Sin City Outlaws Box Set

by Forgy, M. N.

  He is threatening me.

  My chest tightens, and I point at him with force.

  “Don’t fucking threaten me.” My voice is laced with venom that could kill. “I’m not one of your sleazy casino workers.”

  A sly smile crosses his face before he speaks again. “You’re dismissed.” Uncle Frank turns and Cross stands with a gun in his hand, walking me out of the office.

  * * *

  “This is fucked-up, Felix. He taught me everything I know.”

  “I hate to say it, but Uncle Frank makes sense,” Felix whispers, rolling a joint. Nobody is here, it’s just us in the main bar of the club in the early hours of the morning, but still, seeing how we have disloyal members, who knows what someone could do with the information we’re discussing.

  “I know he makes sense, but my father was a Deluca. He kills rats.” I pound my fist on the table, making Felix have to start over on rolling his joint. “At least I thought he did,” I mutter.

  “How else do you explain everything going down so quickly?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Exactly. There is no other way. He tried to get your mother to take the blame, she didn’t, so now he’s making deals.”

  Sitting back in the seat, I tap my foot anxiously.

  “You want some?” Felix puffs on the blunt, gesturing it towards me.

  Taking the rolled-up weed, I take a strong hit off it, hoping the earthy aroma will uncoil my fit of rage.

  “You know Uncle Frank threatened me, told me if I didn’t make up my mind quickly, things and people would go missing.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah.” I give a wry laugh. “I should fucking put a bullet in his head.” My finger twitches, aching to get behind a trigger.

  “Man, you better be careful saying that shit. Someone could hear you.” Felix knows how dangerous my uncle is.

  Rubbing my knuckles on my jeans, wiping off the blood from earlier, I scoff. I have respect for my uncle, but I’m not scared of him.

  “Man, I don’t know. I hate to say it, but it all makes sense to me. If it were me, I’d do it,” Felix continues.

  “You don’t think Uncle Frank is just trying to take the club over, do you?” I can’t help but think it.

  Felix scratches his forehead, his eyes squinted in thought.

  “I don’t know. I mean, I know they got into a bad-ass fight about the subject several months back. Do you remember that?”

  “I remember Uncle Frank wanted to use the MC as muscle. I think Frank got into some shit with the bosses, or was trying some start-up project… shit, I can’t remember.”

  “Yeah, I only heard pieces of it, too. Your dad was good at keeping that shit locked down. I think Frank was trying to pull away from the bosses, create his own circle to overtake them or some shit.” He shrugs.

  “Yeah, I’m not sure.”

  “But you gotta know, when you have family, there’s always drama. Doesn’t mean Frank is trying to take the club. I mean, if he was, why not just shoot you and take it?”

  My head throbs, my knuckles aching from flexing them so much.

  “I think he’s just as concerned as us all, that one of these nights we’ll be the ones pulled from our bed by the pigs and taken into custody. He’s family, so why would he try to fuck you over?” he continues.

  I stand up, needing to move. Adrenaline and anger are rushing through my limbs, and me sitting here not releasing either has me about to combust.

  “This club is a joke. Deluca, HA!” A drunk man stumbles into the club. A common hang-around, one who followed my father around like a lost puppy.

  Marching toward him with angry steps, I fist his shirt and pull him within an inch of my face.

  “What’d you say?” I seethe through gritted teeth.

  “You heard me. This club is going to go down the shitter without your pops, son,” he slurs, spitting on my face.

  I snap, plowing my fist into his face until the force of my hit knocks him from my grip.

  He falls to the ground and I straddle him. Clutching his ripped shirt, I plow my fist into his face over and over again. The skin on my knuckles splits and cracks with pain, but I don’t stop.

  “Gaaaah!” The man brings up his left arm, and something sharp slices across the bottom of my face. It’s a broken beer bottle, which strikes against my jaw and cuts my chin.

  I stand and thumb at my chin. Blood pours from the cut.

  My eyes dilate with rage. “You’re a fucking dead man.”

