28. Tyke
28
TYKE
"What's the rundown?" I rock back on my bike, arms folded, and study the property across the road.
Hammer leans his ass against his ride; head ducked as he lights a cigarette. "Ronan's not with him." He pauses so the flame can catch the bobbing tip. "Connor's left to distract Terry from what's happenin', but I think either the guy doesn't know or doesn't give a shit if he's left Fox without his watchdog." He shrugs. "Don't have a head count on who's inside, but." The snap of his Zippo punctuates the facts.
“Whose property is this?”
“Rental.” Minion stands between us, arms folded high on his chest and feet wide. “It ain’t in his name, but the intel I’ve got is that he’s here on the regular.”
I frown at the nondescript single-level dwelling. The old man left each of us a parcel of land when he passed, and, as the oldest, Fox's came with an old two-bedroom farmhouse. Rundown, sure, but perfect for using as a bachelor pad. A little TLC and the place would have fixed up just fine. Shit, I would have liked it, considering it had a purpose-built barn out the back equipped with a bike hoist and a workshop.
"Is that car the only one here?" I nod toward a beaten-up turquoise sedan that looks as though it hasn't moved in weeks, considering the grass that tufts around the wheels.
“As far as we can see.”
Kane rises from where he’s seated beside his brother on the curb, shoulders rolling back to pop his spine before he strolls my way. "We doing this, or what?" My oldest pulls to a stop in front of Minion, ignoring the broad fucker's stare, eyeing me where I sit.
"Got a plan, have you?" I narrow my gaze on my boy and challenge him to speak his piece.
Yeah, I’m ready to do this. But I know I hesitate because no matter what he’s done, Fox is still the big brother who let me shadow him as a child. He was the smart-mouthed kid who led the way, protecting me from the assholes that served our father, and guided me until I grew old enough to stand my ground alone.
To fight my own battles.
Our relationship has changed over the years, but I can't forget where we came from.
The guy who's still in there. Still inside this bitter old man that he's become.
"He knows we're here," Kane snipes. "At this point, we may as well knock on the fuckin' front door."
I ignore his bitching and turn my focus to Minion. “You make that call for me?”
He nods. “Still the same as last time you checked. No change.”
Kane’s eyes narrow. “What is?”
“None of your fuckin’ business, that’s what.” Hammer flicks his cigarette, staring at the ground.
I smirk at the snarl that curls Kane’s lip. It brings me some comfort to know that shit could go south and I could die tomorrow, but these assholes around me would be there to keep my boy in line.
“You think he could be useful?” Minion asks.
I shake my head, studying each window in the house in turn. “Nah. Just don’t want him tied up in this.”
"You're talking about Logan, aren't you." Recognition fires in Kane's eyes, and his shoulders sag.
I nod.
Fox's only child is bright. Left Red River as soon as he could, got himself a proper education, and started a civil construction business—one that I hold a silent share in. Logan would never have accepted help directly from me on premise, so I jumped when I heard he'd put feelers out for business partners to help fund equipment acquisition.
The eyes I have on the guy tell me he hasn’t contacted his father in over a year.
And even then, it was a terse interaction at a roadside diner.
"What's Logan got to do with any of this?" Kane asks, turning to see what I'm staring at.
“You tellin’ me you wouldn’t have something to say about it if your old man was taken down?” Minion asks.
“‘Course I would.” Kane’s face falls as the pieces slot into place. “You think he could be a threat?”
"I'd be naive not to account for it," I drawl.
My eyes flick back to the foremost window of the house. Could have sworn that curtain moved. “Harvey.”
“Yeah?” My youngest rises to his feet, dusting his ass off as he joins our merry crew.
“You and Hammer position yourselves at the back of the property. I want all exits covered in case the fucker decides to run.” Which he’s fucking renowned for. “Kane. Watch the front.”
“What are you going to do?”
I smirk. “Minion and I are going to see if he’s in the mood for some Girl Scout cookies.”
