Pawn

by Kerri Ann

  He’s left her to stress about this alone. Today is the moment his dad and mine had a long, drawn-out conversation about Dejene’s future. That and the baby’s future.

  Our dad’s a calm enough guy, up until the point you piss him off. When his baby girl thinks the only route out of a situation is to have an abortion because your ass doesn’t want to assume responsibility, you best know how to run. Otherwise, if you’re in the state of New York for more than a split second, he’ll find you. Once he starts up that bike, you need to run, and run fucking fast.

  My brother and I have been on the receiving end of his displeasure after bad grades, so I’d hate to be Colton’s dad Marion, as he’s being lectured about his son right now. He’s probably having his ass handed to him.

  Leaving my brother, me, a few of our friends and Colt alone, I couldn’t be happier about it.

  Sure, Colton has a good fifty pounds on me, at least six inches, and he’s clearly all around bigger in every way, but I’m a cunning prick. Him grinding in his feet and preparing to fight me won’t do him any good. I’ll fix this the right fucking way.

  That’s me. I fix things. I don’t let anyone get away with bullshit. I don’t back down even when it’s probably best I should, and I’m not afraid to get a bit bloody.

  Not bad for a kid that’s only turning seventeen next week.

  I’m doing this my way.

  “Colt, I don’t give a flying fucking Harley if our dads work it out diplomatically for Dejene. I have an opinion on the outcome about you.”

  I don’t need to look at my little brother, Cap. I know he’s in full agreement. He’s two years younger, but just as definitive on the matter as I am. Noticing him and our buddies, Rap, Johnson, and Joker beside me, I know the way this will go. There’s no way I’m letting Colt walk out of this clubhouse without sustaining damage. Neither are they.

  “Man, look. I’m not the only guy—”

  “Really? You really wanna go there? Calling my sister a fucking whore to my face?” Cap pipes up jokingly, but with menace in his tone. He and my dad have that same tone. The same noise in their voice when they’ve reached the end of their patience. I notice as he steps closer, zeroing in on his target, ready to level him, but this is mine first and foremost. Codero or Code, better known as Cap, is ready to break bones. Can’t say I disagree, but I’m laying the first punch. He can bury the scraps.

  Kicking out with my left leg, nailing Colton in the knee hard, I hear the bones crack. Busted.

  He kneels on the ground, tears welling in his eyes, but I don’t let up. Slamming a fist to his cheek, I love it as my bones rattle from the hard surface they hit. Hitting him hard under his chin, I feel a crack in his teeth as they crash together.

  Spitting blood to the ground, still cradling that knee, Colton tries to stand. Pushing him by the shoulders, I keep him low. “You can’t disrespect our sister on club grounds and expect we’ll allow it. Turning away when you found out she’s pregnant from your fucking filth-ridden cock is bad enough, but to blame her in any way is asking for you to leave without teeth.” Pulling the pistol out of my waistband and pointing it at Colton’s tiny, teeny, minuscule cock, I cock the hammer. “I hope you know how to suck cock, because when I’m done with you, your mouth will be your only asset left.” Pushing it tight to his chest, I aim low to scare the punk. “Try me. Just give me one reason to not blast your fucking baby dick off?”

  His look, that was once cocky, has greened a bit. “You okay, Colton? You look a little pale, like you’ve seen something scary.” His eyes are trained on the gun in my hand, ready to blow his shit to pieces. Smiling, I think of how he’ll have a lovely vagina by the time I’m done. Stepping a touch closer, bending low to face him, I place the point deep against his jeans, causing him to jerk slightly.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Nothing anymore. We just want you to disappear for good.” I think it’s the right thing for everyone.

  Looking at my brother, his devilish twitch glows with the mirth of his menacing thoughts. With a wink, I know what he has in mind. “Lu, let’s show him what we do to assholes and cocksuckers that fuck with our family.”

  Peeling out his butterfly knife, Cap grins, and I swear I hear the gears in his mind turn. Laying it against Colton’s throat, it tightens, and his Adam’s apple bobs.

  “I swear—”

  Pushing the muzzle tighter brings me closer to the piece of shit.

  “You probably swore undying love to Dee, but here you are, Colt. Trying to weasel your way out of a baby.”

