by Davis, Jen
“What are we going to do, Kane?” Scratch asked the question, but every eye in the room was on him. Funny how no one looked to Malcolm now. It wouldn’t matter if they did. Nothing would stand in the way of his retribution.
Justice would be swift.
And it will be mine.
“We’re going to pay them back, an eye for an eye. We’re going to descend on the place where they feel safe, and we are going to kill every last fucking one of them.”
A cheer went up in the room. Every voice bayed for blood.
“But we’re gonna do it my way.” He looked at the faces around him for any sign of a challenge. There was none. “We’re not gonna drive by. We’re gonna break in. This isn’t business. It’s personal,” he snarled. “I want to look those bastards in the eye. I want my face to be the last thing they see when they take their last breaths. They will die knowing it’s in my brother’s fucking name.”
The men murmured in agreement, and he handed out assignments for lookouts, drivers, and members of the hit squad. They split up, forgoing the bikes and piling into the Bronco and Pete’s black Impala to keep a lower profile. Ten men in all would be part of the operation. Four would stay back with Malcolm at the clubhouse.
On the drive to the safehouse, the only sounds were the rumble of the Bronco’s engine and clips sliding into various guns as the men readied for their attack. Pete parked a few houses down from their target, and the brothers split into their assignments without prompting.
He led the hit squad with back-up from Frank, Randy, Bear, and Scratch. Randy and Scratch might be older guys, but they were ruthless and had shown no hesitation in taking a life, which was exactly what they needed right now.
Sure enough, the black van was parked in the carport, though it was half covered by a ratty tarp. Scratch snuck up behind the lookout, and Kane saw the flash of a blade a few seconds before the man’s body hit the ground.
He and his men fanned out into positions at multiple points of entry and at Frank’s shrill whistle busted in with guns blazing. Shouts and gunfire echoed through the house. Though it was impossible to know which Russian fired the fatal shots at his brother, he was looking for one man: the one in charge. He had no doubt Sergei gave the order.
The blond bastard was unloading a clip toward the front door when Kane shouldered his way in from the back. The fucker’s normally slicked back hair had fallen over his forehead, his normally placid face twisted in rage.
He knocked the gun from his hand and shoved the barrel of his brother’s Glock beneath the man’s chin. All the screaming and violence around them fell away. Only Sergei’s set jaw and his narrowed blue eyes remained. “You killed my brother.”
Sergei raised one blond brow mockingly. It was covered in blood from a gash less than an inch below his hairline. “Nice to know my men can hit a target.”
He pushed the Glock harder against the man’s skin. “Your men are all dying or dead.”
“There are more of us. We’ll keep coming back. Besides, we are not your only enemy. We have the Soldiers with us now. You pissed off somebody very powerful, one who won’t stop until your precious brothers are nothing more than a bloodstain on the ground.”
It bothered him Sergei showed no fear, but in his blustering, at least the bastard had connected some important dots. The Skulls no longer had three separate enemies; now they were connected with Beau Griffin at the center of it all.
“Your brother was only the beginning,” Sergei sneered.
With all the Russian’s big talk, maybe the head wound was making him stupid. “I’ll bet he died crying in a pile of his own shit.” Maybe he was ready to meet his maker.
He pulled the trigger, and sound exploded in his ears as Sergei’s brains splattered in an array of gore on the wall behind him.
He’d managed to go all these years without killing anyone. Pulling the trigger had been so much easier than he ever expected.
Turning on his heel, he surveyed the rest of the room. At least eight bodies littered the ground. Two were his own men. Bear was dead, the features on his face almost destroyed by bullets. Scratch wheezed a few feet away, his shirt soaked in blood. Frank stood upright, but he bled from a wound at his shoulder. None of the Russians survived.
“Randy, Frank, get Scratch to the car.” Kane squatted next to Bear and lifted the big man in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder. Once he made it out of the house, one of the guys stationed as lookout helped him carry his burden to the Bronco.
