Property of Fatal (Kings of Anarchy MC: Maryland)

CHAPTER ONE

– FATAL –

“I brought it to the table months ago and you felt the need to turn it down just because I came up with the damn idea instead of you. This was gonna be my second deal with them. The first one went down without a hitch. See? Working with them is a good fucking idea, and you know it. You’re just pissed I came up with it,” Melon snarls.

I stare down at the idiot with a load of disgust. There’s nothing I despise more than a damn traitor. Then there’s the fact the fucker is still high up on his horse while he’s standing on a tarp. He should know by now what’s going to happen very damn soon.

“Are you lacking brain cells or just plain stupid?” Heart, my VP, asks as he shakes his head.

Remus, our enforcer, cocks his gun and aims it at Melon’s head. “Let me enlighten you by asking a simple question. Whenever something is brought to the table and we vote on it...what makes you think, at any fucking time, you can decide for yourself to say ‘fuck-it’ and go against a club decision?”

“It was a good fucking deal. It still is,” Melon bellows.

I shove my fingers through my hair in frustration and grit, “I’ve heard enough. We’re done here.”

Remus pulls the trigger, but a lot of shit happens at once, resulting in the back of Melon’s head exploding from the bullet impact, sending brain matter all over the damn place. Some even lands on my damn boot.

“Nice,” I grumble. “Just what I fucking needed.”

“Here you go, Prez.” Huck, a prospect, offers me a rag.

I narrow my eyes and raise my eyebrow instead of taking the damn cloth.

“Shit. Sorry, Prez.” Huck drops to his knees and starts to polish my boot.

Heart steps closer. “We need to head to the brewery and check our inventory.”

“Agreed. Who knows how many guns the fucker stole and sold.” I shake my head in annoyance. “I still can’t believe he went behind our backs to sell guns.”

“To those Norlick Ways assholes no less.” Remus shoves his gun back into his shoulder holster.

Norlick Ways is a rival MC we’ve gone head-to-head with a few times in the past. They have a reputation for backstabbing bullshit. We each stay on our own turf and it’s why there hasn’t been any bloodshed between our MCs in over a year.

Seems like we’re going to be back to zero fucking days of bloodshed real damn soon. “If what Melon said was true? They have our guns and I want them back.”

“All five of them?” Huck asks, surprise lacing his voice. “Wouldn’t it be better to leave it?”

Heart just threw out a comment to Melon about lacking brain cells or being plain stupid.

The prospect, on the other hand, is a bit slow, yet curious by nature.

Believe me, I thought he was seriously lacking brain cells the first few days he started to prospect.

Even after Heart told him to keep his mouth shut and not to ask questions.

Huck is harmless and a hard worker. He has proven his loyalty for almost a year.

Pointing my finger in his face, I grunt, “They never should have had them in the first place. Besides, who the fuck makes a gun deal with only five damn pieces?”

Huck’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit. You mean the fucker stole more guns than just the five he mentioned?”

“Help Kepner and Remus clean this shit up,” I tell him and turn my attention to Heart. “Let’s head to the brewery.”

He lifts his chin and follows me out the door.

Lumos, our road captain, and Quint, our tail gunner, are standing near our bikes in front of the warehouse.

We all took a vote earlier today about Melon’s life after Huck told us he overheard Melon brag to a whore about making a gun deal with another MC.

Wesson, our computer savvy genuis, checked Melon’s bank account and for sure as shit the fucker recently paid off the mortgage he was behind on.

That right there was the first proof we needed because the fucker is always broke.

An hour later Wesson had more detailed proof to make him pay for his betrayal.

“Let’s check our merch,” Heart tells the others and we all straddle our bikes.

Heart and I ride in front, the others behind us. Earlier this year the club obtained part-ownership of a brewery through one of our members. Besides making beer, and a nice profit along with it, we also have a great cover to stash our guns.

We only touch our merch there at night when there are less people on shift to monitor the brewing process. Easier to keep a lid on what we stashed in the damn place. Only club members know about the two altered silos we had installed.

