Chapter Sixty #2
“King,” Kronos growled, stepping in front of me before I pushed the doors open. “Where the fuck is my wife?”
“Safe.”
I moved around the old man, and he grabbed my arm. He didn’t have it long when I heard a thud. Morpheus had Kronos up against the wall.
“Give me a fucking reason to kill you.” The two men eyed each other, but Kronos backed down. Morpheus shoved Kronos out of the way and walked into church. Once Reaper, Zeus, and Montana followed, I locked the door.
I made my way to my chair and announced, “We need to figure out who we can trust. I will vouch for almost every single Shadow out there.”
“Almost?” Reaper asked with a glare in my direction.
“Chasm doesn’t trust me, not anymore. Because of that, I can’t trust him either. I also don’t trust Hemlock.”
“He’s your brother, King,” Montana pointed out.
“He’s also your wife’s brother; does that make you automatically trust him?”
Montana’s face paled. “Fuck, how did I miss that?”
I shook my head. “I trust Popeye. Grace has loved him her whole life, and if what Snoopy said is true, he never stopped looking for her.”
“Well, given who her mother is, I’d believe Popeye over her,” Reaper said. When I glared in his direction, silently reminding him that was my old lady’s mother, he held his hands up. “My mother was a fucking cunt; her brother was worse. You really think it skipped her twin fucking sister?”
“We can’t trust Kronos,” Morpheus added.
“That’s my fucking father!” Zeus shouted.
“Your point?” Morpheus asked, pointing a finger at me. “His father is the head of the fucking Mob; you trust O’Malley?”
“I don’t even fucking trust Sal,” I muttered. “But, Zeus, that reminds me. I’m gonna need to get my hands on Nemesis when the rest of your men get here.”
“Who the fuck is Nemesis?” he asked.
“He’s one of your men,” I reiterated.
“I don’t have a brother named Nemesis,” he challenged.
“Karlyn said Nemesis was one of the men who raped her when she was sixteen. He was wearing a Gods of Mayhem cut.”
“Sorry, King, I don’t have anyone named Nemesis.”
“You calling my daughter-in-law a fucking liar?” Morpheus snarled, standing from his chair.
“One of your father’s men?” Montana asked as Reaper watched Zeus carefully.
“Not since I’ve been alive. Karlyn is what, twenty-five?”
“Twenty-three,” Reaper confirmed.
“Not one of ours,” Zeus argued. “I’d remember a man from seven fucking years ago.”
“Or he is but is using another road name,” Montana said flippantly. When we all stared at him, he shrugged. “I never knew Dakota even had a fucking road name.”
Reaper’s phone rang, and he answered, “Hello?” He sighed heavily. “Carly, slow the fuck down. Hang on.” He set his phone on the table and hit the speaker. “Say it again, slowly.”
“Who is with you right now?” Carly, Fury’s old lady, asked.
“Me, Montana, King, Morpheus, and Zeus.”
“Fuck, I was afraid of that. Five presidents, all descendants of the original five founders of the Golden Skulls.”
“Carly,” I began, shaking my head. “I’m not related to them. My family is Irish.”
“So is Christian’s; he’s related to the Dohertys. I’ve been running through his family tree. You and Christian are related through Casper O’Malley, King. Casper had a mistress, Meridiana Doherty. That’s Christian’s connection. She was his grandmother.”
“I’m not related to her,” I argued, cutting her off.
“No, you aren’t.”
“Speed it up, Carly,” Reaper rumbled.
“Eamon O’Malley was the son of Casper and his wife, Aileen Healy.”
“Eamon was my grandfather,” I confirmed, still unsure where the hell she was going with this.
“Yes, he may have been a legitimate heir, but he was a bastard. He’d gotten in trouble in Ireland, so his father sent him to the States. That was why Sean Buchanon, Casper’s son-in-law, took over the IRA and then handed it down to his oldest son, Brian.”
“Charlotte! We don’t have time for a fucking history lesson,” Montana shouted, using Carly’s full name.
“Don’t yell at my wife, asshole,” Fury barked into the phone.
“Carly, can you go any faster? Please?” I begged.
“Eamon fathered four children. Braesal O’Malley, Eduardo Cimorelli, Nina Olenski, and Caitlin O’Malley.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” Reaper snarled, standing up and slamming his hands on the table. “Nina Olenski?”
“Yes, Reaper. Eamon O’Malley was Remi’s grandfather.”
Reaper picked up the chair behind him and threw it against the wall. “SON OF A BITCH!”
“I guess that makes me related to your old lady.” I sighed. I’d meant it to lighten the mood, but it fell flat given the circumstances. “How does that make me related to the first five? And which fucking one?”
“It would have to be Goldman,” Montana surmised.
“Montana’s right,” Carly confirmed.
