Rusty X Indy Novels & Stories

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.

Everyone widened their eyes in surprise and watched the scene incredulously. The agents were not easily impressed, but Zayn had shown himself to be astoundingly capable. They were well aware of how powerful Rusty was. He was already a Tier-3 master fighter! He was known for his strength. Let alone a man’s arm, he would be able to bend a steel beam with his kick. However, his kick had landed on Zayn’s arm like it was nothing and not a sound could be heard. It was unbelievable!

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.

JAX "Stay low, stay quiet, and for the love of the moon, let me do the talking." I adjusted the leather collar of my vest as Raven and I stood on the edge of a gravel parking lot. We were twenty miles out of town at a place called The Rusty Fang. It was a neutral bar—a hole-in-the-wall where rogues, loners, and the occasional scout from a rival pack came to drink and trade rumors. "I can handle myself, Jax," Raven whispered, her eyes scanning the flickering neon sign.

"Please my darling idiotic mate, get the hell off me or I will piss all over you." "Charming," Greyson snorted but he reluctantly let go of Indianna and she walked over to the en suite that connected on to the bedroom. "Are you going to school today?" Greyson called. "Yeah." "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" "I'm fine. If I hide because of Rogue it means he's won," Indianna shrugged and closed the bathroom door behind her. She did her business and then had a quick shower, washing yesterday and her nightmare away. She wrapped herself in a towel and made her way back into her bedroom to find Greyson sitting on her bed in new clothes and damp hair.

When he disappeared around a bend, she wandered back into the house. Rusty aimed the rented silver Ford sedan toward the skyline of Toronto growing on the horizon as Rhys lit yet another cigarette. Rusty wondered if he might be able to file a workman's comp claim for second-hand smoke damage. "How confident are you in your source?" Rhys asked him for the third time that day.

"Did the alcohol make you deaf, or do I have to remind you how lead feels in a leg?" Rusty paled instantly. The color drained from his face and his fingers loosened as if Luke’s skin were burning. He took a step back, tripping over his own feet, defeated by the weight of his sins. Luke collapsed to the floor, falling to his knees. He raised his hands to his throat, coughing desperately and gasping for air with loud gulps. "He belongs to me, Frederick!" Rusty shouted, trying to regain some of the bravado that was leaking out of his pores. "I had him first! I have videos! I can sink him!"