Chapter Thirteen.
“Anger’ll help you put a few mu’fuckas down, fasho.
But never go to war too angry, son. Anger clouds your judgment.
Calm down and use your head. Strategy makes you take a nigga money, his soldiers, and every move he has left.
By the time you stand in front of him, the war should already be over, and killing him is the easy part... ”
Crown could still hear his father’s voice from back in the day.
He could see him dressed in his leather vest and boots, dropping game with a blunt tucked between his fingers.
Pops had been right. That advice had carried Crown far throughout his years of leading the Knights, especially when anger tempted him to move before the timing was right.
Crown had wanted nothing more than to pull up on the Ravens and bust his guns the moment Benjamin told him the news.
But instead, he had played it smart. He had taken the matter before the Council and made them lose the little protection they had left.
And now he would wipe them niggas from the Hills completely, just as he had promised himself he would.
He had used his head to end a club war that had lasted longer than he had been alive.
Gunner lay face down on the concrete, his wrists bound behind his back and his battered body stripped down to nothing but his boxers.
Before bringing him there, the Council guards had beaten him down, removed his clothes, and torn the Ravens cut from his back, stripping him of the president patch he had barely worn long enough to earn.
He no longer had the leather, title, or club standing between him and Crown.
Prophet and Danger stood near the back wall, watching quietly.
Crown had paid Grim again to make this moment possible.
If Gunner thought Crown was going to let someone else pull the trigger after he had plotted against him while he was away with his wife, he had another thing coming.
Crown wouldn’t be satisfied until he watched his bullet enter Gunner’s head and saw his eyes close permanently.
Money talked, bullshit walked. The payment hadn’t bought Grim’s trigger finger this time.
It had bought access, timing, and silence.
Hemsworth had ordered Grim to execute Gunner, but he had delivered him directly into Crown’s hands at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city.
He felt no remorse and saw no betrayal in it.
Nico and Gunner had ignored warnings, violated the Council’s rules, and brought their own destruction down on the Ravens.
Gunner was going to die either way. Grim had simply chosen to get paid for deciding who pulled the trigger.
“Roll yo’ bitch ass over.” Crown spat, gun aimed at Gunner’s head.
Gunner remained still, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing him sweat.
But Crown pressed his boot into a wound on his back that one of the guards had given him, applying pressure and making him reconsider.
Slowly, Gunner shifted to his side and then painfully landed on his back.
The movement drew a groan from him as his eyes slid past Crown and settled on Prophet.
“I knew you had a hand in this shit. Does Hem know you and Grim brought me here? Or you still playin’ both sides, Prophet, protecting your old club behind his back? That's why Nico was killed?”
Unfazed, Prophet didn’t respond; he never wasted his time talking to dead men. Crown planted the sole of his boot against Gunner’s throat, cutting off whatever else he had to say. Gunner’s body tensed beneath him, the anger in his face giving way to panic as he fought for air.
“You worried about who playin’ sides when you should’ve been watching who controlled the board. Knights don’t need protection from nobody. I’m the president and the king.”
The gunshot cracked through the warehouse, and Gunner’s head struck the concrete before his body went still beneath Crown’s boot.
Satisfied, Crown checked the time on his Patek, pulled the flag higher to partially cover his face, gave Prophet a single nod, and walked out.
He didn’t have time to stand around talking.
There was still somewhere else he needed to be.
Pulling his flag up too, Danger pushed away from the wall and fell into step behind his brother. Outside, Grim waited for them. Without a word, Danger handed him the duffel bag containing the remaining half of the money he had requested.
Crown and Danger mounted their bikes and brought the engines to life.
712PM blasted from Crown’s bike. The warehouse disappeared behind them as they tore through the backstreets.
Once they reached the main road, they cut between cars and slipped through narrow openings with ease.
Feeling rage himself over his situation with Caresha, Danger stayed close behind his brother, matching every turn as the wind pulled at their all-black cuts and city lights reflected off their chrome.
“Got a Rolex on my wrist, this bitch cost 'bout a Corvette.
Give these niggas a couple bands and hit your face and hit your chest.”
That day they wore no patches or plates. Nothing that could lead the police back to the Knights. However, their bikes would be enough to let that nigga Preach know who did what was about to come next.
Crown pushed harder as they neared the clubhouse.
He never slowed or turned into the lot. He passed the entrance, alerting the others who had been waiting.
Seconds later, the gates opened, and bike after bike poured onto the street with Smoky leading.
They had already been told to stay ready.
Crown had made it clear that once he returned, they would bleed the city.
“I got some real killers, they'll kill a nigga, then go and shoot up the hearse.
You think a nigga like me give a fuck ’bout a nigga shooting up the church?
I gotta take this shit up with God 'cause I'm a god on the earth.”
Crown led them deeper into the Hills. It was late afternoon, and traffic had thickened.
Cars shifted out of their path, some drivers slowing to watch in awe while others kept their eyes straight ahead, minding their business and trying to make it home safely.
Those were the people who knew better. They had heard the stories about the bike clubs in the city, and they knew no good could come from that many members occupying the streets at once.
Gunner’s death had closed one chapter, but the war was far from over.
Crown had no intention of slowing down. They reached an intersection just as the light turned red.
He eased his Ducati to a stop far enough behind the waiting traffic to remain hidden from anyone approaching on the cross street, but close enough to see and react when the time came. His brothers settled behind him.
The burner inside Crown’s vest vibrated once.
Domo’s signal. He stared ahead and began counting silently.
His fingers tightened around the handlebars.
Just as he reached one, a white Rolls-Royce eased to a stop at the front of the cross street with blacked-out windows and an SUV set close behind it with guards.
Crown recognized the car immediately. It was the same one Domo had seen transporting Loki whenever he left the location where he had been receiving treatment.
Domo and Lock had been waiting in a van several cars behind the SUV, locked and loaded in case shit got too ugly and their brothers needed backup.
Before his light could change, Crown maneuvered around the cars in front of him, twisted the throttle, and shot forward on a wheelie.
The others moved with him. He cut onto the side street directly in front of the Rolls-Royce just as its light turned green, forcing Loki’s driver to slam on the brakes.
The SUV carrying the two guards nearly struck the Rolls from behind before swerving to avoid the collision.
The Knights split into two groups, boxed in both vehicles, and braked beside the doors.
Crown snatched both guns from his waist, raising them with precision.
One gun pointed forward, the other aimed sideways.
The men inside barely had time to reach for their weapons before gunfire ripped through the street.
Bullets tore into the doors and shattered the tinted windows, spraying glass across the interiors and leaving both vehicles riddled with holes.
This hit was personal. Benjamin had also revealed that it was truly Loki who wanted Crown’s head.
Well, he delivered bullets straight to him, instead.
A nigga could do it first, but Crown would do it worst. Doubling the payback, he unleashed a barrage into the rear passenger section of the Rolls-Royce where Loki sat, not easing up until he felt satisfied.
Once done, he tucked his weapons away and sped off without a glance back.
Danger pulled off directly behind him, and the rest of the Knights followed, scattering from the intersection.
Behind them, both vehicles remained angled across the street, surrounded by shattered glass and spent shell casings.
Crown was slowly dismantling The Dessalinés Mob, too.
He understood that although the Knights sat at the top of the food chain, there were organizations with more men, money, and reach than they had.
What separated him from most of them was his mind.
Crown Knight would outthink a nigga any day…
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