“Which would lend credence to your idea that Mills had Mendoza try to take you out.”
“Exactly,” I said. “But again, I have no proof to back that up. Just a gut feeling.”
“Well, once we get out of this, we'll do what we can to dig up that proof,” Cara said. “And then you'll have to decide what you're going to do with it.”
I nodded, though I doubted she could see me in the dark. A moment later, somebody pounded on the outside of the van, and I felt Cara jump.
“Mendoza's inbound,” one of Mills' guys said. “Four total. No trailers. Should be a walk in the park.”
“See?” she said. “A walk in the park.”
“Yeah,” I said, doubts continuing to plague my mind. “A walk in the park.”
A few minutes later, the roar of four bikes could be heard outside the barn. The engines shut off and a moment later, I heard the rattle and squeak of the front door opening. The knot in my stomach tightened, and beads of sweat rolled down my back.
It was showtime.
I leaned forward on the bench of the van, straining my ears to listen. I didn't want to miss a word of it.
“I have to admit,” Mendoza said. “I'm surprised you called me, Mills. Even more surprised that you have the girl.”
“Shouldn't be too surprising,” Mills replied. “I heard this one meant something to you, so I scooped her up. Thought she'd make a good bargaining chip.”
Mendoza laughed. “Always the businessman, huh?”
“It's how we get ahead in this dog eat dog world, Mendoza.”
“Not that I don't trust you, but let me see her,” Mendoza said.
I listened to the sound of footsteps approaching the van. A moment later, the side door slid open, and I ducked back, hiding further into the shadows. Cara allowed herself to be taken out and then the door was closed again – mostly. It was left partway open, so I could get out when the action started. I pulled my gun out of the holster and caressed the smooth, metal barrel.
“Good to see you again, Cara,” Mendoza said. “Been lookin' forward to this.”
“Go to hell,” she snapped.
“Let's talk business,” Mills said. “In exchange for the girl, we want half of your territory in the valley – both the gun and drug trade.”
Mendoza laughed. “You want my left nut with that too?”
“Come on, Mills,” I whispered. “Call the signal.”
I sat alone in the dark, listening and waiting. From where I sat, it sounded like he was actually negotiating with Mendoza. The plan had been to get the Fantasmas in, get them hooked, and call the rest of our guys in. There wasn't supposed to be a prolonged negotiation about it. And yet, that's exactly what it sounded like was happening.
Was Mills double crossing me? Was his actual intent to make a deal with Mendoza and actually hand Cara over? And if so, then what about me? Was that why he'd insisted on having his guys, guys I knew were loyal to him, in the barn while guys on my side of the fence were outside waiting? Was he going to put a bullet in me? Or would he allow Mendoza to do it?
“It's a win-win,” Mills said. “You get this chick you've been tryin' to get your hands on. We get a little more business. Plus, it improves the relationship between our clubs a hundredfold.”
“You're talkin' about a lot of territory, carnal,” Mendoza said. “A lot of money.”
“There's enough to go around, man. And I may even have a little something to sweeten the pot for you.”
“Oh yeah? What's that?” Mendoza asked.
This was all wrong. This wasn't the way it was all supposed to happen. And I had zero doubts that the next words out of Mills' mouth were going to be that he was tossing me into the deal for Mendoza to do with as he pleased.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent an urgent text to Crank, telling him to get our guys into the barn now. I sent the message and tightened my grip on my weapon, ready to start firing – and I was going to start with Mills. I might go down, but I was going to take that son of a bitch down with me.
A moment later, I heard the doors at the far end of the barn open with a loud cracking and squeaking. The voices of Crank and the guys filled the interior of the barn, shouting at Mendoza to get down on his knees.
“What the fuck is this, Mills?” Mendoza shouted.
I would have given anything to see Mills' face at that moment. I really had no clue how he thought he was going to be able to pull off a double cross like that. It took real balls to think that he could. But then, Mills had always been an arrogant son of a bitch.
I climbed out of the van, my gun in hand. Crank and the boys had Mendoza and his guys down on their knees with their hands on top of their heads. Mendoza looked at me with rage in his eyes.
“Shoulda figured you'd pull somethin' like this, puto,” Mendoza sneered. “Fuckin' coward. Gotta pull this shit.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I said.
I walked over to Cara and put my hand on her shoulder. She looked up at me and I could see the fear receding, being replaced with relief. It was over.
“Hey, Hawke,” Mendoza called. “I got somethin' to tell you. Did you know your president—”
Mendoza was cut off from finishing his statement by Mills' boot cracking him in the mouth. His head snapped back and a spray of blood shot into the air. Mendoza fell forward onto his hands and knees, spitting blood and teeth out onto the ground. He looked up at Mills and smiled, the blood and gore making him look ghastly.
“Shut your fuckin' hole,” Mills said. “Nobody wants to hear shit from you.”