By the time they made it to the hospital, Scratch had stopped breathing. Frank had come up with a story to tell the cops about a second attack from the men in the mysterious black van. Kane and Pete got out of the SUV at the edge of the parking lot, and Frank drove in the rest of the way alone. They didn’t need to get tied up with questions from the cops.
It was too tight to squeeze any more men in the Impala, and too much blood covered Kane and Pete to call for a ride, so they started back to the clubhouse on foot, keeping to the shadows.
Their actions tonight were a start, but they still had enemies waiting to take another shot at them. The Christian Soldiers for one, and of course, Mandy’s father. He had no doubt Beau Griffin was the powerful man Sergei was talking about. Hell, Mandy herself had warned him her father was a threat.
Mandy.
He’d made her so many promises, and he’d meant each one. They were supposed to have a future together, the one they’d both been dreaming about for years. But who were they kidding?
He was supposed to walk away from the club; no way could he do it now. His brother was dead, and only half the people responsible had paid the price. He owed it to Scott—to his parents and his remaining brothers—to make sure justice was served.
But he couldn’t do it with Mandy at his side. He couldn’t paint a target on her back. Besides, he was no longer the same man who made her those promises only hours ago. That man had never taken a life.
She deserved better than a killer fouling her bed.
And now, her father was now his enemy, more so than ever before.
He raked his hand through his tangled hair, no doubt coating it with Bear’s blood. There could be no future with Mandy. No happiness or love. He had to let his dreams go. It was time to unleash a nightmare on his enemies.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Kane
Kane stood in the shower with his head bowed, dried blood once again mingling with the water going down the drain. Dawn was already peeking over the horizon when they made it back to the clubhouse. The brothers were here, along with his dad, all crashed out; a few had snagged beds, others on the furniture, a few on the floor. Thank fuck, someone had cleaned up the spot where Scott had gone down.
Every muscle in his body clenched tight and tense. His head ached, and his fingers burned as they regained feeling after an hour in the cold. He needed to burn the clothes he’d been wearing. They all did. There was no telling whose blood was on there, a direct link to the death and destruction from the night before.
He grabbed the soap, rubbing the bar directly onto his filthy skin. He’d never truly get clean, but at least he could get rid of the outward evidence of his sins. His hair needed attention too. As long and thick as it was, only God knew what DNA hid among the strands.
Ignoring the water he trailed across the floor, he climbed out of the still-running spray and stood naked before the mirror. Grabbing a thick handful of hair, he sawed through it with the knife he’d left on the sink. He did it one handful after another until the longest pieces hung right below his jaw.
Dropping the chunks of hair into the garbage bag with his clothes, he got back in the shower. Now it was easy to work up a lather with the shampoo. It hadn’t been this simple to deal with in years.
And really, who gives a fuck what it looks like?
Once he got all the blood out from under his fingernails, he figured he was as clean as he was going to get. He wrapped a towel around his waist and fin
ger-combed what was left of his hair. Too late, he realized he had no clothes here. But Scott did. Kane dressed in a pair of his brother’s jeans and a flannel still carrying a hint of Scott’s favorite cologne.
He carried the garbage bag into the backyard and tossed it into the big metal trash can. A quick squirt of lighter fluid, then he lit the contents ablaze. Neither the smoke nor the smell would turn any heads. This was the same way they’d burned leaves for years.
Ignoring the icy burn on his bare feet, Kane stayed outside until the bag and everything inside turned to ash. If only he could rid himself of the entire night the same way.
He trudged back into the house, exhaustion weighing on him like an anvil on his back. Spotting no soft place to lie down, he shuffled into the chapel and curled up on top of the table; his mother’s favorite afghan became his pillow. He blacked out the second his eyes closed.
A gentle shake from Mama V brought him back to the surface. “KC?” she rasped. “Wake up, baby. Your father wants to meet.”
“What time is it?” he mumbled. Or he tried to say it. It came out more like a mishmash of sounds.
