Chapter Fourteen
ONE WEEK BEFORE.
Preach’s nightclub was packed. Music blasted through the speakers while people crowded the dance floor and tables.
Waitresses moved through the room carrying bottles, women laughed with their friends, and cash exchanged hands all around the club.
It was just another busy night for the Dessalinés Mob.
Dressed in a tailored black button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark designer jeans, and a thick gold Cuban chain resting against his chest, Preach sat at the bar sipping rum as he watched everything unfold.
Business had been good despite the Feds breathing down their necks and he was trying to keep it that way.
He was focused on figuring out his next move when Benjamin appeared at his side.
“The Raven’s president is here asking for a word, boss.”
“The Raven’s president?” Preach’s thick brows knitted.
Benjamin nodded toward the entrance. “Gunner.”
Preach followed his gaze and immediately spotted the black leather vest, standing near the entrance. The silver raven stitched over the chest pocket caught the light in the club. He took another sip of his drink and set the glass down.
“Tell him to follow me.”
Benjamin nodded and walked off.
Preach finished his drink, then rose from the bar and headed toward the back of the club. Several of his men fell in behind him. They never asked questions. When he moved, they moved with him.
A few moments later, Preach entered the back office. Benjamin escorted Gunner inside shortly after. The moment Gunner crossed the threshold, half a dozen guns came up and locked onto him.
The room fell silent as Gunner’s eyes traveled from one barrel to the next before settling on Preach. But he never flinched. That earned him a little respect. Not much. But a little.
In the center of the office, Preach stared at him. “Tell me why the fuck you’re here.”
Gunner met his gaze without fear. “Word in the street is you and Crown ain’t doing business no more.”
“And?”
“My gut tells me we got a common enemy.”
The room erupted. Some of the men shook their heads while others laughed outright.
Preach laughed the loudest, licking his lips as he stepped forward…
closer. He looked Gunner up and down. Then the smile disappeared from his face just as he pulled his gun.
He pressed the barrel directly against Gunner’s forehead.
“You thought wrong.” Preach forced Gunner to tilt his head back slightly. “My business ain’t none of yours.”
Gunner lifted his hands in surrender to show no disrespect. “I feel you. I don’t mean no disrespect, but I believe we've got a common enemy. And I got a proposition.”
“Fuck your proposition. If the Dessalinés Mob has a problem, we handle it. What the fuck makes you think I need your help?”
“I can offer you a way to make more money. Fuck Crown. If you don’t care about him, cool. But I know you care about money.”
Preach grew quiet, indicating he was listening, and Gunner continued.
“The Ravens have been expanding. We have more territory now, and we’ve been recruiting heavily ever since. That means we have a lot of mouths to feed. What worked a few years ago isn’t enough anymore. We need a supplier who can keep up.”
Preach said nothing.
“You become our exclusive supplier. Not just for my chapter. Every chapter under my influence. Your product. Your price. The Dessalinés Mob gets richer.”
Preach listened. Not because he cared. Because anything about money always deserved listening.
“All I want in return is one favor. I need a problem handled…one my hands are tied on.”
Preach’s eyes narrowed.
“Let me guess… Crown.”
Gunner’s expression hardened before he gave a slow nod. “The council intervened. I can’t make a move on him without consequences.”
“But you want me to.”
Gunner held his stare, nodding.
For a moment, Preach looked serious, as if he were actually considering it. Then he chuckled again and shook his head.
“You biker boys and y'all fuckin' politics.” The amusement slowly left his face. “I don't give a fuck about none of it. Which means we ain't doing shit.” Preach pointed toward the door.
“Now get the fuck out mi place.”
Gunner’s nostrils flared. For a second, it looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he glanced around the room one last time before turning and walking out.
The door shut behind Gunner, and silence settled over the office as Preach’s henchmen exited next, giving him privacy. Preach walked over and took a seat across from his older brother, Loki, who had been quietly watching the entire exchange. The true head of the Dessalinés Mob.
