Chapter 25Cain
Chapter Twenty-Five
CAIN
L ast night was the first night that I’ve ever spent with a woman. And by spent the night, I mean actually slept over. And damn, if that wasn’t the best night of sleep I’ve had in a long time. She was cute as fuck when she woke up too. All grumpy and shit. Reminded me of a cute little feral cat. Mean as fuck until they got their cream, or in Evan’s case, the cream comes in the form of caffeine. I think I helped take the edge off by waking her up with my mouth on her pussy. She sweetened just enough to not bite my head off before she got her fix.
And that meal she made me last night. I don’t even know the last time I had someone cook for me. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time I had dinner with a woman. Did that count as a date? Do I need to take her out? Girls like that shit, I think.
I take a long drag of my cigarette as I change my thought process to how I want this meeting to go. Honestly, I don’t even want a meeting. I want to go over to that fucker’s house and beat the ever-loving shit out of him until I have the answers I want. Unfortunately, that’s not how it works in the club. I need a vote. I feel like they’d back me, though. Ink seemed to really take to Evan in the first three seconds of meeting her. That’s the kind of impact she leaves on people.
Rubbing the cigarette butt in the ashtray that’s on the picnic table outside the clubhouse, I head inside for church.
“Alright, you fucks!” I yell as I pound my gavel on the table, quieting down the brothers. “I had Scotch call this meeting because we’ve had another issue arise.”
The smiles instantly disappear from their faces, all of them straightening in their seats.
“Scotch and I stopped by Evan’s last night, and some fuck thought it was okay to break into her place and vandalize it.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Ink growls. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s okay. Was a little shaken up, but she’s made of tough shit.”
“How bad is the damage?” Hash asks.
“Not too bad. Just need to replace the lock on the front door and redo some of the drywall. Whoever did this spray-painted a threat on her wall, warning her away from us.”
“How in the fuck does someone know she’s working with us?” Trick asked, looking like he’s ready to murder someone.
“That’s the million-dollar fucking question. I think that the person who was scoping out her place the other night and the shit that happened last night are related and, somehow, also related to us.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences like that. I agree with you on it,” Hash says, looking deep in thought.
None of this makes any fucking sense. If Evan already had a bunch of enemies and people after her, I’d assume other scenarios, but the girl is a hermit. I haven’t even heard her mention friends’ names.
“You think it has something to do with the jacked shipment and two of our prospects getting killed?” Ink asks, drawing all the attention to himself. “What? You can’t tell me you haven’t thought of it.” He shrugs. “We need to look at every angle as a possibility.”
“She doesn’t have any idea? I doubt it’s the Reapers. This screams amateur. Or someone scared to do it face-to-face,” Trick says, looking no less pissed off.
“Scotch and I talked to her last night, and she thinks it might be the guy who sells for her. Scotch has met him a few times and doesn’t get a good vibe from him.”
“I think he’s worth looking into. If Ev thinks something is off with him, then I believe her. I never liked the son of a bitch anyway,” Scotch says as the other guys nod their heads and think everything over.
“Alright, let’s vote. Do we pay this fucker a visit or let it lie and see what happens? Hands for a visit?” Looking around the table, I see every brother's hands raised. Hell yeah. “Looks like we’re paying this bitch a visit.” I grin, and cheers erupt.
What can I say? It’s been getting a little fucking boring around here.
“Scotch, you’re coming with me since you’ve met him before. I want a familiar face with me. Cyrus, I want you to come too. Just in case shit goes south and we need a little more muscle.” The dude gets off on cutting off fingers. I’m in no position to judge. We all have our kinks. Some are newer than others based on how I sucked on Evan’s fucking toes last night. Just thinking about it is making my dick hard. That’s the last thing I need. My head needs to be in the game and not thinking about how sexy my little hellcat looks while she’s under me.
Trick’s shoulders sag. “I always miss out on all the fun stuff.”
“You were the one who beat the shit out of the drunk piece of shit that was drugging drinks at DD’s. Didn’t even give me a chance with him.” Hash crossed his arms, looking equally as put out.
“I need you two to stay back at the club with the prospects in case the Reapers decide to stop by uninvited again. You don’t need to wait for me to give them a message if it happens.” Meeting Trick and Hash’s eyes, I see hope flare that they actually stop by. Crazy fuckers.
“Let’s ride out.” I bang the gavel on the table while the brothers cheer.
I’m taking up the lead with Scotch and Cyrus on each side, hanging slightly back as we cruise down the road on the way to Storm’s. I’m trying to contain my rage because, you know, innocent until proven guilty and all that shit. The only promise I’m making is not to kill him unless I find out he’s behind this.
