Stormy Knight: Mayhem Makers (Texas Creek Mafia)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

R eeves stood motionless, feeling the weight of the moment settle like a stone in his chest. Behind him, his mother trembled, her body shaking with grief, her hand gripping his arm like it was the only thing holding her together. The air was thick with dust, the fading sunlight casting long shadows over the gathering, the golden light filtering through the dry trees in the distance.

His brothers, older and more stoic, were unmoved by the spectacle, their faces set in hard lines, eyes fixed on the open grave. It was as if they were made of stone—unyielding, unmoved. But Reeves could feel the tension in the air, a tautness that was almost palpable. His gut twisted, not just from the loss, but from the knowledge something had irrevocably shifted in the quiet, unspoken dynamics of the family.

The priest, bent and frail, stood at the head of the grave. His wrinkled hands held the old, weathered bible. The wind tugged at the collar of his vestments, and his lips moved slowly. His words sounded tight and harsh. But despite the ritual of it all, Reeves couldn’t help but notice how the man’s eyes kept drifting over to the family, as if searching for something in the darkening faces of those gathered.

The heavy Texas heat clung to them, the dry dust rising in the wind, stinging his eyes. His heart pounded in his chest, a steady rhythm that drowned out the murmur of voices. It was all too much—too real, too final. This was the end of something, the closing of a door. Reeves wasn’t sure if he was ready to face what lay on the other side.

The wind whipped across the gravestones. It made the moment feel even more desolate, as if nature itself was mourning with them. Still, the family stood frozen, each of them lost in their own thoughts, tethered together by the shared grief and the silence that hung heavy between them.

Reeves wanted to say something—anything—to break the stillness, to force the tension out of the air. But his throat was dry as the Texas heat. All he could do was stand there, feeling like a child again, caught in the crossfire of his brothers’ unspoken expectations, his mother’s silent despair, and the weight of a legacy that had been passed down to them all.

The bible’s weathered pages whipped as the priest spoke of their father. He prayed for Jennings Salvador’s everlasting soul. Reeves wondered: did the priest know the man? He was speaking those words of comfort. Did they do anything to comfort his family or did the words of scripture miss their mark, Reeves wondered.

When the priest closed the last prayer, Reeves closed his eyes as he heard his mother wail, and his heart broke for her. The sound was a knife twisting in his gut. They were powerless to alter their father’s death. Now, Jackson would take their father’s spot as head of the family. Boss over the Garduna. Jackson would run the ranch and the businesses with the help of him and Monroe. Watching as his mother wept over her husband’s coffin, the last piece of resolve as tears filled his eyes. The sound of dry, hard dirt slamming down onto the wooden casket had his knees feeling weak. Reeves swiped at the tears, wiping them from his face. Standing there, he sent up a prayer for his mother to find the strength to go on. His tears were for himself, for knowing he’d never see his father again.

People spoke; feet moved over the grass. Decisions needed to be made. Could they make their father proud? Seeing Jackson standing alone staring at the grave, Reeves left him there. Wrapping an arm around their mother’s shoulder, he walked her back to the car. Maybe Jackson could silence the dead. He could only hold on to the living.

Reeves opened his eyes slowly, the faint light of dawn barely creeping through the blinds. It was still too early. The world outside hushed and waiting for the day to begin. He rolled over and reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, revealing a familiar face…a capo from the family.

Reeves stared at the phone for a long moment, feeling the weight of what it represented. The Capo calling him was a reminder of the ties that bound him. He glanced over at the woman lying next to him. Her breathing was steady, her face relaxed in sleep.

“Who’s your new friend?” The capo’s question, a touch too interested, reached his ears.

Movement behind him alerted Reeves his companion was awake. “One second.” Setting the phone face down, he watched the woman smile and point to the bathroom. Smiling back at her, he waited for her to disappear into the bathroom. Once the door closed, he waited until he heard the shower turn on before he picked up the phone.

Staring at the capo, Reeves was curious why he had called, “You have something for me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m listening.” Reeves waited to hear what was so important that his Sunday morning had been interrupted before the sun was up. “Get to it.”

“Mario Serrano’s been doing business in our territory.”

Those words caught his attention. They’d been having issues with the Serranos pushing the boundaries set by the Garduna. “How certain are we about this?”

“I’ve got proof. Sending it to your email.”

