by Forgy, M. N.
Suddenly the chair turns, and a beefy man with splintering eyes pins me where I stand. A chill runs up my back stiffening my limbs. He has curly black hair. His face clean-shaven, and an unlit cigar sticking out of this mouth.
“‘Bout time you show up,” he snaps with an accent.
“Who the fuck is that?” I ask, my shoulders puffing out in defense. I’ve been handling everything here for two weeks and haven’t seen anyone from the mafia till now.
“The fucking problem,” Zeek informs.
The man chuckles before steepling his hands on top of the desk.
“You mudda fucka’s kill the boss’s main supplier and think what? They’re just going to sit back and let it ‘appen?” He shoots me a look that has me swallowing hard, my hand itching to grab my pistol. “I see ya kid, and these boys will pump lead into ya skulls. Got it?”
My chest rises with rage, my nostrils flaring by his tone. I flex my fingers ready to fucking do this. I’m blood thirsty and seeking violence like the night devours the light. Zeek gently grabs my forearm, silently asking me to stand down.
Exhaling a deep breath, I pull my hand away from my weapon and eye the man at the desk. Who is this asshole and why is he here acting like he’s in charge?
“We killed one of their suppliers, and Cross is missing. You don’t happen to know where he is, do you?” Zeek tilts his head to the side. After hearing that Cross was actually Zeek’s dad and not the man that raised Zeek… I’m sure there are some unspoken words that need to be said between the two. The man sitting before us silently laughs, looking down at his desk. I can’t tell if he knows of Cross’s whereabouts or not.
“Sit,” the man suggests with an unfriendly tone, ignoring Zeek’s question.
“I’ll stand,” I grunt. The man bites at the cigar, his brows pinching together at my defiance.
“I’m Salvatore, and I’ll be taking over the reins of Vegas. It’s up to you boys whether or not you’re a part of that endeavor.”
“Pass,” I clip, gaining a pissed off look from Zeek. He gets final decision on everything, or we take a club vote. But just looking at this snake I feel he’s in the same snake hole as Cross and Frank.
Salvatore runs his hands down his face as if he’s annoyed. Did he really think we would just roll over and let him take over?
“Why would we do that?” Zeek questions, coming off calmer than I obviously am.
“Someone needs to run Vegas—”
“We are! I thought that was the plan, one of my men would run this casino same as Frank did.”
“Why in the hell would the bosses just hand it over to you cop fucking idiots? Do you know nothing about trust?” Salvatore holds his cigar out as if he holds the meaning of trust in his fingertips.
He’s right, Zeek being with Jillian goes against not just club code, but the code of an outlaw.
“Tell me more about this endeavor,” Zeek asks, taking a seat.
Salvatore grins like the Joker, thinking he has Zeek by the leather.
“I run this casino, and I run you and your men. You’re my muscle in all dealings and transactions I might need,” he explains, and with every word, I hear a hammer nailing our coffin shut.
“Why do you need us to be your muscle exactly?” I ask with a raised brow, and his eyes cut to mine.
“Because you know this city better than anyone,” he responds dryly.
“My men are mine, simple as that,” Zeek inputs.
“Wrong, they’re mine and they will be at my disposal.” Salvatore shakes his head, wiping his desk with a swipe of his hand. You can tell this man knows nothing about the bond of brotherhood, which is the foundation of every club. It’s what Zeek and I are trying to achieve here, and if we accept this deal, we’ll be back where we were when Frank was running shit. You won’t know who has your back, and who is ready to stab you in the back to make it to the top.
“I’ve heard enough,” Zeek informs, irritated.
Salvatore stands quickly, too quickly and I pull my gun out. It’s my job to protect Zeek and I will kill this motherfucker and his guards whether or not I stand a chance.
“If you walk out those doors without agreeing to my terms your protection from the Mafia is deceased immediately,” Salvatore threatens.
Zeek stomps to a stop, his head turning to the side.
“What the fuck do you mean protection?” I sneer, nobody is watching over our backs. We have our backs. Always have.
“You think everyone is just letting you run your drugs and guns, and looking the other way because of some biker trash intimidation? You think you knocking up a goddamn sheriff is just going to go unnoticed by your suppliers?” Salvatore chuckles.
“No, son, you fuckers are stamped with the motherfucking Italian mafia on your baby asses. You turn down our deal, you defend your own territory and answer for your transgression with crossing enemy lines.” He points at us. I cut Zeek a concerned look, not aware we were being protected and by the look on his face, he didn’t know either.
“Go fuck yourself. The Sin City Outlaws run this fucking city because we emit control and respect. You step on that and retaliation is the remedy for that transgression. Remember that,” Zeek points at him. I smile. There is the cousin I know and love.
“You just signed your death certificate,” Salvatore seethes.
“Don’t threaten us with a good time.” I wink before pointing the barrel of my gun at him. The two men standing guard instantly aim in my direction and my heart beats a little faster. My finger heavy on the trigger. A sly grin crosses Salvatore’s face, but he doesn’t order the kill shot. He’s either surprised by the size of our balls, or we just asked for a fucking turf war.
