Fight for Her#3 by JJ Knight Read Free Book Online

could start a fire, but nothing you can’t escape from.”
    He says all this as if it’s an everyday thing to set fire to a van. Maybe for him it is.
    Colt comes over and Sam passes each of us three explosives. “Find some spots for these. Under seats, though not the driver’s. Under the edges of carpets is good.”
    We climb in the back.
    “This is a wreck already,” Colt says. He kicks aside a pizza box.
    I pull the tape off one of the explosives and stick it in the back corner under the carpet.
    “I guess we’ll just go around the edges,” I say. There aren’t any seats in the van other than the front. Just open space.
    “That’ll work,” Colt says.
    “So what is all this supposed to do?”
    “Sam’ll wait until they’re driving and rig the whole thing to go off. Scare the crap out of them.”
    “How is this going to get them off our case?”
    “Beats me. It’s just the start of the shit storm, if they don’t back off. Jax says this sort of intimidation is their specialty.”
    “Who are they?”
    “Think of them as the A-Team from those ’80s TV shows,” Colt says. “That’s all any of us needs to know.”
    Sam’s head pops up over the passenger seat. “Finish up,” he says. “We’re about to have company.”
    I shove the last package under the carpet. Colt and I jump out the back.
    “This way,” Sam says. He’s got a more complex grid on his tablet than we have on our phones. It shows fuzzy red body shapes coming down one of the halls to the bay.
    We head the opposite direction. “Let’s take stock of the situation,” Sam says. He pauses by a door, but it’s locked.
    “You have one of those gizmos like Jax?” I ask.
    “I’m old school,” Sam says. He removes a key from his pocket and jiggles it into the lock. He pulls the sleeve of his UCLA sweatshirt over the palm of his hand and pounds the end of the key as if his palm is a hammer. The handle turns and Sam pushes open the door.
    “What the hell?” I ask as Sam pulls the key back out.
    “Had a steel plate implanted in the heel of my hand,” Sam says. He turns over his palm.  
    “I can’t see anything,” I say, then notice a faint crease that is too straight to be just an ordinary line. “Is that the scar?”
    “Indeed,” he says. “Comes in pretty handy.”
    I glance back at Colt.
    “That’s hard-core,” he says.
    We go inside the room. Sam pulls up the tablet, then heads right back for the door. “Can’t sit back. Jax is in a situation with the girl,” he says. “Let’s go.”
    The girl?
    Shit. He means Maddie.

Chapter 12: Maddie

    “Gotcha,” Striker says. He lunges for me, but Jax calmly steps in front, and in two simple moves he spins Striker around and pins him against the wall, smashing his face into the cracking plaster.
    “We’re a little tired of your games,” Jax says. “So let me make this one thing clear. You lay off the pathetic little vendetta or I will cut off your legs.”
    “What?” Striker says. “You’re one fucked-up motherfucker.”
    “You have no idea,” Jax says.
    “Ain’t nothing you can do that will change what’s going on here,” Striker says. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”
    “It does now,” Jax says. “And I know you live at 34 B Street in Apartment 409. I know you fight here and at the skating rink near the plaza and two other locations. I know you hang out at a gym on North 7 th and that you order your pizza with anchovies. I hate anchovies.”
    “What the fuck?” Striker says. “Who the hell are you?”
    “I’m justice.”
    I hear a metallic click and whirl around to look at Blue Hair.
    Oh my God.
    She has a gun aimed at Jax.
    “Who’s justice?” she asks.
    Striker laughs. “You still packing that Saturday night special? I knew I kept you around for a reason.”
    Blue Hair frowns. “Let him go or I’ll put a bullet in you,” she says to Jax.
    But Jax doesn’t move or turn around. “You really don’t want to bring out the firearms,”