American Street Kings: The Complete Series

by Bella J

  I shoved my hair out of my face. “Yeah, I know.”

  Onyx gripped the beer bottle tighter, his knuckles turning white. “You and I and the rest of the club will show those Pythons that we won’t be fucked with. You don’t kill one of ours without carrying the consequences.”

  “No mercy. Never surrender.” I glanced his way.

  My brother nodded. “That’s right. No mercy. Never surrender.” He downed the rest of his beer and threw the bottle against the wall, glass shattering everywhere. “Fuckers!”

  I didn’t even flinch when the bottle hit the wall. I just scowled at him. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe. But when I think of those filthy Pythons, all I want to do is break something. Preferably their fucking necks.”

  Onyx just turned twenty-eight, and with me being six years older, I got used to him being unable to control his anger—which was exactly what happened last night. He was so amped up to kill those Pythons, when the opportunity presented itself, he grabbed it with both fucking hands.

  “Don’t worry, brother.” I got up, walked over, and placed my hand on his shoulder. “It’s been years coming. We’ll avenge his death soon.”

  Onyx slapped his hand on mine, a brotherly gesture. He might have been a pain in my ass sometimes, but I loved him, nonetheless.

  “You should get some sleep.”

  “Nah. Don’t want to waste daylight.”

  I grabbed a towel from the rail. “Get one of the prospects to clean the mess you made.”

  Onyx snorted. “You not done in here?”

  I picked my gloves up from the ground and slipped them on. “Not by a long shot.”

  “Fucking masochist.”

  I laughed then heard the gym door close as Onyx left.

  I threw a few punches, tried to get into it so I could tire myself out and get some rest. But it didn’t work. There was too much adrenaline in my veins, too many fucking demons fighting to get out. The more I thought about how the Pythons killed our father with two of our other guys, the angrier I got. They massacred our loved ones without blinking, and then had the balls to go after our business. Well, not while I was fucking president.

  These streets belonged to us long before they decided to cruise in on their cheap wheels, pretending they could own everything they touched. They were so fucking desperate and knew the only way to get in our turf was to take out the big guns of our MC. That was the only way for them to have a shot at getting our business—a business we had been running for years.

  Unfortunately, in our world, there was no such thing as a loyal client. If the Sixes could get their ammo cheaper from another distributor, they’d take it. No matter if we had been doing business with them for the last twenty fucking years. That alone cost us a lot of fucking money because we had to keep on lowering the price just to keep the Sixes’ money rolling in.

  Even though it had been years since they massacred three of our men, we weren’t ready to retaliate until now. We were too hurt, the pain too strong. Pain and grief made men do stupid things, and to take out a club like the Pythons, we couldn’t afford to make stupid mistakes. But we were ready now. Our grief had turned into strength, and we were about to take down the filthy fuckers who owed us blood.

  Just like the Pythons, we weren’t saints either. We ran our own little corner in hell, doing what we had to in order to survive. But who didn’t? It was an eat-or-get-eaten world out there, and we fucking devoured whoever got in our way.

  Take Manic—the man had anger issues. It took a special kind of stupid not to notice. But that scar on his face told the story of a man who had endured the flames of hell repeatedly. We didn’t know much of his past, but we did know he’d been passed from one foster home to another ever since they found him on the streets when he was fifteen. What happened to him before then was a secret he carried alone. But it was here, with the Kings, that he finally found a place he could call home—a place where he fit in.

  Then there was Ink—a walking fucking hard-on. I’d be the first to admit we didn’t see eye-to-eye in the beginning. But my dad kept saying there was something special about the prospect with his skin inked all the way down from his neck. Naked, those tattoos looked like a fucking suit. It was after a patch over in Pennsylvania that Ink and I started to get along. We got hammered so bad that night, I forgot my goddamn name. Drunk out of our minds, we decided to trash some random rich-bitch’s house and made good use of the backyard pool. That was the night I saw what lay beneath the layers and layers of ink. Scars. Too many to count. After that, Ink had all my respect. Fucker deserved it.

