Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Woof. Woof?
S lade walked outside to find two very sleek and very expensive cars parked sideways, all the windows tinted completely black. Each vehicle cost well over six figures. The tension felt like a horribly thick fog.
“That’s the car,” Darrow said to him as he walked back a few steps. “One of those two cars. From the security footage. Virus.”
“Fuck,” Slade said.
He made eye contact with Linc. Cyrus stood with his arms crossed, Priest as his side, ready for a fucking war. Slade took it upon himself to move closer to the cars.
“Don’t be a hero,” Monte said. “Not sure who or what is in there. Could be a trick. Get too close and the car blows up. Huh?”
“I’ll take my fucking chances,” Slade said.
A fresh hit of rage tore through him. He planned on going right up to one of the windows and knocking.
The back passenger window of the second vehicle rolled down. A man with a clean face and a hard, steel-like jaw stared up at Slade. There was a vibe… an aura… The man’s suit probably cost as much as the car.
“Think you boys are a little lost,” Slade said.
“Maybe you have a map for me?”
The man’s voice contained a very thick Russian accent.
Ah, fuck , Slade thought.
“I’ve got a map right here for you,” Priest said as he produced a gun.
Instantly, three of the four doors on the car flew open and men came rushing out. They were tall, built, dressed in black suits, guns already in their hands. That left Linc, Cyrus, Monte, Darrow, Fitz, and Deed no choice but to draw their weapons too.
The first car… same thing. Except all four doors opened. Now it was a standoff. Pretty clear that these men were from the Russian mafia.
“The President,” the man still in back seat said. “That’s not you.” He pointed to Slade. “Bring him to me.”
Slade glanced back at Cyrus.
“Fuck that,” Linc said. “You want to talk to us? You step the fuck out.”
“I believe we do have some business to handle,” Cyrus said. “Pretty sure I’ve seen one of these cars before.”
The man in the back seat stroked his chin. He muttered something in Russian and two of the men with guns took a formation that allowed him to get out of the car.
When the man stepped out, he adjusted his suit jacket and nodded to Slade. Nothing about this felt okay or right to Slade and nothing about this was going to end well. The man approached Cyrus.
“May we speak without weapons?”
“You tell your pets to drop theirs,” Linc called out.
“ Pets ,” the Russian man said with a smile. “Like dogs? Woof. Woof? ”
“Who the fuck are you?” Cyrus asked. “You don’t know what happens to those who just roll up on us like this. We tend to get a little jumpy. Trigger happy.”
“I think you know about me. I think you’ve heard my name. Damien. Fyodor .”
The name ripped through Cyrus like a bullet. Everyone looking at Cyrus knew this was serious.
“Leader meets leader then,” Cyrus said. “You should have called. We could have cleaned the place up. Gotten some great vodka. Called up our best girls too. You’ve never seen or tasted pussy like we can get.”
“My tongue isn’t here for pleasure, Cyrus,” Damien said. “My tongue is here for speaking. For messaging.”
“Then why the bullets in one of our guys?” Linc asked. “That doesn’t go unpaid.”
“Correct,” Damien said.
He snapped his fingers and nodded to the man at his left. That man took three steps and grabbed one of the other men. He tossed him toward Cyrus.
“My gift,” Damien said. “Make it even.”
The sacrificed man began to scream in Russian. Cyrus nodded at Priest. Zero hesitation existed for Priest. He pulled the trigger on his gun, twice. Two bullets, just like Virus had received.
Priest chose the man’s left eye socket and the man’s stomach.
“Little bit harsh,” Damien said.
“You’re next, fucker,” Priest said.
Three men lunged for Priest. Cyrus had no choice but to rip the gun out of Priest’s hand before something really bad happened and he started an actual war. Monte and Darrow jumped into the fight.
“Our men enjoy the fights,” Damien said to Cyrus. “We have a few items in common. More than I think you realize.”
“Look, I know who you are,” Cyrus said. “You know who I am. We have our spaces. Our own lives. Our own crews. There’s no need for anything to ever be mixed together. Unless you have a damn good reason. You know who we are, right? How far we reach?”
“The outlaws,” Damien said. “The truest outlaws out there. A reputation of death. Of blood. Of strict rules. Pains me so much to have to step into this world. You must understand that personal vengeance is all I seek. The bloodshed… perhaps we can work on a deal for that.”
“You motherfucker,” Linc growled, eyes growing wide.
“You’re the ones who have been shooting up the town,” Slade said. “You murdered Thalia and Calista.”
The names rolled off Slade’s tongue way too easily.
Fuck, he thought.
A stupid move on his part.
Damien looked right at Slade. “Once there were three, my friend. Take away two. Only one left. And she’s mighty slippery. I remember her well.”
Damien winked. Slade jumped at Damien. A heavy fist hit Slade in the gut before he had a chance to get his hands on Damien. Slade dropped to his hands and knees, unable to breathe. When he looked up through blurry eyes, he saw Cyrus with a gun drawn, pointed between Damien’s eyes.
“Now you’ve caused me nothing but problems,” Cyrus said. “Your fancy suits and cars meant nothing here. Your currency doesn’t exist. But we will take lives. Be careful where you step next, my friend .”
“All I’ve done is come for what’s rightfully mine.”
Slade slowly climbed to his feet. “What the fuck do you think is rightfully yours?”
Damien raised his right hand and pointed. Cyrus still had a gun pointed between Damien’s eyes. The tension hadn’t let up even one little bit. Slade turned his head with no clue what Damien could possibly be pointing at…
But then it quickly made sense. Oh, it made perfect fucking sense.
Damien pointed right at Nelle.
As Nelle stared forward, her heart sank. It had been a long time… a really long time … Her stomach twisted and ached, did that same motion as the night she threw up on Slade’s boots.
She watched a smile creep across Damien’s face. That cruel, evil face of his. That perfectly chiseled face of his too. The one that…
Nelle started to fall back, her knees giving way. Someone caught her. She jumped and screamed, then turned to see Muffin.
“It’s just me, girlfriend,” Muffin said. “You were going down. What’s the story out here?”
Nelle’s eyes couldn’t focus. Her jaw quivered.
“Oh, this ain’t good at all, is it?” Muffin asked, not really looking for an answer.
The best he could offer Nelle was the opportunity to lean against the clubhouse. Nelle watched Muffin walk toward Damien and his awful men. This was why Nelle didn’t want to come back. This was why Nelle hid for all these years.
She wished she were in the antique store right now. Digging through a dusty box to find an item to make a video for… She wished she had sent Thalia and Calista far away. Really far away.
I should have sent them to Alaska! Nelle screamed in her head.
It didn’t matter. Her sisters were dead. And the man who killed them was here. Damien wanted Nelle dead next. She had biker ink on her ass cheek—literally. Slade’s initials.
She wondered just how far Slade’s promise of protection was going to go.