His to Protect: Midnight Riders MC

by April Lust

  “That lady sure does hate you,” he remarked. “She was tellin’ me all about it. Seems like she’s been out to make you suffer for a long, long time. Well,” he sighed, stroking my cheekbone with one rough thumb, “I’m just doing my own small part to help her out. That’s its own reward, ain’t it? Helping out your fellow man? Or woman, or whatever? Of course, a little piece of ass like yourself ain’t a bad side benefit. And the money. That’s nice, too.”

  His eyes glistened. I saved up all the spit I could in my mouth and fired it into his face. He dropped my chin, surprised, as he fell backwards a few steps and laughed. “Feisty, well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t see that one coming.” His eyes narrowed. “But if I were you, I’d be saving that spit. It’ll help everything go down your throat just a bit easier.” His tone ended in a low, guttural growl as he jumped back towards me and sealed my nostrils between his thumb and forefinger.

  I kept my mouth shut for as long as I could. In front of me, I saw him fumble with his member until I flopped forward out of his pants. It was thick, much rounder than Nicholas’s, and rose out of a nest of wild black pubic hair. He picked it up with his free hand and stroked it. The thing rocketed into a thudding erection.

  I was losing the fight with my lungs. I’d have to draw in a breath soon. But I wanted to keep pushing that moment away. Just a few more seconds. Then someone would save me, right? Just a few more. Just a few more.

  I couldn’t hold it anymore. I opened my mouth and sucked in a greedy lungful of air. The man immediately let go of my nose and grabbed my cheeks, squeezing them hard to keep them open. As he did, he rammed himself into my mouth.

  I was wrong. No one was coming.

  Chapter 29

  Nicholas

  Before I knew it, it had begun.

  “Strap up, boys,” Giovanni ordered as the men crowded around the arms closet. Two foot-soldiers stood at the door, passing out guns to each of the men as they trooped by. When they were armed, they stepped aside to check their weapons and test the weight of the firepower in their hands.

  There were fifteen or twenty Esposito men assigned to the raid, along with Giovanni, Cosimo, and myself. “You’re sure about this?” asked one of the older men who’d been in the meeting. From what I gathered, he’d been an advisor to Cosimo’s father for nearly thirty years. They’d been through plenty of wars together, both successful and not. But he wasn’t prepared for this sudden change of leadership.

  “Of course I’m sure,” Cosimo snapped back. He turned and pointed a pistol between the man’s eyes. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?” he asked coolly.

  “No, no, not at all,” the man stammered. He backed up with his hands held in the air, a look of fear sprawled across his face.

  Cosimo took a step towards him, keeping the pistol trained squarely on the advisor’s face. His voice was low and menacing. “Do you think I’m a coward, Giovanni? Do you think I am a pussy?”

  “Certainly not,” he replied, fingers quaking. “Never, Cosimo.” He took another step backwards and bumped into a wall. There was no more room to retreat.

  Cosimo advanced on him further, closing the space to a mere few inches between his face and the trembling face of the man under his gun. “I am not a coward. Say it.”

  “You are not a coward,” the man repeated. His Adam’s apple rode up and down his throat. A bead of sweat trickled down his face and slid onto the metal of the gun pressed against his forehead.

  Suddenly, Cosimo burst into a smile and lowered the gun. He patted the man on the shoulder. “Good. Good.” He turned to face the assembled men. None of us had moved a muscle since the moment the confrontation had started. The atmosphere in the room was brittle with tension. “Boys, this is the beginning of a new era. My era. Don’t let me down. I know you won’t, though…right?”

  He swept his gaze around the room, settling on me. As he looked over them, the men nodded their heads furiously. Everyone was desperate to avoid provoking his manic wrath. He held eyes with me the longest. I hesitated, then gave him a curt nod. He smiled again.

  “Shall we, then?” he asked.

