Retaliate

by M. N. Forgy

  It’s Alessandra. Jillian’s friend. The cop. She’s got to be an idiot to come around here without Jillian in tow. Even with Zeek fucking a law enforcement, they’re not wanted around here. Jillian is the only exception, and that is because Zeek is her damn armor.

  Shoving my way through the crowd of muscle and leather, I nearly throw them on their ass to get to her. Last thing we need is someone seeing someone hassle a cop around our club.

  “Let her go!” I shout, pushing Flame out of the way. He glares at me, his grip on her strong. His hard eyes flare with a silent challenge. Taking my gun, I shove it under his chin, accepting his challenge. “You have a fucking problem with my order?” I snarl, pressing the barrel into his neck. After a few long seconds, he reluctantly drops Alessandra to her knees and holds his hands up that are scarred. Rumor has it he was torturing a rival enemy with a blowtorch and it blew up in his hands.

  Placing my gun back in its place I bend down to inspect her for injuries as she lifts herself onto her hands. Chocolate hair falls into her soft brown eyes. Her fingers dig into the gum-spotted concrete with rage. Her lip is split in the corner, and she appears out of breath. Slowly her angry eyes meet mine, clouding like the hostile clouds right before a dangerous storm. One that wipes out everyone and everything in its path without a morsel of mercy.

  She spits blood and stands on her unsteady feet. I notice she’s out of uniform, wearing a white shirt tied at the hip and skintight jeans that hug her ass perfectly. I’m not surprised one of the men took notice of her. She looks like a fresh piece of ass.

  Lifting her chin confidently, she cuts a menacing look at one man in particular, Flame. Like a gun went off at the Kentucky Derby she suddenly rushes at him like a wildcat. She’s either really stupid, or that badge has her kidding herself.

  Thinking fast I slide my arm out and hook it around her waist, hoisting her to the side and out of reach of Flame.

  “Whoa, Blue Bird.” My hands cup her silky arms as I try to contain her. She’s so soft and creamy I can’t help but wonder if she smells like honey or coconut. Taking the opportunity, I smell her nearness. Hints of coconut and spice matching her personality perfectly. She’s a dangerous, beautiful package. My imagination paints the perfect fantasy of her lips wrapped tightly around my cock. A glare passes my face at the thought, not liking where my dick is going. She’s a fucking pig after all. A rat that doesn’t know loyalty if it slapped her in the face.

  “I’m going to burn that pretty face, bitch!” Flame points at her, snapping me from mind fucking the enemy.

  My head snaps in his direction. “Go. Now!” Warning in my tone. Flicking a cigarette at Alessandra him and the gathered crowd dissipate back to the club.

  She tears from my grip roughly, and I can’t help but want to choke the life out of her for being so goddamn stubborn.

  “Why are you here?” I grunt.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? That is what comes to your mind when one of your men attack me?” Alessandra shakes her head in disbelief.

  “It’s just a question,” I growl. Testy bitch.

  Throwing her hands out to the side she looks down, her eyes clenched shut like she can’t believe what she’s about to say. She seems conflicted, lost.

  “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking,” her voice wavers with emotion. I don’t like it. I’ve seen sluts cry, and club whores sob but watching Alessandra become emotional it unnerves me. “Maybe I thought I’d see if you had a party going.” She shrugs, and I know she’s fucking lying. No law enforcement comes around here unless they’re in our pocket. They’re terrified of us or scared to be around us because of our enemies. Blue Bird intrigues me, she’s not like any woman I’ve ever known, nor law enforcement.

  I can’t stand cops, but more than anything, I won’t tolerate a man that hits a woman.

  Rubbing my chin, I look over my shoulder finding Flame within yelling distance.

  “Did he hit you?” I question through clenched teeth.

  “I can take care of myself,” she rolls her eyes, rubbing her scratched up palms on her jeans. That sound in her voice gut checking me.

  “From the looks of that lip, I’d second guess that, Blue Bird,” I raise a brow at her bleeding lip and she flips me off. I want to strangle this bitch, but I need to make an example or I’m going to have members slapping women and that is not okay with me. I’m sure Zeek would fucking agree.

  “Flame!” I summon him, and like the dog that he is - he appears. “Say you’re sorry,” I demand. His scarred brows narrow at me as if I’m joking. Tilting my head to the side I convey how serious I am.