My lip curls up in disgust as we turn into the drive at the address that Evan gave us. It’s even farther out from Ravenna Heights than we are—just a single trailer on a lot in the middle of nowhere.
I’m pissed as fuck that she came out here alone. It’s in the middle of nowhere and in the woods to boot. This fucker could have killed her, and no one would be around to hear her screams.
“You think anyone’s home?” Cyrus asks as soon as we cut the bikes.
“Good fucking question.” There isn’t even a car here. “You guys see any movement through the blinds?”
“Nope,” Scotch replies. “God, this place is a fucking dump. It smells like piss, too.”
He’s not wrong about that. Judging by how the grass in the yard is almost up to my knee, it’s clear he doesn’t take care of this place. I can only imagine what the inside looks like. “This place looks like a trap house and a hoarder's house had a baby.”
Cyrus grunts in agreement as he walks up the front steps. He pounds his fists on the door, only to be greeted with no response. Of course, he’s conveniently not home.
Cyrus turns his head, pressing his ear to the door while Scotch and I keep our eyes glued to the windows in the off-chance we catch a peeping tom.
Cyrus shakes his head, letting us know that he isn’t hearing anything, before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his lock pick. He picks it in under 30 seconds, and we’re in. I pull my Glock out of my waistband and signal to Cyrus to let me lead.
I slowly push open the door, quickly scanning the area and coming up clear. I nod my head toward the door down the left of the hall, telling one of them to check out that room as I move through the kitchen and the living room.
Scotch comes back, shaking his head. “It’s all clear. His drawers are thrown open like he was leaving in a hurry. Clothes all over the fucking place.”
“I don’t know if that means anything. It doesn’t look like he’s cleaned since he moved in. This place fucking reeks like a dirty hooker’s pussy.” Cyrus grimaces as he looks around at the moldy dishes on the counter and table and old beer cans scattered on the floor.
“I think Evan was right about him being on something.” Scotch says while pointing to the broken glass pipe on the coffee table.
This guy is living in filth. The longer I stay in here, the angrier I get again that Evan thought it was okay to come here on her own. That shit is not happening again.
“You guys thinking what I’m thinking?” This doesn’t look good, but at the same time, it isn’t adding up to anything.
“If you’re thinking that he split in a hurry, then yeah, I’m thinking what you’re thinking,” Cyrus says, while Scotch grunts in agreement. “The question is, who is after him that made him leave like that? You think Evan would know?”
Shrugging my shoulders, I answer, “No fucking clue, but I doubt it. She made it sound like she didn’t really know him outside the arrangement they had going on. Just an old coworker turned associate. They never hung out outside of this.”
“I feel like if Evan knew him on a level more than what she’s saying, she would have mentioned it,” Scotch agrees.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here and fill Hash and Trick in. Lucky fuckers missed out on this fucking shit hole,” I say, heading toward the front door. I don’t even make it down to the last step before gunfire erupts out of nowhere, aiming right for me.
Quickly jumping back up and into the trailer, I slam the front door shut and dive behind the paper-thin wall that separates the kitchen from the entryway. A few shots have penetrated the cheap siding, hitting the couch and the other side of the trailer since this piece of shit is only 14 feet wide.
“Everyone okay?” I yell over the shots. They definitely have a semi-automatic.
“We’re good!” Scotch yells, crouched behind the coffee table he overturned.
“What’s the plan? I’ve got two clips on me,” Cyrus yells just before the firing stops.
Raising my pointer finger to my lips, signaling for them to be quiet, I slowly creep toward the edge of the front window. A few of the blinds have the ends snapped off already, creating a tiny opening, which I try to look out of without being noticed. .
Darting my eyes all along the treeline of the front yard, I come up blank.
What. The. Fuck.
I start to stand to my full height when laughter outside has me freezing. It sounds like he’s coming closer, but I can’t tell for sure. I make eye contact with Scotch and Cyrus and notice they have the same look in their eyes. What are we going to do? There’s nowhere to hide in this small piece of shit. And it’s three against however many with bigger guns than we have right now.
This will be the last time I underestimate this stupid fuck.
“Boss will be very pleased to know we just killed the Dirty Devils’ Prez.”
What accent is that? It sounds so familiar, but I can’t place it.
“Who were the guys with him?”
“Do not know. Do not give a fuck. Let’s go talk to Boss.”
“I’m getting real sick of doing his bitch work.”
A smack sounds out as if the one guy smacked the other. “Do not talk about the Pakhan like that.”
Fuck.
I look over at Scotch and Cyrus, who are sharing the same as me. Because why in the fuck are the Russians on my territory, and how did they know I was coming to talk to Storm?