by Erika Blount
“What makes you say that?” Scott asked.
“Would Cass let Gater run shit and disappear in the middle of a war?”
“Good point.”
Cass looked back at Ghost. “Then, that’s your target.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that. That’s why I’ve already run surveillance on him over the past few days and figured out his routine. I may have taken out a few of his throw-aways in the process. Nasty little fuckers. Got in my way, but they were too strung out to even realize what hit them.”
Cass grinned as Ghost’s words registered in his mind. This guy was the real deal. Good thing he’s on our side.
“Where’s he going to be tonight?” Clayton asked.
Cass could tell Clayton was itching to take care of some of these guys. He used to do that for the club back when he met Cass’s mom, but he’d thrown the towel in after Cass was a few years old and he almost got caught tossing a body. Not by the police, but by Cass. Clayton had told him about when he got older. He was going to the pond outside their house early one morning, dragging a body wrapped up in a rug behind him. When he made it to the edge of the pond, he was just about to unwrap the body when a three year old Cass spoke.
“Daddy, what’s that?” he had asked, approaching the rug.
Clayton had run and put himself between Cass and the rug and scooped him up, walking him back toward their farmhouse. “Nothing, son. Nothing at all.”
“Cass?” Scott was looking at him as he said his name, snapping him back to reality.
“Yeah?”
“Where do you want to start? Keith is going to be at their makeshift clubhouse. The ghetto, rinky dink bar that they are rumored to have strong armed from the owner.”
Cass glanced at Clayton, waiting for his instruction…an old habit that he didn’t realize would make its way back with his presence.
“Let’s start there,” he said, and Clayton nodded his approval. That was something that always let Cass know he was doing right, when he made decisions and they were the same ones his father would’ve made.
“Saddle up, then, boys. I’ll be there before you can say bullshit,” Ghost snickered, leaving them alone as he walked through a door on the other side of the living room.
Scott, Clayton, and Cass downed the rest of their coffee and headed outside. They got ready to head out and Cass stopped as they were about to pull down the driveway.
“Anybody got an address on this place?” he asked.
“Yeah. Already put it in the GPS,” Scott shouted over the roar of the engines.
“We’re following you.” Cass waved his hand forward, letting them know they were ready. Cass took off, Scott to his left and Clayton riding behind them. The bar they were in route to was a little ways outside of town. There was an abandoned gas station about a quarter mile before the bar, where they decided to pull into and park at, hoping to still have the element of surprise. He didn’t think they’d be on guard since to their knowledge, the Hounds had no idea where it was they’d been hanging out anyway. Where they were parked at was hid well in the dark, giving them shelter from passersby on the highway.
Cass was first to hop off and he walked around the store, looking for anything suspicious. It was dark, but not so dark that he couldn’t see. After a thorough walk through of the premises, Cass made his back around the side to where Scott and Clayton stood. They were looking down the street toward the bar. The sound of a motorcycle accompanied by a single headlight headed in their direction had them on edge, Cass included.
It flew past them, never checking up. Whoever it was, was oblivious to their presence. Cass put a hand on Clayton’s shoulder. “Ready to fuck some shit up, Pops?”
“I was born ready, Son. Let’s go.”
Clayton led the way, walking into the woods that separated the bar from the old store. To their surprise, a fresh path was already cut, a white paper ghost hanging from the first tree in the path. Clayton chuckled and pulled the ghost down.
“He said he’d beat us here. Looks like he did.”
They followed Clayton down the heavily wooded path until dim neon lights shone through the trees as they neared the bar. Once they made it to the edge of the parking lot, Scott peered through the trees to ensure no one was around. There were a few motorcycles parked in the front, but no cars or trucks. The music was playing loud enough to mask any sounds they would make.
Making their way through the last few tree branches Ghost had left to hide the trail he’d made, they got a good view of the bar. Ghost wasn’t lying. The place was rundown and looked like it hadn’t had any maintenance done in the last thirty years.
