Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
I cuffed The Dirty Vultures biker to the old rickety chair in the centre of the room, his body limp and smelling of rotten fish.
His head hung forward, dry blood coating his skin and a painful groan falling from his lips.
He hadn’t woken up since Dayton knocked him unconscious, not even when I dragged him from the car into the pit.
After arriving home, I sent Dayton off to enjoy the rest of his night as he saw fit. One of our soldiers had been assigned to follow him around wherever he went, making sure he didn’t get into anything he shouldn’t.
Dayton was all too glad to get away from me, rushing off quicker than I’d ever seen him move.
I couldn’t really blame him. He’d seen a side to me I hadn’t been prepared to show him yet.
I was planning to work up to it, ease him into the more violent aspects of this life.
But the bikers had forced my hand, leaving me no choice but to unleash that dark side of me I kept locked up inside. To put them in their place.
There was no way I could allow their disrespect, regardless of whether or not they knew who I was. They had to be punished for their indiscretions to see that we would not tolerate anyone making the slightest move against us.
It was the only reason I let Tweener live. I wanted him to go back to his prez and tell him exactly what happened while he was covered in the blood of one of his other prospects. To warn him that if they got in our way again, they would suffer ten times worse.
Taking Baldy had been an impulse decision, one I hoped would work out in our favour. If The Dirty Vultures were responsible for the fire that burned down our building, I planned to find out.
I highly doubted a prospect had much information. They were the grunts of the MC world, the lowest ranking members. They did whatever they could, whatever was asked of them, in the hopes of earning their patch and finally being given a road name (they were usually the worst, most tedious jobs too).
But I’d take any information I could get out of him. Even if it was just the layout of their Clubhouse or how many members there were.
“So how did this happen again?” Nik leaned casually against the wall, watching as I secured each of Baldy’s legs to the chair.
Nik had come out of the house the moment we pulled up.
I suspect he’d been waiting for us. He informed me the Cleaners had arrived shortly after we’d left, and he wiped all footage from the cameras.
As a precaution, he also called our contacts in the LVPD and told them to be on the lookout for anyone who comes in reporting a murder on 22 nd Street–just in case there happened to be a witness.
“Three of them were waiting at the car when I left the café.” I described what happened in detail, making sure to include the parking fee they charged to anyone who parked on the streets.
“It seems the information Thomas gathered on them was right. They’re trying to corner North Las Vegas as their own territory. ”
Nik shook his head in disbelief. “The fact that they’re threatening random citizens on the streets shows how ballsy they are. They don’t seem to care about the other gangs and MCs already established in that area.”
He was right. There were several other gangs and MCs up and down Las Vegas. A few of them were our customers, buying a small number of untraceable handguns. And in some cases, they bought machine guns from us too.
I suspected that was one of the reasons why The Dirty Vultures reached out to us; they needed guns to challenge the others and enforce their word.
“They’re definitely determined,” Nik finished, brows creased.
“Yes,” I nodded. “And that makes them dangerous.” There was nothing wilder and more unpredictable than people with something to prove. The Dirty Vultures were nothing, not even a blip on the radar, but it was clear they wanted to be. They wanted to be known, and that was the dangerous part.
Nik pushed off the wall, eyeing Baldy with mild curiosity. “What are you going to do with him?”
“What do you think?” I grunted, testing the restraints one more time before moving to a stand.
“He’s a Prospect. He won’t know anything substantial.”
“He’ll know enough.” And even if it didn’t lead to anything, I would still get the satisfaction of killing him.
Nik shrugged. “Alright, if you say so. What about the retaliation from his Prez?”
“What about it?” I asked, unconcerned. “If he’s stupid enough to challenge us, his little motorcycle club will be over before it ever really begins.”
It might sound cocky and arrogant, but I wasn’t even the slightest bit worried.
They were seriously outmanned and out-gunned.
Not to mention the fact that the only resistance they’d encountered so far was from normal everyday people who were too scared to stand up to them.
If they came for us, they’d soon see why they were at the bottom and we were on top.
Nik followed me as I stepped out of the room, locking the door behind me.
