by Jen Davis
Mike groaned. “Do not talk about my sister having sex, Cin.”
“Why not?” Cindy stopped cleaning long enough to shoot him a dirty look. “Amanda is full-grown, and she deserves to get laid every bit as much as you do. I just don’t want her to end up with a raging case of the clap.”
“I’m not getting the clap.” That’s why God invented condoms. “Look, I appreciate you both looking out for me, but as you said, I’m a big girl. All I need from you guys is your love and support. And if it’s not too much trouble, maybe you can be happy for me. I haven’t felt like this in a long time.”
Mike stirred the soupy remains of his dessert. “We are happy for you, and really, I want Kane back. I always thought we would end up raising our kids together and being the cool dads our kids want at parties.”
“No one wants you at parties, Dad.” Joshua’s taunt came in loud and clear from the next room.
“Keep it up, and I’ll say no to the PlayStation game you asked to download.” Mike shook his head and muttered, “Smartass.”
The idea of a little boy with Kane’s dark hair and big heart was what her dreams were made of. Even when the possibility of a future with him had been less than zero, all her fantasy children had his smile. “I’d love for my kids to grow up with yours.”
“All I’m asking is if you’re sure all of this is what Kane wants too. The kind of happy ever after domestic family thing we’re talking about doesn’t jive with the Skulls; we both know it. And if what you say is true—if he’s dropping out—you’ve got to be ready for it to rock his world. The club has been practically everything to him for his entire adult life. I’m only saying it might be hard.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to go load the dishwasher now.”
Cindy placed the stack of dishes she’d collected onto his lap and waited until he wheeled away before she spoke. “He means well.”
She didn’t doubt it for a second. Mike had never done anything but support her, from her choice in career, to her love life, to her relationship with her father. Her brother was her biggest cheerleader and her best friend. “I know. I’m not sure what he’s asking me, though. Do I know the club is shady? Yeah. Do I know it’s a big deal for him to patch out? Again…yeah. But it was his choice. It’s what he wants. I’m what he wants.”
“I think you’re right.” Cindy stood, opening her arms for a hug she was more than happy to provide. Her sister-in-law’s embrace felt familiar and fortifying. “If anyone can find the magic again after a thirteen-year break, it’s the two of you. I never stopped hoping you’d find your way back to each other.” Cindy kissed her cheek. “Now get your ass out of here. I have a feeling he’ll be calling any minute.”
The lady didn’t have to say it twice. She couldn’t wait to get home, to have her man back in her bed.
Just as Cindy predicted, the phone buzzed moments after she walked in her front door, but her heart sank when she saw the text.
Kane: Can’t make it tonight.
No tender words. No explanation.
Her mind went straight to her brother’s warnings. Had she read Kane wrong? Had he changed his mind already?
She grasped the pendant at her neck, the cool metal a comforting weight in her hand. I Love You. Forever. She was being paranoid. Kane wouldn’t change his mind; he was in it for the long haul, leaving his old life behind, if not tonight, then tomorrow.
No reason to worry. She’d tell herself as many times as it took until she could make herself believe it.
***
Kane
Kane shoved his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket, pushing images of Mandy out of his head. She had no place among the dark thoughts consuming him right now.
The police had finished their work, leaving him seeped in his mother’s grief, his father’s frozen stupor, and a clubhouse riddled with bullets and soaked in blood. “What happened?” He needed answers, and his parents were the only ones here. “Malcolm,” he barked, shaking his father’s shoulder. “What. Happened.”
Malcolm glanced up, the dazed look in his eyes clearing. “We were shooting pool when the gunfire started. Cue, Scott, and me. I’d walked back to the kitchen to grab a beer, and then I heard it. It was automatic for sure.” His jaw tightened. “I crawled back in on my hands and knees, but it stopped as fast as it started. Your brother was dead before I got to him.”
A large pool of blood next to the table supported his version of events. The array of bullet holes along the front wall of the house and the interior did as well. There were too many for it to be anything less than automatic fire. “Who did this?” Either the Christian Soldiers or the Russians were behind it. Both groups would want Scott’s head on a pike.
“Witnesses told the cops they saw a black van.” With shaking hands, Malcolm poured a healthy dose of bourbon into a glass.
“Sergei,” Kane growled. The Soldiers would have been on two wheels, not four.
“You tried to warn us.” Malcolm gulped back the amber liquid. “We should have listened.”
He wasn’t interested in his father’s self-pity. It was time for action, not words. “Call in the rest of the club. There’s going to be a reckoning.”
Malcolm had the men assembled in thirty minutes flat. Their reactions ranged from anger to heartbreak to fear.
“First thing we gotta do is be there for Cue.” He turned to the prospect. “I need you to take Mama V and Desiree to the hospital. Use my mom’s car.”
The kid took the keys Malcolm held out, then led Mama out the front door.
Kane returned his focus to his brothers. “What do we know about where the Russians stay when they’re here?”
Frank cracked his knuckles. “They’ve got a safe house in Mechanicsville. At least, they did a few years back. It’s where we met with them the first time…me, Randy, and Scott.”
