Chapter Eight
Kolter
“Where’s the shipment coming in to?” I ask before my fist lands, snapping the guy’s head to the side.
My knuckles burn—a few of them have split open from the impact of my blows. I’m doing a hell of a lot better than this guy, though. Blood covers nearly every inch of his face, his head lolling on his shoulders like a wet mop as he babbles incoherently.
I grab hold of his sweat-and-blood-soaked hair and yank his head backward so he’s forced to look at me. “Tell me where the fucking shipment is coming in and you’ll be home by dinner,” I snarl.
The guy is a low-level soldier of the Volkov family, the Russian bratva around this area, and our number one pain in the fucking ass.
They steal our shit; we take theirs. They claim territory; we gut them like pigs and take what’s owed to us.
There are a few other motorcycle clubs around the Seattle area, but we’ve been here the longest. This is our city, and no one, especially not some little Russian punk, is gonna get in the way of that.
So, yet again, I’m asking where the fuck their coke shipment is landing.
They’ve intercepted our last two shipments, so an eye for an eye and all that shit.
“If I don’t tell you, I won’t go home,” he wheezes in a thick Russian accent. “And if I tell, I won’t go home.”
A smile curves my mouth as I pull his head back even further, making sure he’s able to see every glimmer of violence coming his way. Seems to work too—the guy blanches beneath the blood covering his face before swallowing roughly.
“You’re a smart kid.”
His breathing is ragged, but I can hear a definite wheeze. Could be a collapsed lung. Apparently, he fought pretty hard when we scooped him off the street. I wasn’t part of that, though—I’m just here to handle the questioning.
Ace and Brick are leaning against the warehouse wall, bullshitting and smoking cigarettes while I do all the heavy lifting. But I can tell this kid isn’t ready to talk yet, so he can be their fucking problem until he softens up.
I step away from him and move over to my bag of goodies, rifling through until I pull out two nine-inch knives. I admire them as they glint in the setting sunlight then look back at the bratva brat.
“You sure you’re not up for a chat?” I ask.
He watches me hesitantly but stays silent.
I admire that. It’s the only way to stay alive in this world. You don’t narc, ever. You get kidnapped by the enemy, you’re basically already dead. And if you do escape and they find out you narced, you’re gonna wish the enemy had killed you.
I shrug then bury the knives into his thighs. He lets out an ear-piercing shriek that reverberates through the warehouse. Thank fuck we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere right now.
He howls and whimpers, fighting against his restraints as I watch. I shake my head. If he’d stop moving, it wouldn’t hurt so much. Fucking pussy.
Okay, maybe that’s a lie. I sank those fuckers all the way through. Still.
I turn away from the whimpering mess in the chair and head for the door.
Brick nods to me as Ace gestures towards the guy. “What do you want us to do with him?”
“Take turns watching him. He needs some time to think on how loyal he wants to be to his ‘family.’ I’ll be back in the morning.”
Ace nods then turns to Brick. “I’ll catch second shift,” he says before heading out the door with me.
“Aw man, what the fuck? You know my ole lady’s got dinner cooking. She’s gonna have my nuts.”
Ace shrugs like he couldn’t care less. “Told you not to settle down, man. You brought this on yourself.”
Brick curses under his breath before whipping out his phone, no doubt to let his girl know he won’t be home as planned.
That’s just the reality of our work, though.
He gets it, and so does she. There aren’t a lot of women connected to the Black Crows for this very reason.
We aren’t a leisure club; we don’t hustle a little weed or guns once in a while.
This is an empire, an economy. Once you’re in it, you’re in it, and the only way out is in a wooden fucking box.
My dad made all of that very clear to me when he got out of prison all those years ago.
I’d resisted prospecting the club, leaning towards the same all-American dream Nick was chasing.
That we both were. But Snakes made it very clear that not only would that be a poor decision; it would be an impossible one, on his orders.
“You heading back to the club?” Ace asks.
I shake my head as I throw my leg over my bike and fire it up.
He frowns, cocking his head to one side. “You good, man? You’ve been extra… edgy lately.”
I want to scoff at him. No, I’m not fucking good.
Not since I walked into that goddamn club, that goddamn room and shoved my cock through that hole.
Not since she began plaguing every thought of every moment of my life afterwards.
She’s like an infection, and I want her gone.
The only thing I can think to do is starve her out of my system, but with every growing day, the pain of doing that is becoming damn near unmanageable.
I’d never admit any of that shit to another living soul, though. So, instead, I shrug and reach my hand out to his. He bumps his fist against mine warily before nodding his acceptance and firing up his own bike.
Ace prospected the club a little after I joined up, so we’ve known each other for a while, and I’m sure he’d consider us great friends. He’s an alright guy—good in a fight, takes orders well—but that’s about as close as I’ll ever get to someone in the club. Honestly, to anyone anywhere.
When I pull up to a stop light, I feel my phone buzz in my jacket, and I quickly pull it out.
