Out the cabin door, I pass by our offices and make my way to the main deck. It’s barely past seven in the morning, but the staff is already up and chipper as can be.
They greet me with friendly smiles, and I place an order for a carafe of coffee and — what the hell, why not — I ask for an Irish coffee to boot. A little fresh fruit as well. That will suffice until everyone awakes for a proper breakfast.
It’s already above seventy degrees as I make my way to the dining table built for the six of us. And the view, hot damn. It’s a gorgeous blue-green as far as the eye can see.
This is what we wanted for today. No land in sight.
Just us and God’s vast ocean.
I’ll have to experiment on some canvas later, see if I can find this exact shade. My tattoos could use a little more splash of color, too.
The staff is on their A-game, and I have both a carafe of rich coffee and my Irish coffee in front of me before I’ve been sitting at the table even two minutes.
They place the items down silently and I nod my thank you with a grateful smile, not wanting to break the blissful quiet of the morning. I listen to the gentle lapping of the water against the hull of the ship, rhythmic and serene, as I lift the fancy Irish coffee to my lips.
The fluffy layer of whipped-cream tickles my nose as I take a sip. Wiping the dot from my nose, I close my eyes and let the early morning sun kiss every inch of the exposed skin on my bare chest.
It feels good. This whole thing feels good.
More than I deserve, that’s for damn sure.
But, I’m learning to embrace it.
There was a time I couldn’t imagine this. Couldn’t even picture it as a possibility. It seems like another lifetime ago, but back then I was sure there wasn’t much good left, at least, not in me.
The room was silent.
Silent as the death that preceded.
Jones and Castor should be here with us. We should be downing shots, paid for by the profits of Castor’s gun trafficking deal.
But they aren’t here with us now because I wasn’t there when it went down. I’d hung back, hesitant to get involved.
I fell in with this group almost by mistake. Just a bunch of misfits who enjoyed extending their middle finger to the world. I fit right in.
We weren’t anything formal when I joined the ranks — we didn’t have a true club back then. We were just a group of guys who rode together and liked raising hell.
Then we became something more.
That middle finger became a lifestyle, and more men joined us. I kept the gang flush with cash through my nefarious internet dealings — maxing out a stranger’s credit card here, draining a bank account there — but Jones and Castor wanted to pull their weight, and that’s when the deals began.
I should have been there, but I preferred the anonymity of hacking. I could do anything behind a computer screen, and no one would ever be the wiser to my true identity. I didn’t want anyone to see my face.
But the guys insisted on going down a different path, and they paid the ultimate price. The two guys I’d grown closest two, my best friends in this fucked up life, gone forever.
Now, three dozen men are standing in silence as I dig at the old table’s wooden surface with my fingernails, weighing the options. There aren’t many. And only one that will give us any sense of satisfaction.
They want revenge, and so do I.
We need it, more than the air we breathe.
The territory Jones and Castor were dealing on was disputed, but it had been for years. It didn’t turn bloody until recently. Not until those bastard upstarts calling themselves the Scorpions laid claim to the area.
They fucked with our deals twice before, and both times we retaliated in kind. But this time... this time they executed Jones and Castor to make their claim crystal clear. It’s evident from the scene we found that it wasn’t a fair fight. We found their bodies hog-tied and shot at point-blank range.
The Scorpions decided they’d make their mark by messing with our crew. By taking the lives of my brethren.
Wrong. Fucking. Choice.
My chest tightens, a gamut of emotion inside me as I stare at the worn wood of the table, my mind traveling thousands of miles away to my twin brother.
I know what Jude would say. He’d tell me to get the fuck out of here. He’d tell me I’m better than this.
But that’s the thing. I’m not.
Not without him.
Ever since we were kids, Jude has been the steadying hand to my wild streak. There couldn’t have been two twins who were more dissimilar. At least at first glance.
But Jude got me. He always had.
Growing up, Jude was there to anchor me, to temper the wildfire inside me. To be my place of belonging. But he’s been gone for years, one tour of duty after another, doing what needs done, just like he always has. He served our family, and now he’s serving our country — and meanwhile, I’ve drifted further and further from home.
I started hacking out of boredom, or to prove something to myself, I’m not sure which. No one tricked me into anything. It’s a world where I have complete control and absolute freedom.
It’s fucking addictive.
And now, this club. That’s my addiction, too. The tight bond of men, living outside the law, riding together... and dying together.
There’s never been the slightest doubt that what I’ve been doing with these men isn’t wise, but I’m goddamn good at it. I’ve never liked playing by anyone else’s rules and here, I don’t have to.
We fucking make our own.
And now, they’ve all turned to me to lead the way forward.
Truth is, the sentimental remnants of my former life that I’ve been clinging are just faded memories of another time. There’s nothing for me to go back to. My idyllic childhood has long since passed. My friends in college have moved on. My brother is gone, off being the kind of man I’ll never be.
There’s no place for me to belong. Except here.
I’ll never be worthy of standing beside my brother. For years, he kept me from sinking to the full depths of my darkness, but I was still on a slow slide, all the same.