Randy stroked his mostly gray beard, a frown wrinkling his leathery forehead. “Right. It was on Love Street. I remember Scott said he was gonna steal the street sign to hang over his bed. The Russians didn’t think it was funny.”
That sounded like Scott. He always—Kane’s heart stuttered when he remembered his brother would never do anything again. No more corny puns or practical jokes. Scott’s legacy was complete. It was all past tense now.
He shut down the rising tide of emotion. “Do you think you’d recognize the place if you saw it again?”
Randy’s eyes narrowed. “No doubt.”
Frank crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Me too. Plus, their van will stick out like a sore thumb. It’s no Escalade, but it’s nicer than anything else you’re gonna see in the neighborhood.”
“What are we going to do, Kane?” Scratch asked the question, but every eye in the room was on him. Funny how no one looked to Malcolm now. It wouldn’t matter if they did. Nothing would stand in the way of his retribution.
Justice would be swift.
And it will be mine.
“We’re going to pay them back, an eye for an eye. We’re going to descend on the place where they feel safe, and we are going to kill every last fucking one of them.”
A cheer went up in the room. Every voice bayed for blood.
“But we’re gonna do it my way.” He looked at the faces around him for any sign of a challenge. There was none. “We’re not gonna drive by. We’re gonna break in. This isn’t business. It’s personal,” he snarled. “I want to look those bastards in the eye. I want my face to be the last thing they see when they take their last breaths. They will die knowing it’s in my brother’s fucking name.”
The men murmured in agreement, and he handed out assignments for lookouts, drivers, and members of the hit squad. They split up, forgoing the bikes and piling into the Bronco and Pete’s black Impala to keep a lower profile. Ten men in all would be part of the operation. Four would stay back with Malcolm at the clubhouse.
On the drive to the safehouse, the only sounds were the rumble of the Bronco’s engine and clips sliding into variou
s guns as the men readied for their attack. Pete parked a few houses down from their target, and the brothers split into their assignments without prompting.
He led the hit squad with back-up from Frank, Randy, Bear, and Scratch. Randy and Scratch might be older guys, but they were ruthless and had shown no hesitation in taking a life, which was exactly what they needed right now.
Sure enough, the black van was parked in the carport, though it was half covered by a ratty tarp. Scratch snuck up behind the lookout, and Kane saw the flash of a blade a few seconds before the man’s body hit the ground.
He and his men fanned out into positions at multiple points of entry and at Frank’s shrill whistle busted in with guns blazing. Shouts and gunfire echoed through the house. Though it was impossible to know which Russian fired the fatal shots at his brother, he was looking for one man: the one in charge. He had no doubt Sergei gave the order.
The blond bastard was unloading a clip toward the front door when Kane shouldered his way in from the back. The fucker’s normally slicked back hair had fallen over his forehead, his normally placid face twisted in rage.
He knocked the gun from his hand and shoved the barrel of his brother’s Glock beneath the man’s chin. All the screaming and violence around them fell away. Only Sergei’s set jaw and his narrowed blue eyes remained. “You killed my brother.”
Sergei raised one blond brow mockingly. It was covered in blood from a gash less than an inch below his hairline. “Nice to know my men can hit a target.”
He pushed the Glock harder against the man’s skin. “Your men are all dying or dead.”
“There are more of us. We’ll keep coming back. Besides, we are not your only enemy. We have the Soldiers with us now. You pissed off somebody very powerful, one who won’t stop until your precious brothers are nothing more than a bloodstain on the ground.”
It bothered him Sergei showed no fear, but in his blustering, at least the bastard had connected some important dots. The Skulls no longer had three separate enemies; now they were connected with Beau Griffin at the center of it all.
“Your brother was only the beginning,” Sergei sneered.
With all the Russian’s big talk, maybe the head wound was making him stupid. “I’ll bet he died crying in a pile of his own shit.” Maybe he was ready to meet his maker.
He pulled the trigger, and sound exploded in his ears as Sergei’s brains splattered in an array of gore on the wall behind him.
He’d managed to go all these years without killing anyone. Pulling the trigger had been so much easier than he ever expected.
Turning on his heel, he surveyed the rest of the room. At least eight bodies littered the ground. Two were his own men. Bear was dead, the features on his face almost destroyed by bullets. Scratch wheezed a few feet away, his shirt soaked in blood. Frank stood upright, but he bled from a wound at his shoulder. None of the Russians survived.
“Randy, Frank, get Scratch to the car.” Kane squatted next to Bear and lifted the big man in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder. Once he made it out of the house, one of the guys stationed as lookout helped him carry his burden to the Bronco.
By the time they made it to the hospital, Scratch had stopped breathing. Frank had come up with a story to tell the cops about a second attack from the men in the mysterious black van. Kane and Pete got out of the SUV at the edge of the parking lot, and Frank drove in the rest of the way alone. They didn’t need to get tied up with questions from the cops.
It was too tight to squeeze any more men in the Impala, and too much blood covered Kane and Pete to call for a ride, so they started back to the clubhouse on foot, keeping to the shadows.