Nick: Hey, man. Game’s on tonight. Want to meet up?
He stopped asking me years ago. I guess now I’ve been to dinner, he assumes the door is open.
Fuck, I wish I could leave it open. I’ve missed Nick.
He wasn’t just a friend; he was my goddamn brother.
Seeing him, even Anthony and Mom… it was like the hole in my chest was temporarily patched.
The only thing that brought the good vibes down was sitting at the table with her.
Before I’ve thought it through, I’m responding to him, shooting off a text just before the light turns green.
Me: Sure. Meet me at the GOAT.
It’s a sports bar that’s almost considered Northgate—out of the direct jurisdiction of the Black Crows and hopefully far enough away from anyone that could spot us. The last thing I want is Nick getting caught up in any of this shit.
Nick must have been in the area because he beats me to the bar. As soon as I walk in, a goofy-ass grin lights up his face, then he’s jumping off the bar stool and making his way over to me. He pulls me in for a quick hug, clapping my back as he nods to his seat.
“C’mon—I got the first round ordered.”
I sit down and take the beer Nick offers me, dipping my head in thanks.
“I wasn’t sure you were gonna accept the invite,” Nick says, almost hesitantly.
“I wasn’t sure I was gonna either,” I reply then take a sip of my beer.
“I’ve missed you, bro. I’m glad you’re around.”
I don’t know how to tell him that I won’t be around for much longer.
I can’t be. The more times I hang with him, go to Mom’s, anything, the higher the chance of someone catching on.
And then no one is safe. I’m not bringing my life into theirs; I’ll die before I let that happen.
Instead of saying all that, though, I nod and shrug like it’s no big deal.
“I’ve missed you too,” I say before turning my attention to the TV in front of us.
Nick does the same, and as time goes by and drinks go down, we both loosen up—until we’re screaming and hollering when our boys pull a home run out of their asses.
“Fuck yeahhhh!” Nick shouts before high-fiving a stranger and then me.
I laugh at his tipsy ass as he wobbles on the stool, and he grins back at me.
“Fuck, man. Why haven’t we been doing this all this time? It’s bullshit.”
I nod. “I’m sorry.”
Nick shrugs, pushing my shoulder and waving me off. “S’no big deal. Anthony was never upset, and you’ve won Mom’s forgiveness.”
He’s left someone out, and I can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. Despite knowing better, I can’t help but ask.
“And Naomi?”
Nick moves his gaze from the TV to me then back to the TV. “What about her?”
“Does she forgive me? Or was she ever upset that I kinda… ghosted.”
Nick laughs then shakes his head. “You’re kidding, right?
Nay was a fucking mess when you went off with your dad.
She used to cry every fucking night. Stopped eating dinner at the table because she’d just sit there and stare at your empty seat.
Mom was ready to put her in goddamn therapy. It tore her up, man.”
Shock slams into me. Maybe I assumed she’d be upset, or even a darker part of me hoped it. I didn’t know it was… like that, though.
“You never told me,” I say quietly.
Nick and I had loosely stayed in touch, but he’d only ever tell me the family was good. Small updates about him or Anthony, sometimes even Naomi. But never once did he mention she was… struggling.
Nick’s light-hearted smile dims, and he shrugs. “I didn’t want you to feel bad. I know you did what you had to do. In a way, Mom did too. Nay, though? She was too young. She didn’t get it.”
“She’s not that much younger than us,” I point out quickly.
“Maybe not in years, but she’s sheltered. I don’t even think she knows what an MC does. Hell, I’m sure I don’t have a clue,” he says, laughing, then gestures to my split-open hands, which are resting on the bar.
Slowly, I move them into my lap out of view as Nick claps my shoulder.
“Don’t sweat it, man. She’s grown up a lot. College has been good for her. She’s dated a few guys. Still has her two best friends by her side. If she’s still holding a grudge, I’m sure she’ll let it go soon.”
“Who?” I ask sharply.
“Hm?”
“Who has she dated?”
Nick looks to the ceiling like he’s trying to remember the names. “Uh, there was one dude she went to prom with—Ben or Brad or some shit. He was a tool. Then there was… oh fuck, what was his name? I think Marc? He was a few years younger than me but in my fraternity.”
An irrational level of anger pulses through me just imagining any of those little weasel fucks putting their hands on her, taking her out, touching her.
My fists curl tightly in my lap, and I close my eyes as I do everything I can to reign in my anger.
I have no right to feel this way. I wasn’t around.
I’m sure they were good guys, and Naomi has always been a smart girl.
It still doesn’t kill my desire to hunt every one of those motherfuckers down and make sure they treated her right; make sure they didn’t place one goddamn toe out of line.
Nick clearly doesn’t get it—he couldn’t because I never let him in on any of this shit. Leaving was one of the hardest things I ever had to do, but it wasn’t about school or him or even Mom. It was leaving her that nearly killed me. And apparently, it nearly killed her too.