Chapter 37
KINGSTON “FROST”
We’re expecting a shipment today, no doubt Snake is nearby.
The asshole has it in for us. For me. He pretends it’s about me killing Ace and Ace’s brother, but it’s about wanting to gain control of the East Coast, and we’ll do everything in our power to stop him.
Snake will ruin any possibility for us to create our own community.
With my asshole father’s and my convictions, it’s made our MC vulnerable to the local government, and Snake will only increase that vulnerability.
Right now, Skull has the cash flow and respect of those in this jurisdiction for the cops to turn a blind eye.
Snake would flip our town into a shithole.
Riddle it with prostitution, drugs, and seedier avenues that bring in lots of cash for him.
Wild parties like P Diddy. A Jeffrey Epstein filthy lifestyle.
The Wolves of Mayhem might toe the line with illegal products, but we have strict boundaries which includes not selling humans for cash.
My bike pulls up to Skull and Smokey’s who are up on the ridge looking down at our warehouse.
Skull and Smokey lean on the front of their bikes, binoculars scoping out the grounds below and the surrounding area.
I notice my other brothers on the opposite ridge, except for Pirate who stayed back to wait at the hospital for any change in Gears’ condition.
Skull lowers his voice, gesturing to the locked high fence surrounding the warehouse. “We got company.”
A gang of ten circle outside the gate while one of them hops off to check the fence. Skull purposely cut the electricity to the fence, so we could catch them inside of it. Since we have a mole in our club, Skull only shared this with me and Smokey, along with putting a key lock on the fence.
From here, I recognize the Grave Disciples emblems on their cuts.
They’re mean fuckers, but not as mean as us.
Or as good looking. Snake resembles a crushed bug; bent over from all the meth he’s taken.
Face full of acne. His hunched-over form gives away his identity as he’s the front biker, waiting for some other fucker to signal an okay or be electrocuted.
He gives Snake the thumbs up. The lock is cut, and the guy opens the gate for Snake and his posse to enter the grounds and sneak into the open warehouse.
I’m surprised to see Chains come out of the shadows. Aside from the warehouse, there’s nothing other than a fenced-in concrete parking lot. The Grave Disciples hadn’t noticed him before entering the warehouse where they won’t find anything. Skull had the shipment sent to another location.
On foot, we slide down the ridge to the fence, meeting my other brothers and enter the grounds.
Skull locks us in, and from his phone, activates the electric fence.
You can hear the voltage vibrate like us.
Adrenaline coursing through our veins. The fight is on.
The end is near for the Grave Disciples.
We run toward the warehouse before they realize the drop ain’t taking place here. Skull, Smokey, and me slip inside, remaining by the door while the others patrol outside. Snake and his group are tossing empty crates, cursing, and Snake fires off a shot in the air.
Skull shouts, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Snake.”
There’s a faint gasoline smell in the air. My head whips toward Skull then back to the Grave Disciples.
Holy Shit! Skull’s going to blow the place up.
Sweat slides down my spine. Skull ain’t stupid. He’s got a kid on the way. I’ve got kids on the way. Whatever he did, I’m positive we’re getting out of here alive. On the opposite side of the warehouse, I hear a trickle of water…or maybe gasoline.
Snake limps in our direction. “Well, you’re not me, so fuck off.”
He’s twenty-five feet away, but I can see how meth ate at his face. Teeth missing while the others decay. Snake is a poster child for staying away from drugs. Reminds me of my mom. Crippled by drugs, yet devoted to it.
Skull adds, “Looking for something?”
Snake turns to his group, and at that time, Skull gestures for Smokey and I to leave the warehouse. We glance at each other, and decide to remain. Skull backs up to the door. We do the same as Snake steps closer.
“We’ll get your next shipment, Skull. I’m going to steel every fucking penny from you until you’ve got nothing, begging me to join the Grave Disciples. Then I’ll set you on fire alive, watch you cook while you watch me fuck your old lady.”
Skull opens the door, shoves us out as he says, “I’m a step ahead of you, minus fucking your old lady. But then again, you don’t have one.”
He reaches down by the door, picks up a Molotov cocktail, and wiggles it in front of him.
Snake finally sniffs the air. “There’s no way you’ll blow up your own warehouse.”
“Actually, Snake, it’s your warehouse. I signed it over to you.”
“I didn’t sign no ownership.”
Skull gives a half-hearted laugh. “Legalities. Illegalities. It was my first time dabbling in forgery.”
Snake comes hobbling over, Skull lights the Molotov cocktail, and tosses it in the far end.
With his hand on the door, he says, “You’ve always wanted to go out in flames. I’m only following your wishes.”
