Grit

 

“Get down, now!” shouted Grit as he grabbed the back of Razor’s collar and pulled him down to cover behind Grit’s bike.

 

The move was just in time, as a hail of bullets screamed above right where Razor had been only a split-second ago.

 

With a look of realization of what had almost happened painted on his face, Razor spoke.

 

“Fuck!” he yelled. “You saved my ass, boss!”

 

Grit didn’t have time for thank-yous.

 

“Just get back in there!”

 

His gun in hand, Grit popped back over his bike and fired off a couple more rounds, both of them going wide and slamming into the side of one of the luxury SUVs that was parked on the lawn of Charlie’s place.

 

Just who the fuck are these guys? thought Grit as he ducked back behind cover. I fucking doubt Charlie has his own security detail; they’ve gotta be his bosses.

 

But he knew he didn’t have time to think. Taking a quick look around, he spotted the rest of his men under cover nearby, all of them exchanging gunfire with the security team. Grit kept an eye on the house, knowing that Honey was inside and hoping that she was staying as far away from the fight as she could.

 

He waited just a bit more for the men to reload, holding fast behind his bike as the chatter of automatic gunfire cut through the night air. He locked eyes with his men, and with just a glance in each of their directions, he got them on the same page. This wasn’t the first gunfight that he and the Vandals had been in, and they knew by this point how to operate like a well-oiled military unit. Even Gray and Killian, the newbies, were on the ball.

 

Grit held up a hand as more machine gun fire sounded, and as soon as it stopped, Grit clenched his hand into a fist. The men got the message and sprang up and out of cover. The Vandals opened fire with pistols and shotguns, the bullets panging into the sides of the cars, several of them hitting home and ripping through the fancy suits of the security team members. Nearly all of them dropped, and only a pair of men remained.

 

“Fuckin’ got ’em!” shouted Killian, pumping his fist.

 

But Grit knew that until the entire team was wiped out and Honey was in his arms, any celebration would be premature. He could hear the panic from the remaining team members as they struggled to reload their guns and make a desperate last stand.

 

“Grit!” shouted Honey, her voice desperate. “Help!”

 

Fuck, thought Grit. Gotta get in there fast; no time for fucking around.

 

He gave Razor a quick slap on the thigh.

 

“Yo, give me your pistol,” said Grit.

 

Razor nodded and handed over the sleek black weapon. A pistol in each hand, Grit took a deep breath and prepared himself. Seconds later, he popped back out over his bike and, taking aim at a guard with each of his guns, he opened fire. The guns popped, one after the other, and each of them did their bloody work. The two remaining guards dropped, and the fight was over. For now, at least.

 

Grit held fast behind the bike for another few moments, making sure that there weren’t any more guards waiting to fire. But after a few minutes, he was confident that he’d done what needed to be done.

 

“Honey, you okay?”

 

“I’m fine, but there’s more in here!”

 

Fuck! thought Grit.

 

He stood up from behind the bike, guns in hand, as he made his way towards the house. But before he could go too far, the door opened and a man in a slick suit and round glasses emerged, followed by Charlie. And in Charlie’s arms was Honey, a gun to her head.

 

“You fucker!” shouted Charlie. “You miserable fucking fuck!”

 

Grit’s blood pounded through his veins as he took in the sight of Charlie holding Honey hostage, tears streaming down her face. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to rush over to him and rip the bastard limb from limb. But it was clear from his erratic movements and the wild look in his eyes that Charlie was on something, and if that weren’t enough, he was likely even more desperate than he’d been before.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Grit watched as the man in the fancy suit slunk off to the side. Grit gave his men a glance to say without speaking that they’d better keep an eye on him. His men confirmed.

 

“Charlie,” said Grit, his voice steady and stern. “It’s fucking over. You’ve got a pregnant woman there, and if you’ve got a damn bit of decency left in you, you’ll let her go. No need for any more bloodshed tonight.”

 

“You don’t get it, you fuck!” shouted Charlie, spit sputtering out of his mouth as he did. “I’m fucked! This girl’s my last goddamn move. So, I’m gonna use her for all she’s worth. Now, you’re gonna let me go with Honey, and if I hear the fucking engine of one of those bikes while I’m driving off, then I’ll put a round right through her goddamn head.”