  I threw one final punch before grabbing the swinging bag. I caught sight of the big, bold, blue letters on the wall. Stone’s Gym. No mercy. Never surrender.

  Stone was the name on my father’s patch, hence the reason my brother and I got the names we had. We were all cold, hard sons of bitches. But we were a fucking family, and in this gym, we took care of those who needed it the most.

  It always amazed me how the world stereotyped us as being criminals pretending to be backyard grease junkies. We didn’t run a mechanic shop or deal with motorbike parts in order to hide what we really did.

  My dad and fellow founders weren’t angels. They didn’t make this club what it was today with love and charity. Sometimes, when you wanted to do some good, you needed to get your hands dirty with the bad. And our sins ran deep. No one knew that better than me. Trading in illegal firearms and selling weed to our own special circle of customers wasn’t exactly a tax-paying, nine-to-five job. I always wondered if that was the reason behind my father’s decision to work with the police commissioner. Maybe it was his way of atoning for all the wrong we did—that, and to keep the PC turning a blind eye to our business affairs.

  When the old man died and I became president, I continued his legacy by doing the work we did. Now, with this new threat over our heads as the Pythons kept closing in on our territory, we had no choice but to rethink all our shit and come up with a plan to ensure the wellbeing of the club. But with this plan came a huge risk. If anything went wrong, we would risk losing our most important ally. Yet if this all played out the way we planned, the reward would be far sweeter. For the club…and me.

  Yeah. I was one selfish son of a bitch, and it was my own personal greed for something money couldn’t buy that gave birth to this plan of ours. And I knew any plan that entailed taking down the Pythons, my men would be on board with. It was a double-whammy.

  The gym started to fill with people, and I took that as my cue to bounce. Crowds weren’t exactly my thing—especially troubled teenagers who’d rather come here in the morning than be at school where their asses should be.

  Dutch came walking in, fists already wrapped, ready to fight. “Yo, Granite. You good?”

  “Yup.” I wiped the sweat from my face.

  “Wanna stick around and check out some of the talent we got here?”

  “Nope.”

  Dutch scowled at me. “The students know you run this place, Granite. They know you’re in charge, and they want to meet you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to meet them.”

  “Don’t be such a hard-ass.”

  I snorted. “You can thank fuck I like you, or I’d have to kick your ass for dissing me like that.”

  “I’m serious. You can’t always run from shit.”

  My nostrils flared. “I’m not running.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  I brushed past him when he called out, “And the girl?”

  Exhaling, I stopped but didn’t turn. “What about her?”

  “You sure she’s just part of the plan, nothing more?”

  “What the fuck do you mean?” I turned to face him.

  He looked me in the eye without blinking. “I’m not stupid, Granite. I can see the connection.”

  “What connection?” I hissed through my teeth, not liking where this conversation was heading.

&
nbsp; Dutch kept my gaze. “She reminds you of someone…doesn’t she?”

  “Do not.” I clenched my jaw and held up a finger. “Do not fucking go there, my friend.”

  “I loved her too. But I don’t go around avoiding shit because of it.”

  To walk away was the best option at that point. I’d hate for my anger to get the better of me. The topic of conversation was something that would make me do shit I’d regret, like planting my fist in Dutch’s face. So I walked.

  “Yo, dude,” he called out. “Stop. I’m sorry, man.”

  I stilled, wiping the towel down the side of my face.

  “We’re all on edge. I just want to make sure you’re okay, and that your head is in the game.”

  I snorted with sarcasm before turning to face him again. “My head is always in the game. You don’t have to question that.”

  “I’m not. I’m just looking out for a friend.” Dutch looked over my shoulder toward the main entrance. “Ah, fuck.”

  “What?” I glanced in the same direction.

  “It’s that boy I told you about last week.”

  “The one you suspect is getting his ass kicked back at home?”