  “It’s not about the baby! Our dads aren’t having a chat about that, you idiots!” Surprising me slightly, Colt rises up to his full height. Standing a little shorter with a busted kneecap, he blurts out, full of pride, “We know about you. I know about the club and what it’s in to. Dad’s only here trying to protect me—to keep me from doing something stupid.” He smacks his chest a few times. “The cops will know everything. Do your worst, boys, and spend the rest of your lives in jail.” Colt’s backbone must be made of hardened fucking steel if he thinks he can damage our club. Especially after what he’s done to our sister. And explaining his evil plan about cops and going to them with intel, he’s the dumbest dumb guy for telling us if it’s the truth.

  Glaring hard into his eyes, I try to pull more info from him. I feign interest. It seems to be what he’s hoping for. “What did you say, Colt?”

  Pushing the knife away, he looks a bit bolder and less fearful. Funny part is, Cap seems a bit alarmed by the balls this kid shows too. “I have proof, I have protection. They told me that. They told me I’d be safe. With what my dad knows, they’re protecting us.”

  “Who? Who’s protecting you?” Smacking him across the face with the butt end of my gun, tears stream down his cheeks. Even as his boldness decreases, he still thinks he’ll come out of this unscathed.

  Inside, I’m fuming that this piece of shit thinks he has anything that could harm the Intentions. That he or his dad can cause us harm. “Listen, and listen good, Colt. Our family is untouchable. We own the cops in New York. We own the State for fuck’s sake. So why do you all of a sudden have this urge of superiority?” Yeah, I’ve only just turned seventeen, but I know this piece of garbage can’t do shit.

  “They know where the kids go. They know you traffic across borders. They know all about you, assholes! That’s why I’m here, that’s why dad’s here. We’re your final nail in the coffin.” And that’s when I’d heard enough of his smug attitude. Pointing the gun upward at his throat, I feel the click and watch as shock shoots through his head. Well, that, and a nine mil bullet.

  Fucker falls to the ground, his body sloppy and without power. Like a stringless marionette.

  “Fuck! Jesus Christ, Lu! Why the fuck did you do that!” Cap shouts at me. “I just put on this clean shirt for fuck’s sake! Mom’s gonna murder us for the wash.” Smoothing down his tee, that is now splattered with gray matter and blood, I shrug as I slip the gun back in the waistband of my jeans.

  Joker and Rap are shell-shocked, standing but blinking slowly at the dead body that rests at their feet. I don’t regret it...I don’t regret it at all.

  “We should go check in on Dad and make sure he knows what’s coming,” I tell them as I kick dirt on the face of Colton.

  “What about the piece of shit?” Cap pipes up. “We can’t leave it here. One of the kids could find it.”

  Starting away from the body, I head toward the clubhouse. “Fuck ’em. Let it rot.” Not turning around to check that Cap and the boys are following, I add, “Just tell the kids there’s a patch of Brussel sprouts and cabbage back here. They’re afraid of that shit anyway.”

  Walking back into the clubhouse, immediately we know something big is going down. Wives and kids are running around, members are tossing paper into shredders, then lighting the remnants on fire in the sink by the bar. That fuck Colton wasn’t lying. I probably shouldn’t have shot him, but I’m not disappoint
ed with the outcome.

  Seeing my dad across the way, sitting at the bar, he looks calm and almost serene as he sips a cool glass of whiskey.

  I nod to my brother and our friends. “Go see who needs help. I’m gonna chat with dad.”

  Walking over, leaving the boys to figure other shit out, I sit in the empty seat beside my father, Grim, the President of the Cruel Intentions.

  My dad is one scary motherfucker to look at. At six foot, and almost as wide in the shoulders, with his long, dark, black beard twisted into two parts, stark gray eyes that I’ve sworn for years you could see a storm coming in—owned by a man who never smiles, he’s a frightening fucker.

  Breaking the silence, I ask, “I’m assuming you talked to Marion?”

  Not looking my way, he raises his glass and sips the amber liquid before answering. “Yep.”

  “Where’s Marion?”

  “In church, with a bullet through his head.”

  “Fitting,” I say, smirking.