I went into the room next door that held a small bathroom and washed my face, cleaning Peroxide’s dried blood off my skin.
I shrugged out of my jacket—stiff and crusty from his blood—and left it hanging on the rack as I walked out.
“I managed to dig up a bit more information on the Outfit/Zeta alliance,” Nik said as we wound our way through the maze of hallways, heading back towards the main floor. We walked past the room holding Drea and my footsteps slowed until I stood in front of it.
Why, I had no idea.
Sasha and Pavel greeted us with a head nod but said nothing as Nik continued to talk.
“According to one of my contacts, Nero reached out about two months ago for a meet. He ended up kidnapping the representatives the Zetas sent to establish the deal.”
“Drea,” I confirmed. We had suspected this was the case, but at least now we had confirmation.
“Yes. Ever since, the Zetas have been fielding men out to the Outfit whenever they wanted, doing whatever they asked. They’ve been supplying them with men, cash, drugs—you name it.”
“This is information we were already aware of.”
When we first met with Arturo and his family, they mentioned the alliance between the Outfit and the Los Zetas. It was one of the main reasons they’d reached out to us. They could handle the Outfit on their own, but when the Zetas got involved, they needed a bit of extra help.
We did some digging into the cartel. The month prior to the meet between us and The Cosa Nostra, there had been a definitive increase in men coming from the Outfit and an increase in drugs in Chicago.
It was obvious it had come from the Zetas. What hadn’t been obvious was why. Until now.
“How about the fact that Juan, the Zetas’ second, is actually Andres’ son. Since Juan and Drea are siblings, that makes her—”
“The daughter of the former leader of the cartel,” I finished, my mind reeling.
When I scanned Drea’s fingerprint, the information it revealed showed her and her family—her brother, Juan Victor Ortega, her mother, Sofia Torres Ortega and her father, Jose Andres Ortega—had immigrated from Guadalajara fifteen years ago.
Jose Andres Ortega.
The former leader of the Los Zetas only went by El Diablo or Andres. Nothing else. I should have realised it the moment I saw his name on the scanner. The two were one in the same.
I assumed using his middle name instead of his first name was some sort of preventive measure. A way to keep his real identity a secret from the many, many enemies the cartel had.
Like father, like daughter.
“Okay,” I began, pacing up and down the hallway, my mind moving a mile a minute trying to piece everything together.
“So Andres is Juan and Drea’s father. Andres died four years ago from cancer.
He named a successor before he passed, one who chose to remain hidden instead of out in the open.
His son is second in charge, so it’s clearly not him. Does Andres have any other children?”
“No. None that I could find anyway.”
“And the mother? His wife?”
“I couldn’t find much on her, but I don’t think she’s the one calling the shots.” Nik’s brows were lowered in thought. “If it’s not the wife, and it’s not the son, that means the only other person it could be is—”
“Drea,” I finished, straightening my spine. “Drea is the leader of the Los Zetas.”
It all made so much sense now. Why Nero kidnapped her. Why she was so determined to keep her identity a secret. Why the other men listened to her when she gave them a command.
Drea was in charge of it all. We had the leader of the Los Zetas locked up in our pit. The repercussions were astronomical.
I had to commend her. She did a fantastic job of hiding her true identity. I never would have guessed it. I knew she was high up in the food chain. I just didn’t realise she was actually on top of it.
The moment the Zetas realised we had her, all hell would break loose.
How Nero managed it, I had no idea. He’d obviously threatened Drea’s life in order to keep the cartel under his thumb and do his bidding. I had questions, so many questions. Finding out her identity was meant to make things easier. Instead it created more problems, more unanswered questions.
I was done playing games. Enough was enough. I was getting the answers I wanted—and she was going to give them to me.
“All of you, go. I want to talk to her alone.”
Sasha and Pavel left, but Nik remained. He eyed me curiously. “What’s the plan here, Zander?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You don’t need to worry about that right now. Just go. And turn the cameras off in her room.”
“Why?”
I arched an eyebrow. “Do I need to explain myself to you?”
“No. But you usually do.”
“Not this time.” I shook my head. “Just do what I ask, brother.”