“Fuckin’ said you should just knock on the goddamn door,” Kane mumbles as he checks his weapon. “Shoot to maim? Or shoot to kill?”
I lift an eyebrow. “What the fuck you think, asshole?”
“Maim.” He sighs, shoving his gun in the back of his waistband. “You’re no fun.”
"And you're a fuckin' concern." I don't miss the side-eye from Minion. He sees it, too—the danger of Kane's youth.
He’s been working for the club, doing errands, and giving people a shakedown for a couple of years. But he's yet to see real action. He hasn't had to kill a man. Hasn't had to hear a man beg for his life.
Hasn’t had to beg for his.
Club life is still a game to him, and my biggest concern is that he'll pass that headspace onto his younger brother.
It’s the kind of foolhardy arrogance that’ll get a man killed.
"Just watch the fuckin' property, will you?" I dismount and shed my jacket, giving better access to the weapons holstered at my side.
“Come on, kid.” Hammer nods toward Harvey, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out as he does. “Let’s get in position.”
I take the apprehension at watching my youngest cross the street, gun tucked beneath his cut, and twist that concern around my heart until it resembles something closer to frustration. Anger that I live a life where it’s acceptable to put your children in harm’s way. Anger I can use to make sure fuckers like my opportunistic brother aren’t able to create that danger.
“Maim,” I remind Kane.
“Yes, Dad.” He rolls his eyes, shifting to stand in front of the bikes.
I give Minion a tight nod and then check the road both ways before crossing over to get this shit done.
Fox is my brother, and I'll always love him.
But he took my daughter.
He took Maddie, then twisted Sweetie up so that she took Rae.
And they fucking hurt them. This asshole and his fucking devoted side piece fucking terrified my girls and left them scarred in places no salve can heal.
He did all of that, and for what?
What fucking gain did he think was worth fucking up my family for?
Guess I’ll find out soon.
My knuckles strike the painted door, and I take a step back, hand resting on the gun at my side. Minion stands behind my right shoulder; weapon clutched between his hands before him. To a passerby, he'd look as though he stands with hands clasped between his hips, but he conceals the very thing that ensures that even if my brother gets one up on me, Fox won't take more than two breaths before he pays for it.
The seconds tick by painfully slow, and I cock my head a little, hearing attuned to any and every tiny scuff or knock that comes from inside the premises.
The lock clicks, and the door cracks open… then stalls.
No light spills through the gap. No shadows tell me where my brother is.
I draw my weapon and glance at Minion out of the corner of my eye, registering his tight nod.
"Just wanna talk, Fox." I project my voice through the gap and wait, the steady rush of my breath all that can be heard.
Boot to the timber, I nudge the door wider with my gun held before me and sweep the entrance. Precious seconds pass as my eyes adjust to the change in light from the bright afternoon sun to whatever this den of iniquity is. Nobody’s there.
My heart rate increases.
“Thought you were better than this,” I taunt. “Better than hidin’ from the consequences of your actions.”
A door to the left opens out to a small living room, another further down the narrow hall to what must be a bedroom before the short hallway ends, and an open doorway leads through to what appears to be the wash house. On the right is another bedroom, a crack in the nailed fabric for a curtain leaving a strip of light that illuminates the messy space. Minion edges into the room, sweeping the area.
I lean into the living room on my left, find it empty, and then edge toward the bedroom behind.
"Dad raised you better than to be a coward, you asshole. Fuckin' face me, and let's square this out."
The door is closed most of the way, with only two inches of space showing the pitch-black room beyond. I kick the panel, flinging it open, and duck across the gap as I do to assess the room from the opposite side. No movement draws my eye, but I don't trust the asshole not to set this room up as a trap to draw me in while he lies in wait elsewhere.
I back away, facing the dark room as I glance over my shoulder and move toward the laundry area.