  He blinks rapidly, and I slam my boot into his face.

  “Zeek!” Felix grabs at my arms, but before he manages to pull me away I stomp the man’s face again.

  “Brother, get a fucking grip!” Felix pushes me and I wipe at my chin, focused on the bloody, unconscious man on the floor.

  “Jesus, man.” Felix turns, interlocking his fingers behind his head as he looks the man over.

  I turn, trying to calm myself, when I catch my reflection in the mirror. My dark hair is everywhere, my beard needs a shave, and my chest is puffed out in rage. I look like my father.

  I punch the mirror that lines the back wall of the bar. It shatters into a million little pieces, landing at my feet, some sticking to my bloody knuckles.

  “Feel better?” Felix questions calmly.

  “Maybe I should call Phillip.” Using the back of my hand, I wipe at the cut. It’s bleeding, and stings like a bitch.

  “Who?”

  “My brother, Lip.”

  Felix gives a disgusted face. “Yeah, good luck.”

  Me and my brother, we don’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things. He is my mother’s pride and joy since he hates our father and me, just like our mom. My mother pretends like I’m an equal to Lip. I know better, though; I sense the hatred from her when she looks at me. When my father tried to get Lip to join the club, he refused and my mother had his back. That’s where Lip and I disagree. I know we were born to be in this club, but Lip, he looked at us with disgust.

  Turning in my seat, I dial his number. It rings four times before it goes to voicemail. He ignored my call. As usual.

  “Let me guess, he didn’t answer?” Felix asks, his voice thick with smoke. I’ve tried to call his ass since Dad got locked up, and he’s not answered once.

  “Doesn’t matter. This is club business, not Lip’s business. I’ll take care of this.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Inhaling a breath, I stand. “I’m going to fucking show this club what we do to rats.”

  * * *

  Walking into Dad’s old office, I sit behind his desk. A desk that will be mine. I don’t know how I’m going to get to my father when he’s in prison. My eyes sweep across his desk, landing on payouts. People we have in our pocket. People and organizations we’ve got by the balls to do our dirty work. Uncle Frank has some, but the MC has more.

  “How the hell am I going to get to him?” I mutter, sliding my hands back and forth through my hair. My father is smart; he’ll be protected.

  “Felix!” I holler.

  He straggles into the office, his eyes bloodshot as hell.

  “You still in contact with that one guy, the one that has every drug, plant, and prescription you can think of?”

  Felix turns his head slightly, eyeing me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “I try to stay away from that guy, he’s weird. Why? What are you looking for?”

  “My dad is probably going to be protected in prison, so I’m not going to be able to hire someone to take him out. He’ll expect that.”

  “Yeah, he will.”

  “I was thinking about getting something that will take him out without him expecting it.” I sit up in my chair, and my eyes perk when it hits me. “Ricin.”

  “Dude.” Felix’s face goes serious. “That’s a pretty lethal drug. I don’t know if he’ll have that shit. But I gotta give you credit for thinking like a fucking psychopath. I’ll text him and find out, though.”
>
  I smirk. “I’ll lace the butt of a cigarette with it, and I’ll get a dirty cop to give him a pack of smokes.” I nod along with my words. The whole plan is coming into play easily. “It’ll be my mark on Vegas. My first kill as president.” Adrenaline spikes my heart into a racing beat as I think about it.

  “He has it, for a price,” Felix informs, taking me from my mental planning.

  Taking my gaze from my hands, I glance at him.

  “Name it.”

  * * *

  Felix picked the Ricin up for me an hour ago, already rolled into a cigarette. I placed it into a fresh pack of smokes, and am now waiting for one of our payouts to meet me. You can see the sun peek over the horizon, threatening us of its heat and glory to follow.

  Fucking rat, I still can’t believe this shit.

  A sheriff’s car pulls up, dust from the desert kicking up in a cloud of smoke behind it.

  “Zeek,” the man greets, getting out of the car. He pulls on his shirt and narrows his eyes at me. “I’m surprised to see you. I usually only deal with your father.”

