When I’m alone, in my bed that smells just like her, I finally settle in for a peaceful night of sleep. And I don’t get a wink of it.
8
THE NEXT MORNING, I’m in kill mode. Not because of the woman staying in my house, or the fact that I’ve had no sleep in two days, but because today is the day I get to settle a score. I’ve waited weeks for this day—giving Death Mob enough time to let their guard down again after my last kill. There are several mutual MCs who said Death Mob claimed their “missing members” were due to a change in National hierarchy. Apparently, some members didn’t agree and decided to cut their losses and get out. It was a perfect assumption—eliminating Sinner’s Creed as a suspect. This knowledge is what I’ve been waiting for to put my plan back in full swing.
Tonight I’ll be travelling three hours away to Bristol, Vermont, where Death Mob is throwing a birthday party for a local chapter member. The need to kill and get away from here is so desperate that I’m already packed and ready. And I still have twelve hours before I can leave.
“Going somewhere?” Diem asks from the couch as I throw my bag on the floor and take a seat in the recliner.
“Yeah.”
My short answer doesn’t appease her and she looks at me expectantly. When I don’t say more, she pushes further. “Well, where you going?”
“Away. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I flip through the channels, then realize I’m starving and walk to the kitchen to dig for some food. I can feel her as she follows behind me.
“You leaving now?”
“No. Tonight.” I rummage through the fridge. Not finding anything, I move to the cabinet.
“That sucks,” she murmurs mostly to herself.
“I said I’d be back tomorrow,” I find myself saying, and I feel a hint of regret for leaving her. She’s only been here a couple of days.
“Oh no, don’t get it twisted, Zeke.” I turn to see what she finds so amusing. “It sucks because you don’t leave until tonight. You have my permission to leave now if you want.” She looks at the floor, fighting her smile.
I slam the cabinet and she jumps. Then grabs her side and winces, taking short, shallow breaths. I close the distance between us until I can feel her breath on my face as she looks up to meet my eyes. I’m sure mine are cold and lifeless, just how I feel right before a kill. No sympathy, no understanding, and no tolerance for bullshit.
“I don’t ask for permission, Diem. If I want something, I take it.” Before she says something that will make me do something I regret, I grab my bag and leave.
* * *
Claudette’s is a shitty little strip joint discreetly located in an old, rundown building just inside the Bristol city limit. The strippers are homely and thin—preferring a line of coke over a decent meal. The main room is dimly lit, illuminated only by strands of randomly hung Christmas lights. The stench of the building is old and musty, even though they try to cover up the smell with vanilla scented candles. It’s the kind of place most people avoid. Good thing the man I’m fixing to kill doesn’t fall under the category of “most people.”
* * *
I’ve been watching him for nearly an hour, hiding in the shadows, which isn’t hard to do considering the poor lighting. Rookie is in my peripherals, but like me, he’s hidden from view. It’s just the two of us tonight—more than enough to handle this one-man job.
I’m on my third beer when the man finally stands and makes his way toward the door. His bike is parked near the back of the building, which made the task of disabling his ignition that much simpler. I wait a full minute before I follow him out, giving Rookie a thirty second head start on me. As I round the side of the building, I come face-to-face with Rookie. The morose look on his face causes an uneasy feeling to settle over me, even before he speaks.
“We’ve got a problem.”
Every part of my plan has been flawless, but tonight, Death Mob threw a kink in it. At the back of the building, standing next to the patch holder, are two Prospects. Two young, innocent Prospects who don’t deserve to die for a brotherhood they aren’t even a part of yet. Their innocence is due to ignorance—they have no idea what Death Mob has done. Knowledge is privilege. It has to be earned. These men are still trying to prove themselves. Club business isn’t shared with anyone who isn’t a brother. And killing a third-generation member of the biggest one-percent MC in the nation is definitely club business.
I want to call it off. I want to walk away and wait for another opportunity to present itself. I’m willing to let a man more than deserving of death live, just so these Prospects can live too. But things don’t quite work out that way. Before we can leave unseen, they see us. Immediately, I’m made. The patch holder knows something is wrong, and reaches for his gun—leaving me no choice but to put a bullet in his head. And without hesitation, I kill the Prospects too. It has to be done. Now, their bodies will rot next to a man who was more than deserving of death. All because they chose to ride on the wrong night with the wrong club.