shorts she wore showed her body enough to entice any
man. Fuck, too bad Stevie was stuck in his brain, ‘cause this one
was right up his alley.
    He slapped a five on the bar and turned to
survey the room again. This place was worse than he remembered, but
it was the kind of place the dregs of society, even the biker
community’s dregs, came. So far it appeared to be a dead end for
tonight. He finished the beer and set the empty down. He waved the
squeaky voiced woman away, and made his way to the door.
    His next stop was Drain’s Watering Hole, and
he found pay dirt. Three Rats were stumbling toward their putts,
and he rode right up, parking his scoot behind two of the mud
crusted bikes. He shut her down and took his