“No. Just playing games.”
He lets it go. We’ve been waiting here longer than I think any of us expected to be in Russia. But we want to get it right. And the only way to do that is to wait and not go in guns blazing like we want.
We’re here to make sure Milly and Ollie are safe. And to seek club revenge. That’s what has Domino, the prospect, Mickey, and me here. Bass and the other mafia guy, Tommy, are here for Milly. I don’t really care who’s here for what, as long as we have the same end goal.
We’re going to destroy the ones who brought pain to our own. Be it the threat of Ollie being taken from Milly or because Law is dead. I’m here to watch the blood drain out of the man who forced my hand in delivering the news to Ruby. Something I should never have had to do.
“Sucks that we missed the funeral,” Domino says, holding my stare. It’s a ploy to keep up the story. Mickey is from a sister club and helps with OHH. We trust him, but he’s not part of the mother chapter. And Tommy, well, he’s mafia. Not Russian mafia, ’cause I would have shot him on sight if he was, but part of the crime family on the East Coast. His eldest brother is the capo. Oh, and he’s Milly’s brother. Which sort of makes him family, since Bass wouldn’t be out here if Milly wasn’t something more than a one-night stand. He all but claimed her with his actions, even if he hasn’t brought it to the table to discuss it yet. Kind of hard to discuss much when the table sits without a leader.
“When are you going to vote?” Mickey asks as he watches some soccer game. He calls it football, but he’s Irish. And thus has no idea what anything really is.
“After we get back. Club wants us there to vote. But if we take much longer on this, they’ll do it without us,” I say.
They can wait on a vote. The club, while leaderless, is still running. No one’s gunning for the chair right now. Not even me.
I wanted that spot for so long. And now that it’s open? Doesn’t feel right. Feels like I cheated to get it somehow. I’ve got time to figure shit out still. Till a vote is called, I don’t have to decide on anything just yet. I can still throw my vest in like any of the others when the time comes.
But unlike a vote, a funeral couldn’t wait. If we waited, more questions would have been asked. So we did it quick. Quicker than I liked, but I get it. Closed casket, intimate but with a few hundred brothers outside the funeral home in a sign of respect and solidarity. I wanted to be there. For my club. For my brothers.
For her.
My team had eyes on her the whole time. I got pictures. Brothers told me without me asking how she took it. I should have known she’d react like she did. Stood tall. Nodded when expected. Answered questions when asked. But nothing more. She was there, and she showed she could do it. But that didn’t mean she had to do it alone. She might have seen the family and friends at her back, all willing to catch her if she needed it, but she refused to fall. Refused to show anything but her strength. Or that’s what I’m guessing she told herself. And others might have said the same.
But I saw it for what it was: Her shutting down. Her accepting defeat. Her blocking herself off from the others around her to shelter her own pain and bury it down to not have to live it again. I know she wanted to see her dad. She asked several times for an open casket, but never begged. Still, she was denied. The club wasn’t going to make a fool out of her and put a fake in his place just to make her happy. She needs to think he’s dead. We need her to think that. Her and the world.
It’s the only way to keep her safe. Just because Law is out doesn’t mean the threat against her is gone. It never will be. She was part of this world. Still is. A threat is always a possibility. And I will never, ever, let her get hurt because of it.
“Listen up, ladies. We got the intel we needed.” Bass comes out the back with Tommy on his heels. They took a call from Tommy’s contact earlier, hoping to get some news. Looks like we just got it.
Good thing too. Because I’m ready to go home. Pictures and detailed reports from my team are one thing. But eyes on the target, onmytarget, are even better.
“You’re going to need to take it easy.”
I grunt at General’s words.
“I’m serious. You had a helluva fall. You’re lucky you’re getting out of here after only two surgeries. A torn shoulder ligament and a pin in the hip to keep the bone fracture from erupting beats a hip and shoulder replacement.”
“I get it, Doc. I was there. Remember?” I roll my eyes, but he can’t see my face since I turned around to put my vest on. He might think it’s to block him out, but really, it’s just to hide the pain in my face from showing. I feel like shit. Worse than that. Like roadkill.
We were doing well when we first breached the property. Bass, Domino, and Tommy went one way; Mickey, the prospect, and I went the other. Our job was to destroy everything, while theirs was to find Ivan and end him. I wanted his death to be on my kill count, but Bass got that honor.
Everything was fine. Clearing rooms was simple till they caught on to us and came rushing. We got separated from one another for a moment. I turned a corner, and some mafia asshole shot me in the chest. I fired back because taking a shell, even if wearing Kevlar, is painful. I stepped over him as he fell, but I didn’t expect him tostill be twitching. I also didn’t expect him to pull out a knife and jam it into my hip, then push me over the side of the banister. The weight of him, the fall, and the knife angle did damage. Serious damage. I could barely stand. My right shoulder was dislocatedagain, but this time it felt worse.
I shot the asshole in the head and crawled away. Got my back to a wall, ready to fire at anything and everything. That’s where Mickey found me. We both knew enough not to pull out the freaking Rambo knife. It didn’t hit an artery, but it wasn’t exactly a pocketknife. I felt it in my bones. And for once, I wasn’t overexaggerating. Turns out the fall jammed it into my hip and fractured a piece off, which led to me getting a pin as soon as we got back.
Unlike Mickey, who could shake General off, I was in no shape to do the same. His wound was a stable fracture or some shit to the leg. Mine wasn’t something General wanted to wait on. He didn’t know where the bone chips went, and the Russian doctor we had for a few minutes before we left the country was more attentive to Tommy and him not bleeding out than caring if we all lived or died. We were random bikers. Tommy has a name for himself, even if he was never in Russia. But mafia families like his always get names for themselves.
I prefer how things are done here, though. I like that people know of the Hounds, but not enough to pick me out of a crowd. I like the ability to stay hidden till I do my own reveal.
“You’re going to need some physical therapy too.”
I turn at his words and pause.Interesting.
“Okay.”
“I’ll make a list of a few in town who specialize with this type of wound.”
“No need. Already have someone in mind.” I start to walk away, grimacing as I go. I take it slow and steady, but I refuse to sit in a damn wheelchair or show anyone that I’m not able to defend myself as needed.
