Spyder: An Alpha Male MC Biker Romance (Dark Pharaohs Motorcycle Club Romance Book 3)

by Ivy Black

  Cosmo keys open the comm. “Cover fire. Give it everything you’ve got and be careful you don’t hit Spyder.”

  All at once, every man gets to his feet and starts pouring bullets into the cabin. The cartel men inside duck out of the windows to hide from the hail of fire, so I take off at a low sprint, getting to the side of the cabin without incident. I keep my back pressed tight to the wall and give Cosmo the hand signal to cease fire and the guys all duck back down behind the cars. The silence that follows is sharp and eerie.

  Knowing there is no time to waste, I pull the pins on all three flashbangs and give it a three count. Spinning out from the wall, I fire all three through one of the broken windows. I hear the hard thump of them hitting the wooden floor followed by the men inside shouting in Spanish. I can hear the fear in their voices and a moment later, the loud popping of the grenades going off one by one.

  I watch as half of our men come sprinting from cover, Monk at the head of the column, weapons at the ready. They kick the door in with the sharp crack of splintering wood and pour inside. I hear half a dozen shots and then everything’s still inside the cabin. There’s a long, strained moment of tension in and around it. Nobody is saying a word, and nothing seems to be moving. My gut clenches tight and I grip my weapon a bit harder.

  “Site is secure,” Monk’s voice comes over the comm. “All clear.”

  The tension immediately fades as I let out a long breath of relief. Cosmo and the others filter out into the yard in front of the cabin as Monk steps out. Prophet limps over to me, an inscrutable expression on his face. He stands in front of me, a small frown pulling the corners of his mouth down.

  “That was reckless, man,” he says. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  “If I didn’t do anything, this whole op could’ve gone to shit. We came out here to achieve an objective. We had to do whatever it took to get it done,” I say defensively.

  He pats me on the shoulder. “Well, thanks to you, the objective was achieved. That was brave and reckless as hell. You did good,” he says, mollifying me a little. “But don’t do something like that again. I don’t want to lose any of you. Better we all go home and lick our wounds and figure out the next step than go home with anybody in a body bag.”

  I frown, thinking I’d done a good thing but feeling as if I’m being chastised like some kid straight out of boot who’d fucked up something huge. But then, Prophet grabs hold of my forearm, giving it a firm squeeze, an earnest expression on his face.

  “You did good. We’re taking the W because of what you did. You’ve got stones, kid. Massive stones,” he says. “But it’s more important to me that we all go home alive and in one piece. And from what I’m hearin’, you’ve got somethin’ good to go home to.”

  A small grin crosses my lips and I nod. “Suppose I do.”

  “Good. That’s good, kid. Then don’t take risks like that again. If shit goes sideways, we can always fall back and regroup. Live to fight another day and all that shit. You got me?”

  “Yeah. I got you, prez.”

  He claps me on the shoulder. “Good. Then—”

  “Prez,” Monk calls from the doorway of the cabin. “We got a live one in here. Should we put him down?”

  Prophet’s face darkens for a moment and he frowns. “Nah. Let’s talk to him first. See if he’s got anything useful to say,” he replies, then looks at me. “C’mon. Let’s go see what this asshole has to say for himself.”

  Prophet turns and heads for the cabin and I hesitate a moment, looking around at the other guys milling about out here. Doc is tending to Tank and Popper, but he doesn’t seem overly concerned, so I assume their wounds aren’t too serious, which is good. Cigarette tips glow in the darkness and the laughter and conversation are picking up. The adrenaline rush of battle is fading as everybody, realizing they’ve survived the fight, is starting to unwind.

  It’s a good night. We took the W. But what that means moving forward is unclear. The only thing that’s certain is that this war is going to escalate. And it’s going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Spyder

  The interior of the cabin is sparsely furnished with a table that’s littered with fast-food wrappers and bags, and eight cots. It’s a bit cramped inside, but I remind myself they’re not here for a comfortable vacation. This cabin serves as a barracks for an enemy force tasked with taking us out.