The paint on the exterior walls was chipped to hell and back, the gutter was hanging down, and the door was lopsided and didn’t shut properly. It couldn’t be very secure. The parking lot was full of large pot holes and the gravel was thin. It looked like someone had abandoned the place in the eighties and squatters had been living there since.
“Hell of a makeshift clubhouse, huh brother?” Scott asked, taking in their surroundings.
“I’ll say.” Cass walked around toward the side of the building, hoping there was a window he could see inside through. As he suspected, there was. Inside, he could see Keith sitting at the bar with a patch on either side of him and one behind the bar who was likely a prospect.
The smell of gasoline crept into Cass’s nostrils. He looked around, finding Clayton kneeling a few feet away from him pouring gas into a glass beer bottle. Before Cass could react, Clayton stuffed a piece of cloth into the tip of the bottle, lit it, and hummed it directly through the window. It exploded upon entry through the window, causing instant chaos inside. Fire spewed toward the men at the bar, small bits of it landing on them.
The bartender ducked for cover while the two patches that were sitting next to Keith drew their weapons and disappeared. Cass no longer had eyes on anyone, they were hidden from sight. Clayton looked at Cass, then at Scott.
“Now or never, boys,” Ghost’s voice rang out from behind them in the brush.
“I’ve never been one to half-ass anything. It’s go time.” Cass raised his pistol and crouched down, making his way toward the door. Scott and Clayton were on the move, too, and Ghost…well, he was doing what he did best. Disappearing.
Taking a deep breath in, Cass kicked the falling apart door open and all fucking hell broke loose. Whoever was firing off rounds was a complete idiot. They were shooting wild, with no target in mind obviously, because bullets were flying in every direction. Cass was still outside, standing beside the doorway, just out of sight. He no longer had eyes on Scott or Clayton, but he had to remain focused, if not he wouldn’t be walking away from this place upright.
His arm stung from the flesh wound of a bullet grazing him that he hadn’t noticed initially, but when he leaned against the chipped boards that made up the outer walls, he almost howled under his own weight.
Biting his lip to subdue any noise that might escape, he eased off the wall. He instantly felt relief once his weight was lifted from his arm. He could hear movement inside and what he assumed were supposed to be whispers and hushed voices. They sucked at the concept though.
“Get Kingston and his guys on the phone. Let ‘em know we’re being attacked at the bar.”
Cass would recognize that voice anywhere. Keith. Moccasin VP. Leader of chaos. Or at least that’s what he used to be. Because tonight, he wouldn’t be any of those things. Tonight, he was going to be another toe tag in the morgue. Ghost never missed a target and some drugged-up douchebag wouldn’t be the first, of that Cass was certain.
From the sounds of their footsteps, Cass figured they were behind the bar. Which was far enough to the side that he should be able to get inside the doorway and take out at least one of the guys before they realized he was there. Fuck, I hate this part.
Whipping around the corner, his nine aimed and ready, he was able to get off one shot as he suspected. Straight to the head of a short,
young man. He dropped and Cass quickly ducked back outside.
“Come on, Cass. Doing your own dirty work, these days?” Keith’s tone was challenging.
“Better than sending some fucked-up zombies out to do the job, don’t you think?” Cass fired back, hatred lacing his voice.
“Keith, look out!” one of the men shouted, followed by a gurgling moan and a loud thud.
Cass did a mental recap and counted the number of men that should be left: one. He waltzed through the doorway, an unamused Keith standing behind the bar with a highly amused Scott behind him with the barrel of a gun pressed against his head.
“Hey Pops, you can come in now,” Cass called loudly as he approached Keith.
“Think I got it from here, brother.”
Scott lowered his weapon and shoved Keith forward. His grungy hair covered his face with the motion. He whipped his head sideways in attempt to get his hair out of his eyes so he could see.
“I’m not scared of you. You’re nothing more than a wannabe. You can’t even run your own goddamn club right!” he shouted.
Cass laughed in his face. “You don’t know anything about running a club. Hell, you don’t know anything about running a damn thing other than dope.”
