“I know it isn’t but what’s done is done. Trey is Dizzy’s son and if you choose to be with him then you can’t belong to the Demon’s Bastards.”
“I understand that.” Tears escaped my eyes and ran down my cheeks. “I never thought the day would come I’d turn my back on my own family. It’s not what I want…believe me… but if it’s between the man who will be the father of my children and the family I’ve grown up with then I choose Trey. I’ll deal with the blowback along with every other fucked up incident that happens with the club.”
“You disappoint me. I can’t believe you’re doin’ this, that you’ve sealed your fate. I could have spoken to Emilio and kept you out of this mess but now, there’s nothing I can do…” Dad trailed off.
“What…did you say?” I whispered. “What do you mean you could have spoken to Emilio? Have you been working with the cartel to slowly destroy the Saints?”
“Don’t act so goddamn surprised, Kyra,” he snapped. “Yes, there has been a truce between Dizzy and I for years but do you honestly think I’d ever forget the man murdered my only brother thirty-two years ago?”
My heart slowly broke in two and the dam of tears I’d barely managed to hold on to burst open. “He did what? It was Dizzy who killed your brother?”
“Retaliation for Maureen. They were…in love. Doesn’t matter—she still married another thug and the same result happened whether he wanted it to or not. It’s water under the bridge. Yes, we have maintained a very shaky truce but I don’t think I owe that bastard anything, not after he stole one of my best men. Birthright my ass—Trey should have remained a Bastard.”
I closed my eyes tightly and tried to concentrate on what my father was saying but to no avail. I knew myself, I’d made up my mind and no way would I change my decision now. There was nothing else to discuss between us, and only a tentative relationship to completely and irrevocably sever.
“Dad, I love you so very much. Please tell Mom, Keren, and Evan I love them too. There will be no bridging this deep divide between the two of us. I’m done talking. I have nothing else to say. Goodbye.” I pressed End and stuffed the smart phone into my back pocket.
This would have been the perfect time to break down and cry, yet again, but my reserve had gone dry. I couldn’t feel sorry for myself any longer and live with my decision. Right or wrong, I’d made my choice and now I’d have to own it if it’s truly what I wanted.
The back door burst open and Gisela made a beeline for me.
“Hey, sweetie. I know I shouldn’t be out here but I desperately needed some alone time—”
“It’s not that.” She shook her head while her expression remained grim. “Lacey’s water just broke. It looks like she’s going to have some complications. There is no choice for us under the present circumstances—we have to get her to the hospital.”
I dropped the rest of my cigarette, put it out with my shoe, and followed Gisela back inside. What started out as a bad situation infinitely became that much worse.
Chapter Thirteen
Trey
Trey felt intensely grateful about the time he’d spent with Kyra, knowing the night would only get worse before it got better. Though it shouldn’t have surprised him, Hardy and Ronan had heard about the attack against the club. They wanted in on the action and were on their way to Birch Tree.
Although he wasn’t able to track down all the shooters from the drive-by and find out their exact location, he managed to acquire decent, last minute intel from the Pine Bluff Sheriff’s Department. Sheriff Briggs heard about the incident from Rawlins and wanted to offer any assistance he could. He informed Trey of an unknown group of individuals who were staying in an abandoned house on the outskirts of Pine Bluff.
The thought quickly occurred to him that was the Bastards’ stomping grounds so why hadn’t Jonesy or Evan informed Dizzy, Cillian, Brendan, or Sean about what they did or didn’t know? Why Sheriff Briggs, whose wife happened to be Lorna Hughes’ sister? It seemed odd given their easy truce and the relationship Jonesy had maintained with Dizzy over the years. He had to know about the drive-by and the loss the club suffered.
Trey, along with Cillian, Kink, and Cricket cut the engines to their Harleys a mile near the abandoned house and stored their bikes in a warehouse the Saints’ owned.
Quinn—put in charge of driving a late model, black cargo van—kept the motor idling as they walked out of the warehouse and slid inside. He would drive them the rest of the way and take them back to their bikes after the job. Bookie accompanied him just in case anything went down while they were busy inside the abandoned house. They would do what they had to do and get the hell out of there. It was the only way if they wanted a good shot at taking care of the situation in a clean, easy manner.
Bookie closed the door behind them and got into the passenger seat, riding shotgun with Quinn. He, along with Cillian, Kink, and Cricket sat on the floor in the back while assessing their weapons for the job ahead.
Trey inspected his nine-millimeter Glock, checking the magazine before he slid it back inside, and chambered a round. “Why the fuck didn’t any Bastards let us know they were holed up here in their territory?”
Cillian stuffed his ten-millimeter Glock into the back of his jeans as he replied, “Did it ever occur to you Aztecas Infierno has help? Before today, I would’ve never accused Jonesy of doing anything against our club but it looks a little strange how quick he was to let his own daughter go. Plus, he never called us to offer his condolences—even our uncouth Russian acquaintances did that much.”
“You really think he’d do that to us?” Kink wondered as he loaded armor-piercing bullets into the magazine of his nine-millimeter Beretta. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t trust anyone outside of club but if Dizzy did help those fuckin’ thug bastards, Kyra could have taken a bullet just as easily as Miranda. That shit was a matter of chance—nothin’ else.”