  There are two bodies on the porch, the guys Domino dropped, and five more on the ground in here riddled with holes. But Monk has his weapon trained on another guy who’s sitting down, his back against the wall. He’s bleeding from a bullet wound in his shoulder and one in his thigh, but he’s otherwise all right. The guy is dark-skinned, has a shaved head, and a neatly trimmed goatee. And I recognize him.

  I look at Monk, the question on my lips, and he merely nods. The man on the ground looks at me, his eyes burning with rage.

  “You got somethin’ to say, puto?” he spits.

  “To you? No. I got nothin’ to say to you,” I reply.

  “You should kill me now,” he sneers. “If you don’t, you can be sure that I’m goin’ to kill you, ese.”

  I exchange a look with Monk, who just rolls his eyes. Prophet and Cosmo are standing in a corner of the cabin, quietly conferring with each other. I’m guessing they’re busy determining this guy’s fate. Prophet gives Cosmo a nod, then walks over to where we’re standing, his eyes glued to the man on the ground.

  “You fucked up, X,” Prophet says. “You settin’ up in here was a bad mistake.”

  “Nah. The bad mistake you made was killin’ Mr. Zavala’s men out that old hunting lodge. Everything that happens you brought down on yourself, carnal.”

  X is Zavala’s personal sicario. His right-hand man. The fact that he’s here at this cabin with the cartel soldiers tells me they had something happening. Soon. You don’t send your top general in unless there’s a fight coming… and coming soon. So, it seems to me that we headed something off before it could get started. Which is good news for us.

  “What’s Zavala’s next move?” Prophet asks.

  “Like I’d tell you,” X replies, his voice thick with a Spanish accent.

  “Does he really think he can take this town from us?”

  “It’s inevitable, cabron. It’d be good for you if you just left. At least you’d still be alive,” he says.

  “This is our town,” Prophet snaps.

  “For now. But not for much longer. Mr. Zavala’s got more money. More men. More guns,” he replies smoothly.

  I scoff loudly and motion to the bodies on the floor. “If this is any indication of the quality of your soldiers, I like our chances.”

  “Laugh now,” he snaps. “Gonna be a lot harder to laugh when you’re spittin’ blood, puto.”

  Prophet steps forward and puts his boot on the wound in X’s leg. A snarl on his face, he steps down hard on it, making the sicario scream in agony.

  “You assholes put four bullets in me,” he growls. “Tell me why I shouldn’t put four into you right now.”

  The Mexican man is panting, his face red, his eyes burning with hate. “Kill me. Don’t kill me. I don’t give a shit, ese. Just know if you do, Mr. Zavala will come for you and will not stop until he has your head.”

  “And that’s any different than what he’s doing right now… how exactly?” Prophet counters.

  “Because he’ll let you go if you surrender the town and leave now,” X says. “But if you kill me, he will never stop hunting you. Ever.”

  “Then, I guess we’ll have to kill all of you.”

  X chuckles. “Good luck with that, whetto.”

  “Why the fuck do you guys even want Blue Rock? It’s not in your normal shipping lanes,” Prophet asks.

  “He wants it because you told him he couldn’t have it,” X says. “And because Mr. Zavala is always looking to expand his operations. Why not here?”

  “Because
we aren’t going to let it happen,” Prophet tells him.

  “Nothin’ you can do to stop it, puto. Not a damn thing,” the sicario counters.

  “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

  “Want me to put one in his head, prez?” Monk asks.

  “Not yet. Just watch him for a minute,” he replies.

  Prophet and Cosmo walk outside together, murmuring low to themselves. I don’t know why they aren’t just killing this piece of shit. I can’t possibly imagine what it is they’re discussing. We came here to do a job and the job’s not finished. Not while X is still breathing.

  “Hey. Whetto,” he says to Monk. “You let me go and Mr. Zavala will make you a very rich man.”

  “Move a muscle and I’ll make you a very dead man,” Monk replies.

  “What about you, ese? You want to make more money than you’ve ever dreamed of before?” he says to me.