Still, his mom seemed to understand. “It’s three o’clock. C’mon in the kitchen. We’ve got some pizza.”
His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since…nope, he wasn’t thinking about his meal at the Coopers. Nodding his head, he answered with a grunt.
She grasped his hand and led him toward the savory smell of the food. The men stood around the room, eating somberly. He grabbed a slice and downed it in silence.
Mama V stood behind Malcolm, who sat at the table. She kneaded his shoulders as she spoke. “Cue Ball is doing okay. The doctors had to do surgery this morning. One of the bullets punctured his intestine. They were really worried about infection, but they cut the bad piece out and put it back together again. They’ve got to watch him closely for signs of sepsis, but they think he’s going to recover.”
It didn’t sound like he’d made it completely out of the woods yet, but Cue Ball was a fighter. If anyone could pull through this, he could. “Is someone there with him? What about Frank?”
His mother kept her eyes on the back of Malcolm’s head as she spoke. “Desiree hasn’t left the hospital. She’s staying as close as the doctors will let her. As for Frank, we’re letting him get some sleep in one of the bedrooms. He only got back a couple of hours ago. The bullet went straight through, so the doctors patched him up pretty quick. He got tied up for a while dealing with the cops. I have a feeling they’ll be by here before the day is up to ask some more questions.”
Kane grabbed another lukewarm slice from the pizza box. “Did everyone burn their clothes? Ditch the guns?” There shouldn’t be any other evidence in the clubhouse.
Malcolm nodded. “Those of us who stayed back last night took care of it all this morning.”
“What about the safehouse? There could be something there linking back to us.” There were too many variables.
Scratch spoke. “I lit it up before we left last night. Torched the van too. Cops will find the bodies, maybe some shell casings, but nothing will tie ‘em back to the club.”
“So, we have justice,” Pete said grimly.
Kane pulled a water bottle out of the refrigerator. “No.” He took a gulp, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “David Bennett and Billy Meers. They’ve got a hand in this.” He didn’t mention Mandy’s father. He wasn’t ready to share every detail with the club.
Malcolm jumped to his feet, forcing Mama V to stumble back. “Meers? You know this for a fact?”
“It was the last thing Sergei said before his brains met the wall.” He paused, waiting for the enormity of killing a man to hit him, but…nothing. “The Soldiers were in queue to take over the guns from us. They’re the ones who tipped off the Russians we were selling to Ace.”
“I’m gonna kill him.” Malcolm’s teeth clenched so tightly, his words were almost unintelligible. He stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit the end. After a deep drag, he laughed darkly. “No. I’m gonna gut his son right in front of him. Then I’m gonna kill him.”
Kane had no objection. He wanted to burn the whole goddamn world.
Frank stumbled in, his left arm in a sling. “Whatever you guys are planning, I’m in.”
“No offense, brother, but you look like a stiff wind could knock you over.” He shook his head.
Frank opened his mouth to argue, then stood with his jaw hanging open. “The fuck you do to your hair, man?”
He ran his hand over the shaggy, uneven pieces. “Yeah, well, I guess I missed my chance at a modeling career.” The scar on his cheek pulled tight with his mocking smile. “Last time I checked, though, I didn’t need to be pretty to get justice for my brother’s murder.”
Mama V choked back a sob at the stark reminder. She looked like a ghostly shell of herself, her hair unteased and no make-up on her face. Without her high heels, she seemed so much smaller.
And, he realized grimly, this would be the first year she’d miss the after-Christmas sale to shop for his father.
“We need to strike before they realize we’re onto them,” he said briskly. “But first, we need a plan.”
Maybe plan was too strong of a word. They only needed an alibi, a time, and a formation. The location of the club’s headquarters was common knowledge. They were likely too cocky to be concerned about retaliation, but he didn’t want to take chances with the brothers he had left standing.
“We cut the head off the dragon. Yes, we want to get them all, but Meers and Bennett are our priorities.”