“I knew how to run dope and firearms. I’ve made more money off that than you could even fathom.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe that,” Scott muttered.
Keith looked between Scott and Cass then focused his attention back on Cass. “That little house you just bought is cute. That’s chump change.”
Cass’s blood boiled as soon as the words were out of Keith’s mouth. There was no way in fucking hell he should’ve known about that. Only a select few of the Hounds knew about it and a few of the Sinners, but they couldn’t pick any Moccasins out of a lineup if they weren’t wearing a cut.
“Guess that all depends on what kind of lifestyle you want,” Cass countered, reigning in the anger that was so close to breaking through the surface. He refused to let this motherfucker get the best of him. He had a lot of information to drag out of him and he wouldn’t be any good for that if he were missing his teeth and bleeding all over the damn place.
Like the lion tamer in a circus, Cass beckoned his inner beast into its cage, swallowing back the rage that burned his throat like a whiskey shot. He wanted nothing more than to turn Keith’s face into puree, but he wouldn’t. Not right now.
“Get a prospect here with a cage. We’re taking him to the clubhouse. He’s gonna have a one on one with Snapper and his…” Cass tapped his fingers against one another, “tactics.”
Scott pulled his phone out and dialed. He made demands while Cass made sure Keith’s hands were secured and then unarmed him. He was carrying a piece in the back of his jeans and two knives, one on the side of each boot. He was quiet while Cass tied his hands with rope he’d found in a drawer behind the bar.
“They’ll be here in ten. I’m going to see if I can find Clayton.” Scott was out the door before he finished his sentence, leaving Cass and Keith alone in the bar.
“Whatever you’re going to do to me, it won’t work. You know that just as well as I do.”
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
Cass
“Brother, you need to go outside. I’ll stay in here with Keith for a minute.” Scott calmly approached them, grabbing Keith’s hands from Cass.
Cass looked up at Scott who wore a grim expression. “Fuck,” he breathed. He knew it couldn’t be good. Clayton hadn’t come in. Which meant he was still outside…for a reason. Cass bolted through the door. Ghost was kneeling next to Clayton who was leaned against the base of one of the larger trees surrounding the parking lot.
He had been hit, that much was clear, but where was the question. Ghost looked up at a panicked Cass. “He’s going to live.”
Cass let out a breath of relief before he was kneeling down next to them. Examining Clayton closely, or as closely as he could in the dark, he couldn’t see blood anywhere.
“Where’d you get hit?’
“In my side. Bullet missed my lung…barely…” he coughed out.
“Quit talking ‘fore you make that damn thing move in there.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works, Son,” Clayton rasped. “You’re gonna need a cleanup crew. You do have one of those don’t you?”
“What do I look like, an amateur? Of course I have one, but forgive us if we’re running a little short. Everyone’s out there doing what we’ve been doing. I’ll get with some of the guys at the house with the girls and see if they can fill in. The girls are fine now that Keith is in our hands.”
“Don’t make excuses, just get the...job...done…” Clayton barely got the words out before he was coughing so hard his whole head was turning colors, and that was saying something considering how dark it was out.
“Ghost, can you get him to the hospital? I got guys on their way to take Keith to the clubhouse. If I’d have known he was going to be that easy to get to, I wouldn’t have paid you half of what I paid for my damn house,” he chuckled.
“I can get him to the hospital. I’ll keep you posted. Take care of your club, kid.”
Headlights shone into the parking lot of the bar. Leo hopped out of his truck, Shorty right behind him, running over to where Cass and the others stood. “Shit,” he huffed, looking down at Clayton.
“Can you help me load him up? I need to get him across the street to my truck.” Ghost already had an arm wrapped around Clayton’s lower back, beginning to lift him up.
Leo obeyed, nodding as he helped lift Clayton off the ground. Shorty opened the back door to the truck and helped lift Clayton in. While they drove across the street and swapped Clayton from one vehicle to the other, Cass made a beeline for the bar. To hell with caging the beast. Keith had poked the sleeping bear for far too long.