Chapter 2
Felix
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
Pictures crack and splinter before falling to the floor. Pillows are ripped, raining feathers and cotton, and the sound of females screaming and glass breaking echo through the clubhouse.
Instantly, I wake up.
Instinct kicks in and I roll over and fall off the bed to the grimy floor. I’ve been sleeping at the clubhouse since Zeek has been playing house. Crawling to the dresser in nothing but my boxer briefs I pull out my .45, making sure to keep low to the ground so I don’t get slung with a stray bullet. I swing my bedroom door open and Machete comes running down the hall with an AR-15 in his hands, and no fucking pants. His limp dick and white ass in my line of sight first thing this morning.
Glancing down the hallway I can’t tell where the gunfire is coming from, just bottles of booze exploding along the back wall of the bar. Nobody is in the club shooting at us that I can see.
It’s a drive-by.
Standing up, I jog to a nearby broken window and point my gun out and start spraying and praying. Machete who has a death wish, kicks the front door open and starts firing off rounds hollering like a fucking gorilla.
Exhaust from motorcycles roar and speed off down the street.
“Did you see who it was?” I’m out of breath and not asking anyone in particular.
“MC, but I couldn’t get a look at their cuts,” Machete replies completely calm. He’s not right in the head I swear.
Turning back around I notice the club is torn apart with bullet holes, and some half naked girls are crying. Dolly makes her way from the hallway, a black corset and booty shorts clinging to her tight frame. We call her Dolly because she looks like a doll with her black hair and baby doll eyes. She’s a club slut and a good time if you’re bored.
“What the fuck was that about?” she holds her hand on her hip, eyeing the club. She’s not affected like some of the other girls, and it doesn’t surprise me. Dolly used to be Zeek’s main squeeze before he hooked up with Jillian. Dolly is used to carnage, you have to be to be with us as long as she has.
“Why don’t you just go check on them?” I jut my head to the girls who are pissing themselves in the corner. Their makeup smearing down their face, and their hair looking like someone
just smeared cum in it.
“Felix, are you okay?” Gia busts through the front doors, her brown and blonde colored hair wavy and down with a black bandana wrapped tightly around her forehead. Her leather jacket sexy as hell, and that sliver of stomach peeking above her ripped shorts tempting. She’s not my girlfriend in any way but we hook up often. I also use her to my advantage. Meaning if I need a trade for my club, I send Gia to accompany them. I’m not an asshole, well, I am, but she knows our deal and is fine with it. Her and Dolly are the biggest instigators in this club, so not many women come near the main patch holders unless Dolly and Gia give them the okay. The only reason Dolly is still around after the shit she pulled with Jillian is because she was literally on her hands and knees begging Zeek to keep her around. This was her only family and had nowhere else to go. So we took a club vote and naturally, men like their dick sucked, so the votes swung in her favor. The only girl around here that has any pride is Tinker. She helps around the bar when she can. We got her a gig at a casino so she’s been getting on her feet lately. We call her Tinker because she is identical to Tinker Bell.
“I love the smell of bullets and chaos in the morning,” I mutter under my breath, tucking my pistol in the back of my briefs. Ignoring Gia.
“What the fuck was that?” Gatz asks walking out of one of the rooms with a concerned face and two .45’s in his hands. Late to the show, as usual.
“Call Zeek, tell him our protection just ran out.”
“Guess he wasn’t bluffing then.” Machete rubs his temple with the barrel of his gun.
“You got it,” Gatz replies half asleep.
Inhaling the smell of gunpowder, I catch a naked Mac pouring whiskey into a half broken glass. His eyes closed as he guzzles it as if it were a glass of milk, his short hair a fucking mess.
“Am I the only one wearing fucking underwear?” I ask looking at my brothers.
Mac lazily opens an eye and grins.
“I had a good time last night,” he winks at a couple the girls crying in the corner.
Alessandra
“So you’re telling me you have no idea who rained bullets into your club?” I ask Felix who is looking at me with a bored expression. He’s obviously lying to me and wasting both of our time. I know I won’t get anything out of him, but it’s my job to try. With him not wearing a shirt and those low-rise jeans, it’s taking everything I have to keep my eyes on my notebook and not his abs. He’s a fine convict if I ever saw one.
“So who called the gun shots in?” he asks, crossing his arms. Ignoring my last question.
I roll my eyes, he knows I can’t give him that information. If I did he’d probably race right over to the chapel across the street and shoot them in the head for tattle-telling and then I’d have the chief up my ass for breaking protocol.
Sighing I look past Felix at the club. It doesn’t look like it did when I came here last night. It’s a mess from the drive by. Bullet holes splintering into the building, glass glittering along the pavement, and bullet casings with spray paint around them everywhere.
You can smell the mayhem and uproar in the air, and I wish I were here to see it all go down.
“Can you just make this easy and tell me what you know?” I huff.
