Rusty X Indy Novels & Stories

Forcing myself to believe that I can do this. As I reach the curve of the mountain, the image becomes clearer. The bridge connects a minor crack in the rocks. I can’t see further as I’m too focused on keeping myself from stepping on a plank that’s too rusty and wet. As I round the corner, the expected sight of the safety of the other ledge doesn’t come. The planks connecting to it…are gone. Either broke off from the rough weather, or disintegrated from the rust and fell off.

It’s all piling up, and I can’t shake the feeling we're being watched closely,as if someone is manipulating everything behind the scenes,sending us into a trap. Rusty’s is a rundown joint. It has peeling paint and that old smell lingering in the air. It is tucked in a part of town where no one asks questions. It's the type of place where you will watch a crime happen in broad daylight while people ignore your screams of help or walk over a dead body like it's none of your business. It’s only a few miles from The Red Lantern, the club Miss Lin mentioned, where Kade’s supposedly holed up like the filthy rat he is. It's too close. Way too close.

It was a poignant image—Rusty was grinning while Arik appeared serious. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of that picture. To Kim: Can we FaceTime? I want to see. What are they discussing? Kim: They're having a serious talk. Rusty was in a car crash. Thankfully, he wasn't severely injured, but I saw his car. The front was completely wrecked. Kim: I can't FaceTime you. I'm talking to Rusty's doctor. That jerk is arranging the discharge papers for him to get out. To Kim:

Rough, tattooed men with reputations for taking what they wanted. She’d heard stories about the Iron Wolves gang that hung out at The Rusty Nail, a dive bar on the outskirts of town. Five of them were legends, Jax, the brooding leader with a scar across his cheek; Rocco, the massive Italian with arms like tree trunks; Blaze, the fiery redhead known for his stamina; Diesel, the mechanic with oil-stained hands and a wicked grin; and Thorn, the quiet one with piercing eyes that could undress you from across the room. They were all hung like gods, or so the rumors went. Perfect.

I hadn't seen Justin since I walked out of the clubhouse and handed him the President's patch. And right now, a cheap beer in a dive bar sounded like the only thing that would keep me from committing a murder today. I tapped on the glass partition. "Change of plans, Marcus. Take me to the South Side. Drop me at Rusty’s." The driver blinked in the rearview mirror, clearly terrified of taking a half-million-dollar car into Reaper territory, but he nodded. "Yes, sir." Rusty’s was a total shithole, and I meant that affectionately. It sat in corner of the industrial district, a windowless brick building with a neon sign that had been flickering the word BAR since 1998.

Luckily I wasn’t too late and the first period bell hadn’t been rung yet. I went to my locker and took out the books I would need. “Good morning fair lady. How has your day been?” A smooth voice laced with a pleasant British accent inquired. I turned around. Indy was in jeans and the school’s basketball jersey, her raven hair was tied back into its usual ponytail. Her 5’11 height qualified her for a spot on the team, but unfortunately Coach Bryson put her on the second team aka she’s never going to play for the school.

"No. If it is a trap, I don't want you caught in it too." "That's exactly why I should come!" "Maya." I hugged her tight. "You're the only friend I have left. Please. Stay safe. If something happens to me, find my father. Tell him I tried." She was crying when I pulled away. "You better come back," she whispered. "I will." I didn't know if that was true. Rusty's Bar sat on the border between Pack territory and the Rogue-controlled parts of the city. Neutral ground, technically. But everyone knew the Rogues owned this place.

He leaned into the wind, the roar of his Harley a defiant challenge to the storm. After three hours of bone-chilling cold, Ruan finally began to slow down. We pulled off the main highway onto a gravel lot illuminated by a flickering neon sign that read: The Rusty Spur. It was a low, squat building made of weathered wood and corrugated metal. A dozen motorcycles were lined up under a makeshift porch, their chrome glinting under the dim lights. This wasn't a place for tourists or casual travelers. This was a sanctuary for the restless and the lawless.

"A bunch of roughneck drifters, of course. I like your attitude. I just wonder if your backbone is as tough as your mouth." The man said coldly, "Andrew, don't you think you're being way too arrogant? I, Rusty Kuntz, want to leave. What are you going to do about it? Bite my ass?" Rusty had a decent reputation in martial arts circles, particularly within the community surrounding the Advanced Medical Institute. He was well-connected, and most people respected him. He had come to help Koda because they were good friends. Now that Koda had kicked the bucket, he did not think anyone at the Advanced Medical Institute could touch him.

Rux. "Yeah, Rux is still running this city. Though Ryder Rux hepls him now," Bella said eyes glinting at the mentioned of the son. "Him and his friends run a gym and bar on their own. Fronts for the gang business." She leans in lowering her voice. Jasmine sighed her eyes drifting away. "They're so hot.. it's so sad they never come here." Thank fuck. I think to myself as Jasmine goes on. "They're like the avengers but tattooed and morally ambiguous."