“Keep me informed of any developments.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hanging up, Reeves rolled back over, staring up at the ceiling. Knowing he’d have to deal with Mario Serrano. He reminded himself he’d have to sit down with Jackson and Monroe beforehand. Once his brothers were read in, he’d make his plan to set up a meeting with the Serrano boss.

Laying there, his mind drifted back to the dream, to that day… the day. The memory of it, with every detail sharp and relentless, burned into his mind like a scar that would never fade. He could feel the weight of it, the gravity of the moment when his life had fractured and everything before and after became a blur of survival.

The decision he made that day had been one of those rare, irreversible moments in time, the kind that didn’t allow for regret, only the harsh reality of consequence. The decision was irreversible. No second chances. No more ‘what-ifs.’ His path had been set.

Two years earlier, he’d learned something that had poisoned his view of the world: no one was trustworthy. It didn’t matter who they were, what they had been to him…family, friends, allies…trust was a currency that had lost its value.

People betrayed, deceived, and in the end, they only looked out for themselves. He had learned that lesson the hard way. The dream had been a reminder of that bitter truth, a cruel twist that pulled him back into a past he’d rather forget, yet knew he’d never escape.

His aunt had proved her point when she tried to undermine them after the death of his father. Zia’s one impetuous act…driven by a toxic blend of greed and resentment that set off a chain of events none of them had seen coming. Reeves, along with his brothers Jackson and Monroe, had no idea that their lives would soon be upended by the sheer force of her recklessness. But when Whiskey, Jackson’s wife, was harmed in the process, the consequences of Zia’s actions were sealed. There was no going back now.

Whiskey’s injury was more than just a physical wound; it was a symbol of Zia’s disregard for the family she had once been a part of. With the knowledge ofZia’s betrayal as a constant reminder, they’d been forced to face the truth they’d all wanted desperately to avoid. Their aunt’s betrayal had set the stage for their future.

There were laws to their lifestyle. A code they lived by. The Salvador’s ancestry went back to the Spanish Inquisition. Zia had understood all that, understood what was expected of her and what would happen if she got caught plotting against the family. Still, she did so without regard for anyone.

All of it stemmed from Jackson killing their uncle, leaving Zia mourning the death of her husband. Reeves remembered that night like it was yesterday. They’d just buried their father, Jackson and Monroe had gone to handle the other bosses. To let them know Jackson would step up as head of the family. He had found out their uncle had killed their father, Jennings Salvador.

Reeves remembered hearing a woman’s scream. The sound had pierced the silence of the evening. He rushed after Zia as she stumbled from the kitchen door, running for the back office. He remembered the hand carved wooden doors being pushed open as Zia shoved her way in.

The room had exploded into chaos with screaming women. His aunt went straight to Jackson, hitting his chest with weak fists. “Porque porque?” his aunt had screamed, asking why in Spanish. When she slapped Jackson across his face, Reeves could see it caught his brother off guard. All his brother had done was pull their aunt tight to his chest and asked for forgiveness. Telling her he had to protect the family.

Closing his eyes, Reeves saw when he first heard what Jackson and Monroe had known.

His aunt looked up at Jackson with tear-filled eyes. “He was family, Jackson.”

Jackson wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “He betrayed us by killing my father.” The shock was apparent on her face at this news. He waited for her to either deny it, acknowledge it, or accept it.

Zia wiped at her face. “Then you had no choice.”

Jackson had known she lied. Her eyes had given gave it away. Jackson desperately attempted to convince himself it was just business. But he had known that it was a lie; it was fucking personal. Jackson told him and Monroe; he never blamed her for hating him. That this life they lived was and always would be hard.

“I’ll never do this to a woman,” Jackson had told them. He swore he would never bring someone into this life to be hurt. To suffer from that kind of violence. How hard it must have been for his older brother to fall in love with Whiskey. Then watch as their world tried tearing her apart.

Reeves had done one better than his big brother. He’d let the only woman he ever loved to believe he wasn’t a good guy. In doing so, he’d broken his own heart and probably dented hers along the way.

Stormy Knight had never let on one time that she’d been hurt by his dismissal. If he had hurt her, he’d be the last to know. That he was sure of. Tossing the covers aside, he headed for a hot shower. He needed a distraction from his thoughts. Hopefully, his friend wouldn’t mind company.