“How the hell did you know that, fucknuts?”
“Because you’re a Doherty. I’m a fucking Stone.” He pointed at Zeus. “He’s a Lombardo, and the big bastard is a Wolf. Goldman was the only one left.”
“Yes. King, your grandmother, Kathleen Flanagan, was the daughter of Rachel Goldman. Making her Edward Goldman’s granddaughter.”
I sat back in my chair, reeling at this new information. “We’re the fucking targets,” I muttered, just as an explosion rang out through the clubhouse.
Ghost
The second I heard the front door blow, I ran toward the main room and watched in horror as my clubhouse flooded with Death Dogs and Satan’s Angels shooting at my brothers, friends, allies, and anyone associated with our club.
My first thought was, I wasn’t supposed to be here. Sinclair hadn’t trusted King to keep his son safe. But Tank was with the women. He wasn’t here in the middle of this shit.
I raised my gun and took aim. I was playing a fucking game of whac-a-mole. For every man that went down, two more ran through the hole in the clubhouse.
How the fuck did they get close enough to blow up the fucking door?
I carefully aimed my gun to protect my brothers.
Romeo, the stupid fuck, didn’t have his gun out.
The motherfucking Cajun was traipsing through the room with his fucking Bowie knife.
Slicing throats as he moved from one man to another.
I pulled the trigger, and the man behind him dropped. Rome looked my way with a grin that sent a shiver down my spine. He might act like the fun-loving playboy, but he was just as deranged as his cousin Gator.
There were only a few men here I didn’t recognize, but I recognized the cut. It was the same one my baby brother wore. Tucker was a bastard. We both were. Except he wore the name with pride. He’d leaned into it in a way that had me afraid for him every fucking day of his life.
I searched the room to see if he was here when I saw another brother I would give my life for. He shouldn’t fucking be out here; his place was locked in a room, safe behind his fucking screens.
I tore through the room, taking aim as I made my way to Sypher. A man with a Satan’s Angels’ cut was sneaking up behind him. That was his mistake. I realized quickly, he wasn’t trying to kill him. He wanted to take him.
Every fucking club wanted him. But they couldn’t fucking have him. He belonged to us. Me, Mellie, and Dante. We were a family. Unconventional sure, but a family nonetheless.
I stuck my gun in the waistband at my back as I hopped over a man bleeding on the floor. I roared as I tackled the asshole to the floor, wrapping my hands around his head and snapping his neck.
Sypher spun around, and I saw his shoulders drop. He held out a hand, helping me up. “Thanks, brother,” he said, just before his eyes went wide. I felt the sting in my chest and looked down, Sypher’s hand still holding mine.
We watched as the blood spread out across my shirt, the fabric absorbing what it could. I looked up at my daughter’s father. My old lady’s best friend’s husband, and I knew by the look on his face there was nothing he could do.
As I fell to the floor, Sypher went down with me. His hand held the back of my head as if a concussion was his biggest concern.
“Ghost, hold on!”
I shook my head. I knew this was it. I’d never see my princess again. Never hold Danika and comfort her after a nightmare. Never again have a beer with my brothers.
Never meet my child.
“Tell Mellie I’m sorry, Danny. Tell her I love her.”
Cerberus
“Fuck off, old man,” my stubborn son snapped as he tried to push past me. The little fucker was seriously overdue an ass-whoopin’, and I had no fucking problem with throwing him over my damn knee... if I could catch the little bastard.
Storming after him, I shouted, “Would you just fucking stop and listen to me!”
“You have nothing to say that I want to hear. Leave me alone.”
Growling, I raked my hands through my hair and mumbled, “If you weren’t my son...”
“You’d what, old man?” The little shit rounded on me, pointing his little fucking finger in my chest. “You think I like having you as a sperm donor? Trust me, you’re no picnic either.”
“Damn it, Junior, this is serious!” I roared, slapping his hand away. “I need to tell you something about your mother!”
My son stepped closer, getting in my face. “DON’T. YOU. EVER. CALL. ME. THAT!”
I smirked. “Aw, did I hit a nerve, Junior?”
“I fucking hate you,” he snarled, pushing past me once more, heading in the direction we just came from. Groaning, I turned and followed him again.
“You don’t have all the information. Your mother wasn’t...”
Just then the front doors of the clubhouse blew open and in stormed a multitude of Death Dogs and Satan’s Angels.
Not thinking, I grabbed my son from behind and literally lifted him off his feet, quickly shoving him in the nearest room I could find.
With a swift kick in his ass, I hurled him away from me and firmly ordered, “STAY PUT!” I slammed the door shut, firmly locking it as gunfire rang out all around.
I could hear him banging on the door, shouting at me, cursing me to hell and back, demanding I let him out of the room.
I ignored him.
I didn’t care about myself. But my son, he had to live.