10. Deacon
A week later…
“I-it wa-wasn’t m-me. It wa—oww… De-Deacon,” Wrangler screams. Yet his fright falls on deaf ears.
Removing the pliers from his right-hand ring finger, I move on to the last digit. Yanking unceremoniously, I pull his pinky out of its socket, and it instantly hangs like the others. The aggression flowing through my veins doesn’t waiver despite the continuous scream bouncing around the room.
“All right, Deacon. Let’s let the nigga live to warn the rest of his wack ass crew,” Shadow says in a bored tone.
The nigga receiving a portion of my revenge chose to mistakenly run up on one of my club sisters because she had on a Baxtown Iron vest instead of walking away with his tail between his legs like a man with common sense. Ole Wrangler felt the need to bruise her arm after gripping it tightly before spitting in her face.
“The next time, you’ll lose more than the use of your hand,” I say before spitting on him.
Not hearing or seeing Squeak in three weeks has only fueled my need to wreck something, so I happily volunteered to take care of punk-ass Wrangler. Nodding to Can’t Get Right, I step out of the way as he picks Wrangler up and throws him over his shoulder before exiting wordlessly.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to line up some pussy for you, man?” Shadow asks.
“Fuck off, bitch,” I say, walking away as Shadow laughs like he’s heard the best joke.
Between Shadow and Gunz, I can’t hide from the current and weight of Squeak’s absence in peace. Both of my friends mention her name for shits and giggles, several times a day, knowing what it does to my psyche. Although it’s my damn fault for spazzing out the first day, Squeak’s ass didn’t show up to perform her secretarial duties for the club. Neither Shadow nor Gunz needed confirmation of my affection for Squeak because they said my actions spoke loudly the day she became our secretary.
“You don’t have to be like that. We’re our brother's keeper and shit,” Gunz says, entering the conversation I didn’t ask for or welcome.
Handling Wrangler inside the clubhouse might not have been the right decision due to the possible backlash the club could receive. However, not a single member of our band of brothers fears a solitary member of Satan’s Cobras or anyone, so we move how we see fit.
“Now that we’ve handled the numb nuts… What’s next on the agenda for today?” Bulldog asks.
With the fury running through my bloodstream, I walk behind the bar, grabbing the first bottle of liquor I come across. Twisting off the cap, I tilt the bottle and drink straight from the mouth, hoping that the contents are capable of cooling the mounting inferno within me.
“Why the hell didn’t you niggas clear the bar of the dark? Y’all know this nigga doesn’t need anything else fueling him,” Diesel says as I come up for air after draining a third of the bottle.
“I’m straight,” I say.
“Not to mention, none of us feel like tussling with his ass. If he wants to show his ass, all we can do is clear a path,” Shadow says, shrugging.
“My bad, Diesel. I got caught up arguing with my baby momma,” Sleepy says, coming from the back of the clubhouse.
Smirking, I stare around the room as my brothers watch me like I’m either a science experiment or a bomb, seconds from detonating. While it's been a minute since I’ve been this out of pocket, each of them, except the newbies, knows what I’m capable of in this state.
“Did we or didn’t we agree that handling Wrangler was the right plan?” I ask.
“We did. However, did you have to spit on the nigga after blacking both of his eyes?” Shadow asks.
“Does the Bible not mention Jesus spitting on a man’s eye to cure his blindness?” I ask, upturning the bottle in my hand and taking another swig as the amber liquid coats my throat.
“I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be referencing any biblical teachings after committing sinful acts,” Smoke says hesitantly.
Unable to contain it, a low chuckle escapes my mouth from Smoke backing away despite a wide distance between him and me.
“Nigga, what are you running for?” I ask.
“Man, when you piss God off, I want Him to only hit you with the bolt of lightning coming for your crazy ass,” Smoke says with his hands up in the posture for surrendering and a sneaky grin slides into place when a thought comes to mind about Smoke.
“Wow. Niggas really be delusional around here. How did you get your name, bro?” I ask Smoke, shaking my head as the room erupts in laughter.
Davin McClurkin, also known to the club as Smoke, didn’t get his name because he enjoys a blunt or Newport. It’s why everyone is laughing because Smoke is just as crazy as the rest of us. Smoke’s name was given to him by Bulldog when he was a prospect after setting his stepfather’s house on fire after dumping a bucket of urine on the man. Smoke’s stepfather narrowly escaped with his life and becomes Usain Bolt if he even hears Smoke’s name in his vicinity.