  Turning my way, finally, my single reply seems to have pulled him from the trance of brew and stew. “Fitting why?”

  “Because his son is out behind the old parts shed with the same apparel.”

  Reaching over the bar, grabbing up the bottle that sat there lonely and asking to be drank, he pulls up another glass. Pouring me a shot, he settles it in my path. “You know, I’d hoped you were that kind of leader, son. I knew you could have the cool temper to see what needed to be done when it had to.” Shrugging, he smacks me on the shoulder in a respectful way. “You’ll be a great leader someday, Lucius. I know you will. Sorry fucking world, though, that I won’t get to see it.”

  Pulling the glass to my mouth, downing a fair amount of the fire, I let it make its way to my soul—quenching the need to rain down further damage. The club’s in trouble. We’re in trouble if I understand it correctly. Killing the two snitches won’t make a lick of difference to the club’s outcome by the looks of it. We’re going to have heat—and soon.

  “What now? Not that I’m rushing things, but why is everyone running around, and we’re sitting her calmly having a drink?”

  Pouring another long shot, Dad seems at peace. He’s too calm, honestly, and I’m frightened by it. There’s more danger in him quiet than with him loud. “The DEA and State Police are just outside the compound. They’ll be breaking down the door any minute. I figured, have a drink. It’ll be a bit before I can breathe fresh air and drink a nice whiskey again. Might as well enjoy it.”

  Drinking down my own glassful, I rest back on the high-back stool. I have the feeling my life is about to turn deadly and crazy. Like Dad said, I might as well enjoy it while I can.

  I guess I won’t see the light for years either. I killed someone. I don’t regret it.

  Walking in like they own the joint, no less than a glass of whiskey later, DEA, State Troopers and city cops flood the club. Pointing, yelling, directing and arranging members and families into groups, Dad and I stay put. We don’t turn to look, we know what’s going on. The cops are rounding us up, and one by one, everyone is singled out in some way.

  I can see the commotion from around the room in the mirror behind the bar. Certain members singled out, my sister brought into the room and gathered up with the other teenagers. The ladies and young girls are confused and seriously stressed out, whereas the young men and boys pretend to be stronger than they are against hardened law enforcement. That’s when he approaches the bar.

  Leaning across, reaching for a glass and the neck of the whiskey, my dad slams his hand against the bottle harshly as the newcomer tries to take it for himself.

  “That’s not for the likes of you.” Seeing Dad’s sneer as he tells off the man with a smug grin, the fancy prick releases the bottle.

  Strutting behind the bar, selecting a bottle of rum, he pulls out the stopper and fills his glass. “It’s nice to meet you, Hector. Or should I call you Grim? I mean, after all, your club is about to be disbanded. I guess I should call you Hector, right? You can’t be a president of a pile of bones.”

  “It’s Grim. What do you want, ya pig piece of shit?” It’s not a request to answer what they want, it’s a comment. One laced with disgust, disdain, and merciless hatred. I didn’t notice if Dad was wearing his piece, but if he isn’t, I am. This guy makes one false move and we’ll rain down hell. I’d rather die taking him out than being held in a jail for the rest of my life anyway.

  Wagging a brow, the only indicator that he’s enjoying this more than he should, the stranger introduces himself. “I’m King. I’m here to close your shop up, old man. Time to say goodbye to the Cruel Intentions for good.”

  Refilling his glass, sipping it a few times, my dad is the epitome of calm. When he finally speaks, it’s cool and without interest. “That’ll be a sight to see. Our lawyer should have us all out in a few days.”

  “Decidedly not. You see, I have a trick up my sleeve, Hector.” Calling over to a, Johnathan, the man turns our way and walks toward us.

  Pulling up a chair, the new, fancy-suited prick takes a seat beside me. Nonchalantly, I give him a once-over. Not a tall guy by any means, not big either, but he exudes an air of superiority. In a pressed, dark blue suit, stark white tie, neatly combed low curls and burning blue eyes, he leans on the bar. “I’m Johnathan Hart. I’m here as the Homeland Security agent for this region, and unfortunately, you’ve violated quite a few of the rules that governs the US—your non-native country, Mr. Hector Guierra. As such, we are enacting our rights under the ICE program. You are to be immediately deported, turned over to the Mexican authorities—and I hear they will be immediately imprisoning you until a trial is set, based on racketeering, extortion, human trafficking, gun running, a litany of drug offences—and if you’d wish, I can continue with the slightly smaller infractions too.”

