Chapter 5
Chapter Five
SAS
I had one thought on my mind. Murder.
Acero and el Fantasma, two of the three Rojas brothers that worked for el Tigre of the Medellín Cartel, looked too goddamned relaxed in my fucking house. This second encounter with the Colombian cartel in one day was putting me in a piss poor mood.
I hated to admit that Ward might be right about our lack of security. I scoped out the surroundings, planning my retaliation. But where the hell was their mouthpiece—Cazador? I had four bullets left in my clip after this morning’s shit show, so I needed to be careful with how I doled them out.
I would start with the Rojas brothers, who dared to come into my club and drink my beer. We had cleaned up plenty of blood from this floor, and they would only up the body count. Once they were dead, it would be time to ferret out the traitor in the MC who allowed the fucking cartel inside.
I reached around my back for my piece, but then Acero and El Fantasma put their—or rather my —beers down and their hands disappeared beneath the table, reaching toward their sides. Once one gun came out, everything would turn into a bloodbath. After the shootout at Wilde’s place, bullets and burying bodies weren’t high on my to-do list.
The Rojas brothers waited to see what I would do. After a pained moment, I dropped my hand, leaving my gun in the back of my waistband.
The Rojas brothers’ hands returned to their beers.
Acero, always the first to spout off, said to his brother, “Mamacita wouldn’t be happy with their hospitality, yo.” His eyes, though, never left me.
El Fantasma had always been the quiet one, and he didn’t break the silence now, only nodded his agreement.
“Who let you in?” My question was more directed at my brothers standing around the table and doing nada to protect our place. Maybe we needed actual guard dogs to keep out the sleaze.
To the Rojas brothers, I asked, “Don’t you always come in threes? Where’s Caz?”
Like answering the call, Cazador walked out of the bunnies’ side of the clubhouse. He wore a shit-eating grin and was still buckling his belt.
Storming across the room, I grabbed Caz and threw him up against the wall. He was lighter than he looked with his pounds of flesh covered in dark tattoos. My efforts to keep guns from being drawn failed. The other Rojas brothers stood, and I heard the distinctive sounds—snaps releasing, rustling, and two unmistakable clicks.
Both Acero and el Fantasma had their barrels trained on me, ready to protect me if I hurt the leader of this little trio. My MC drew their guns too, and if I didn’t back off, we would go all down in a blaze of glory.
Spilled beer and a cunt weren’t reasons to die. Or so I had been told.
I dropped Caz, and he just barely caught himself. I had just been holding his clothing, but his feet had dangled off the ground. He must have had a massive wedgie because he picked at his butt as he hobbled away, rejoining his brothers. Before I faced the table again, I checked over my shoulder at the bitch who also emerged from the door. I didn’t spend time looking to see who it was, but I would punish the bunny later for letting some cartel fucker use her pussy.
As I finally faced the Rojas brothers, I noticed that Adelina and Rafe had entered, the latter a shadow behind his niece. So much for hoping the two would run away. As much I knew my duty to the club and our Prez, I didn’t have to like it, and I would sure as shit make sure Adelina didn’t like it either.
“What do you want?” I spat at the cartel.
The Rojases shared a look before Caz stepped up to me. He apparently grew his balls back. “We had a deal, Sas. Where is the money you owe us?”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t move or blink.
My deal with the devil came back to bite me. I’d agreed to sell the cartel’s coke and return part of the profits to el Tigre through his henchmen—these three losers. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been aware they had someone tailing me after the shit that went down with Angel and his ol’ lady. They had also followed me to our warehouse down by the docks, my fuckup.
I hadn’t seen them then, but there had been this sick feeling in my gut. I’d known someone had been watching, and now, I was a fucking idiot who should’ve seen all this coming. Perhaps Angel had been right to dress me down in church for my rogue decision to try to build a new club business after all the states in the Southwest had legalized pot.
Hell, the attack at Bou’s shop was probably on me too.
How fucking long had they been watching my moves?
Shortly after we raided Amaranta Gambino’s operation up in San Bernardino National Forest, the Gambinos had blown up the warehouse, claiming we were encroaching on their market. Now the Medellín Cartel had come to my doorstep, wanting what I couldn’t pay.
“You misunderstood our deal,” I said.
The Rojas brothers chortled.
“Tell us, skinny man, what could we have possibly misunderstood?” asked Acero.
“The deal was to funnel part of the profits we made on your product. No profits. No deal.” I spread my hands to my sides and shrugged.
This wasn’t a good turn of events. I didn’t need to look back at Rafe—who had agreed to be our secretary, but still had to be a Mafia spy—or Adelina. This business didn’t involve them, but undoubtedly, word would get back to Massimo.