Skull shuts and locks the door, shutting off the electricity to the fence.
We climb up the ridge and run to our bikes, but before I leave, I witness the fire erupting, eating away at the northside walls.
Even perched up on the hill, I can hear them screaming and yelling.
Skull shouts for me to get the fuck out of here.
We ride toward the main road, and split up.
I’ve got clients today, Skull is meeting with some top guys in town, and the kicker of it all…
Smokey is heading to his job at the fire department.
Today is another full day at the shop, so I won’t be home until later tonight.
I check on Rebel every hour even though a couple of prospects are covering the grounds.
Since we haven’t found the mole yet, I also placed cameras in every room, which I can access in the back.
My investments have been on a steady rise, so I decide to have a panic room set up in the basement.
With bulletproof material, separate ventilation, and video surveillance, it’s going to run about $45,000.
For the first time, I ask Skull to foot the bill and I’ll pay him back from my investments and then monthly.
He agreed. Work will begin in a couple of weeks.
I haven’t broken the news to Rebel. The fear on her face after what happened at the lake is something I don’t ever want to see again. These are added precautions for my girl and our babies. I promised her that the blood of the club won’t bleed into our house, including their safety.
Jess left for the day and Lennon is my last client. I completed the tattoo on her left wrist last week, so today is the right wrist. When she walks in, my eyes drift to the couple days old black eye, tinged purple and green.
The inside of my cheek is raw from biting it to tame my outrage. Reminds me of my dad pounding on me and my mom. Black eyes. Broken fingers. Burn marks where they could be concealed.
I gesture to the chair while I collect the supplies.
She has on jeans and a t-shirt with a sweater tossed over her shoulders.
Her physical state, and my anger, doesn’t leave much room for small talk.
We exchange hellos, I prop her arm up and begin.
Not long into tattooing her, Smokey comes in, falling into a nearby chair.
He runs his hands through his hair. “Fuck! What a day.”
From her periphery, Lennon periodically glances over at him. I’m wiping off the excess ink and blood to clear the area, so I can continue.
My eyes flicker to Smokey’s and then back to Lennon’s tattoo. “Busy day?”
“Yep! But it’s all good.” He stands to check out the tattoo. “Nice job!”
I notice the moment he sees the scars. Unlike me, Smokey has no problem asking people questions. As kids, he made friends easily, because of his outgoing personality. While in college, his curiosity about things and people increased. He doesn’t have a filter.
Smokey moves next to me and asks, “That’s gotta hurt over those scars.”
Lennon pretends to ignore him as Smokey circles the chair, checking her out, and she says, “Find something interesting?”
He folds his arms, bobbing his head a bit. “Maybe.”
Lennon makes another appointment for next week, and hands Smokey her phone number. She leaves and he heads to the window to watch her.
He calls me over, shaking his head. “Did you see what kind of car she drives?” I look out and shrug. “That fucking car is a Mustang Dark Horse. They run like, $65,000.”
“She must make good money.”
“Doing what?”
I change the conversation. “So, what happened at the warehouse?”
He stretches out on the waiting room couch. “Shit! The place was ablaze by the time the fire trucks arrived. We pulled nine charred bodies out of there.”
I stop what I’m doing and turn to him. “There were ten.”
“Yeah, I already called Skull to inform him. Until they’re able to be identified, we won’t know who escaped. Right now, the only facts in the investigation are nine charred bodies in a warehouse owned by Enzo Mulhouse.”
My butt hits the waiting room chair. “Fuck! Another fucking wrench in our plans.”
He holds his arms out. “Nothing we can do, but wait.”
I close up shop and head home, eager to hold Rebel.
Everything is better with her in my arms. As soon as I walk in, I smell the food and walk to the kitchen, stopping short at the entrance.
Rebel hasn’t heard me, because she’s listening to music while cutting up vegetables.
I lean against the wall, fold my arms, and watch her.
Wisps of hair are falling from her hair clip, feathering the side of her face.
She has a Queen t-shirt on, and is belting out a Bohemian Rhapsody, off-key, with Freddy.
Fuck, she’s my everything.
Rebel moves from the sink to the island and when she notices me, screams. She drops the knife and carrot on the floor.
Her mouth opens to scold me, which has me smiling as I pick up the knife and carrot, capture her face in my hands, and kiss her.
Whatever she was about to say evaporates, the tenderness of the kiss has her moaning into my mouth, triggering my cock to salute.
I back her up to the counter, exploring her mouth.
Rebel’s hand rests on my ass while the other rests on my chest. She’s a summer’s sunset. A burning fire.
The hell with dinner. I’m fucking her for the rest of the night.