Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Overrun with thoughts of revenge and retribution, Zeke glanced at the note shoved at him. He released Kyra completely to uncrumple the balled-up note. He skimmed it quickly once, then reread it slower.
Ledger is fine.
If you want him to stay in that condition, come alone.
Every inch of him instantly went solid.
“It’s the goddamn Souls, ain’t it?” Rage boomed from behind him. “Those motherfuckers!”
“I’ve been around bikers a long time and I didn’t catch a biker vibe from these guys,” Kyra informed Rage around her panting.
Not only was her hair still standing on end for whatever reason, she continued to struggle to catch her breath and had sweat beading on her forehead. Despite her trying to be brave and hold herself together, tears filled her eyes, and every once in a while, a sob wracked her body.
How the fuck did she escape or get to the clubhouse?
He had too many questions and no time for those answers. He could find out the details later. Ledger was his immediate priority.
“Souls ain’t typin’ up a fuckin’ note and spellin’ all the fuckin’ words right,” Zeke muttered.
Fuck no, this wasn’t the Souls. It was someone organized. Maybe even professional. They knew his son’s name. It wasn’t random, this had been planned.
“If it ain’t the Souls, who’d fuck with us?” Zane asked nearby.
Zeke wanted that answer more than anyone.
“Got no beef with anybody,” Chaos added as he joined them.
“That we know of,” Zane said.
“This might be of importance to note,” Kyra said, still sounding out of breath. “A couple of them were bilingual and had accents.”
Bilingual? Unless shit talking was considered an official language, that confirmed it wasn’t the Souls. That and the fact that club was an all-white MC. On purpose. It did not accept any prospects other than lily-white ones.
No one who was bilingual or had an accent was wearing one of their cuts.
His sergeant at arms was now pacing and living up to his road name by allowing his anger to consume him. “They’re all gonna fuckin’ die. Nobody—and I fuckin’ mean no-fuckin-body—touches DAMC property and gets away with it.”
No fucking shit. Someone crossed a fucking line and that line was about to snap and strike them back.
Guaran-fucking-teed.
“Only way we’re gonna find out who the fuck it is, is to go to the address,” Zeke said, holding up the note.
“What’s the address?” was yelled from someone out of his direct line of sight.
Zeke read it off the paper.
“No fuckin’ clue what’s there,” Coop said. He had followed on Kyra’s heels from The Iron Horse and into the common area.
Zane glanced up from his phone. “GPS don’t got it marked, either. From the satellite view, just looks like some kinda big metal building.”
His brother might normally be quiet, but every inch of him was just as tense as Zeke. As all of them.
“Want me to get a hold of Vi?” Zane asked quietly.
If anyone could keep a cooler head, it was Chill. It was why he made a great VP.
“Yeah, give her the heads up but tell her to only stand by. Don’t know who the fuck this is, what they fuckin’ know or…” He pulled in a breath. He was about to lose his fucking shit.
Maybe even go back to prison.
Because touching his son was a goddamn capital offense.
Rage yanked the paper from between Zeke’s fingers and scanned it. When he lifted his head, he growled, “You’re fuckin’ crazy if you think you’re goin’ the fuck alone.”
Zeke went toe-to-toe with him, despite Rage towering over him. “And you’re fuckin’ crazy if you think you’re comin’ with.”
“My fuckin’ job to protect you!”
“And it’s my fuckin’ job to protect my son!” Zeke yelled back.
The whole room went dead silent.
No one ever got in Rage’s face. Not if they were planning to stay upright.
He didn’t need Rage to start fucking shit up. Zeke was a pro at fucking shit up on his own.
And for fuck’s sake, he didn’t need his son to get caught in any crossfire.
Despite it being a struggle, he managed to lower his voice. One of them needed to stop spiraling. “Need you to stay here with Ky, brother.”
“Plenty of others here to do that.”
“Not like you.”
Rage’s chin jerked into his neck, then after a moment, he gave Zeke a slight nod.
Good. Because he didn’t have any more time to fucking waste. He needed to go get his son and he needed to do it now.
“Stay here with Rage and Zane,” he told Kyra, ignoring the shock of seeing her quietly crying in Cherry’s arms. “Gonna go get our boy.”
He didn’t even wait for her to respond before spinning on his boot heel and striding toward the back door.
“Zeke!” he heard behind him.
He ignored her yelling his name, kicked the emergency bar with the soul of his boot, and headed out to his sled.
Two wheels would get him where he needed to go a lot faster than four.