The back door is shut, and cardboard is taped over the three glass panes. The small room sits empty save for two discarded boxes of bullets on the countertop—not even a washer or a rack to hang clothes.
Minion moves out of the front bedroom toward what I glimpsed to be the kitchen opposite the darkened door. I nod toward the bedroom space, and he stalls, tucked out of sight. Slowly, the big guy lowers to a crouch and pulls a small flashlight from the pocket inside his cut. He sets it on the dented floorboards and slides it across to where I stand, the scrape of metal on timber confronting in the otherwise quiet house. I retrieve the light and click it on, setting it in my left fist and bracing my right over the top to keep the weapon trained on the room.
The beam of white light spills over a stack of boxes, an unmade single bed, and what seem to be garbage bags full of clothes. I move closer, Minion watching my back, and sweep the room, yet it comes up empty. With a shake of my head, I click off the light as Minion moves toward the kitchen.
He gets one step inside the door and then stalls, shoulders relaxing. Without looking my way, he jerks his head to indicate I should come see.
I step into the room and come to a grinding halt.
Seated at a small Formica table against the far window is my goddamn brother. His weapon sits on the surface, his hand resting over the top. "Took you long enough to cross that damn road." He smirks. "Almost fixed myself a drink while I was waitin' for you assholes to quit the dramatics."
It could have just as easily been the look on his face or the arrogance in his words, but it's the audacity of the asshole to wait on me while wearing our colors that has me march toward him, raising my gun to his head.
He moves in a swift strike, lifting his to match my stance. “Nuh-uh-uh.”
“Take them off.” I nod to his cut. “You don’t have permission to represent the club anymore. You don’t have our respect anymore.”
“And you no longer tell me what to do.” He grins. “Got yourself a Catch-22 there, brother.”
Wood splinters at Fox’s feet with a resounding crack from Minion’s gun. “Take. Them. Off.”
The tension raises my heart rate to a fever pitch. I take a deep breath, focus on holding it for a beat, and then let it out twice as slowly.
Fox’s gaze slides from me to my enforcer and back.
For a split second, I believe that he'll do it. I calculate the odds of who he'll shoot out of me and Minion first and then what the best reaction would be to incapacitate him.
Yet, my brother simply sighs and lowers his weapon, setting it on the table again. "Knew this would turn to shit the minute Sweetie told me she'd taken your bitch." Hands wide before him, he rises from the vinyl-covered seat. I track him, weapon still aimed at his fucking forehead, as I take a step back to watch while he slowly strips the leather from his shoulders. "Getting a bit hot in here anyway." He hangs the cut from the first two fingers on his left hand. "Come and get 'em, brother .”
The colors hit the floor—the first sign of disrespect—and then my asshole brother does the fucking unthinkable. His right hand shoots to his goddamn crotch, and as Minion moves to retrieve the cut, Fox whips his zipper down, dick out, and precedes to piss all over the club emblem.
I feel the tension that radiates off Minion damn near push me out of the way.
So, I fucking retaliate first.
I drop my hand and discharge my weapon, putting a goddamn hole through the asshole’s dick.
He screams, hands cupping the wound as he stumbles back and collapses into the chair. Blood seeps between his shaking fingers, his breaths stuttering in and out of his cigarette-fucked lungs as he comes to terms with the damage.
"Could have saved yourself the pain," I holler to be heard over his pathetic whimpers. "Could have fronted up to us at the door and talked man-to-man without this bullshit.” I wave my gun at the room. “What was this anyway? You tryin’ to make out you got the upper hand on me?”
Minion retrieves the leather from the floor, holding it at arm's length while he carries it to the stainless sink and dumps it inside.
“The fuck you do that for?” Fox exclaims, voice pitchy and panicked. “Jesus, Tyke.”
"The fuck you take my daughter for?!" I roar, tendons standing proud along my neck. "Any grievances are between you and me," I shout, drowning out the water swishing over the leather as Minion cleans the cut as best he can, given the circumstances. “You have beef, you bring it to my door,” I press. “Not my daughter’s.”
