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alley and turned towards them.
"Boys, I'm gonna give you one warning, and one warning only. Because you are so young, and hell, stupid. I wanna make this fair. Get the fuck out of here." His smile was the kind that leaves you feeling a little sick when you see it, the kind that lets you know that he was about to enjoy what could happen if they didn't heed his advice.
"We ain't afraid of you, bullying the whole town. My ol' man says before you came people were free. You just use us for as a front for your drug trade." Christ, he couldn't have been more than 18. "Says you are ruining this town."
He came across men like this every once in a while, usually pissed off because the Demon Hunters were deep in the lumber trade, and the coal mining industry. Usually laid off, and lookin' to blame someone.
"Your old man don't know shit, but if you wanna take a shot at me, you can find out just what kind of man I am." He wouldn't warn them to take off again.
"Look, Kenny, I dunno if this is a good idea, he looks... a lot bigger than we thought."
"I didn't come all the way down here to do anything else than kick his ass. He laid my ol' man off!"
Ah, there it was. Running the warehouse he had to fire a guy a time or two. Who was this guy’s ol' man? "Who is he?"
"Calvert."
"Asshole was sleepin' on the job."
"You don't call my dad an asshole!" Kenny rushed him, but Grant really wished he hadn't. He dodged him easily, pushing him out of the way and throwing him into a wall. He wouldn't kill the kid, but he had to send a message.
You don't fuck with a Demon Hunter.
Grant held back as he rammed him into the wall and beat him, three punches before the kid passed out and slumped to the ground. He had to hand it to the kid, it was two more than he thought it would be.
Kenny's friend must have had sense, because when he turned the kid was gone, nowhere to be found.
Grant scooped up the scrawny teen and threw him over his shoulder. He may have wanted to teach the kid a lesson, but he sure wasn't going to leave him here. It wasn't a long walk to the E.R., maybe five or six blocks, but they would make sure that he wouldn't sustain any real damage.
By the time Grant got on his bike he had enough time to think about the Hunters newest problem. He knew what they needed to do, and it wasn't going to be pretty, but it had to be permanent.
Drugs weren't going to come into his town, he had enough drunks and potheads to deal with. No way that they needed the added stress of a bunch of tweakers causing all kinds problems in town.
He gripped his handlebars a little tighter as he sped along the winding country road. The night air was crisp, but he couldn't deny that he liked the way it felt against his skin a whole lot more than when he was in a car. His bike symbolized everything he wanted, his freedom, his strength. His power. It was all so fragile.
Grant pulled into the bar and put his bike in his spot. Being V.P. was nice, better than being a grunt. It took him 10 years to work his way up before he got the number two spot, before they would move into the area and really take over their sizable territory in Northwestern PA. He opened the door of the bar and walked right into a cloud of smoke. He swore all he did some days was go from one smoky room to another, the smell of cigars and cigarettes embedded in his leather cut. He weaved through the bar, being greeted by a lot of handshakes and the kind of man hugs that allow you to retain your masculinity at the end.
That was the perk of everyone knowing your name, he guessed. You got accosted whenever you needed to get to the boss as soon as possible.
Book stepped out from the back room, a big smile on his face.
"Hey man! You just missed it. I made out like a king at the poker table tonight." His face fell as soon as he realized the look on Grant's. "What's up man?"
"Not here," He whispered as he made his way to the very back of the bar. It was the place where only the most elite of the motorcycle club could