“Can you turn your badge into a fucking eight ball because that’s the only way you’re getting shit,” he laughs, and I clench my notepad in my hand. If I was one of the deputies in his pocket I bet he would have given me something to report back to the station.
I wanted so badly to ask Felix for help last night, but I chickened out. The weight of everything just too much for one night. Plus, if I ask for something with nothing in return I will be in his debt, and that is the last place I want to be.
If he would give me something, anything. I could use it as leverage to get him to look into my father’s case. I have to get in their dirty pockets to get that information though, but I need a fucking window of opportunity.
How do I proposition that though? Do I just come out and say, “Hey, let’s be dirty together?”
“No, I don’t know anything. Shouldn’t someone with more experience be asking me questions?” he sneers, and that little hope of getting in his pocket fizzles.
I flip my notebook shut and sigh. I’m so sick of everyone seeing me as tits and ass, and not brains and a fucking loaded gun.
“I can interrogate just fine, it doesn’t take someone with experience to –”
“You’re just asking the wrong questions, Blue Bird,” he interrupts.
My eyes shoot to his. He’s got one arm tucked under his elbow while he lazily caresses the stubble on his cheeks. His hair is pulled into a messy ponytail and he has on no shirt. Tattoos of intricate ink claiming almost every inch. One, in particular, catches my eyes.
“I’d rather be carried by six, than judged by twelve.”
He looks down noticing I’m staring at it. It’s usually the other way around, I’d rather be judged by twelve than carried by six, but being an outlaw, I can see he’d rather be killed than a rat. It’s powerful. I think I like it his way better.
“I like your tattoo,” I mutter a little embarrassed I got caught staring at it. Sounds like something my dad would say in one of his wisdom speeches. My stomach knots thinking about how he isn’t my father and I push the memories from my head.
“Are we done here?”
Clearing my throat, I nod. “Yeah, for now. I’m sure detectives and –”
“People better than you?” He tilts his head to the side and fire explodes in my chest.
“I really want to pistol whip in you in the side of the head.” The words just come out of my mouth and his eyes flash with surprise.
“That doesn’t seem very professional,” he scolds, tilting his head to the side amused.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I retort dryly.
His hands fall, and he takes a step into my direction.
“Tell me why you were here the other night, I know it wasn’t to cut loose,” he implores his soulful eyes pinning me where I stand. They’re cold and unfriendly, but inviting and offering protection at the same time. I have to look away, they see right through me and I hate the way they make me feel. Sexy, conflicted, aggressive. I feel fucking bipolar.
“Have a good day, Mr. Deluca,” I nod, walking back to my cruiser.
Felix
Zeek palms his face as he looks at the damage to the club. He stayed at his house with Jillian naturally with them just having the kids, so getting a call this morning we were hit has him in a sour mood.
“You mean to tell me nobody fucking saw a thing?” Zeek questions harshly.
“We were fucking sleeping, man, by the time we realized what the hell was going on it was too late,” I tell him, for the fifth fucking time. “Salvatore warned us, and he wasn’t joking,” I shake my head, my hands on my hips as I look the club over myself. I should have killed that asshole and sent our own message to the mafia.
“I’m putting Jillian and the kids in a safe-house,” he mutters, his dark brows pinched.
“Good call, last thing we need is someone trying to get to them to get to you,” I inform him. “Who knows how many clubs and gangs want us out of Vegas. We better sleep with both eyes open brother.”
“If they touch my family, I’ll burn this fucking city to the ground,” he grits through clenched teeth.
“I’ll be right behind you guns blazing, brother.” I support him. I may not approve of him shacking up with the goddamn enemy, but I respect him and those kids are my blood. I’ll do anything to protect them.
“What did the cops say?” Zeek gives me a look that pisses me off as if I would tell them anything.
“It was just Alessandra, I have her chasing her tail. I handled it,” I smirk, and Zeek silently laughs. Alessandra is the typical fucking cop. Stupid questions, ya get stupid answers.
“All right, let’s get this mess cleaned up and then I want every member in this club at church at six to
night. We are on lockdown, and need to discuss what the fuck that means,” he says the last part lightly.
“Lockdown?” I ask puzzled. That’s a first.
This is new for us, we’ve never had to worry about someone hurting us. We do the hurting.
Alessandra
Having a short day at work, I decide to swing by Jillian’s house. See the babies, and I’m curious if she has any details on what happened at the clubhouse.
Pulling up to Jillian’s one-story house, I park in the driveway full of oil stains from Zeek’s bike.
I hear a baby crying and the TV singing children show tunes. I go to open the door finding it locked. Furrowing my brows I knock, but Jillian can’t hear me over the chaos.
“Jillian, open up it’s me!” I pound against the door. Suddenly the door is ripped open.
“Hey sorry, Zeek called and ordered me to keep the doors locked. Come in,” she says out of breath.
She has one baby in a sling around her and the other hovering over her other shoulder. One of her tits popped out and her hair is everywhere.