  “If I had my way, you’d be dead already. So, shut your mouth, asshole,” I snap.

  Monk and I both wait in silence as Cosmo and Prophet continue their consultation outside. I can tell by the expression on his face that Monk is as curious about what’s going on as I am. And maybe he’s regretting telling Prophet that X is alive in here rather than just ending him. This guy, his men, are responsible for the murder of one of our brothers—Costco. They tried to kill Prophet. And there are two good men outside, both with bullet holes in them. If anybody deserved to die, it’s this prick right here.

  Prophet and Cosmo walk back in and as they approach us, I watch closely, looking for any sign of what they decided. But Prophet’s got an excellent poker face and gives nothing away.

  “Give me your phone,” Prophet demands as he stares down at X.

  “What?”

  “Your phone. Give it to me. Now.”

  X fishes in his pocket and comes out with a phone. Prophet snatches it from his hand, then walks around the inside of the cabin, snatching pictures of the bodies of the men we killed, making sure to get their faces in the photos. When he finishes, he walks back to X and drops the phone in the man’s lap.

  “Take this back to your boss. Tell him he keeps sending his men up here, he’s going to get them back just like these ones,” Prophet says. “We are going to kill anybody he sends. He keeps coming for us, he’d better be prepared to lose a lot of men. You got me, ese?”

  “You’re makin’ two big mistakes here,” X replies. “First, leavin’ me alive is a stupid mistake. Second, thinkin’ you can take Mr. Zavala head-on. He’s goin’ to kill every last one of you and take your town.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that. So long as we draw breath, he’s never going to have Blue Rock. And he’s going to die if he keeps tryin’ to take it,” Prophet replies, his voice colder than an Arctic wind.

  “You have no idea—”

  Prophet nods to Cosmo who steps forward and brings the butt of his weapon down on the back of X’s head. There’s a sharp crack and the sicario slumps over and falls into a heap on the floor in a heap. I look and Cosmo questioningly.

  “He’s worth more to us alive than as a corpse,” he mutters to me.

  “All right. Let’s clear out,” Prophet says. “I want to be long gone before that prick wakes up.”

  I hesitate for a moment, wondering about the wisdom of leaving him alive. I’m not convinced that leaving him alive is in our best interest. But I realize it’s not my place to make those decisions. I’m just a soldier in this little army. And who knows, maybe having him deliver the message to Zavala, telling him what he saw personally has some value to it. I personally don’t think so, but I’m here to follow orders and nothing more.

  I turn and follow everybody else out, our work tonight finished.

  Chapter Twenty

  Bellamy

  “Thank you,” I say and take the package from the counter.

  “Anytime. Thanks for comin’,” he says.

  I give him a smile and exit the butcher’s shop, some nice filets in hand. Derek called me this morning before I even left for work and said he wanted to get together tonight. He sounded a little rattled and it worries me. He just didn’t sound like himself. There’s some small part of me, a little voice in the back of my mind whispering to myself that Derek doesn’t want to see me anymore. That for some reason, he’s done with me.

  I try to push those thoughts away, not wanting to give such thoughts life in my mind. That will only lead me to overthink everything. I do enough of that, anyway, and I certainly don’t need to add a dose of paranoia and insecurity to the mix. But I don’t know why he sounded so strange, or why he seemed so insistent about seeing me tonight… or why it gives me such a sense of unease.

  Not wanting to feed into my own anxiety, I decide to plan a nice evening for us. After I take care of my mom and get her settled in for the night, I figure that I’ll make a nice dinner for Derek and me. Filets in a garlic butter sauce, some baked potatoes, steamed asparagus, and a nice wine will be on the menu tonight. I just hope it’s not the last meal we share together. Irritated with myself for giving those thoughts oxygen again, I give my head a shake and press on.

  After a stop at the wine shop, then the pastry shop, I’m loaded up with everything I need for tonight and heading for my car, looking down at my phone when a shadow falls over me. Startled, I snap my head up and find myself looking at Jacob, who’s giving me an awkward smile.