“Meers is mine,” Malcolm seethed. “I’ll make him pay, one president to another.”
Kane ignored him. “First thing we need to do is be seen out and about. Preferably somewhere with cameras. The bank, the hospital parking garage. Maybe some of you can go light some candles at St. John’s. Folks will remember seeing you there.” The church wasn’t far from the Soldiers’ base in Druid Hills.
Everyone got an assignment, then agreed to meet back in the woods near the Soldiers’ property around five-thirty. Frank and the prospect were the exceptions. They’d keep watch over Cue Ball in case he got any unexpected visitors at the hospital.
When they arrived on Meers’ property, though, they found the house dark and deserted. So, they waited. It couldn’t have gone smoother. Men arrived one at a time, and the Skulls picked them off like low-hanging fruit, hiding each body and bike behind the tree line. They took out six Soldiers in succession.
Meers, himself, showed up afterward, flanked by two big bastards. Two big bastards who dropped like flies thanks to Pete’s unfailing aim. To his credit, Meers didn’t try to run or even reach for his own weapon as his men fell at his feet.
Malcolm left the cover of darkness to face him in the driveway. Kane followed two steps behind. “You’re lucky your boy isn’t here,” Malcolm rumbled.
Meers grimaced. “I heard about Scott. He wasn’t the target.”
“He was collateral damage, so it’s okay he’s dead?” Malcolm moved closer. “Tell me, Billy, who was the target? Me? My other son? My club?”
“You.” Meers didn’t hesitate. “You were supposed to be home. The idea was to cut the head off the snake.”
Kane smiled grimly at the irony.
“We figured your death would drive the club into chaos. One son without the discipline to lead in your absence, the other without the desire.” Meers looked meaningfully at Kane and the Glock clutched tightly in his hand. “Guess we were wrong about a lot of things.” He folded his hands in front of him, like in prayer, closed his eyes, and dropped his chin to his chest.
Waiting.
Malcolm raised his gun and blew a hole in the center of the man’s forehead.
They waited another hour, but no one else showed up. The guys rolled up the bodies in tarps before tossing them in the back of Scott’s old pick-up. Hopefully, there would be room in those barrels of sulfuric acid where they’d disposed of Sucre�
��s crew a few weeks back.
He wasn’t sure how long it took acid to eat through bones, but he had no doubt his brothers would figure something out. He lined all the bikes up behind the house, as if the owners had just parked them there for the night. Then he doubled back through the trees to where his bike waited about a mile away. They hadn’t killed Bennett, but Kane would find him soon enough, and when he did, the man was dead.
***
Kane woke up the next morning to a gentle hand running over his hair. When he opened his eyes and saw Mandy, for a moment he forgot his resolve to leave her. He wrapped his hand around her slender arm and pulled her against his chest.
She smelled of hope and lavender. Her skin was silky and soft, her lips so close and irresistible.
Without thinking, he captured her mouth. She tasted like coffee and chocolate, delicious and warm and perfect. Her tongue curled around his own, coaxing his dick to attention.
Pulling away, she whispered, “Where have you been? I’ve been so worried.”
And with her innocent question, the brief respite from his life crumbled into a puff of smoke. “Scott is dead.” No use sugar-coating it.
Mandy gasped, her hand covering her mouth in horror. He didn’t doubt her sincerity for a second. As much as she disliked his brother, she never wished for his death. “How?”
“How do you think?” he growled. “Your father made good on his promise. He made me pay.”
“My father? He killed Scott?” She shook her head in disbelief.
“He didn’t pull the trigger, but yeah. He set the wheels in motion.” He climbed out of the bed and pulled on a pair of jeans over the boxers he’d slept in. “One of my other guys is dead too. Two are hurt. The shit’s hitting the fan.”
She rose to her knees on the mattress. “What can I do?”
Turning to the dresser, he started digging for a clean shirt, then froze. His face burned with the knowledge she could see her name inked across his back. Had she known it was there? He couldn’t remember giving her his back before.