The paperwork shows we’re silent partners. Swade, one of our members, is a co-owner. He used to own it, but when his wife demanded a divorce, she wanted to sell half of the brewery. That’s when we stepped in. For the club it’s an investment as well as a cover for our gunrunning business.

When we approach the property from the back entrance, I instantly notice the light’s on in the office.

Strange, because I know for a fact no one goes up there at night.

Coming to a stop, I hit the kickstand and swing my leg off the bike.

Reaching for my phone, I call Swade, the only man who has reason to be up there since it’s his office.

The fifty-one-year-old man’s voice is groggy with sleep. “Yeah, Prez. What’s up?”

“Not you, that’s for sure. So, who the fuck is in the office when you’re asleep? Or did you crash on the couch in your office?”

“What?” Swade sounds fully awake when he grits, “I haven’t slept on the couch in the office since we ran off my cunt of an ex-wife.”

“Thought so. Then why would the lights be on this time of day?” I wonder and move in the direction of the building while the rest of my brothers fall in step behind me.

“I’m on my way,” he states and breaks the connection.

“Maybe someone forgot to turn off the lights,” Lumos says as I grab the keys and unlock the door.

Quint snorts. “As if Swade would leave the lights on. The fucker is a nitpicker when it comes to saving money.”

Heart chuckles. “The other day he turned the lights off in the garage while Laith and Gael were working on a car. Laith hit his head when he tripped over a tire headed to turn the lights back on.”

The brothers chuckle, but I’m not laughing. Taking the stairs two at a time, I burst into the office and come to an abrupt stop when I see who the fuck turned on the lights.

“What the hell is...oh la la,” Heart groans. “Did I miss a birthday or somethin’? I mean, why else would there be a special kind of stripper stashed in the office, waiting for us to enjoy?”

The woman is oblivious to us and shoves her hand into the air, one holding a pen.

Well, at least I think it’s a pen, but it looks like she offed a rabbit, dyed it pink and shoved a pen up its ass.

Fluffy as fuck. I have to say, the reason why Heart describes her as a special kind of stripper?

It’s all due to her curves and appearance.

Pink combat boots with black laces, fishnet stockings, a pink and black checkered skirt, along with a short pink sweater falling off her shoulder. It reveals a black lace tank underneath. The chick is obsessed with pink because her lips are a fierce version of the color which matches her eyeshadow.

The fluffy pen is still shoved in the air, and she sings a loud muffled, “Like a number.” Then she adds on a barely-there whisper, “I fucking hate numbers.”

She’s moving her head to music I presume due to the headphones she’s wearing with added cat ears; a pink fucking bow stuck to one of them.

A tiny scream falls from her lips and she quickly removes the lollipop from her mouth.

At least the piece of candy isn’t pink, it’s a red heart. Weird as fuck chick for sure.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I snap when she pulls away her headphones and lets them rest around her neck.

I dial Swade’s number again and he picks up with, “Almost there, Prez.”

I can tell the brother accepted the call through the speaker system of his car.

Keeping my gaze locked with the woman, I ask Swade, “Mind explaining why there’s a curvy pink punk-cunt made from cotton candy bouncing around in your office?”

A few seconds pass, and then I hear Swade bark out a laugh. “I can’t believe your description, but it’s definitely on point. Though, I don’t like the fact you’re calling her a cunt. Keep her in one piece. I’ll be right there. Oh, and Prez?”

My gaze is on the curvy fluff when Swade adds, “Don’t trust Norie if she acts like an airhead.”

I end the call and slide my phone back into my pocket. “Mind telling me why you’re here and what you’re doing?”

Norie slides her lollipop back into her mouth and is studying me as she leans her ass against the desk.

It takes a few heartbeats before she slowly takes out the candy and says, “Uncle Swade lets me use his computer if I need to do homework.”

“Homework.” I raise an eyebrow and take a menacing step forward, not believing a single word she says. “Try again. This time give me the truth. If not, your pink shit will become the same color as that lollipop you’re sucking on.”