Zeke couldn’t twist his throttle any harder. Black Betty’s engine was screaming and she got squirrelly when taking corners.
He didn’t give a fuck.
All he could see in his mind’s eye was his boy scared and crying. Maybe even tied up and being tortured.
When he finally reached the corner of 36th and Lawrence in one piece, he pulled over to the curb and stared at the nondescript metal building. No company name. No signs at all.
Nothing to indicate what—or who—was inside.
He threw a leg over his sled and stared at what reminded him of the Shadows’ warehouse. That alone made his spine prickle.
Out of habit, he double-checked to make sure his Ruger .380 was still tucked in the inner pocket of his cut.
He didn’t normally carry a gun because getting caught with it while on parole would send him directly back to prison.
Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. But that day, he didn’t give a fuck about getting locked back inside if it meant his son would be safe.
He’d always sacrifice his freedom for his son’s safety.
While he rarely carried his Ruger, he always carried concealed knives. Knives that, at first glance, wouldn’t set off any pig’s alarm bells.
One was made to be hidden in his boot.
Another was a small blade built into the skull pendant he wore around his neck.
It might be small, but was good enough to puncture flesh at close range.
One punch to the throat with it tucked between his fingers would do enough damage to give him the advantage.
It could even be deadly, if it severed an artery.
He had another on his keychain that appeared to be a bottle opener. Only, it would easily slice open a vein instead.
And years ago, after being voted in as the latest sergeant at arms, Rage had commissioned DAMC belt buckles to be made with another blade hidden within the design.
While none of the knives Zeke carried were obvious, if used correctly, they could get the job done.
However, if the assholes who had Ledger patted him down for weapons and took his Ruger, he was screwed. The undetectable knives he carried would be useless against bullets.
And he had no fucking doubt whoever kidnapped his son would have them.
There was also a good chance he was walking into a fucking ambush. But they were using Ledger as bait, so Zeke had no choice but to bite. His only hope was that if it was an ambush and he didn’t survive, Vi and her Shadows would exact revenge for him.
A tall, lean figure appeared at the corner of the building and jerked his chin up.
“Here we fuckin’ go,” Zeke muttered under his breath as he stalked that way.
Stay fuckin’ calm and see what these fuckers want first.
What he did notice on his trek toward the lions’ den was that the well-dressed man waiting for him had dark hair, dark eyes, olive-toned skin, and was clean-shaven. But he had no fucking clue if the greeter was Italian, Hispanic, or even Middle Eastern.
Kyra had guessed Italian, so she could be right. Zeke also had no fucking clue why any Italians would be holding anything against him or his club. Or go so far as to snatch a three-year-old.
None of this shit made any fucking sense!
His step stuttered when all the pieces suddenly fell into place when he reached the man.
For fuck’s sake! It was the goddamn Mafia! More specifically, the Sicilian “family” from Pittsburgh previously in business with the Deadly Demons. The goddamn Russos.
Son of a fuckin’ bitch!
“Where’s my fuckin’ boy?”
The slick fucker answered, “Inside waiting for you. Need to pat you down before you go in.”
As expected. “You got weapons inside that buildin’? ‘Cause if you do, means I should, too.”
“Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t work that way. As long as you keep your cool, you’re in no danger. You step out of line, then the situation might quickly change.”
Zeke’s jaw shifted. “Got a thirty-eight in my pocket.” Maybe if he volunteered that info, the welcome committee wouldn’t check more closely.
“Is there a round in the chamber?”
“What fuckin’ good’s a gun if it ain’t ready to go?”
“Take it out slowly and hand it to me butt first and with the safety on.”
When he slipped his hand inside his cut, he was tempted to shoot the motherfucker right through his cut. But if he started blasting, there was no telling what would happen to Ledger.
Get your boy first and then worry about burnin’ their shit to the ground later.
“Want it back.”
“Figured you’d want your son back more.”
Zeke ground his teeth. “My kid ain’t a pawn in whatever fuckin’ sick game you fuckers are playin’.”
The second Zeke had the handgun free, it was wrestled from his fingers. The full magazine was dropped into the guy’s palm and quickly disappeared into the pocket of his suit jacket. After a quick jerk of the slide, a lone round landed on the ground.
Dark brown eyes once again focused on Zeke. “What else are you carrying?”
“That’s it. Woulda been fuckin’ stupid to walk into an unknown situation like this unarmed.”
“Can’t disagree with that logic. So I’m going to ask again, what else are you carrying?”
“Nothin’.”
“Then that means I’ll find nothing when I pat you down.”