by Sam Crescent
“Boss called and said I should be expecting you,” Bain said. “Hello, June.” He held his hand out.
She hesitated in taking it, afraid that he would crush her, but then she felt silly. His handshake was firm but didn’t hurt. Forcing a smile to her lips, she looked between Bain and Killian seeing they needed a minute.
“Can I see my son?” she asked.
“Yes. Scarlett is waiting for you.”
Entering his home, she left Bain and Killian to talk.
“Your son has been amazing. He’s really good at that video game Bain likes to play. He’s passed out for the night I’m afraid.”
Scarlett was a nice enough woman, but right now June really needed to see her son. The other woman opened a door, and June stepped inside and paused. There was a small lamp on, and Killian was in bed with a book dropped onto his chest. He looked completely out of it, and in sleep, so damn happy.
A lump formed in her throat. This was the longest she had been without seeing him, and the emotion was threatening to choke her up.
“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Scarlett said. “He’s been so well behaved, June. He’s a really good kid.”
“I know.” There was a chair in the bedroom, and she took a seat, not caring if Scarlett was looking at her or not. This was her little boy. He had changed her life so much. So many people believed that he had ruined her. The few friends she’d had in college had told her to get rid of him, that he was going to destroy her career, and all of her future chances. Tears filled her eyes just thinking about some of their words. Even Daniel had said Killian was a parasite, and that it was her choice to do what she wanted.
When she had felt her stomach begin to grow, and the life inside her do the same, she’d marveled at her own body being able to create life. It was a beautiful thing, and of course it had been her way of keeping Killian’s love all to herself.
Even after ten years apart, her love for him was as strong as ever. Killian was going to fight for them, and she had to keep everything together. Even as she was afraid for his safety, she had to believe he knew what he was doing for all of their sakes.
Getting up from her chair, she quietly made her way toward the bed, crouching down to stroke the hair out of her son’s eyes.
“He’s going to come back for us, Killian, and when he does, everything is going to be different. I won’t ever leave you again, I promise you that.”
Chapter Eight
Killian drove back to June’s town, his music off, mind focused. He couldn’t have any mistakes. Those bastards in the Dead Angels MC had known they were being watched. They’d managed to trick Shadow into giving Boss bad intel, hoping to get Killian back in town. He chuckled to himself. Those pricks were going to regret that move. Killian hadn’t worked his way up the ranks all these years by being an amateur. He could only be found if he wanted to be.
Now he was going to show up on their doorstep, and he’d show them what a mistake they’d made fucking with his family. There was no way this was professionally done. Something didn’t add up about this whole mess. He didn’t know exactly what, but he was going to get to the bottom of it.
Although Killian showed pity to women and children, he wasn’t a good man. There was a side to him so dark that he kept it locked away, not eager to explore it. When he’d slaughtered his mother’s pimp, that darkness aided him, motivated him.
All Boss had to do was give him instructions, and Killian got the fucking job done. It’s why he’d moved up the ranks at Killer of Kings over the years. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes he had in the past. There was no room for compassion in the killing game.
Tonight wasn’t just about money. It was personal.
He called Shadow when he neared the town. “I’ll be there within the hour.”
“I’ve got a safe house set up. I’ll text the address,” said Shadow.
“Let’s not fuck this up.”
There was a silence on the line. “Are you still blaming me for the bad intel? The Dead Angels knew I was tagging them. I didn’t think they were capable of pulling off something like that. Their prez knows what he’s doing.”
“I’ve seen what their members look like. I killed a handful of those assholes in a bar—old, drunken, has-beens.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” said Shadow.
“Well, we need to get to the bottom of it tonight. And end them.”
“There are a lot of them. The whole town’s fuckin’ overrun by Dead Angels,” said Shadow. “They have property on the outskirts of town, too.”
Killian chuckled. “You scared, big boy?”
“Fuck off.” The call ended.
By the time he got to town the sun had set, the streetlights creating cones of light along the main strip. He checked the text Shadow had sent him and drove out to the small house near the water. There were no lights on.
Killian stood by his car for a few minutes. With only the moon casting a glow on the ocean, it looked like swaths of velvet. The sound of gentle waves lapping the shore had a calming effect. It reminded him of June.
He knocked on the door, but it swung open as soon as he touched it. The hinges whined, a drawn-out cry revealing a darkened room. Only a few knots in the wood let the moonlight in. Killian reached into his holster and grabbed his Glock.
“Who’s scared now?”
Shadow flicked on the lights exposing tabletops covered in select firearms. It was a beautiful display, enough heat to take out the enemy and then some.
“You should really keep that door locked,” said Killian, strolling along as he checked out all the weapons.
“Are you joking?” Shadow nodded to the left. There was a desk set up with a state of the art surveillance system. They’d know if someone crept up on the property before they even thought about it.
“I think that set-up’s worth more than this piece of shit shack.”
“I’m sure it is. Anyway, Boss’s tab, so I’m not worried.” There were some maps pinned to the wooden wall boards. With the number of colored markers, Shadow was right, there was a fucking army of Dead Angels and only two of them.