  Dad stays quiet as the smug asshole runs it all down. Slowly sipping, refill, sip and refill, without turning his eyes from the bottle that occupies his attention to the Government jerk, Dad is quiet. I’d always known my father wasn’t a US citizen, but my mother is. He’s never kept that a secret. I never thought that the government would come calling to deport him, though. He’s lived here for over twenty years. Sure, he’s not a law-abiding citizen, so I doubt he can do anything to change that outcome with a lawyer. This has been well-thought-out, I’ll bet.

  “So, you turn me over. So what? I’ll be back in no time. Or if not me, the Cruel Intentions will be. You can’t keep a good club down. We’re all law-abiding citizens here. The charges you’ve just listed are unfounded, debasing, and without merit. You won’t be able to make even one stick.”

  Pulling away from the ledge he was leaning on, taking a phone out of his pocket, King plays a video. “They know where the kids go. They know you traffic across borders. They know all about you, assholes! That’s why I’m here, that’s why Dad’s here. We’re your final nail in the coffin.” It’s Colton’s voice, just before I shot his brains out.

  “I think we might differ on that rate of return for your club. Either it’s done, or your son here spends his days in a jail far from here, without protection, without assistance, and without a way out.” He places his phone back in his pocket, “Now I do have a second recording of a meet from the office down the hall there, and I’m sure it reflects what happened to Marion George while your son was finishing off his son outside.”

  Dad doesn’t say anything, but his face darkens. There’s an ashen, fearful, worried appearance—that’s a look I’ve never seen. Sucking down the last of his glassful, Dad slides the glass across the bar where it clinks with the bottle.

  He rises from the chair. “Let’s go talk, King.”

  “After you,” he says smugly as he walks behind my father.

  While they start away, the fancy pants dressed dude places a hand on my arm. “You and I need to stay here.”

  “Fuck you. You aren’t my father. I don’t have to listen to your shit.”

  Grasping my arm tight, s
linging it behind me, he presses my face into the bar. Latching a pair of cuffs on, I squirm as he clicks them in place. “Enjoy that feeling for a minute. If your father and King don’t have a solid agreement, you’ll be leaving here with me, boy.”

  Lifting my head, I spit on his pristine suit. “I’m not your boy. I’m no one’s fuckin’ boy.”

  Wiping down the mess with a towel off the bar and grabbing the gun from between my waistband and shirt, he uses the towel to pull it away. He’s being awfully careful not to wreck any prints. Winking, he grins smugly. “We’ll disagree, kid. In the end, though, I’ll fucking win.”

  Calling someone over to hand him a bag, he sets the gun inside it with a smile. He knows he’s holding the instrument of my long-term visit with the correctional facilities.

  “Not as tough as you think.” Sealing up the bag and setting it in the man’s hands, I watch as he wanders off to a collection area to set it with other pieces being logged by a fat bitch in a DEA vest. With a cool look over here, disdain is written on her face.

  She’s not who I’m most interested in, though. Those deep brown eyes rimmed in hatred and disappointment. She’s beyond mad. Seething. Cradling the head of my sister in her lap, stroking her fingers through her soft curls, my mother is trying to soothe Dejene. Her eyes tell me the story. Sorry won’t cut it to get out of this. I’m more sorry than I can say, Mama.

  “She seems pissed at you, kid.”

  I grind my teeth. “I’m not your kid. I’m not your son, I’m not your bro, and I sure as fuck don’t give a shit what you think.”

  “Lucius!” my mother crows. “Respect.” Her eyes narrow, scolding me. “Have respect, even when they don’t.”

  God, I love my Mama. Even when we’re dealing with the law, danger, and potential jail time for all, she’s worried about decorum and manners.

  “Sorry, Mama.” Laying my head on the bar with a thunk—harder than I’d hoped—I button my mouth and sit still.

  Even as commotion surrounds myself and the agent, I shut up. Mama said to shut it, and I did. I don’t wish her ire. I’d almost rather jail than to piss her off.