Unfortunately for Mills, I already knew what he was going to say. I looked at the Fantasmas lined up on the ground – and then at my guys lined up behind them, weapons at the ready. As much as I wanted Mendoza dead – and I did – a sudden stab of guilt tore through me. This was going to be nothing but a cold-blooded execution.
And I suddenly didn't know that I could go through with it.
I looked into Cara's eyes and saw the same conflict in hers I knew was in mine. It was one thing to talk about executing some guys when it was an abstract concept. It was something else entirely to actually do it.
“Get in the van,” I said. “Please.”
She nodded and got into the van, sliding the door closed behind her. She didn't want to be a part of this any more than I did.
“Any last words, amigo?” Mills sneered down at Mendoza.
“Wait, wait,” I said. “Just wait a second.”
Mills looked at me and shrugged. “What?”
“We don't need to do this. Not this way.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
I looked down at Mendoza. “I have a deal for you. One you should probably take.”
Mendoza spat a mouthful of blood on the ground at my feet, his eyes never leaving mine. “I'm listening.”
“You give us seventy-five percent of your territory,” I said. “And you stay the fuck away from Cara forever. In exchange, you walk out of here with your lives.”
“What the fuck are you doin', Damian?” Mills almost shouted. “We can end this right here and right now.”
“That's what I'm tryin' to do, Mills,” I shouted back. “Nobody has to die here tonight. Not if Mendoza agrees to the terms.”
“This ain't your call to make,” Mills said.
“It is mine to make,” I said. “This is my op. Not yours. You agreed to help, but this was my op. Period. If Mendoza agrees, you're still making out like a bandit. The Kings still stand to profit big time.”
“Yeah? And how are we gonna hold 'em to it?” Mills asked. “How are we gonna enforce it?”
“Same way we'd enforce it if we did it your way – with our guys on the street,” I said. “We put the word out, we get Mendoza on tape agreeing to our terms and put that out too. It's a win-win.”
I looked down at Mendoza – his face was dark and filled with utter rage and hatred. “You got King-Kong sized balls, white boy.”
“Take the deal, Mendoza,” I said. “Otherwise, Mills is dyin' to put two in your head.”
“Fuck you, puto.”
I squatted down so I could look him in the eye. “Look, asshole, I'm tryin' to save your goddamn life here,” I said. “This is gonna go down one of two ways. One, you can agree to the terms, keep a portion of your territory, so you can still earn. And the even bigger bonus is that you walk out of here alive. Or two, you say no, you die and lose all of your territory anyway. If you die, the Fantasmas are done because I know that behind you, are nothing but a bunch of weak ass fuck-ups who can't run your MC. Your charter will become extinct, man.”
Mendoza looked at me and then at Mills, seeming to be weighing his options. Which was a good thing. He hadn't rejected the offer out of hand – something that just might keep his blood off our hands. All things considered, it was a good deal. He'd still be able to earn, we'd get more territory and be able to earn more, and nobody would have to die.
“What do you say, Mendoza?” I asked. “Do the smart thing here, man. I'm beggin' you.”
Mendoza sighed and lowered his eyes to the ground. He gave a subtle nod of his head and sent an overwhelming wave of relief crashing down over me. I stood up and turned around to face Mills.
“See?” I asked. “It's a win-win for all of us.”
The irritation in Mills' face was obvious. He glared at me with unvarnished hatred in his eyes. Nothing he'd planned had worked out for him the way he'd intended. But that was his problem. I wasn't going to be part of a slaughter that gained us nothing – nothing we didn't get Mendoza to concede without bloodshed.
“And you're gonna trust this wetback to keep his word?” he asked. “You think if we let him walk out of here, everything's gonna be all good? Let me tell you something, kid, you let Mendoza walk out of here, you're starting a war out on the streets. A lot more people are gonna die.”
I shook my head. “We broke their back tonight, Mills. This is over. We won and we'll stand to make a big profit here. There is no downside.”
Mills looked at me a moment longer, his disgust with me plain. I didn't care though. I'd seen enough bloodshed in my day. I'd seen too many people die and I didn't want any more blood on my hands if I could help it. I staved off a war, not started one.
“Nah,” Mills said. “You can't trust these fuckin' wetbacks.”
Before I could react, Mills stepped forward and pulled his weapon. Holding it mere inches from Mendoza's face, he pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot roared like a cannon in the barn and echoed away into the night. Mendoza's eyes grew wide for a moment before he fell backward onto the ground – right into a puddle of his own blood and brain matter.
Mills' guys stepped forward and shot each of Mendoza's guys the same way. I stood there in shock, staring at the blood and tissue that covered the dirt floor of the barn. I looked at the four lifeless bodies, their eyes open wide, staring at the ceiling.
Crank and the other guys stood statue still, their eyes wide with disbelief. He looked up at me and all I could do was lower my eyes to the ground and shake my head.