  “Yeah, well, my father is locked up,” I respond bitterly.

  “Now you’re in charge?” He says it on a long breath, as if he’s tired of us.

  Lifting my head with confidence, I give him a beaming, toothy smile.

  “You’ll never get rid of us. Kind of like you pigs. One dies, another fills your place.”

  His face sours, his hands tugging on the waist of his pants as he looks off into the desert.

  “What can I do for you, Zeek?”

  “I want in to see my father.”

  “I can’t do that. They have his ass separated from everyone else awaiting trial.” He shakes his head sternly.

  “Can you give him something for me?” I slide my hand in my pocket, my fingers grazing the pack of Marlboro Lights.

  “Depends what it is…” He eyes me warily.

  Pulling the pack out, I stare at it. This is it. By giving this pack to this dip shit, my father will be dead and I will be president.

  The fresh smell of tobacco wafts up to me, reminding me of my father. My rat of a father. I snarl, the sting of him betraying not only the club, but me, is painful. I toss the pack at the sheriff and lift my shoulders.

  “Cigarettes? You want me to give these to him?” He palms them, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “Yup.” I wait for the questions to start on why I asked him to come all the way out here to take a pack of smokes.

  He nods and sticks the pack into his pocket. “I can do that.”

  I sigh, relieved I don’t have to come up with some lie about why he needs to deliver them. “I want my father to call me a couple hours after you deliver.”

  “I can’t do—”

  “You can, and you will. Get him a phone, and have him call me. You can’t get me in to see him, so I want a fucking phone call.”

  He sighs heavily. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good.” Swinging my leg over my bike, I start it and leave.

  * * *

  Riding back to my house, a million things go through my head. I wish I could single one out to concentrate on it, but it’s pointless.

  Pulling up to my shitty house, I head inside to find the front door open, but the screen door shut. I snap out of my daze and immediately focus. The front door being open is unusual, since Rachel is a paranoid chick. She always has everything bolted like Fort Knox.

  The shit I put my fingers in, it’s smart of her.

  Going inside, the lamp is knocked over. I pick it up and put it back on the end table, but nothing else seems out of place.

  “Rachel?” I holler throughout the house. I look in our bedroom, bathroom, kitchen—everywhere. She’s not here. Her purse and clothes are gone and her car is missing.

  I narrow my brows, looking around the room. I know I told her to leave, but she has no money, and no family. Where the fuck would she go?

  Cross and Uncle’s words flare in my head.

  ‘It means, the longer you take with your decision, shit could go wrong. People could… go missing.’

  Running outside, I jump on my bike and ride back to the casino. He better not have touched her. I swear to God I’ll kill him. I may not have been very fond of Rachel, but she was under my protection—my property. Racing all the way to the top of the casino, I whip in and out between parked cars and stoplights, my heart pounding with anger and adrenaline the entire time. Pushing through security and punching one fuck-nut in the nose, I make it to my Uncle’s office finally.

  I stop right outside Frank’s doors, my chest lifting and falling rapidly as I try to catch my breath. Grabbing my gun from my waistband, I push the doors open.

  “Where is she?” I growl, my head lowered, eyes pinned right on Frank’s.

  “Who?” he asks casually.

  “You know who.”

  Uncle holds both his hands out, looking around the room. “I’m confused, Zeek. Who are you looking for?”

  “Rachel is gone.” I slowly lower the gun, his face and tone of voice not giving me any indication that he knows where she is.

  He tilts his head to the side. “And you think I had something to do with it?”

  “You threatened me if I didn’t make a decision quick enough…”

  He frowns. “I’m saddened you think I’d go against our deal.”

  Standing, a cigar in his mouth, he strides my way, and my hand grips the gun tighter.

  “You’re president now, Zeek. No time for emotions in this, they’re a distraction. Together, we will become rich, and we will take Vegas BY THE BALLS!” His voice gets rough, his hand coming up like he’s actually grabbing a pair of balls as he speaks.