Caz shook his head. “I didn’t misunderstand anything, amigo.”
I stiffened as his brothers, who looked like hyenas behind him, drew closer. They were a pack, but so was my club.
“If you don’t have the money to pay us back,” said Caz, “we’ll take whatever you have as our own.” He took a long swig from a beer and then slammed it down on the table. Froth oozed up the neck and over the lip before sliding down to the table and dripping to the floor.
He had my beer. Had my bitch’s pussy. And now wanted my clubhouse. I probably should’ve expected him to piss at the entrance too, marking his territory. I would die before I let that happen.
I growled. “Get the fuck out of my house, Caz.”
“You owe el Tigre for the shipment you lost,” said Caz.
“Goddammit, I didn’t lose it!” My eyes flitted over to Rafe and Adelina as I gritted out, “The fucking Mafia bastards blew it up.”
“You see, amigo... how you lost it isn’t relevant. We don’t go back to the boss until we’ve collected the debts he’s owed,” said Caz.
Acero piped in, “Either money, blood, or bones, yo. Your choice.”
I pinched my lips together, trying to come up with an answer quickly. I needed to fix this. There were probably more cartel members hanging around, making us all sitting ducks.
Outmanned.
Outgunned.
Fuck.
“We can double it.” I hated the words I spat and didn’t know how to achieve it, but I would.
We would liquidate. Move funds. We would cut back on the beer and steak grill outs. We had a cut of the arms trade now that we’d setup the arrangement with Parisi. Perhaps this fucking marriage would save my ass after all.
The Rojases huddled around our table and started talking. In Spanish. I failed Spanish in high school and didn’t try to pick it up now. They didn’t even try to hide their words, and I didn’t know if any of my brothers could speak Spanish either. I would bring it up in church. We needed a position that could speak Spanish—call it our fucking translator. We should’ve had one anyway, living and operating this close to the border. Especially now that the cartel flaunted what we didn’t know.
“Sas,” said Adelina, popping up beside me.
Fuck, she was so small and quick. Like a rabbit. I’d always hated rabbits. They were scary little fuckers with red eyes and twitchy noses.
“Stay back,” I ordered.
“But,” she said, inclining her chin toward the Rojas brothers, “they’re?—”
“Enough.” I grabbed her arm and shoved her back a step.
“You don’t understand,” she whined.
Why did she have to keep talking? The Rojases were looking at her with lust in their eyes, and el Fantasma actually licked his lips. And why did everyone tell me I didn’t understand? I knew this business and these slimy motherfuckers better than anyone here. I had lived this life for more than a decade. And I had been the one to strike the deal.
“Puedo hablar espa?ol,” Adelina said.
I tightened my grip. “Shut your trap.”
Adelina was a princess who wouldn’t stand a chance against the Rojas brothers. Everything they said was wrapped in tipping the scales in their favor. A princess, yes, and it was time to lock her away in a tower.
I towed her toward the entry to the bunnies’ bedrooms. Duchess, behind the bar, watched us, a frown on her face. Great, she would be up my ass for this too, but she could get in the long line behind everyone else already trying to check my fucking prostate.
“Where’s open?” I asked.
Duchess huffed. “Three doors down.”
She was as much a part of this club as I was, maybe more so after seeing both her husband and her son lost to shit that happened in our line of work.
I dragged Adelina away from the group and down the hallway, opening the door to throw her inside. She squealed, her shrill shrieks garbling with incoherent words. I had gotten a stupid slut with an apparent death wish. Or at least a lack of self-preservation.
She was pretty, but that wouldn’t do me much good at the moment. She landed on the floor but pushed to her feet quickly. Not fast enough, though, because I was already slamming the door, locking it. She tried the doorknob, and I smiled. So innocent. Massimo really did protect his little dolls.
As I took a step back toward our common room, she started banging against the door, screaming.
“Shut up!” I pressed my palms to the sides of my head. “You’re not part of this.” And I suspected she was a spy, anyway. “Keep your ass to the sweetbutts’ side of the house and out of club business.”
Adelina banged on the door. “But?—”
Rafe stalked down the hallway, approaching me silently. I almost jumped at his shadowy skills. I’d have to remember to watch my back around the bastard.
“Keep her quiet,” I ordered, needing to keep another rat busy and out of our club business. He was patched, but likely a traitor.
Rafe glanced toward the door, where Adelina screamed on the other side. “That might be hard.”
“Deal with it, uncle,” I hissed, stalking past him. “She’s your fucking niece.”
Then I returned to business.