SAN FRANCISCO

The Revenge Team (Pay, Chase and Brooke) agree to help a young man who has been beaten by a violent felon. While helping they discover a series of much more serious crimes.

Here’s one of my favorite scenes. – Myles

“A woman’s voice screamed, “Call 9-1-1.”

Rock dumped the girl’s backpack on the sidewalk. Everything fell to the ground—cell phone, wallet, make-up, loose change, books, a sweater, a thumb drive, and dark glasses—landed on the concrete alongside a Porsche idling at the curb. Its driver took one look at Rock’s enraged face and floored it through the red light.

Rock yanked the cash from her wallet and grabbed the thumb drive.

She snatched at his hand. “That’s mine. I need it!”

He laughed and slapped her hand away.

The girl took a deep breath and hooked a fist at Rock’s balls. Blocking the blow with his thigh, he kneed her in the face. She went woozy, slumping toward the curb.

Now ten-feet away, it took Pay less than a second to evaluate the situation: Two-hundred and fifty pounds of enraged asshole who wouldn’t have made it as a bouncer without being a decent fighter. Sure, the guy was smaller than Pay, and on the doughy side, but he was high. Stupid high. Putting hands on him to take him down with a pressure point hold or an arm lock would be damned dangerous.

Releasing a steel police baton from the spring-loaded holster in his sport coat sleeve, Pay whipped it open and smashed Rock’s shoulder joint. Bones crunched, as he howled and collapsed.

Pay’s ferocity warned the other bouncers not to come to Rock’s aid.

The girl snatched the wad of cash and the thumb drive from Rock’s limp hand, then scooped up the rest of her stuff and crammed it into her pack. She bolted up the street, waving at an oncoming taxi. Between the shrieking of the crowd and Rock’s wails, Pay barely registered her yelling, “Thank you, mister,” as she slammed the cab’s door.

Cradling his broken shoulder, Rock rolled onto his back and slammed a double mule kick at Pay’s legs.

Sidestepping the flying heels, Pay whipped the baton at Rock’s butt, landing a crippling blow on his exposed hipbone. Rock bellowed and went limp.

The crowd shouted encouragement and screamed for more.

Pay glared at the pathetic voyeurs and they began to scatter. He didn’t see any new threats, just the faces of women showing fright or gratitude, and the backs of men who’d realized their own cowardice.

It was time for Pay to get going. In a few minutes, sirens would be screaming toward Centerfolds, and witnesses would be telling the police about the big guy with a club. He didn’t want to hang around for that; it would be a pointless annoyance. Rock wasn’t going to press charges. And if he did, it wouldn’t be the first time the cops came looking for Pay.”