Scott moved out of Cass’s way as soon as he made eye contact with him. Cass did not have the temper that should be taken lightly, and if anyone knew this, it was Scott. Cass untied Keith’s hands viciously. He wasn’t about to beat on someone who couldn’t defend themselves. As soon as they were free, Cass laid into him. Skilled blow after devastating blow of right hooks and upper cuts, Keith was knocked half stupid. He didn’t even try to block any of the punches Cass threw, and he wasn’t letting up.
“You sorry piece of fucking shit!” Cass hollered. He had had enough of this shit. He was sick and tired of the people he loved and cared about getting hurt and it was all at the hands of a grimy, no good, meth-snorting, coke-dealing, sorry piece of dog shit.
Keith laughed and blood sprayed from his mouth, leaving red dots all over Cass’s fists and forearms. After the third crunch Cass heard beneath his assault, he stopped. That was three teeth that he’d knocked out, or quite possibly down his throat.
Cass was out of breath, sucking in gulps of air as he tried to catch his breath. Keith groaned beneath him but made no effort to move. Somehow, they’d gone from standing up to Cass kneeling on top of him, beating his head into the floor. Keith’s head was turned to the side, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. He wasn’t so cocky, anymore. Cass’s beast was still hungry but it had been satiated enough to put it back in the cage for a while. Besides, Snapper would have a field day playing with Keith. He had learned multiple ways of torture first hand. His father used to beat him as a child and one day, beating him wasn’t enough so he water boarded him. After water boarding, he tried plenty other forms of torture, some of them so extreme that Snapper wouldn’t speak of them to this day.
“Aw, come on Prez. I gotta put that in my truck?” Leo asked, looking down at the bloody scene before him when he walked in. Shorty was standing behind him, trying not to laugh.
Cass stood up, looking Leo square in his eyes. “Seeing as you’re the longest running prospect, I think the answer to that question is yes. But feel free to clean him up first if that makes you feel better,” Cass said, a smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth.
“Man…” Leo sighed and grabbed a rag from the bar. Leo sat him upright and wiped his face with the dirty rag. It got the blood off his face for the most part. Keith laughed, spewing bloody spit all over Leo’s face and the front of his shirt.
“Fuck you, prospect.”
Without hesitation, Leo reared back and landed a blow to Keith’s face, hitting him right between his eyes.
“Shit!” he muttered, pulling back and looking over at Cass. Cass grinned at him and shrugged his shoulders.
“Good job, prospect.”
Leo smiled and grabbed Keith’s arm, hoisting him up to his feet. “I’m not your fucking prospect.” He shoved him forward and out the door.
Scott started laughing. “How much time you think he’s got left?”
“I don’t know, but I feel like it just got a lot shorter.”
They laughed about that as they walked outside. “I gotta get Clayton’s bike back. Hey, Shorty!” Cass called, making his way toward Leo’s truck.
“Yeah?”
“I need you to take Clayton’s bike back to the clubhouse.”
“Good, I didn’t wanna be cooped up in the truck with those two. If Leo doesn’t kill him before they get there, I’ll be surprised.”
“Heard that!” Leo yelled from the driver’s side window. He continued to mumble something toward the back seat, no doubt a string of curses directed at Keith. He got the truck turned around and pulled up next to them.
“Want a ride? You’ll have to sit next to a fucking jackass, but hop on in, guys,” Leo said, sounding like an enthusiastic tour guide, ready to show them all of the wonders of a new town.
Scott and Shorty got into the back seat, Shorty sitting closest to Keith while Cass got in the front, both Cass and Scott shrugging out of their cuts before getting in to avoid fines. The circumstances might be extreme, but club bylaws were club bylaws.
Leo drove them the short distance from the bar to the store they’d stowed their bikes away at. Ghost’s truck was long gone, not that they’d seen it when they’d arrived, anyway. The three of them exited the truck just as quickly as they’d entered.