Messiahs, Matt Rogers [best 7 inch ereader TXT] 📗

year from now, that’s what you’ll want anyway. I’ll want the same for myself, I’m sure.’

She said, ‘Are you nervous?’

‘About Mother Libertas? No. Not until I get a better sense of what we’re going up against.’

‘About the baby,’ Violetta corrected.

Silence.

King finally said, ‘Yes. Like it’s my first operation all over again. It’s all relative, isn’t it? I’m so conditioned to danger, fighting, war … but fatherhood? There’s no experience in the bank there. It’s a new world.’

She said, ‘You’ll make a great Dad.’

‘You’ll make a great mother,’ King said. ‘We’ll do it right.’

‘Don’t get complacent tonight. Get back to your room safe.’

‘I will. Can’t say the same for whoever tries to come after me.’

Violetta smiled again. ‘Every thug in this town wants your head on a stick and you’re more worried about having a kid in eight months.’

King said, ‘The former is business as usual. The latter’s uncharted territory.’

‘I think you’re adept enough at handling uncharted territory.’

‘We’ll find out, won’t we?’

‘I love you.’

‘You too.’

A pause.

King said, ‘Gotta go. Got trouble.’

Violetta said, ‘Give ‘em hell.’

She ended the call. It was strange — her life partner was seconds away from another violent confrontation, and she didn’t feel an ounce of nerves for him.

Instead, she was worried for whoever he came up against.

23

King was two blocks away from the Arbuckle Lodge when he heard the truck crawling down the street over his shoulder.

He muttered a hasty goodbye to Violetta, killed the call, and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

The street was wide and the surroundings were dark. Camplex Park stretched out to his right, opposite the dormant facilities of the event space on the other side of the road. There was a horse racing track, a giant building with WYOMING CENTER AT CAM-PLEX for recreational sports, and a vast parking lot. All deserted, all quiet. It was late on a weeknight, and the good citizens were at home with their families.

The bad citizens were out for blood.

It was a tiny portion of the population, but that’s the case everywhere.

Most people are good.

Some are bad.

Confront the bad, and they come after you.

The pickup truck pulled to a stop in the middle of the road, alongside King on the sidewalk. It was a new Dodge, black and shiny under the streetlights. Two beefy men leapt out of the rear tray, and the driver and passenger got out of the cabin. They were all bearded, just like the boys from the bar, and looked like truckers. All four had identical physiques, the same equal mix of muscle and fat. Size and strength seemingly weren’t rarities out here. Two wore cut-off denim vests exposing slabs for arms, and the other pair wore big leather jackets over faded tees.

One guy from the rear tray had a pump-action shotgun.

A Mossberg 500.

King put his hands in the air right away.

The last thing he needed was catching an impulsive round to the chest. One tiny mistake right now, and he’d pay with his life. He’d leave Violetta to raise their child on her own, and the kid would grow up without a father.

That generated a determination unlike anything he’d felt before.

His emotions burned hot under the surface.

On the outside, he acted scared.

The guy with the shotgun spat on the ground and laughed. ‘Not so tough now, big boy.’

One of the guys in the leather jackets said, ‘You’re coming with us.’

‘Okay,’ King said, making his voice shake. He looked at the ground. ‘Fuck, I’m sorry. I was drunk before. I don’t want you to—’

‘Don’t want us to what?!’ the guy with the shotgun said, and let out a shrill laugh for no one to hear. ‘We’ll do whatever we want to you. What was it you called us? “Hick fucks”? Was that it? My memory might be failing me.’

‘I didn’t say that to you,’ King said, on the verge of tears.

‘Yes you did,’ the guy said through gritted teeth. ‘You said it to my best friend right before you shattered his nose. He’s already in an ambulance. Word spreads fast. You’re gonna pay for that. You’re gonna wish you never opened your dumb mouth.’

King put his hands behind his head, trying his hardest to feign surrender. He kept his head bowed.

The guy with the Mossberg stepped off the road, up onto the sidewalk.

He jabbed the big barrel into King’s chest.

King lifted his head. ‘Looks like you’re a dumb fuck just like your best friend.’

The guy’s face flared hot and he went to put the barrel of the Mossberg against King’s throat.

King grabbed the barrel and ripped the whole thing out of his hands. He gripped the barrel double-handed, swung it like a world-class pitcher and knocked half the guy’s teeth out. He spun to the pavement, his mouth pouring blood, immobilised by the pain and the shock.

Two of the three still on their feet pulled their pieces. A pair of 9mm Glock 43s, optimal for concealed carry. The last guy didn’t have a weapon. He stood there bristling, his bare hands clenched and shaking with adrenaline.

King already had the Mossberg trained on one of the Glock wielders. ‘Don’t.’

‘You goddamn piece of shit,’ the guy said. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’

King said, ‘Says who?’

‘This is a Mexican standoff, ain’t it? We’ve got buddies on the way. You’re a dead man. Do what’s right and put that thing down.’

‘This isn’t a standoff,’ King said. ‘My buddy’s already here.’

A confused look spread across the guy’s face.

Will Slater came up behind him and wrenched the Glock out of his hands.

24

The guy spun and Slater put him down with an elbow to the forehead.

The sound of a splitting watermelon echoed down the empty street.

It spooked the hell out of the other guy with the Glock, who spun fast, but not fast enough. He was crippled by indecision, unsure whether to keep his aim on King with the Mossberg or deal with this new threat, and he ended up in the anaesthesia of no-man’s-land, between a rock and a hard place.

Slater was the rock.

He darted sideways