  With everyone armed, Giovanni lead us out to a caravan of unmarked vans parked in front of the Esposito stronghold. We piled in and the vehicles began bumbling down the road. Somehow, I ended up seated next to Cosimo. He was staring blankly at the ground. His eyes were riveted, wide open, but his pupils were lax and unfocused. I wondered what the hell he was thinking. He was turning out to be even more of a crazy bastard than I’d expected.

  We hit a bump in the pavement that jolted him from his daze. He turned to face me. Fishing the chain from around his neck, he pulled it up to reveal a vial fastened to the end. There was a tiny silver spoon hooked on the outside of it. He unscrewed the top, removed the spoon, and used it to excavate a heaping bump of cocaine.

  “Care for some?” he asked, extending the spoon in my direction.

  I held up a hand. “No, thanks,” I told him. “Doesn’t agree with my stomach.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Then he snorted it into his right nostril. “Ahh,” he said, wringing out his wrists as he tucked the vial back under his shirt. He startled me by slapping himself viciously across the face. “That is the good shit, my friends. That is living.” Every other man in the back of the van kept his eyes fixated on the floor. No one said a word.

  The swap had been arranged to take place at an abandoned sewage treatment plant on the outer edge of the city. I craned my neck to look out the window as we rumbled into the compound. Industrial equipment loomed large on all sides, casting twisted shadows from the crescent moon overhead. We cruised around back, then came to a shuddering halt.

  The back door swung open, revealing Giovanni. “Hope you’re ready, boys,” he called to us. “It’s game time.”

  Cosimo sprung up and out, leaping to the ground. He landed with a wheeze, then tugged an automatic rifle from the arms of the man next to him. An evil grin spread from ear to ear as he took a huge inhale of the night air. It smelled musty and foul, the remnants of decades-old sewage still lingering on the edge of the breeze, but he let loose a pleased sigh and the lights in his eyes brightened. Then he pivoted and started marching off towards the center of the plant.

  The men looked at each other, confused. Giovanni lumbered off after him, sweating already, and we all fell in behind. I took up the rear. As quickly as I could manage to do it without anyone noticing, I fired off a quick text to Fists.

 

  His response was immediate.

  I pocketed my cell phone and sent up a quick prayer. I didn’t believe in God or the afterlife, but tonight I needed some extra help on my side. We all did.

  Minutes later, we were huddled behind a massive pipe, nearly eight feet in diameter, peering out over the empty expanse at the heart of the complex. Bright halogen lights beamed overhead, still on and operational for some reason, despite how long it had been since the city officials first condemned the plant.

  The men breathed quietly. I saw Cosimo take another bump of coke. The lights buzzed, and the minutes dragged past with excruciating slowness. I was dying to check my phone, but I had to resist the urge. I couldn’t afford to blow my cover now. I gritted my teeth and waited.

  Then, at long last, there was motion. I saw Fists emerge from the shadows off to my right, maybe twenty yards in front of where we sat in hiding. He was accompanied by eight of the most veteran men in the club. I recognized them as some of our best fighters. Each of them had seen battle before, and they weren’t afraid of a little bloodshed. The scars riddling their bodies were testament to all the shit they’d gone through in their lives.

  The last man in the group was towing a pallet covered with a thick tarp. The wheels beneath the pallet groaned with the weight of its burden—chemical weapons powerful enough to destroy half a city block. It had been an insanely complex and risky process procuring them, involving secret payments and clandestine meeti
ngs lasting more than a year. But at long last, they’d come into our possession, and now we were ready to pull off the deal of the century. That is, if this whole plan worked out.

  As we watched, Fists pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, dialed a number, and held it to his ear. I heard the faint jingle of a ringtone coming from the shadows to my left, and a tiny blue glimmer popped up in the darkness. The glow bounced up and down, and then stepped into the light.