“What the fuck did you just do, Mills?” I asked softly.
“Secured the future of this MC,” he snapped. “And avoided a war in the streets, no thanks to you.”
“I had a deal in place, you son of a bitch!” I roared. “This was over!”
“No, what's over is your time as the club's VP,” he said. “You've clearly lost the stomach for the job. I'm gonna bring it to the table for a vote.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” I sneered.
Mills looked at the bodies and then back at me, giving me a crooked smile. He turned and walked out of the barn, his sycophants following in his wake.
“Crank,” I said, shaking my head, still in stunned disbelief. “Have the prospects get rid of these bodies. Have them buried deep. We can't risk them being found.”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding as shell-shocked as I felt. “I'm on it.”
I looked up and saw Cara standing beside the open door of the van. Her eyes were wide and tears streamed down her face. I moved to her quickly and pulled her into a tight embrace. She clung to me tightly, her body trembling.
“It's okay,” I said quietly. “It's over now. It's over. Let me get you home.”
I helped her get back into the passenger side of the van. I took one last look at the bodies of Mendoza and his men. Yeah, this part of it was over, but something bigger and something nastier was coming around the bend.
And it was going to be here very, very soon.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Cara
I woke up to the sun streaming through my windows. The warmth on my face was welcome, but the fact it felt like the light was searing my eyeballs wasn't particularly pleasant. My eyes felt grainy, and my body was stiff. Sore. It felt like I'd worked out hard the night before, but I hadn't. I hadn't really done anything physically demanding at all.
Instead, I'd witnessed the cold-blooded murder of four men.
Perhaps the weight that had been lifted off of me in that barn – the nearly crushing weight I'd been carrying around for what felt like forever – is what had left me feeling stiff and sore, now that it was gone.
On some level, I knew I should feel bad. Knew I shouldn't be as flippant about the fact that I'd seen four men brutally executed right in front of me. But the truth of the matter was, I didn't. Not in the least little bit.
Initially, the shock of it all had caught me off guard. I'd been stunned. But then, as I'd thought about it on the ride home, and then again after lying in bed for a while, I'd come to realize that there was nothing to feel bad about. Mendoza and his men had threatened me. Had threatened my child.
Why in the hell should I feel bad about the fact that guys like that were gone, out of my life? Forever.
They were bad guys who got off on doing bad things. That sort of thing catches up to a person eventually. And it caught up to them in that barn in a big way. Because of who they were and the things they did, no I didn't feel the least bit guilty about the fact that karma had bitten them in the ass.
Which, of course, said a lot about how I'd changed since Damian had come into my life.
Damian.
I'd worked so hard to keep my life free and clear of the sort of trouble he brought into my world. Drugs. Violence. Chaos. But there was something about him I couldn't help but find utterly compelling. Deep down, underneath the kutte and the bad boy attitude, Damian was a good man. He tried to hide it with his bluster and bravado – but I could see it plain as day.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, contemplating everything that had happened. Also contemplating what it said about me that I felt no guilt or remorse about the whole episode. The house was unusually still and quiet – Austin was still over at my friend Nadia's house, playing with her son. I would pick him up later in the day, but until then, I wanted to enjoy a little peace and quiet – which was a rarity in my life.
I stretched and yawned, debating with myself whether or not I should be indulgent and go back to sleep for a little while when the sound of Damian snoring drifted to me from down the hallway. It wasn't an every night thing, but when he got into it, his snoring was on par with your average T-Rex in terms of volume.
I shook my head and laughed to myself as I climbed out of bed. I figured I would make him a little breakfast. I wasn't all that tired, and the idea of going back to sleep for a while was sheer laziness. Not that I didn't deserve a little self-indulgent downtime now and then. But I was awake and was feeling pretty good, so I figured I'd get out of bed. I'd make up for it later with a glass of wine and a hot bath.
Padding down the hall, I wasn't quite prepared for what I saw. Damian had rolled off the couch and was laying on the floor. Apparently, he'd rolled off with enough force that he'd knocked the coffee table out of the way and lay face down. What concerned me the most though, was that he was surrounded by empty beer bottles. That and the air was saturated wi
th the stink of stale beer.
I was angry that he would get so blindly drunk in my house. And was thankful Austin wasn't there to see it.
“Damian,” I almost shouted. “Wake up.”
He stirred and I thought he might be waking up, but his snoring continued, unabated. I moved around and nudged him in the ass with my foot.
“Get up, Damian,” I said.
His snoring stopped, and he finally seemed to be waking up. Damian rolled over and looked at me through bleary, bloodshot eyes. He ran his hand across his mouth and slowly sat up, the empty bottles clinking against one another as he knocked them out of the way. Deciding that getting up onto the couch was too much effort, he leaned back against the couch and looked at me, as if trying to comprehend who I was and what was happening.
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