The Death Lords, Volumes 1-3: His Wild Desire, Her Secret Pleasure, Their Private Need by Ella Goode

lays down his pool cue and leaves. The other game ends just as abruptly and within seconds, it's just the three of us.
    “We're going for a ride,” I inform Ellerby.
    He shakes his head. “I don't think so. Your sister wouldn't want you here.”
    His inflection isn't lost on Michigan whose brows furrow. “This pissant bothering Chelsea?”
    “Well, are you, Ellerby? Are you bothering my stepsister?”
    He gives me the finger and pockets the money on the table, but his attempt at nonchalance is ruined by the shaking of his hands. Impatient for this to be over so I can go home and comfort Chels, I reach over and grab the back of his shirt and twist. He yelps in surprise and then claws at his throat.
    Without waiting, I start walking toward the back door. This is Death Lords territory and no one makes a move to stop me. It'd be this way in any bar in town, but particularly this one.
    Why Ellerby stopped here and not at the five other liquor establishments is a mystery, but Sara definitely got the brains of the two.
    “You best let me go,” Ellerby screeches as I drag him by his shirt. “Or I'm going to say something that your sister ain't going to much like.”
    “Go ahead and open your mouth inside the bar and I'll cut out your tongue.” I say it so matter of factly that Ellerby shuts up. Everyone in Fortune knows I went to prison for killing someone, including Ellerby. They don't know the real reason why. He's going to find out tonight.
    When we get outside and he spots the truck, he starts putting up more resistance. He tries to spin around but my grip on his shirt tightens. His feet start dragging in the dirt but I've put on a lot of muscle on the inside and it takes little effort to get him to the truck. I slam his head into the side of the passenger door. “Oops. Forgot I needed to open the door first.”
    “Fuck you, murderer,” he groans holding his head. I press one hand against the back of his neck and kick his legs open. Reaching inside his jeans, I pull out his wallet and toss it to Michigan. He pulls out three hundred.
    “Unlike Chels, I don’t give a fuck what you call me, asshole. Where’s the rest of the money?”
    He laughs, spraying a smear of spit all over my window. I’m going to have to get this thing washed tomorrow. “Spent it.”
    I shake my head and bang Ellerby’s head once again. Michigan reaches out and opens the back door and I toss him inside.
    Ellerby scrambles to the opposite side and tries to get out but Michigan is there, quick as lightning to stare him into submission. He starts bargaining before my front tires clear the gravel and hit the asphalt.
    “I needed a hit,” he whines. “I wasn't going to bother her for more money.”
    “This piece of shit blackmailing Chelsea?” Michigan asks in disbelief, quickly catching on.
    I nod, but watch the road carefully. I don’t want to get picked up and Schmidt has a hard-on for club members, me especially. It was a real coup for him to get me charged and sent away. Word is that he’s none too happy with my early release and he’d love to find a way to throw me back inside. But I’m not going to sit on my ass while this shit-stain threatens Chels.
    Michigan turns around. “You’re a dumb motherfucker. You don’t mess with Chels. She’s club property.”
    “She’s a sick pervert.”
    The truck weaves as I turn around to introduce my fist into Ellerby’s face. Michigan grabs the wheel while pulling me forward at the same time. Ellerby ducks and cowers in the far corner of the backseat where I can’t reach him while I’m driving.
    “Pay attention to the road,” Michigan barks. “I’m not planning to be a statistic tonight.” Under his breath, he mutters, “Rein it in. Revenge is cold. Blah-blah-blah.”
    “Blah-blah-blah? Is that some kind of secret enforcer code?”
    “Yeah, the kind that allows you to do your job and not get dead.”
    It takes forty minutes to get to the quarry. Behind the gravel pit is a copse