Since he’s been gone, only the memory of seeing myself through his eyes has held me back. I’ve been clinging to a vision of me that doesn’t exist — unattainable, yet haunting my every move.
It’s time to give up the ghost.
Left to my own devices, it’s clear I’ve been destined for this path from birth. It’s just my nature.
Now, here I am, facing the choice I’ve been heading toward my whole life.
The club needs me to stand with them. To lead them through the perilous journey of revenge, without mercy. My fallen brothers deserve no less than every ounce of savage depravity I can summon. I have to shed the last layers of who I was and become who I’m meant to be.
It’s time.
I study the faces around me. There’s fear and grief in their expressions. Rage and malice, too. Outshining all of it is the thing that calls to me most — aggression.
The room grows silent as I stand. I never asked to be their leader. I’m a lone wolf. I always have been.
But blood has forged our bonds.
Vengeance will be our brotherhood.
And every motherfucker with the wrong patch on his vest is going to know the fury of the beast inside me.
I’ll tear their fucking throats open with my bare teeth. I’ll taste the exquisite agony of their pain and the bitter despair of their defeat.
We’ll hunt them down like reapers and annihilate every last one of them. Rip them from limb to limb until they’re nothing but a pile of bones and flesh.
I look each of my men in the eye. They straighten as I do, respect and solidarity in their gaze.
The air is bristling with violent energy, thick with a desire to lay death and chaos at the feet of our enemies. It feeds me and leaves me hungry for more.
I feel the wickedness of the snarl on my
lips and the darkness in my heart as I prepare to accept the call.
This will be no slow descent into the abyss.
This is a dive straight into the fires of hell.
After it went down — after we hunted them to near extinction — we rose to the top, with me at the helm. The alpha wolf of the pack. We took territories, we ran every deal, and we held our position with an iron fist. The money, drugs, and women followed like a moth to flame.
Shit. I thought that was the life. I thought I was the king on top of the goddamn mountain.
I was a king.
I embraced that world with open arms and didn’t hold back. It was all I knew, for years. I put everyone and everything else out of my mind.
But our deeds festered inside me, like dark shadows eating my soul piece by piece. I kept the worst of it at bay by using everything around me to forget. Booze. Drugs. Women whose faces I can’t remember. Brutal fights that left me broken and bleeding. But I always got up and asked for more. And more. Anything to keep me going.
The world would have been a better place without me. Hell, I should have died a dozen times over. Some days, back then, I wished I had. I knew my life was a fucking torment, a wrath upon the world, but I had nothing else. It became all I knew.
I was drowning. And I couldn’t stop.
Until my brother came home.
But it got worse before it got better.
When he called to let me know he’d resigned his post and would be stateside within the month — fuck. That’s when it all came crashing down.
My chest bows up and my fingers curl into fists, because I can’t believe those assholes walked in here with that vest. Got some fucking balls, they do, but not for long. I’ll cut them off and shove them down their goddamn throats if they don’t turn around and walk right back out of my fucking bar.
Strike one.
“You lost, assholes?” I growl.
I see the recognition dawn in their eyes. This is my territory. The scorpions on their vests are evidence that they’re not welcome within fifty fucking miles of this place.
The lead guy, a big ass motherfucker, holds up his hands. “You Jackson?”
Strike two.
So, they’re fucking cops. Or snitches. The only men who call me by my full name are the ones who’ve only ever read it on paper, from a police report. If you don’t know me and you walk into my bar, your ass is asking for a pounding. Especially if you’re wearing cuts with that goddamn emblem.
“Who the fuck are you?” I ask.
“Brenning sent us,” the big dude says. “Can we talk?”
Strike three.
He’s full of shit. Brenning’s my guy. I put him in power, gave him access to all the right contacts. He doesn’t ride or run a club, but he does have a small crew with specific skills. He’s learned the shady world of illegal business inside out, and he’s very good at bringing cash to our door.
And he damn sure knows the rules, how things work. He’d contact me through our usual channels if he needed something. He’d never send three fuckwads I’ve never laid eyes on right into my lair.
So now I need to figure out who the fuck these guys really are, and what angle they’re playing.
Allen and Magnus respond to my nod, flanking the three men as they guide them to a private room in the back of the bar. I follow behind with a slow stroll, eyeing their backs suspiciously. Down a short hall, a turn to the right into a small corridor.
There are only two rooms down here, on either side of the hall. One is for business, the other is for pleasure.
My feet are lead, like I’m walking through an incoming tide of water. Shit has been nagging on my conscious ever since Jude came home. It was not a happy reunion.
Every time I close my eyes, I can see the disappointment in his face. Worse, I can feel the same sentiment resonate from the very depths of my own soul.
Instead of listening to my twin’s voice — the whisper that has never left me — I turn left into my office. It’s just a big room with a desk and some chairs. Bare bones. There are no potted plants, no bookshelves, no filing cabinets.
My kind of business doesn’t require that shit.