Killian studied the map, trying to plot of the course of action. “Where’s the prez staying?”
Shadow pressed a finger to one of the most fortified locations. Killian should have ended that bastard a decade ago. The prez had only been a young teen back then, skinny and terrified. When Killian had to pull the trigger to fulfill his contract, he’d taken away the kid’s father. But, even though Killer of Kings demanded it, he couldn’t terminate the loose ends, leaving the mother and kid alive after he completed his mission.
His weakness back then had started his clusterfuck, and the time for mercy was over. He planned to fix the error he’d made in the past and then some.
Shadow locked and loaded gun after gun, checking the extra mags were full. “The prez we need to end, why’s he alive?”
“What do you mean?”
“Last time you were here, you killed his father, why not him?” asked Shadow, continuing to handle the guns.
“The contract was for the father, not the kid.”
This time Shadow turned to face him, sitting on the edge of the table. “Word’s all over the street, Killian. The new prez wants revenge for his father’s murder. The one he witnessed. Does Boss even know?”
Killian gritted his teeth, his jaw aching as he focused on his next words.
“Look, I wasn’t ready to kill a mother and her kid for the sins of the father. I’m not a fucking monster.”
There was an awkward silence. Killian knew Boss had been on to him, but he hadn’t said anything directly. Why?
“I know about your mother,” said Shadow. “Shit, the guys always talk about the carnage you left behind in Ireland.”
“That’s nobody’s business.”
“I’m just saying, there’s nothing wrong with having pity. You have a soft spot for women and kids, so what?”
He shook his head. “There’s no roo
m for pity in our world. I knew better, and now I have to fix it.”
“You want to hit their clubhouse?” asked Shadow.
“Not yet. These assholes might be expecting us. They’ll be waiting for me without a doubt,” said Killian. “Strap on as much as you can carry.”
They drove to the end of the main strip, parked, and began to walk. Music radiated out from a few bars. There was a small group of hookers up ahead.
“Hey, handsome,” said one of them, reaching for Killian.
“Not interested, sweetheart.”
“How about your friend?” she asked.
Shadow’s face remained vacant, and he kept walking without acknowledging the women. Come to think of it, as long as Killian had known Shadow he’d never been in a relationship. His named suited him. He was a shadow, a ghost, appearing when Boss needed him at a location. Then he was gone.
When they’d nearly reached one of the rowdiest bars on the strip, Shadow stretched his arm out to the side, bringing Killian to a halt.
“What is it?”
“I guarantee you there are Dead Angels in there. They’ll be on call, so we should weed them out before we visit the prez.”
Killian nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Shadow waited outside while Killian went in the front door. They’d only be expecting him. The bar was fuller than he expected, bikers and whores taking their weight in cheap booze. It would be easy to recognize the men he needed to take out by their patches.
No sooner than he walked through the front door, all attention diverted to him. Killian had hoped the music and laughter would mask his appearance, but no such luck in this hick town. Considering he’d killed a few of their members, they’d want revenge.
A couple older men approached him, their graying beards given them a gruff appearance. They reminded him of the assholes who’d hit on June.
“You have a lot of nerve showing up here again,” said taller of the two. They were both fully patched Dead Angels, so they needed to die.
“Just came for a drink.”
“Bullshit.” The man began to circle him, but Killian refused to move. All eyes in the bar were fixed on him, none of them welcoming. Luckily, he was used to dealing with this type of lowlife prick. His childhood was full of them.
“What happened to your face?” said the other man. “Someone teach you a lesson?”
Killian licked his fucked-up lips. No one ever mentioned the deformity, and he tried to forget about it—until he looked in a mirror.
Instead of getting angry, because he was way past feeling sorry for himself, he shrugged. “Actually, yes. The man who did this to me tried to teach me to mind my business, but I showed him what I was made of when I gutted the bastard.”
Killian had only been fourteen. One of his mother’s johns got his kicks from beating the shit out of her. Killian pulled the asshole off his mother, and the john held the hunting knife he kept on his belt to Killian’s lips. The man demanded an apology for being disturbed. When Killian kept silent thanks to his stubborn Irish pride, the john sliced down through his lips.
Instead of running or crying, the darkness grew, the seed germinating in the fourteen years of bullshit that was supposed to be his childhood. Killian grabbed the knife from the john and plunged it low in his gut, using both hands to slice up through his stomach, disemboweling him. When his mother looked at him from the bed, horror in her eyes, he’d felt a crippling mix of hate and love for the woman.
“I’d like to see you try that on me,” said the old man.
“Don’t need to,” said Killian. “See, I’m not crazy about getting my hands dirty.” He opened both sides of his jacket, exposing the custom holster Boss had made for him. It held three handguns on each side, several pockets for extra clips.
“Holy shit!”
The murmurs started, the shock traveling through the crowd like a wave. Some people backed away, some ran or ducked behind tables, others prepared to fight. He noted several guys around his age sitting at the bar, facing them. They didn’t appear intimidated or eager to fight, not even setting down their glasses. Right now, Killian had to deal with the immediate threats.