  “She fell. We were just helping her up,” Flame suggests. He’s lying, and I won’t stand for it. Zeek wouldn’t stand for the disrespect either.

  Using my elbow, I slam it into Flame’s gut making him hunch over in a horrible groan. Fisting his stupid fucking Mohawk I drive my knee right into his skull. His eyes roll into the back of his head as he sways for balance.

  Leaning over I get in his line of sight. “This woman is off limits, got it?” The words leaving my mouth confuse me. I hate her, she hates me. She’s the fucking enemy and nothing more. Maybe I’m protecting her because of Jillian. Zeek would kill me if I upset his princess.

  “Okay man, I didn’t know,” he groans. Flame shakes his head, trying to will the pain away. I shove him back on his ass. His fall slow and dramatic, like tipping a cow over on its side.

  “Now you know,” I mutter under my breath.

  Standing straight, I find Alessandra looking at me with hard eyes. Her swollen mouth curved in anger.

  “Why did you do that?” she asks ungratefully.

  “Because I can,” I answer matter of fact.

  Flame is hauled off to the club to have our doctor tend to his injuries and I take a step closer to Alessandra. The alley walls secluding us from the public eye.

  “So, you came here to what, let loose?” I ask suggestively, lust hanging from the tip of my tongue.

  She looks up through hooded eyes, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

  Taking a small step, I invade her space. Using my finger, I tuck it firmly under her chin making her look me in the eyes. God, she’s so fucking soft to touch, my hands itch to take advantage of her body and soul. That’s what I do, I devour innocent women, and scar their souls to the point they’re damaged goods.

  “Were you going to fuck one of my men tonight, Alessandra?” I ask hastily.

  Her throat bobs as she swallows, fire igniting her eyes as she pulls away. She’s a pistol and not the kind you love and shine every day with care. More like the kind you’re scared to use because it may backfire on you at any minute.

  “So what if I was? Why do you care?” She raises a challenging brow, her voice sharp. A burning sensation combusts in my chest thinking about her riding one of my guy’s dicks.

  “I forbid you to open your legs to any of my brothers, do you understand?” My rash decision comes from an unknown place. An insatiable hunger beading at the tip of my dick.

  Her jaw drops, and her hands curl into fists.

  “Who do you think you are to dictate who I screw?” she scowls.

  My temples pound with annoyance and anger, done with this back and forth.

  Leaning down my lips a hair’s length away from her face, I intimidate her to the point she looks away and purses her lips.

  “Maybe you didn’t get the memo, Blue Bird, but now that Zeek is playing daddy… I run this fucking city. Therefore, I say who you fuck, and don’t fuck.”

  Her chocolate eyes snap to mine, and I know I have her full attention. Which I want, I want her to look at me, to really see me. All of me.

  They don’t call me Felix the Cat for nothing. I will eat Blue Bird with a fucking smile on my face.

  “We’ll see about that,” she sasses, turning her head so fast I swear I hear it snap.

  “Next time I’m putting a bullet in your guy’s ass if he so much as looks
at me wrong,” she threatens. Little does she know, I may put a bullet in her ass if she shows back up here without her bestie Jillian in tow.

  Watching her climb into her black BMW, the tires squeal and she races off.

  Fucking bitch.

  The familiar sound of Zeek’s motorcycle pulls up to the club and I walk over to him.

  “So why are you here instead of home?” I ask, crossing my arms. Since Jillian spit out two kids, Zeek has changed. He’s hardly here, and focused isn’t even in his vocabulary.

  Zeek’s jaw clenches, as he rubs the back of his neck anxiously. Something is wrong.

  “We got a problem.”

  Heading into the casino I follow Zeek, his shoulders are tense and the tick in jaw has me on edge.

  “You going to tell me what’s up?” I throw my hands out, tired of him acting fucking vague. He doesn’t answer, just a jerk in his shoulder blade conveying he heard me but doesn’t give two shits.

  He steps into the elevator that our Uncle Frank used to go to his office at the top. I never go up there since we killed him and his henchmen Cross, went missing.

  I always feel like Cross is watching, makes me paranoid.

  The elevator doors ding and open and we head inside the familiar office. It’s just like I remember. Big mahogany desk, lots of windows, a wet bar in the corner, and leather couches. I notice the chair is facing backward, and two men stand on each side of the desk. They look like twins with their hair buzzed and rifles in their hands. A pressed black suit fitting their built frames. Their faces long, and foreheads large.

  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 TWO

  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.