  “Yup. Look at his face.”

  The scrawny teenager was wearing a black hoody, trying to hide the bruise on his cheek but doing a piss poor job at it. “What’s his name?”

  “Trent.”

  I placed my towel over my shoulder and called out, “Yo, Trent.”

  The boy looked at me.

  “Get your ass over here.”

  Trent looked around him, behind him, then back at me as if he wasn’t sure I was talking to him.

  “Yeah, you. Get over here.”

  Trent slowly moved toward us, and it was painfully obvious the boy was scared as hell. But the closer he came, the clearer we saw the blue and black bruise that stretched all the way from his eye to the bottom of his nose.

  “How’d you get that?” I pointed to his face.

  “I…um—”

  “Spit it out,” I warned.

  “Please,” he started, “I don’t want trouble. I’m just here to learn how to fight.”

  I crossed my arms. “You got someone you need to defend yourself against?”

  The boy glanced around the gym, and Dutch stepped forward. “Take off the goddamn hoody, would you?”

  Trent cautiously slipped the hoody from his head, and when I saw the blue bruises around his throat, clearly from someone’s hand, my rage started to simmer. There was a lot of nasty shit I could tolerate, but child abuse wasn’t on the list. In my opinion, if you could beat up a kid, you could burn in your own personal corner in hell.

  I glanced around the gym and noticed Ink standing by the back entrance. I moved closer, staring down at the boy. “Who the fuck did this to you, son?”

  “Nobody.” His voice shook, the vein in his neck going apeshit.

  “Do not lie to me, boy.” I wanted to shake the truth right out of him, but Dutch stepped in when he saw I was about to lose my shit.

  “Trent, we can’t help if you don’t tell us what the hell is going on.”

  “I don’t need help.” His jaw clenched, nostrils flared. It was a mix between anger and fear, something I knew a lot about.

  Dutch reached out and grabbed the boy’s chin, turning his face to the side, scrutinizing the bruise. “Sure looks like you don’t need fucking help.”

  “Listen,” I pulled the hairband from my wrist and tied my hair behind my neck, “if you want to get roughed up for the rest of your fucking life, be my guest, but let me tell you this. If you don’t do something about it now, the day you’re old enough to fuck off to who knows where, whoever is doing this to you will just find another innocent boy or girl to hurt. So man up and tell us who the fuck it is. You might just save another kid a whole lot of trauma.”

  Trent’s gaze dropped to the floor, and he crossed his arms with his shoulders slumped. “It’s my mom’s boyfriend.”

  I held up my hand without turning then motioned for Ink to join us. “Give me a name.”

  Trent rubbed his hands up and down his arms, still looking at the ground. “Joseph Hill. He works over at Bart’s Garage.”

  Ink nodded. “On it.”

  I placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t ever let anyone hurt you, you understand me? No matter who the fuck it is, you fight back. You always fight back. No mercy. No surrender.”

  With that, I turned and walked out. This was why I avoided the crowd in the gym. Too many lost souls. Too much pain and too many problems. If I had my way, I’d fuck up every low-life scumbag who hurt children. Like I said, we weren’t saints, and we played house with cruel motherfuckers. But when it came to hurting children, I became a beast. If you fucked with the children on these streets, you fucked with me.

  Out of the gym, I passed the outside courtyard that led to the bar. It was like our own little compound. The gym. The bar. And a few rooms upstairs from the bar, with a small living space and kitchen. Most of the guys had their own houses and families to go to at the end of the night. It was only Onyx, Dutch, Manic, Ink, and I who stayed here. As far as we were concerned, the club was our life. We didn’t need anything else.

  It was almost the end of autumn, and the early winter chill could already be felt in the air. Dutch’s piss-poor attempt at gardening was already ruined, winter not even in full bloom yet.

  The door to the bar swung open as I entered, Onyx waiting for me inside.

  “She won’t eat.” He crossed his arms.

  “What did you give her?”