Their actions tonight were a start, but they still had enemies waiting to take another shot at them. The Christian Soldiers for one, and of course, Mandy’s father. He had no doubt Beau Griffin was the powerful man Sergei was talking about. Hell, Mandy herself had warned him her father was a threat.
Mandy.
He’d made her so many promises, and he’d meant each one. They were supposed to have a future together, the one they’d both been dreaming about for years. But who were they kidding?
He was supposed to walk away from the club; no way could he do it now. His brother was dead, and only half the people responsible had paid the price. He owed it to Scott—to his parents and his remaining brothers—to make sure justice was served.
But he couldn’t do it with Mandy at his side. He couldn’t paint a target on her back. Besides, he was no longer the same man who made her those promises only hours ago. That man had never taken a life.
She deserved better than a killer fouling her bed.
And now, her father was now his enemy, more so than ever before.
He raked his hand through his tangled hair, no doubt coating it with Bear’s blood. There could be no future with Mandy. No happiness or love. He had to let his dreams go. It was time to unleash a nightmare on his enemies.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Kane
Kane stood in the shower with his head bowed, dried blood once again mingling with the water going down the drain. Dawn was already peeking over the horizon when they made it back to the clubhouse. The brothers were here, along with his dad, all crashed out; a few had snagged beds, others on the furniture, a few on the floor. Thank fuck, someone had cleaned up the spot where Scott had gone down.
Every muscle in his body clenched tight and tense. His head ached, and his fingers burned as they regained feeling after an hour in the cold. He needed to burn the clothes he’d been wearing. They all did. There was no telling whose blood was on there, a direct link to the death and destruction from the night before.
He grabbed the soap, rubbing the bar directly onto his filthy skin. He’d never truly get clean, but at least he could get rid of the outward evidence of his sins. His hair needed attention too. As long and thick as it was, only God knew what DNA hid among the strands.
Ignoring the water he trailed across the floor, he climbed out of the still-running spray and stood naked before the mirror. Grabbing a thick handful of hair, he sawed through it with the knife he’d left on the sink. He did it one handful after another until the longest pieces hung right below his jaw.
Dropping the chunks of hair into the garbage bag with his clothes, he got back in the shower. Now it was easy to work up a lather with the shampoo. It hadn’t been this simple to deal with in years.
And really, who gives a fuck what it looks like?
Once he got all the blood out from under his fingernails, he figured he was as clean as he was going to get. He wrapped a towel around his waist and finger-combed what was left of his hair. Too late, he realized he had no clothes here. But Scott did. Kane dressed in a pair of his brother’s jeans and a flannel still carrying a hint of Scott’s favorite cologne.
He carried the garbage bag into the backyard and tossed it into the big metal trash can. A quick squirt of lighter fluid, then he lit the contents ablaze. Neither the smoke nor the smell would turn any heads. This was the same way they’d burned leaves for years.
Ignoring the icy burn on his bare feet, Kane stayed outside until the bag and everything inside turned to ash. If only he could rid himself of the entire night the same way.
He trudged back into the house, exhaustion weighing on him like an anvil on his back. Spotting no soft place to lie down, he shuffled into the chapel and curled up on top of the table; his mother’s favorite afghan became his pillow. He blacked out the second his eyes closed.
A gentle shake from Mama V brought him back to the surface. “KC?” she rasped. “Wake up, baby. Your father wants to meet.”
“What time is it?” he mumbled. Or he tried to say it. It came out more like a mishmash of sounds.
Still, his mom seemed to understand. “It’s three o’clock. C’mon in the kitchen. We’ve got some pizza.”
His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since…nope, he wasn’t thinking about his meal at the Coopers. Nodding his head, h
e answered with a grunt.
She grasped his hand and led him toward the savory smell of the food. The men stood around the room, eating somberly. He grabbed a slice and downed it in silence.
Mama V stood behind Malcolm, who sat at the table. She kneaded his shoulders as she spoke. “Cue Ball is doing okay. The doctors had to do surgery this morning. One of the bullets punctured his intestine. They were really worried about infection, but they cut the bad piece out and put it back together again. They’ve got to watch him closely for signs of sepsis, but they think he’s going to recover.”
It didn’t sound like he’d made it completely out of the woods yet, but Cue Ball was a fighter. If anyone could pull through this, he could. “Is someone there with him? What about Frank?”
His mother kept her eyes on the back of Malcolm’s head as she spoke. “Desiree hasn’t left the hospital. She’s staying as close as the doctors will let her. As for Frank, we’re letting him get some sleep in one of the bedrooms. He only got back a couple of hours ago. The bullet went straight through, so the doctors patched him up pretty quick. He got tied up for a while dealing with the cops. I have a feeling they’ll be by here before the day is up to ask some more questions.”
Kane grabbed another lukewarm slice from the pizza box. “Did everyone burn their clothes? Ditch the guns?” There shouldn’t be any other evidence in the clubhouse.
Malcolm nodded. “Those of us who stayed back last night took care of it all this morning.”
“What about the safehouse? There could be something there linking back to us.” There were too many variables.
Scratch spoke. “I lit it up before we left last night. Torched the van too. Cops will find the bodies, maybe some shell casings, but nothing will tie ‘em back to the club.”