“Stop bringing up old shit, Deacon,” Smoke says, laughing.
Hours later…
“How long should we give Squeak to show her face before we pop up on her stubborn ass, Tinker Belle?” Diesel asks.
After things calmed down from the events with Wrangler, Diesel sent an emergent text requesting all members come to the clubhouse for a full-body meeting. While Diesel and Gunz brought the members up to speed on the beef between us and Satan’s Cobras, I continued drinking until my face was now numb. About twenty minutes ago, Shadow’s hating ass came and snatched the bottle from my hand. Ever the enforcer, his ass spent the meeting babysitting me and the contents of the bar.
“I’m working on her, but unfortunately, I don’t know. I have been by her place, and it's been completely dark. With my work schedule, I haven’t been able to catch Squeak coming or going,” Tinker Belle says with a tinge of irritation coating her tone and face.
“Give me the fucking address. I’ll clear my schedule to sit on her spot,” I say, fed the fuck up with waiting for Squeak to come to her damn senses.
“I know you mean well, but forcing Squeak’s hand will only backfire. I-I can’t lose her again,” Tinker Belle says shakily, causing my brows to furrow as a deep frown slips into place.
What the fuck isn’t Tinker Belle saying?
“Okay. We’ll wait a little longer. I know this is beyond your capabilities, but have some patience, Deacon,” Diesel says deadpan.
“In the meantime, nobody moves without alerting another member of the club of your whereabouts. I don’t give a fuck if you're going to help your granny take a shit… Let somebody know. Understood?” Gunz interjects before varying expressions of agreement sound around the room.
A knot settles in the pit of my stomach, causing an uneasy feeling to spread through my body. Rubbing my hand through my beard, I drift into my thoughts, trying to identify the emotion beginning to take shape.
“All right. If there’s nothing else, let’s head out. Keep your eyes open at all times and be safe,” Diesel says, closing the meeting.
Everyone begins moving in varying directions, greeting each other before heading toward the exit. Feeling the need to head home to sleep off the liquor coursing through my system, I make my way to the door with Shadow and a few of the members on my heels. Sassy, Leggs, and Sinful are talking about whatever women find interesting as we all begin filing out of the door. Not wanting to talk to anyone, I move toward my bike while watching the others make their way to their iron and cars.
*zzrrtt*
A blacked-out four-door car comes barreling into the parking lot with three men hanging out of the passenger and back windows, guns raised.
“Get—”
*tattt, tatt, boom, boom*
Gunfire cuts off my words as the men begin firing upon my club members. I run toward the car while pulling my gun from my back.
*pop, pop, pop… tatt, tatt*
Shadow and I begin returning shots as the car quickly flees the lot, exiting the street damn near on two wheels. Screams echo around the perimeter as my heart thumps wildly in my chest before I turn to see if anyone has been hit.
“Oh God,” Sassy screams.
“My leg,” Sinful cries, writhing on the ground as blood pours from her right leg.
“Shit!” Shadow shouts.
“Fuck!” I say while gritting my teeth at seeing one of my brothers holding his left arm as blood spills between his fingers. Another brother is hobbling on his right foot with an apparent bullet wound.
“These niggas coming back,” someone says, causing me to lift my gun at seeing a car creeping down the street, headed toward the clubhouse.
“Wait. Wait. That’s Squeak,” Tinker Belle says, running before me so I don’t start firing on the car.
Shit! Of all the times for this stubborn ass woman to return to the clubhouse, why does it have to be after a fucking drive-by?
Loud, piercing wails in the distance have me concealing my weapon at the knowledge of police heading in our direction. Squeak’s car comes to a stop horizontally, but she doesn’t make any attempts at turning the vehicle off or getting out. The driver’s window slowly comes down as Squeaks looks at the scene with confusion and an assessing gaze that increases my temple vein's pulsing. Words seem to fail Squeak when her mouth opens and closes, and she continues looking around at the aftermath of the last five minutes.
“Let me talk to her,” Tinker Belle says, gently tapping my chest before turning and heading toward Squeak’s car.
Squeak’s eyes flash with various emotions the closer Tinker Belle gets to the car before relief settles in her orbs. With my eyes laser-focused on the exchange between the two friends, my chest tightens when Tinker Belle opens the driver's door. Squeak wraps her arms tightly around Tinker Belle, and my heart crashes to my feet when the first set of tears falls from Squeak’s eyes.
Damn, I fucked up…