  Onyx rolled his eyes. “I gave her a fucking salad just like you said.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “Nothing. I went in, took the sandwich she didn’t eat, and placed the salad box on the bed. She didn’t even look up.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before leaning back against the wall, lighting a cigarette. I knew getting her to eat would probably be a challenge, but I didn’t come this far in life by cowering away from challenges—especially when it came to her. Turned out she had a little bit more fight in her than I anticipated, but I was okay with that. It made things…interesting, feeling both lust and anger when I looked at her. It was an explosive combination.

  I blew out a cloud of smoke. “She needs to fucking eat.”

  “The girl’s been kidnapped, Granite. I don’t blame her for not exactly having a fucking appetite.”

  “As you’ve noticed, she can’t exactly afford not to eat.”

  “Yeah. There’s not really reserves on her bones for a hunger strike.”

  “Jesus.” Flipping the cigarette to the ground, I stomped on it on my way to the stairs. “I’ll deal with it. Take Manic and check in with our scouts. I want to know when the Pythons hear the news, and when to expect that goddamn phone call.”

  Taking two stairs at a time, I already felt my blood simmer in my veins. Excitement knocked at my spine, knowing I was about to see her again. It was a bad fucking idea, judging by the way my cock twitched just thinking about her locked up in that room with nowhere to run. But fuck me if I didn’t like every second of it.

  I unlocked the door and stormed in, finding her sitting against the opposite wall. “Why the fuck won’t you eat?”

  She didn’t even blink.

  I slammed the door shut. “I’m talking to you.”

  No response. She just sat there leaning her head against the wall while staring at the window. Catatonic.

  The salad Onyx brought her remained untouched on the bed, a half a bottle of water on the ground next to her. At least she drank something.

  Something inside me stirred as I moved closer. The room started to smell like her—vanilla with a hint of honey. I recognized the scent. Sweet and seductive, just like her. I fucking loved it.

  Every step I took echoed through the silence, my leather cut creaking as I moved. With my gaze pinned on her, I took a seat on the bed in front of her, leaning forward with my
elbows on my knees. My head tilted to the side as I scrutinized her.

  Filthy blonde hair clung to her forehead. The purple welts on her face seemed deeper, almost grotesque against her ghostly skin. Dry blood crusted around her nose, blue circles framing her eyes. Frankly, she looked like shit, and if it wasn’t for the image of my knife stuck in the dead Python’s skull, it probably would have bothered me a little more than it did. I hated that she got hurt, but I loved that she was right here in front of me. Under my roof. At my mercy. Even as president of the Kings, her presence, her fear made me feel more powerful than I ever had before. It was exhilarating.

  My gaze traveled down her neck, a few scratches and bruises scattered from her jaw down to her chest. But it was nothing compared to what her face looked like. It was time for Neon to do a little photoshoot.

  “That bruise on your face has to hurt. Be a good girl and eat something, then I might consider giving you something for the pain.”

  I rubbed my hands together, studying her. Nothing. Not even a goddamn eye-twitch.

  “Come on, ballerina girl. You gotta be hungry. In pain?”

  Nothing.

  I shifted. “Alyxandria.”

  Her eyes cut to mine at the mention of her name. The blue sapphires seemed as sad as the bruise on her face.

  A smirk tugged at my lips. “You hate your name, don’t you? Is it because mommy calls you that all the time?”

  Her gaze turned into a glare. Goddammit, if that look didn’t send a bolt of excitement all the way down my fucking spine. It gave me the urge to touch her, and I leaned forward, reaching out. My fingers came within inches of her face when she reacted, slapping my hand away.

  “How the hell do you know so much about me?” She spat out the words through gritted teeth. Her fear was turning into anger. Good. To survive in my world, she needed to let the fight she hid so well come out. Plus, it fucked with my dick knowing she might have the balls to fight me.

  I pulled back. “Like I told you, I know this town and its residents. Now, be a good girl and eat.”