“I believe you, brother,” Blackjack said sternly. “It isn't just the Grizzlies MC as a whole that's counting on you to act on your word. It's every man in this room who's ready for some peace and quiet. That means me, too. We want to make money, build real assets, and fire a few less bullets next year. We're tired. We've had our feast on blood, and we want to trade with our friends and run our empire in peace. Help make it a reality.”
Fucking shit. The place was starting to sound like a hippie commune with everybody talking about putting down their guns and living the quiet life. Peace.
Damn if it didn't sound good right now. I'd be ready for some of that, just as soon as I finished cleaning up the last mess dirtying this clubhouse.
Church lasted for about an hour. The Prez debriefed us and told us he'd be working Zee over later – not that he expected to get much from the beaten mafia fuck.
They had him tied up in the storage room, the same place we'd dealt with our enemies for years. Sometimes it was our own brothers who'd gone rotten, and other times it was the cartel, before we'd beaten their asses just the same.
Underneath the table, I fingered the switchblade in my belt, imaging all the ways I'd gut the motherfucker waiting for my steel.
I waited 'til church finished. The Prez disappeared for the night, and the rest of the boys gathered in the bar with their women, their kids. Family time was the real debriefing they all needed, far more meaningful than any club business we could hatch in the meeting room.
I nursed a single beer by myself, hiding in a corner while the brothers enjoyed themselves. They all started to taper off a little later. First Brass and Roman with their old ladies and the young ones. Then Rabid and Christa, leaving nobody but the prospects and the club whores.
They'd be retiring behind closed doors to put their kids to bed, or suck and fuck themselves to sleep soon enough.
Another half hour, and I made my move. I headed down the hallway, stepping over Stryker, who lay smack in the middle of the floor, locking tongues with some dark haired bitch in his lap. Glassy was passed out in the corner, his fake eye open, staring lifelessly across the clubhouse.
The lone Tacoma prospect standing in front of the storage room looked at me like he'd seen a ghost, and smiled. “You taking the next shift? Fuck, man, I've been listening to the party all night. I could really use a smoke.”
“Go.” I slapped him on the back. “Fill your lungs out back and have some fun. I'll take over from here.”
He didn't even give me a second glance. Just handed me the key and took off.
Sometimes, the universe just hands you a kill on a silver-fucking-platter.
The storage room was permanently lit with several loud, fluorescent bulbs. The pieces of shit we kept in here didn't deserve a good night's sleep, but damn if their bodies didn't try.
Zee slumped in a chair, his head hanging down like a bird's. He didn't look up 'til he heard the door snap shut behind me.
“Asshole,” he said. “You're the one who shot me. Come to finish things, yes?”
I looked him dead in the eye without saying shit. He didn't deserve any idle chit-chat. I was about to give him the last thing he needed, all he deserved before his worthless carcass wound up buried in an unmarked grave.
“You got anything else to tell the club, or should I try to beat it the fuck outta you?”
One question. The only one I'd ask before I did his ass in.
“No. All the treasure you'd ever want to plunder is safe in Shanghai, where your pissy little club will never reach.”
Fuck, did I hate the bastard's smug ass smile. Even worse that he was right.
The savage punch I slammed into his gut killed the grin instantly. He tensed up, spat blood, and tried to breathe.
“Say it again, fucknut. Men like you always think you're hot shit when you're in control, chopping hands and threatening innocent girls. You always go coward in the end, shitting your pants and begging for your life. Same fucking thing I've seen dozens of times before I send men like you to hell.”
Motherfucker smiled. Again.
The asshole was tougher than most, or maybe just crazy, I'd give him that. The cartel boss we'd had back here last time cried like a bitch when the knife went through his ear, and he was one of the rare birds who'd gotten out alive because we used him as an olive branch.
“She...didn't tell...you?” Asshole spoke slow, struggling over every word when he'd had all the wind knocked outta him. “You...you were too late...asshole. You think you saved her? You fucked up. I left her with things she'll never forget...never. Your little bitch will remember choking on my dick for the rest of her life. She'll remember her daddy watched, but I wish it had been you.”
What the fuck?!