Time had not been kind to Loki. His body looked thinner than it once had. His face had grown gaunt, and dark circles rested beneath his eyes. A blanket covered his legs despite the warmth inside the room.
Yet somehow, he still looked dangerous. Still looked like the man responsible for leading and expanding an empire for decades.
“Fuckin’ idiots,” Preach complained.
Loki chuckled before coughing into a handkerchief. The cough lingered, and by the time it finally passed, his breathing had changed slightly. Still, he straightened his back. Still, he refused to look weak.
“You should do it.”
Preach immediately shook his head, already knowing where this was going.
“No.”
Loki raised an eyebrow; no one ever told him no.
“No?”
“No.” Preach leaned back in his chair. “There are more Knights than we thought. A lot more. More than that muthafucka who just left has. I’d bet my last on it. Different chapters, different states, different connections. It ain’t worth the risk.”
Another cough interrupted the room. Loki gripped the edge of the desk until it passed.
“The Feds watching us too. Now ain’t the time for war, Loki.” Preach continued.
“Fuck the Feds.” Loki waved him off. “We have that under control.”
Preach remained unconvinced as Loki leaned forward. “The mob must eat.”
“We already eating.”
“Not enough. With the loss of the Knights, we need to replace that revenue.”
Preach sighed heavily. “This really about money or Crown?”
“Both. Crown made the Dessalinés Mob look weak.”
“He didn’t do shit.”
“Yes, he did.”
Preach shook his head. The situation with Crown wasn’t even something he lost sleep over.
Certain events had led to a sour relationship, and that was that.
In his mind, there were bigger things to worry about.
What mattered to Preach was staying out of prison.
If he caught time while his brother was dying, they would lose everything.
There was nobody to leave the business to.
“The shit with Crown matters.” Loki told him, already knowing exactly what he was thinking. “Our soldiers watched another man challenge you.”
Another cough escaped him. This one harsher. More violent. When it finally passed, Loki continued.
“Our soldiers then watched that man walk away after that challenge.”
Preach stared.
Loki stared right back.
“As a leader, you must respond, or to them, you look weak. And weakness leads to them not fearing you. Not fearing you leads to disloyalty.”
Preach rubbed his jaw. “Still doesn’t mean we should work with the Ravens.”
“But if we must strike anyway, why not make money doing it?”
Preach fell silent. That part made sense.
Money always made sense to him. Still, something about the arrangement bothered him.
He wasn’t feeling Gunner. Not even a little bit.
The muthafucka had heart, he’d give him that.
Most men would’ve folded with six guns pointed at them and a pistol pressed against their forehead.
Gunner hadn’t flinched once. Still, Preach didn’t like him.
Maybe it was the color of his skin, or maybe it was his gut.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
BOOM.
Loki slammed his wrinkled hand against the desk, and the force triggered another coughing fit. A bad one. His chest rattled violently.
Preach immediately leaned forward. “Loki—”
The older man held up a hand. Eventually, the coughing stopped. Slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes burned with irritation.
“Mi don’t give a fuck what you think.”
Silence filled the room.
Preach sat back, already seeing where this was headed. His brother was stubborn. And whenever he wanted his way, he pulled the leader card, despite the fact that they had both agreed it was best for him to step down because of his illness.
Loki pointed directly at him.
“Don’t ever forget yourself. Mi may be sick, but until mi eyes close for the last time…” He pointed toward his own chest.
“…this mob belongs to me. I’ve sat around long enough hoping you’d come to your senses. But since you haven’t, I’m telling you what to do. Find the Ravens.”
Preach said nothing as Loki’s stare hardened.
“Then find a way to strike. I’m not asking for war, little brother. It can be quiet. Crown’s club won’t know who hit him.” Loki pointed at him. “But our men will. And that’s who matters.”
Preach sighed once more, knowing there was nothing else left to say. Whether he agreed or not, the order had been given.
To be continued…