  “I need to know I can trust you. I need that to make this club the best that I can.”

  He smiles big, nodding enthusiastically.

  “Trust?”

  “Yes.”

  He steps to his side and runs both hands through his hair.

  “Your father was big on trust, wasn’t he?” My father preached and preached about how if you don’t trust the man beside you, you might as well not trust yourself.

  “All right, Zeek. You have my trust,” he mutters, his shoulders tensing.

  Placing my gun back in my waistband, I exhale slowly. “So, you didn’t have anything to do with Rachel?”

  He puffs on a cigar, looking at me with squinted eyes.

  “Nope.”

  Staring into his eyes, I can’t read if he’s telling the truth or not. “I’ll put my boys on it, see if they can track her down.” And if I find out he touched something that belonged to me… he’s a dead man.

  “Sounds like a plan. Now, if that’s over.” He puffs on the cigar, stepping toward me. “It’s your turn to reign over Vegas, Zeek. Now go, show them the reaper still lives.” He gives my cheek a firm slap and turns back toward his desk.

  Leaving, my phone rings from an unknown number.

  I smile into the phone, knowing it’s my father.

  “Hello?”

  Coughing and heavy breathing sounds into the receiver. He’s dying as we speak.

  “How are you feeling, Father? You sound like you’re having a hard time breathing. Maybe a little dizzy? Got the shakes, possibly?” I chuckle into the phone. Getting to hear his last breath, to know he’s the one who is trying to take down the only family I have by being a traitor… It’s fucking great.

  “What… did… you… do?” He gasps into the phone.

  “What I needed to do. You’re a fucking rat, and this is what happens when you betray your brotherhood. This is what you taught me, trained me to do when someone becomes a traitor,” I snarl. “I would rather be on my feet standing guilty than on my knees begging for innocence.”

  “No—” He’s thrown into a fit of coughs and groaning, cutting off his response. “Guard!” He tries to yell for help. It sounds painful and blissful all at the same time.

  “Pipe down, Deluca!” a g
uard responds.

  “Help,” he gargles into the phone.

  A crash sounds into the phone, as if my father has fallen to the floor, and the line goes dead.

  I just killed my father. My chest burns. It burns so intensely I feel my ribs constrict to the point I hunch over in pain. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my heart just cracked. Bleeding any emotion or human decency that might have been dormant.

  I’m officially a monster.

  An animal.

  One my father raised.

  Chapter 1

  Jillian

  Six years later

  Glancing out the window of the cruiser, I sigh loudly. I’m feeling antsy. My reflection from the glass stares back at me, and I notice a hair has strayed from my bun. It’s protocol to keep your hair up as tightly as you can, so I flip open the visor and yank the ribbon from my hair to redo it. My dirty-blonde hair falls to my shoulders, framing my heart-shaped face. My light brown eyes reflect back at me, my irises holding flakes of black. They seem dull; they want that adrenalin, want the heart-racing high that makes them dilate. Shoving my hair into a tight bun, I slap the visor up and stare out the front windshield. The lights of Vegas are beginning to illuminate as the sun fades into the horizon. Looking at the clock on the dash, I see it’s 9:15PM; things will start to get more adventurous very soon, which I am thankful for. I’m ready for some action. It seems the later it is the more people like to get into trouble. I love things that make my heart race and my adrenaline increase to the point I feel dizzy. Makes this the perfect job.

  Static sounds from the radio, catching my attention. “5paul69.”

  Grabbing the walkie, I respond, “5paul69, copy.”

  “5paul69, young woman is flagging down pedestrians on the side of Koval Lane, pink top, blonde hair.”

  “5Paul69, copy that, en route.”

  I put the walkie back on its receiver and speed up. I have almost made my quota of hours in field training, but for some reason Lieutenant Oaks wanted to drive around with me today. Lieutenant Oaks is also my stepfather. After I finish my 60 shifts of field training, I get to take over, drive by myself. I can’t wait; it’s been a moment I have strived for my whole life.