Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [70]
“Yes.”
“And you’re supposed to be protecting her? Did you even see me following you?”
“Ah. No.”
“I’d be doin’ you a favor if I killed you right fuckin’
now,” Jimmer snarled.
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Dietz flopped on the ground. Probably wet himself. Jimmer removed the gun from Dietz’s neck. “Get up. Rush me, or try to take off, and I’ll tell Martinez you were friendly with her. He’ll slice off your shriveled cock before he feeds it to you.”
Yikes.
Jimmer led me aside. “So now you know.”
“But I don’t know why.”
“Why? Why are you fuckin’ surprised, Julie? You know what he’s like.”
I turned away. Yeah, I knew what Tony was like, probably better than anyone, but something else was going on.
Martinez never pulled that I’m-the-big-bad-assbiker-bossman-do-what-the-fuck-I-tell-you bullshit with me. He didn’t treat me like property. Ever. Maybe he let the Hombres members believe he lorded over me, especially since I never voiced my opinion to him or any other Hombres member in public. I didn’t give a shit what his brothers assumed about me or us; I knew the truth and that’s what mattered.
Jimmer slung his arm over my shoulder and lowered his voice. “The arrogant bastard is so crazy fucking in love with you he’ll do anything to keep you safe, little missy. Is that so bad?”
“No.”
“So forget it.”
“That’s the thing. I can’t.” Would my reasoning sound fucked up and petty and . . . female?
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“What? Why not?”
“I warned Martinez if he ever sicced his goons on me again without warning I’d retaliate.” My glance at Jimmer was a silent plea for him to understand. “If I don’t follow through, it’ll look like I pussed out, not only to Tony, but to his security team. I don’t wanna be seen as the type of whiny-assed woman who makes idle threats.”
“Yeah? What’d you threaten to do?”
“Shoot up the next car he sent after me.”
After about a ten-second pause, he handed me the shotgun. “Go for it.”
“Seriously?”
“Gotta stand on principle. Or as Martinez is fond of saying: gotta have rules or chaos rules.” He yelled at Dietz. “Whose rice burner is that?”
“Belongs to the club.”
Jimmer grinned. “Perfect.”
It was. I slapped the Sig in his palm, lifted the 870, and took aim.
Dietz scrambled back. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Proving a point.” I squinted. “I don’t wanna blow it up. Where should I put the first one?”
“Gas tank is back half of the driver’s side. How
’bout takin’ out the side window?”
“Sweet.” I braced the buttstock inside the ball of my right shoulder, locked my knees against the kickback, and pulled the trigger. 248
Crack. Glass shattered. My ears rang. I wandered around to the right side and shot out the other back window to keep things symmetrical. Put a bullet in the front right quarter panel, reloaded three more shells, put another in the left front quarter panel, and two in the tailgate.
Jimmer didn’t say a word when I swapped the
shotgun for my 9mm and continued shooting.
I destroyed the headlights. And taillights. And fog lights. Eying the driver’s side, I considered marking it with the letter J, but ultimately settled for H on both doors.
“Nice touch,” Jimmer said.
“Thanks. Think he’ll be pissed?”
“Oh, yeah. But I know that’s how you like him best.”
I grinned.
Jimmer motioned Dietz over. “I’m keepin’ the gun. You tell Mr. Martinez I’ll be in touch.”
“That’s it?”
“You want some more of me, boy?”
“No.”
“Then get yo ass goin’. Ya got plenty o’ other shit to worry about besides who I’m havin’ pie with.”
Dietz zoomed off. Jesus. He’d be damn lucky if he didn’t get pulled over by the highway patrol before he made it back to Rapid.
Not my concern.
I returned to my truck. Jimmer gave me a push 249
to get the back end out of the ditch. He scowled at the snow-covered junk poking out of the truck bed.
“Don’t you ever clean this shit out?”
“Never know when you might need something
like a—”
“—pink emergency makeup case?” he asked snidely.
“No, a crowbar, a log chain, and bullwhip for