Read Nomads' Fall: Burning Bastards MC for Free Online

number seven in the picture. She quickly hit the number and continued to watch that panel more than the others. No matter how she zoomed the lens, she couldn’t get anything better as far as the picture went. She watched the other screens to make certain there was nothing else to concentrate on. She was concentrating on the screens so hard the sound of breaking glass made her jump.
    Shit. What happened? It couldn’t be Gladys back yet. She’d only left an hour or so ago. She left the small space and shut the door to keep anyone from seeing the light from the monitors, and peeked around the closet door. Her gun was in her hand, ready to use and it was a good thing too. She could see a large male figure stumbling around the wet bar in the dining room. He was drinking from a bottle of something and pouring another on the beautiful wooden surface of the bar. He lit a cigarette and she heard him give a low laugh. “Fuckin’ bastards.” He belched and looked around the room, but he didn’t bother to look at the closet door. He walked into the kitchen and she followed in the shadows. She crouched behind the low wall between the kitchen and living room. He dug through the fridge and pulled out half a chicken. From the little she could see from her hiding place, he was scarfing the thing down as if he was starving. He took one hand off the chicken and reached for the bottle he’d been drinking from. The grease on his fingers caused the bottle to slip through his fingers and drop onto the hardwood floor. “Fuck, that was some good shit.”
    He continued eating mouthfuls of chicken as he stumbled back to the wet bar. She had nowhere to go. If he bothered to look down, he’d see her. She held her breath, not daring to move an inch for fear it would draw his attention to her. He dropped the chicken carcass on the floor and started yelling, “Hey you motherfuckers, get down here and show me to my room. You thieving bastards took my bed, so I’ll fuckin' take yours for the night.” He upended his newest bottle and when he brought it down, his eyes must have seen her crouched there. His mistake was not seeing the gun in her hand. He reached for his side and she opened fire.
    She’d seen the gun on his hip when he was standing in the light from the fridge. From what Gladys had said, this guy was a killer. She felt nothing while pulling the trigger. He hit his head when he tried to run to the door, and fell hitting the corner of the table. He’d crushed a chair on his way down, but she knew he was hit by her bullets. She knew he was still alive. She hadn’t made a kill shot. His judgment wouldn’t be coming from her. She might regret it later, but tonight he got a pass on his spot in hell.
    She turned on the light above her, all the while keeping her finger on the trigger. If he twitched, he was dead. He was out cold and bleeding a hell of a lot from his shoulder, hip, and thigh. The head wound continued to seep blood, but it’d stop eventually, the cut wasn’t deep or very big. She took several extension cords from the dining room closet, and wrapped his legs from ankle to knee. She had to roll his heavy body to tie his hands behind his back, and lifted the gun and knife from his belt. She sat back on her calves and took a deep breath. Jolly really wanted to push him onto the front porch, but there was no way she could move him. The nasty smelling man had to weigh close to two hundred pounds. She went back to the closet and looked over the monitors for some sign of Gladys. When she didn’t see any trace of the woman, she took a chance and typed in a text on the computer. “Come Home NOW,” was all she could think to say. After all, anyone might read the message and she wasn’t about to admit in writing that she’d shot a man and he was tied up on the dining room floor.
    She was exhausted, but kept busy cleaning up the mess the pig had made. She hated to do it, but she used hot soapy water on the wooden wet bar and