“Consider this your last warning,” King said, his tone suddenly becoming extraordinarily sharp. “Next time, we destroy everything and everyone you have. You have until Sunday at midnight to join us; otherwise, we destroy everything.”
A click came. The call kept going.
“Hey, who the fuck!”
But no one on the other side answered. It seemed like someone had placed the recording by the phone, pressed play, and just walked away.
I hung up. The fucking logistics of that was the absolute least of my concern. I couldn’t fucking believe they’d attacked my father at his home.His fucking home.It was like an unwritten rule. We kept club rivalries and fighting to the streets. Home was sanctuary—even my fucking father had respected that rule when fighting his enemies in years past.
And now King had gone to the man’s only sanctuary.
And now we had a little over forty-eight hours to act.
And now we had our president in a coma if I was being told the truth—and disturbingly, I knew I was.
I had to burst into action.
“Spawn!”
I roared loud enough that someone across the street could have heard me. As it turned out, he had just been taking a piss and came rushing out as soon as he heard me. He adopted the look that a good sergeant-at-arms should—at attention and ready to fucking kill anyone that fucking crossed us.
“They attacked Satan and put him in a coma.”
“You can’t be fucking serious.”
“At his house.”
Spawn’s face tensed with anger. Good. He was like a pitbull that needed to be unleashed; I just had to give him a direction.
“Go to the hospital. Take whatever men you need to. We’re closing up the repair shop for the evening. We need to get eyes on Satan and make sure that he’s safe there. And even if he is, we need to make sure that he is protected there.”
“Got it. And you?”
“I’m going to the house. If he was attacked there, there will be signs of a struggle. I need to see it with my own fucking eyes.”
“Understood. Be real careful, Sonny.”
I nodded and already was moving past him. I didn’t need the fucking warning to stay safe to know it was a good idea. I had heat on my hip and fire in my eyes; that would be enough to keep me alert and protect myself.
I got to my bike, revved the engine to life, and peeled out of the lot, forcing a couple prospects and club members to jump to the side. I didn’t think twice about it and sped well past the speed limit toward my father’s home.
When I pulled up, the first really bad sign was that the garage door to his house was up; my father never, ever left the damn door up, even when he knew me or someone else was coming over. He liked to say that he only wanted one entrance and one exit to his house, even when he was there. It was unclear why the door would be open, but it didn’t much matter.
I went through the garage door, which was unlocked, and only had to go into the kitchen to see the damage done.
It didn’t look like the King’s Men had torn apart the place so much as a fucking tornado had. There were pots and pans everywhere; food thrown out of the fridge and freezer was thawing and smelling bad; the kitchen table had been thrown off its legs and broken in half. The carnage didn’t even make sense; there was no targeted purpose to it, just mayhem and madness.
I kept moving through the house and got to the stairs when I saw it.
Blood.
And of all fucking things, it triggered a memory of my youth.
The memory of my mother collapsing against the stairs, banging her head against the railing, and bleeding. We didn’t know at the time. We called 9-1-1, took her to the hospital, and learned why everything had happened.
And we couldn’t have done anything to save her. It was too late by that point.
Was it going to be too fucking late for my father?