What it does require is a lot of floor space for kicking ass.
Which is exactly what’s going to happen to these three fuckers.
Magnus shuts the door behind him, and he and Allen stand sentry, hands clasped, legs spread. The three fucks are starting to look nervous. Good. Probably not cops, then.
Just a few dumbasses who probably got roped into this in order to get out of some shit-eating misdemeanor. Narcs.
God, I fucking hate them.
I lift my chin to my compatriots, and they begin a rough manhandling of the three, running their hands all over to check for weapons and wires. Nothing. Not even a goddamn sidearm.
What self-respecting motherfucker doesn’t at least have a .32 tucked into his waistband? No, these guys were told not to cause any trouble.
Too fucking bad.
They found it, anyway.
I eye them, giving them a hard once over, one at a time. “Lemme ask you again — who the fuck are you?”
“Brenning wants to—” the big one begins.
“Don’t,” I snap, cutting him off with a glare. “You might want to take a look around. You know where you are? Don’t feed me any bullshit, boys.”
“I swear, Brenning sent us.”
It’s the big fuck speaking, again. I wonder if the others can even talk. If they can, they might want to do it now, because they won’t be able to soon.
I pull my phone from my back pocket. “How about I call the man up right now? Ask him why I have three pencil dicks with Scorpion vests standing in my office.”
“He’ll probably deny it,” the guy admits, a tremor in his voice. “He wouldn’t know if you’re recording. This is real off the books shit, man. He wants to make a deal.”
Just because these fuckers don’t have an old school wire on them doesn’t mean every word I’m saying isn’t being recorded. All it takes is a goddamn tiny chip these days. We’d have to strip them naked. So, I don’t buy it.
“I can’t imagine a single goddamn deal that Brenning would ever involve you fucks in. And what could he possibly offer a simple man like me?”
“Shipping,” the big one says.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up at his words. There’s no fucking way they know Brenning is in the shipping business now.
“What? Does this look like the goddamn post office?” I say with a laugh. I’m baiting them hard, waiting to see if they trip up.
The guy swallows hard. “No, shipping, like cargo. He took over Landry’s territory.”
So, they’re privy to some inside information. That shit just went down a few days ago and maybe four people know about it. And now these fucks. Which makes no sense.
“He wants to let you in on his cargo trade.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I highly doubt that.” I look past them to Allen and Magnus. “The shit’s getting deep in here.”
Magnus nods. “Sure is.”
These three fucks have no clue about the landmines they’re stepping on. They know just enough to get them into big fucking trouble, but they don’t actually know shit.
Until very recently, Landry was the asshole in charge of whatever came and went from the docks, but he had no goddamn respect and tried to screw us on a deal. The only reason Brenning has his territory now is because I saw fit to let him have it, after I sent Landry on a trip he’ll never come back from.
The taller one pipes up this time. “He’ll let you in on ten percent of his cut if you provide security for the Solstheim docks.”
I laugh, darting a look at Allen and Magnus. They’re both bristling with amusement about this bullshit offer, too.
These three jackasses don’t know we already get fifty percent of Brenning’s take — that was the price for me to hand over the keys to Landry’s shipping kingdom — and that five o
f our guys are down at the docks right now, waiting for a boat that’s coming in tonight.
But at least these assholes have confirmed that we’re definitely being recorded. Even if I wasn’t already in business with Brenning, even if these guys were bringing me a legitimate offer, there’s no reason to ever name locations. Specifics like that, being mentioned this early in a deal? Between people who’ve just met for the first time?
Definite red flag.
And they’re fishing way too fucking hard for confirmation on this bogus deal they’ve brought me.
Now I just need to know for sure if these guys are shitty undercover cops, or if they’re turncoats. It’ll dictate how I handle the clean up of the mess that’s about to happen in here — whether I go underground for a couple months while the heat simmers to a low burn, or I just disappear these three fucks and carry on as usual.
I move to the desk and open the bottom drawer, watching as all three of them stiffen up, their eyes trained on my hands. A visible sigh of relief echoes through all of them when I stand up with a bottle of whiskey. I twist off the top and pour a few fingers in the glass sitting on the desk.
I lean against the edge, sipping slowly as I study them. They aren’t too smart, these three. I almost feel sorry for them. Almost.
After a minute of letting them sweat in silence, I tip the glass up and finish off the last few swallows of whiskey, then set it down. I like a nice, cold chaser after the whiskey warms me up, so I move for the mini-fridge in the corner of the room and grab a bottle of beer.
They watch me silently as I crack off the top and take a swig. I perch back on the edge of the desk and turn up my hands.
“Alright, let’s say, hypothetically, that I was interested in helping Brenning out. What the fuck’s at the Solstheim docks? He’s offering me a cut of what, exactly?”
The guy cracks an awkward smile while the taller one and the short one do a little dance, shifting around uncomfortably.
“Come on, man, you know what’s down there,” the tall one finally says with a shrug.
Tempting Offer: A Reverse Harem Romance (The Code Book 6) Page 6