Cricket shook his head as he screwed the silencer on his nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson. “The more it shouldn’t make any fuckin’ sense, the more it does. My dad always rumbled about how something bad went down between Dizzy and Jonesy but he never told me nothin’ about it. Just said it had somethin’ to do with that bitch, Maureen.”
“Fuck…I didn’t even think about that.” Cillian got to his feet as soon as the van pulled to a sudden stop. “Listen, we can chat about this later but the more I think about the situation, the more I’m inclined to believe AI had help. When we get back to the clubhouse, we’ll talk more about it and regroup—come up with what our next plan of action is, okay, brothers?”
Everyone, including Trey, grunted and nodded before stepping out of the van. Quinn and Bookie nodded at them as they sat in the front, weapons in hand. Any stragglers who attempted to get away were to be taken care of by them once everything kicked off.
The rest of them advanced quietly toward the abandoned house.
Cillian silently gave orders to Trey with hand signals to follow him around to the back of the house. Meanwhile, Kink and Cricket stalked quietly toward the front of the house. Stolen power sources provided electricity to the house and it was obvious from the sound of a television show playing inside there were people using the place.
Trey looked into one of the windows but it was covered with blackout tape. He nodded his head to Cillian, indicating there were no visuals of how many men—or women—were inside.
The situation was that much more difficult for them all since there were no vehicles parked around the house. The automobiles used in the drive-by were either destroyed or in a chop shop at that very moment. Hell, the people inside could have been a group of homeless inside seeking refuge or a bunch of high school kids getting high for all they knew.
The fading dusk provided less and less light. If they didn’t act fast and quick, it wouldn’t be long before something was bound to go wrong. Trey and Cillian followed each other closely until they reached the back door. Cillian’s pocket buzzed; the only signal they’d
receive when Kink and Cricket had reached the front door safely.
Cillian began counting down from ten. They all agreed they would kick in the doors and sweep the house quickly. Any sign of gang affiliation would lead to quick double taps to the head and chest. The last issue the club needed was witnesses willing to testify. The motto for that night was “shoot first—fuck questions—anyone else not guilty of any wrongdoing was collateral damage.”
The moment he finished his countdown, Trey kicked open the rickety back door and they both prowled through quietly and swiftly, never losing sight of one another.
A couple of Latinos stood, weapons in hand, but it was too little too late as Cricket and Kink quickly took them out with double taps.
Trey backed out of the living room and explored closed bedroom doors. He kicked the first one in, interrupting a Latino man with a white woman. The man dodged out of bed but Trey never gave him the chance to stand up; he shot him in the head followed by the woman in bed.
All around him, he could hear the muffled sound of bullets dispensed from guns—theirs since they all had silencers—as he moved out of the room and busted through the next closed door.
Time seemed to stand still as he aimed and fired, murdering four people total before he left the abandoned house with the rest of his brothers.
On the way back to their motorcycles, they wiped down their weapons, ridding them of any fingerprints and threw them in a burlap sack. Quinn and Bookie’s jobs were also to destroy the handguns since none of them were registered and couldn’t be traced back to the club.
It was the same—time and again—after a kill.
Trey wished retribution was a satisfying enough feeling to erase the horror of what he’d done but it rarely meant anything at all.
More demons for his fucked up psyche to contend with; the faces of the people he’d snuffed out over the years haunting him especially when he suffered from periodic bouts of depression. How easy it would be to pretend like this was simply club life, but he would never get used to murdering people.
He got on the back of his Harley, slid on a pair of Ray Bans, and followed the rest of the guys back to the compound. The feel of the asphalt beneath him, the muffled sound through his helmet of the motorcycle roaring beneath him calmed his nerves. He felt less vexed and out of control.
There were more pressing issues to handle beside his tattered conscience and feelings of pain and regret. If Jonesy had knowingly provided refuge to cartel members who’d shot up their club, it was an issue that could not only sever the two clubs relationship but also put them on opposing sides of a growing war between various criminal factions.
Kyra would be devastated for one but there was no guarantee her father’s life would be spared.
All the clubs—including the Demon’s Bastards—were supposed to be making a joint effort to shut down the cartel. If Jonesy had gone behind their backs and decided to act out his own petty revenge against something Dizzy had done to him decades ago, he would be a dead man walking. Any and all truces the Saints and the Bastards had on the table would be destroyed and trust would be irrevocably broken between the two clubs. There would never be a chance for the damage to be repaired, no matter who followed Dizzy as parent club Prez.
Trey backed his Harley into a parking spot next to Cillian. Bronaugh and Misty walked out to greet them while several prospects worked diligently on repairing the cosmetic damage done to the club earlier due to drive-by shootout. Trey, along with the rest of his brothers, concentrated on the resigned looks of the club matriarch and her daughter.
“What’s goin’ on?” Cillian stalked towards them both. “What the hell are you two doin’ outside—why aren’t youse in the clubhouse?”
“There’s been an issue,” Misty replied coldly. “Lacey went into labor and she couldn’t have the baby here. It was obvious there were going to be complications and she had to be taken to the hospital. There was no other way around it. The bitch has been marinating her fuckin’ kid in liquor since she got back.”
