Page 34 of Caged Hunger

There were two cars being worked on; one was raised on a hoist—most likely to have its oil changed. The other sat in the spot next to it, the driver’s-side door open as if waiting for someone to hop inside.

“Yeah. I hear your crew took something that wasn’t yours last night,” Marcus growled, arms crossed at his chest, muscles bulging like they were ready to strangle somebody.

“So what if we did?” the man responded, shrugging his shoulders like Marcus was stupid and wasting his time.

Marcus lowered his arms and reached for the gun he had tucked away in the back of his jeans.

In one smooth motion, he brought it around and aimed it at the man claiming to be in charge.

“Then you have about thirty seconds to tell me where it is before me and my crew show you what happens when you steal from the Shadow Vipers.”

The man in front of them smirked. He drew a gun of his own and pointed it at Marcus.

“You’re not the only one who’s carrying.”

Before Basher could react, a small metallic object shot past his head and struck the crew leader square in the hand.

A scream tore from his throat as the gun slipped from his grasp. He clutched his wounded hand, staring in horror at the knife lodged deep in it as blood streamed down his wrist.

“No, he’s not.” Blade chuckled from behind Basher.

Marcus raised a hand.

“Now, before anyone else gets a brilliant idea,” he said, his voice calm and measured, “does someone want to tell me where my merchandise is?”

He slowly swept his gaze across the room, studying the stunned men standing there with their mouths hanging open.

From the corner of Basher’s eye, he caught the man behind him moving in for his surprise attack.

Basher whipped around, swinging his bat hard into the attacker’s face.

The impact sent the man sprawling, blood spraying from his shattered jaw as he collapsed to the ground, crying out in pain and agony.

Marcus and the rest of the crew jumped, caught off guard by the attack from behind. When they realized what was happening, rage erupted—and all hell broke loose.

Caden, Marcus, and Blade lunged toward the men in the shop, using their fists to rearrange their faces.

Basher focused on the man who was currently trying to collect his teeth from the ground. He punched the guy in the back of the head, then jumped on him, beginning his one-man fighter audition.

The guy under him barely resisted. It was almost sad. Basher figured he’d even things out and let Arlene sit this one out—she’d already had her moment, her sharp, decisive surprise. He took over from there, using his fists and head to keep the punishment coming.

“Please! Stop!” someone shouted from inside the garage. “It’s behind the shop. The truck. Please!”

Basher glanced up just in time to see the smallest of the crew staring up into Caden’s bloody fist, his own face bleeding and puffy, and looking like he was ready to pass out at any moment.

Marcus, on the other hand, continued to beat the piss out of the leader of the crew. Apparently, he didn’t hear the plea for mercy—or didn’t care.

“Keys now,” Blade ordered, sticking out his hand and waiting for the sniveling whiner to give him what he asked for.

The guy hobbled to a desk in the far corner of the auto shop and swiped a set of keys off the surface.

He tossed them at Blade, choosing to stay as far away from the blade thrower as possible.

Marcus finally stopped beating the leader’s face in. He grabbed the dude’s gun and shoved it into the back of his jeans.

“That’s for making me come all this way to collect what’s mine. If you or your crew ever fuck with me and my business ever again, we won’t come back asking so nicely,” Marcus growled into the beaten leader’s ear. “Do you comprendé?”

The man nodded, sweat and blood dripping into his eyes. His left one was swollen, and his lips were a horrid shade of purple, blue, and scarlet red.