  “Well, hey, fancy running into you,” he says with a small chuckle.

  “Yeah, fancy that. How are you?” I reply.

  He shrugs. “Fair to middlin’, I suppose. Just out here puttin’ in some job applications and stuff.”

  “That’s good, Jacob. That’s really good.”

  “Yeah, I figure I need to do somethin’. My luck ain’t gonna change if I sit around wallowin’ in my misery, right?”

  I nod. “That’s right. I’m really glad you’re taking the bull by the horns like you are. That’s great, Jacob.”

  “Well, talkin’ to you the other day is what helped it all come together in my head. Some of the things you said really made sense. Some of the things you said got through this thick skull of mine somehow,” he said, with a rueful chuckle.

  “I’m really glad to hear that,” I reply.

  I have no idea how anything I said got through to him since I didn’t actually say all that much. The near hour we spent together consisted of him doing most all of the talking. About himself and his problems. He obviously needs somebody to listen. Like I told Derek, he just kind of seems like a lonely guy who needs somebody to listen to him. Which is really sad. And it makes me feel bad.

  But at the moment, I don’t have the time to stand here listening to his problems. Not if I want to get home and start getting everything ready for this evening. Plus, my mom’s nurse will be going home soon, and I want to get her all squared away before I start prepping dinner for Derek.

  I glance at my watch pointedly, trying to be subtle about my need to get out of here. The last thing I want to do is hurt Jacob’s feelings, but I can’t afford to stand here and listen to him all night. It’s just not in me to be unkind. Ruby’s often said that’s one of my biggest shortcomings—always taking everybody else’s feelings into account over my own.

  According to the Gospel of Ruby, sometimes people either can’t take a hint, or they purposely choose to ignore them, and so, you have no choice but to be blunt. Be abrupt. And sometimes, you have to be… rude. She says that you have to value yourself and your time since other people certainly won’t. And the only way to make them respect your time is by showing them that you’re not afraid to stand up for yourself and cut them off when needed. To never be afraid—or sorry for not letting them steamroll you—and reclaiming your time and your life from them.

  That’s something I’ve never been good at. Ever. And as I stand here, listening to Jacob go on about his job hunt, his new attitude, and lease on life, all because I let him yammer on the other day, I am seeing the wisdom in Ruby’s words. Altho
ugh, putting them into practical use is another matter altogether.

  “Say, do you want to go over to the coffee house and grab a cup? Maybe talk a little bit more?” Jacob offers.

  “I… I actually have plans tonight. I’m sorry.”

  He frowns and his expression darkens. He looks down at the ground for a moment before looking back up at me as if something just occurred to him.

  “I only meant as friends,” he offers. “I wasn’t meaning anything more than that.”

  “Oh, I know. I just… I mean, I’m seeing somebody, and I’ve got plans with him tonight, so I don’t have the time to go for a cup of coffee tonight. I’m sorry, Jacob.”

  He nods as if he expected nothing less. The way he’s looking at me tells me he’s used to being turned down. But behind his eyes, I see something more. Anger. He seems to be holding it back, doing his best to keep his frustration from boiling over and spilling out onto me. But his dark expression and the hard edge I see in his eyes tell me it’s a real struggle for him.

  “The guy you’re seeing… he’s one of the bikers, huh? One of the Dark Pharaohs?” Jacob asks.

  I cock my head, a curious expression on my face. “How do you know that?”

  He shuffles his feet, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his face hardening even more.

  “I was out here the other night and saw you walking with a guy,” he replies, his voice low but as hard as his expression.

  His words send a jolt through me and make me feel a little uncomfortable. It almost feels like he’s been watching me or something. I don’t know how he’d know that Derek is with the Pharaohs since he’s never worn his kutte when we’ve been out. Between that and him showing up at my school that day, it kind of feels a bit like he’s stalking me. Unconsciously, I take a step back from him and feel my stomach tighten. He offers me a small, apologetic smile.

  “I recognize him from around town. I’ve seen him on his bike before,” he offers. “That’s how I know who he is.”