  It was a short, lithe Japanese man, dressed in a black suit with a white tie knotted around his throat. Yakuza. He held a cell phone in his hand, the source of the light I’d seen. It was ringing softly. The metal structures surrounding the open courtyard bounced sound around incredibly well, making every hint of sound perfectly audible.

  Aside from the phone, the man was empty handed. Fists frowned. “Where’s the money?” he asked bluntly. He gestured at the pallet. “We brought what you asked for. Did you bring the payment you promised?”

  The man sighed and ran a hand across his smooth, shiny hair. He pocketed the cell phone. “I don’t have the money,” he replied.

  “Why the fuck not?” Fists demanded immediately.

  I tensed, eyes narrowed and gun held close against my chest. What the hell was going on? This part of the evening should have been easy and straightforward. Cosimo’s plan was to let the trade take place, then swoop in to capture The Punishers and the money they would be receiving for the weaponry. It didn’t bode well for things to be changing right off the bat.

  The Japanese man licked his lips and sighed again, louder this time. He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. “We decided to take a better deal,” he said finally.

  Fists turned purple with rage. His words were choked and sputtered. “You…what?”

  “It is business, that is all,” the man said. “You must understand.”

  “Tell me what’s stopping me from blowing your goddamn head off right here,” Fists seethed. He stepped forward until less than a yard separated him from the Yakuza representative. He was white-knuckling the gun in his fist.

  “That would be a poor decision,” Cosimo announced as he strolled out from behind the pipe. Giovanni was frantically signaling for us to follow him. We flowed outward into the courtyard, forming a half-circle around Fists and the other Punishers, guns aimed squarely at them. They were outnumbered two to one.

  I watched as Fists’ face went through a series of emotions. He was doing a good job playacting, pretending like he hadn’t known this raid was taking place. “You motherfucker,” he gasped in fake horror.

  Cosimo smiled. “I couldn’t let you make this much money in one fell swoop!” he announced. “Who knows what you would use it for? You might want to hurt me!” He shook his head sadly. “You say ‘peace, this,’ and ‘truce, that,’ but I don’t know if I can trust you. There’s so much, ah, what’s the word…bad blood between your family and mine. Lots of history. Not pretty.”

  “You shouldn’t have done this,” Fists said grimly. I looked around as panic began to settle in. Where the fuck was Luca? He needed to be here by now. I could tell Fists was stalling, trying to bide his time until the counterraid showed up.

  “Ah, but I needed to,” Cosimo said. “You were right about one thing: the war between us has gone on too long. Since before I was born, even! It’s time to put the whole mess to rest. Don’t you agree?”

  The Punishers behind Fists shifted their weight from foot to foot. The weapons in their hands hung uselessly by their sides. One sudden move and the Espositos surrounding them would blast them apart. I could see the impatience in their faces. Everything was on edge.

  I heard a clank behind me. I swiveled around to look, and there he was—Luca.

  He heaved his way out of the darkness into the rim of light. Behind him, ten other Punishers marched in step. Their guns were aimed at the backs of the Esposito men, myself included.

  Cosimo spun back and forth, mouth agape. “What’s this?” he stuttered.

  Fists broke into a wide grin. All traces of the uncertainty and fear he’d first displayed disappeared immediately. In its place was a gloating pride. “You aren’t the only one with a trick up his sleeve, little Esposito. What was your name again? Collin, Colombo…goddamn, for the life of me, I just can’t remember.” He chuckled.

  “My name is Cosimo,” he glowered.

  “Ah, that’s right!” Fists said in mock celebration, slapping his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Cosimo! How could I forget? Well, Cosimo, there’s an expression for situations like this. Don’t bring a knife to a gunfight. Luca, round them up and put these bastards out of their misery. Let’s make this quick.”

  All eyes swung to Luca. He had his gun up on his shoulder, pointed towards Cosimo. Everyone held their breath.