Trey strode toward them. “Who took her to the hospital?”
“Gisela, Kyra, and Chantal,” Bronaugh explained in a grave voice. “We couldn’t stop ’em. Cell went with ’em but we’re kinda short of manpower right now. We thought a few of youse would be able to go to Birch Tree Hospital to make sure they were all right.”
“Goddamn it, Mom, how could you allow them to leave?” Quinn yelled coldly. “None of this is over and they’re just sittin’ ducks, especially if Carlito is tipped off about Lacey’s labor. There are eyes and ears all over this motherfuckin’ place.”
“Don’t you take that tone of voice with me, young lad! I’m your mother and I’m to be respected. Gisela can’t be controlled and neither can Kyra. They were determined to take Lacey to the hospital and that’s exactly what they did.”
Trey didn’t bother to listen to the rest of the conversation. Instead he strode directly to his Escalade and got inside the driver’s seat. Cillian hopped in the front seat only moments later while Cricket and Kink jumped in the back.
A prospect opened the gate as he peeled out of the parking lot and sped towards Birch Tree Hospital.
“How many gangbangers did we take out tonight?” Cricket asked to no one in particular.
“Maybe nine or ten,” Cillian said on autopilot. “There were three vehicles…I find it hard to believe we took them all out. So you’ve got the ones still alive, probably Carlito and the rest of his cronies close around. Do you honestly think he would miss the chance to claim his son? Would you?”
Trey contemplated the question.
If he and Kyra were apart and she’d gone into labor with their child, could he miss it just because he was on the run from the law?
No.
Hell-motherfuckin’-no.
Wild horses wouldn’t be able to keep him away from the birth of his child or the woman he loved with all his heart.
“He’ll be there,” Trey announced in a low voice. “He’s gonna have security and we won’t be able to do anything unless we want to spend the rest of our lives in a federal penitentiary but Carlito isn’t gonna miss this for all the money in the world.”
Cillian shook his head. “Fuck! I was really hopin’ we wouldn’t have to run into that motherfucker. It’s gonna be hard enough lookin’ at him without grabbing a fuckin’ gun and unloadin’ into his motherfuckin’ face.”
“It ain’t about us, brother,” Kink replied, strangely the voice of reason in this particular conversation. “That motherfucker had a hand in Miranda’s death and now, I gotta start plannin’ her funeral. Don’t think I’m not hurtin’ right now ’cause I am. If anyone has a concrete reason to put a bullet in that motherfucker’s skull, it’s me but…not tonight. Not when he’s witnessin’ his fuckin’ kid bein’ born. It can wait. After all, tomorrow’s another day and once he leaves the hospital, he’s fair game.”
Cricket whistled from the back seat. “I gotta agree. We have a few goals in mind, and that’s makin’ sure Gisela, Chantal, and Kyra are safe. We get them outta there when they’re ready to leave and we live to see another day to put a bullet in that fucker’s brain.”
“Agreed,” Trey finally added. “Let’s just get to the hospital. This war ain’t over by a long shot—we got plenty more bodies to bury, but not tonight. I think enough people have gone to ground today.”
Following that statement, he floored the gas and drove faster to Birch Tree Hospital.
Chapter Fourteen
Kyra
Shortly after Gisela, Chantal, and I checked Lacey into the hospital, we all walked outside and smoked cigarettes together on a designated bench, a full twenty feet away from the hospital’s entrance.
Cell stood a few yards from us, close enough to keep watch on the surrounding area while far enough away to grant us blessed privacy.
“Do you think Carlito will show up?” Chantal dragged from her cigarette, exhaling silently.
“Well, she is his fian
cée and she’s giving birth to their son.” Gisela flicked the excess ash from her cigarette. “What do you think? I mean…if it was Cillian, he’d be here in a heartbeat.”
I glared at my best friend and her short memory. Cillian didn’t attend the birth of their son in Northern Ireland, even if it was her parents’ fault. However, that wasn’t a moment in her life I was in any position to share.
Chantal quickly finished her cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray. “Well, since I’m her best friend, I should be there. I’d kill her if the situation was reversed and she wasn’t there for me.”
We both watched her stroll quickly back into the hospital.
Gisela glanced at Cell. “You should be following her—not worrying about us. We’re both armed and much older than you. Chantal, on the other hand, is barely nineteen and doesn’t have a weapon. I’d hate for Kink to lose his old lady and his sister on the same day.”
“But…I thought—”
“No one pays you to think, Cell,” I interrupted rudely before dragging on my cigarette. “Gisela and I got this, okay?”
The youngest and newest club member nodded before he quickly caught up with Chantal, leaving my best friend and I alone.
“Well, you handled that smoothly.” She tossed her cigarette on the asphalt and stubbed it out with her wedge sandal. “What’s going on, sweetie? You’ve been on edge since you spoke to your dad.”
I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly but I couldn’t meet her penetrating gaze. “My dad wanted me to come back to the club since the drive-by happened today and I said no. I would’ve had to risk too much and, in the end, I decided it wasn’t worth it.”
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