Should he tell her? What harm would it really do? Trevor had already put her in more danger.
“Alan Lynch.”
She gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. “No, he wouldn’t. How the fuck could he do something like that?”
“He worked for him and got killed for it. I need you to move.” Once Alan’s name was mentioned, Lucas didn’t need to fight her to move her ass. Prue packed up everything she needed, taking birth certificates and the necessary documents. When she was packed and on the back of his bike, he rode to a safe house he knew. The city was perfect for getting rid of folk who needed to disappear. With his focus on keeping Prue safe, he could stop thinking about the pain of losing his best friend.
Lucas bundled her away with an old friend who specialized in fake identities. He knew a lot of people to help him. It was one of the reasons why Butch was securing him a position at The Skulls. They could use him to help them.
He organized for Prue to disappear and that he’d come for her when he was ready. She didn’t want him to go, but he had no choice. He wasn’t finished with his own kind of business. Leaving her alone, he went back to the hotel where Trevor was lying, decaying, dead. Nothing would bring him back. His best friend was dead, never coming back to drink with him. No, I can’t allow that to happen, but it’s too late, and there’s nothing I can do. Alan Lynch had guaranteed that. Trevor was gone.
Staring at him on the bed, Lucas couldn’t think of a single thing to say to his one true friend. The pain engulfed him, threatening to tear him in two. He let the tears fall not caring how weak it made him feel. His best friend was dead. The words kept ringing through his head, and he couldn’t believe it. An hour later, his cell phone rang.
“Where the fuck are you?” Butch asked.
“I’ve got stuff to do.”
“What do you mean you’ve got stuff to do? Your life is the club. Lash and Nash are picking up the fucking slack. Get your ass back here.”
Lucas was silent as he listened to his other friend berate him. “Butch, can I ask you something?”
“Sure. I’ve got all fucking day for questions. Why not fire them at me?”
Staring at Trevor, he felt the will to do something that would get him killed. “If someone you cared about was killed, what would you do?”
“I’d kill the bastard dead, Lucas. No one fucks with me and gets away with it, and that means you. I’ve not been patched in that long, but the way you’re going you’re going to get me fucking killed,” Butch said.
“You’d kill them?”
“Yes, no one fucks with me.”
Lucas knew what he had to do. “There’s something I’ve got to do this weekend. I’ll be back on Monday.”
Hanging up the phone, he looked at Trevor. The only thing he could do was get rid of the body. He went to the gas station and loaded up a can. Inside Trevor’s room, he poured the petrol all over the body and across the hotel room. Striking the match, he left the room to burn, getting on his bike to make his way to the city.
****
For the last twenty-four hours, Lucas had watched and gathered as much information as possible from everyone who hated Alan Lynch. Considering the man’s power, he didn’t have anyone who wanted to stick by his side. Most of the people Lucas spoke to were more than happy to give shit up for the man. Lucas knew Alan would be visiting his club, Pleasures, tonight. Pleasures was where he was going to get the man he needed. Leaving his bike and leather cut in a secure holding, he rented out a van.
Lucas made all the arrangements to guarantee he’d get what he needed. The letter in his jacket still lay there unopened. Trevor had written him a letter, his last words. Lucas wasn’t ready to read them yet. First, he needed to get a little payback.
You’re not going to make it out alive.
He was going to take Alan out, and if he went down with him, he’d be happy. Lucas didn’t care if he made it out alive, as long as he hurt Alan in the process. Going unnoticed, he followed Alan to the club seeing his entourage of security men. From the age of ten, Lucas had been learning how to fire a gun. He learned with Trevor, and by fifteen he was an expert shooter.
At twenty-three years old he was a machine, deadly. He could hold his own in The Skulls. It was the only place he wanted to be. Rubbing a hand down his face, he carried the weapons in the back of his jeans. There was no metal security detector on the way inside the club. He entered the bar and ordered himself a beer. Looking around the tight space he saw the women, the drugs, and settled his gaze on Alan. The man was in a VIP section, which was partitioned off with glass. The moment Alan stood, he’d be easy to kill.