Fucker chuckles, sinister smile on his downturned face as he lifts a palm to check the damage to his fucking dick. “You raise them kids in the club, Tyke, then they are the club. I did bring it to your door.” He lifts his head and pins me with a heated glare. “I just used your fuckin’ assets to do it.”
I don't even think on it. The butt of my gun collects his face as I backhand the asshole, yet the meager spray of blood from his mouth does nothing to satisfy the burning rage that threatens to consume me the longer I stand in his fucking presence.
"Why?" I use my free hand, heel pressed to his forehead, to shove his head upright again and search his gaze. "What the fuck you hope to achieve by takin' my girl?"
“Wasn’t supposed to be her,” he mumbles before spitting pink saliva at my feet. “I wanted your bitch, but she came with complications.”
"Rae." I shunt his head back as I step away, confident that if my palm remains connected to his skull, I’ll kill him before I get the answers I need.
“She’s a hell of a bargaining chip.” Fox laughs. “You came across gold with that one, brother.”
“Do not call me that.” I spin, finger in his face. “Ever again. The blood I share with you sure as fuck ain’t my better half.”
“Glad not to.” Asshole seethes as he stares at me, hands still cupped to his junk. “Think I could get a fucking towel?” he asks Minion, jerking his head at the brute.
“Think you can make do with what you got,” the big guy answers, shrugging as he lifts the cut to let the water run off.
“What you need Terry’s road for, anyway?” I ask, arms folded and gun tucked to my side. My gaze falls to Fox’s weapon, still within reach on the table. I collect it, shoving the thing in my waistband before it becomes an issue.
"Reasons." The fucker hedges the question, glancing at the now empty tabletop.
“He wants to know what they are,” Minion warns.
“Got that, thank you.” Fox scrunches his face up, sneering a mocking smile at the man. “Just don’t see what business it is of yours.” He glares at me as he says the words.
"You take two of my women to woo your fucking boyfriend up there on the hill, then you make it my business to know what's so goddamn important that you need private access to this fuckin’ road he builds.”
Fox’s lip twitches, wrinkling beside his nose. “I got a contract, okay? I got merchandise I need to move.”
“With who?”
He glares at me.
“You wanna lose your balls, too?” I aim my gun at his hands.
“Fuck’s sake.” He leans back, hissing between his teeth. “Devil’s Breed, okay? I made a deal with them to move the goods south.”
The goods. I know what fucking goods they move, and it ain’t the shit I want moving through my backyard. I lower my voice and ask in a monotone, “You wear our fuckin’ colors while you do this?”
He glances at Minion, to the wet leather hanging off the edge of the kitchen counter.
“Fuckin’ did, didn’t you?” Minion takes a step forward. “You fuckin’ used our name to benefit yourself, didn’t you, you fuck.”
“Christ, Fox.” I turn away and scrub a hand over my face. It does nothing to ease the blooming headache. “The fucking Breed think they made this contract with the Reapers, don’t they?”
His whispered answer is as pathetic as he is. “Maybe.”
“Fuckin’ hell.” My gun weighs heavy in my hand. The anger slithering through my veins demands an out. Not yet. I need details.
I need to know how bad is this fuck-up. How much of a fucking headache I have coming at me.
“How long?” I demand.
“How long what?” he snaps.
"How long did you agree to do this for them?" I wait for his answer, my pulse throbbing through my limbs, legs wide.
He glances at Minion, then back to me before answering. "It has no end."
Motherfucker. Teeth bared, I lift the gun and aim at my brother's head.
Pull the trigger before I can talk myself out of it.
Close my eyes before the image burns too bright in my guilty conscience.
Then turn for the door to step into my new fucking future.
A future in which the Devil's Breed believes the Reapers have agreed to traffic their trade through the southern states.
Their skin trade.
Fuck.