 

Grit weighed his options. With Honey held in front of him, Charlie did have the upper hand. But Grit knew that there wasn’t a goddamn chance that he was going to let Charlie leave with Honey. She’d be as good as dead, if not worse.

 

“I’m not hearing an ‘Okay, Charlie, whatever you say’,” said Charlie. “Maybe this’ll get you to cooperate.”

 

Charlie lowered his gun and pressed the end of the barrel against Honey’s stomach.

 

“How about one round right through here, and the next one through her head. Unless you decide to play ball, asshole.”

 

Grit was on the verge of boiling over with rage, on the verge of losing what little cool he had left. But before he could make a move, Honey acted. Squirming out of his grasp, she pulled back her elbow and drove it right into Charlie’s stomach. The blow hit him square in the diaphragm, sending the air rushing out his lungs in a pained gust. Honey was then able to break free and put as much distance between herself and Charlie as possible.

 

Grit wasn’t about to let this opportunity to go to waste. Raising his pistols, he pointed them squarely at Charlie and let rip. He fired shot after shot, each one slamming into Charlie and sending him jerking back and forth with the impact of the bullets. Once the pistols were drained, Charlie stood in place for a moment, a shocked expression on his face and his shirt soaked with blood and sweat. Then, he collapsed into a lifeless heap.

 

It was over.

 

Honey ran over to Grit and he took her into his arms.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking her over with frantic eyes.

 

“Yes,” she said. “I’m fine.”

 

Relief washed over Grit in a cool wave. But before he could make another move, he heard the light, slow clap of applause. His eyes snapped up and he saw that the noise was coming from the man in the expensive suit. Grit narrowed his eyes and prepared for one last fight.

 

“That was quite a display,” said the man, looking over the remains of his men. “That was my top security detail that you just wiped out as though they were some group of hoodlums. And look at you all—not a scratch on one of you.”

 

He shook his head in disbelief, a small smile on his face.

 

“Emile Van Graff,” he said.

 

“Let me guess,” said Grit, his arm wrapped tightly around Honey’s shoulders. “You’re the owner of Fantasies.”

 

“Close,” said the man. “I’m one of the owners of that seedy little club. Or former owner, I suppose. And Fantasies was just one of our many holdings in this state.”

 

“And that makes you the fucker that put those drugs out onto the streets.”

 

Emile titled his head slightly, as if conceding the point.

 

“I suppose that would be my doing as well, if indirectly.”

 

“Then you’re going down like the rest of them,” said Grit, his eyes narrowed.

 

“Now, now,” said Emile. “If you’ll hear me out, I have an offer. One that you and you men might be interested in.

 

Grit decided to let him say his piece, as much as he wanted to put a round through his forehead right then and there.

 

“It would appear that we have a few … job openings at the moment,” said Emile, gesturing to the bodies of the men around him. “We could use a good security outfit in this city, some muscle to enforce what needs enforcing. And I think that your Vandals would be just the men for the job. There’d be money, power, drugs, women—whatever you want. And all you’d have to do is work for us. What do you say?”

 

Grit sneered, not even considering it for a moment. He glanced around at the rest of his men, and he could tell by their knowing looks that they were thinking the same thing as him.

 

“No fucking way,” said Grit. “Now someone give me a gun.”

 

Stone slapped a pistol in Grit’s and Grit raised it at Emile.

 

“Wait, wait,” said Emile. “I’m unarmed. I have no intention of trying anything stupid, like our friend Charlie here. You shoot me, you’re shooting me in cold blood. And you’re above that, aren’t you, Grit?”

 

Grit realized he was right. Executing someone like that just wasn’t his style.

 

“No more killing tonight,” said Honey in a soft voice.

 

Grit flicked on the safety and tucked the pistol into his waistband.

 

“Get the fuck out of here,” said Grit.

 

“You’ve made the right call, Grit. Till we meet again.”

 

With that, Emile hurried into one of the SUVs, started the engine, and drove off. Moments later, his car disappeared over the horizon. And as it did, Grit couldn’t help but wonder for a moment if he’d made the right call.

 

But he had Honey. She was safe and in his arms—that was all that mattered. He held her close, and as he did, Grit realized that he never wanted her out of his sight ever again. The horror was over.

 

It was time to go home.