He reached each hand into the opposite holster near his waist, pulling out two guns. From the second he walked into the bar, he’d done a visual sweep, noting the crowd, the threats, the exits, and had begun planning out his first move. He’d give the locals a chance to run, but whoever stuck around was fair game.
“I wanted to leave well enough alone, but since you decided to get personal I have to take care of business.” He aimed at the taller man’s kneecap and fired off a round. The man screamed and dropped to the ground. “No one messes with my family.”
The surge of volatile energy in the bar was fuel to him. He breathed it in as adrenaline spiked through his veins. The darkness he kept under lock and key fought to be unleashed.
Before the second old guy could pull the trigger, Killian shot him between the eyes, and then kept going, killing every man taking an aggressive stance.
The back and forth firing was deafening, the music grinding to a halt. Tables were overturned, women screamed, and glass shattered. By the time he stopped for a breather, the ground was covered in bodies. Some fresh recruits came running in from the back, stopping in their tracks when they witnessed the carnage. Killian was done. He stepped aside when Shadow walked in.
“You were supposed to lure them outside,” said Shadow. “This isn’t weeding them out.”
“It’s better this way.”
The new heat drew their weapons, one taking a quick shot, the bullet whizzing by Killian’s head. Shadow reached to his side and came up with a fully automatic rifle. He positioned it in the crook of his shoulder and rained down hot lead, the men dropping like broken marionettes.
“You think we’ll still have the element of surprise?” asked Shadow, stepping over the bodies on his way to the bar. He grabbed a clean shot glass from under the counter and poured himself a hit of whiskey. The entire bar was a write-off, most of the bottles behind the bar in various state of destruction, raining amber. “This is the good stuff.” He set the glass back down and ran a hand through his hair.
“There were four guys with cuts sitting at the bar. I didn’t get a good look, but they’re gone,” said Killian.
“They’re probably in the body count.” Shadow looked around. “The clean-up crew’s going to love this.”
“No, they’re not here. They looked like trouble.”
“Were they Dead Angels?”
Killian couldn’t see far enough to know their colors, but they sure as hell didn’t act like the old-school bikers who’d dropped like flies. They were a next level threat, so maybe there was more to the Dead Angels MC than he’d bargained for. Killian wondered if they were off to warn the prez. “Don’t know.”
“If they were, they’re pussies to leave their members behind for slaughter,” said Shadow.
“Whatever. Let’s get to our target.”
They reloaded and drove out to the prez’s house. It would be heavily fortified, no doubt. Killian was expecting something out of a trailer park, not the modern mansion across the street. They parked out of the way and took the rest of the way on foot. This entire hit was surreal, bringing Killian back in time. He still remembered the teenager and woman he’d let live. The kid had stayed crouched behind a small sofa with his mother. Killian had looked them both in the eyes, hesitating when his initial reaction was to end them. A little piece of him was still back in Ireland, a street kid being raised by whores. He didn’t want to be one of those assholes who beat him or his mother. In this case, that weakness had led to today.
He’d have to end that kid with the big, dark eyes. Only he wasn’t a kid any longer, but the leader of the Dead Angels MC, eager to claim vengeance for his father’s death. Too bad he didn’t know what a prick his father was in life.
With the cover of night, Killian and Shadow made their way to the rear entrance. The deep, s
low vibration of bass came from somewhere in the structure. And the place was fucking huge. Shadow wasn’t able to get a layout of the house, which was unusual.
They were about to turn a corner when Killian felt the cool edge of a blade on his throat. He froze. Normally, he’d fight, deliver an elbow into the enemy’s ribs, but this guy knew what he was doing, holding the sharp side so tight to his artery that just breathing put him at risk of bleeding out.
The second Shadow turned and saw what had gone down, he had a gun aimed at the guy’s head. Killian hoped Shadow was as good of a shot as he claimed to be. Boss said he was one of his best snipers being ex-military.
“Drop the knife, nice and slow, asshole,” said Shadow.
“You’re on my turf, so you don’t get to make demands.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Today I’m known as Manic, but even back then I don’t think your friend knew my first name, just my father’s.”
Fuck! It was him, the Dead Angels MC prez. Why was he alone? Killian had expected an army of security around the leader. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted—his father’s murderer at his mercy. Luckily Killian trusted Shadow with his life.
“If you hurt him, you won’t walk away with a heartbeat. In fact, I’ll be sure to annihilate your entire fucking club,” said Shadow.
“I don’t want to kill your friend. In fact, he did me a favor ten years ago.”
Killian still hadn’t seen Manic face to face. He only remembered him as a skinny teenager, cowering with his mother. The guy holding him was comparable to his size, the arm braced over his chest thick with muscle and covered in ink.
“I’m not following,” said Shadow.
Manic removed the knife and shoved Killian, standing back into the darker shadows along the side of the house. “My father was a monster. I prayed for him to die long before you took his life.”
Killian frowned. None of this made sense. If Manic was thankful for the hit, why was June shot and why was there a hit placed on her and Killian Junior?
“I don’t buy it,” said Killian. “My mother was murdered. The first thing I did was kill the bastard who did it.”