  But then, suddenly, he switched his aim. Instead of pointing his weapon at Cosimo, he adjusted so now it was riveted directly at The Punishers’ president. “Sorry, Fists,” he said, sounding almost convincingly apologetic. “Mr. Esposito made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  This time, Fists’ horror was real.

  Cosimo’s laugh broke the silence. It was a desperate, haunting laugh, scything up through the contorted factory machinations above us and echoing again and again. He bent over, hands on his knees, giving himself over to the hysteria.

  Fists’ mouth hung open the whole time. His gun dangled by his side. He wasn’t white knuckling it anymore. Instead, it hung limply from his defeated fingers.

  Finally, Cosimo calmed down and straightened himself up. He wiped tears from his eyes. “Oh, man, that is truly funny,” he said. “Can you at least appreciate the humor in the situation? You thought you had…but actually, it was me who…ah, jeez, I can’t even. Too funny. Too goddamn funny.”

  “Luca…what is this?” Fists whispered.

  Luca hiked up his sweats, which had started to fall down around his ass. “Just what it looks like, president,” he sneered sarcastically. “I made a little switch. Different team now. Unfortunate timing for you, though.”

  Cosimo walked over to Fists, who had not budged. “You look very confused, so before we kill you, I’ll do you the courtesy of explaining how you lost.” He pointed at the Japanese man, still standing patiently with his hands folded in front of him. “This man does not represent the Yakuza. He never has. In fact, there never was any Yakuza. This is just some Asian guy from the Chinese restaurant down the street. You can go now, Charles.” He scampered away immediately and was gone.

  Fists’ eyes turned dumbly to where the Japanese man had run off, then back to Cosimo. He was at a loss for words.

  “We tricked you, get it?” Cosimo continued. “You thought you were headed for a big old payday, didn’t you? I almost feel bad for you. It must have seemed like such an attractive deal. Shame it was never going to take place.” He clapped Fists on the shoulder. “I do applaud you, though. Setting up a counterattack to my attack would have been a good move. But, fortunately, I heard about it a little bit in advance. Luca, come here.”

  Luca sauntered over to Cosimo, who slung an arm around the hitman’s shoulders. “I managed to persuade my good man Luca here to come on over to our side of the table, so to speak. I offered some money, some women, a little piece territory to run for himself. All the man wanted was influence, my friend. It wasn’t so hard to convince him which of us was in a better position to give him that. And then, as for these men,” he said, gesturing at The Punishers men following Luca, “they just wanted more of the same. It was a nice addition to our organization, if I do say so myself. A nice little coup.”

  Luca had stabbed his own club in the back. I hadn’t felt such a murderous rage since I walked in to see Smalls’ last breaths. It was like a cloud boiling up inside me, obscuring my thoughts, my vision. All I could see was red. Angry, bloody red. The motherfucker betrayed us.

  “And last but not least, we have our good friend Nicholas,” Cosimo said. Every man in the square turned to look at me. Th
irty guns were staring me down. My blood ran cold. “Maybe the biggest fool of you all. We had you from the start, Nico boy. Did you really think you would just waltz in unnoticed and undetected? Ridiculous! You thought you were so damn coy, with your bad boy attitude and everything. I can’t believe you took me for such an idiot.” His face fell into an unhappy frown, his arms hung limp by his sides. Then he sniffled and stood up tall. His frown transformed into a hideous snarl. “But if there’s one thing I hate in this world, it’s a rat in my own house. Do you know what I do with rats, Nicholas?”

  I stood completely still. My gun was still held at my chest, but I didn’t dare move it. I hardly dared to breathe.

  “I don’t kill them right away. Oh, no. I like to play with them first. I like to tease them and prod them and let them think they are about to get away. I’ve had some fun with you, but I’m not finished yet. Far from it. There is still more fun to be had.” He turned to look down sadly upon Fists and the rest of The Punishers who had stayed loyal to the club. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the rest of you. Luca, take Nicholas to see his girlfriend. As for the rest of these biker boys…kill them.”