“But we’re not.” I scoff. They turn to look at me. “We’re not safe until these fuckers are dead and turned to ash.”
“So,” Ella says, swallowing back her emotions. “We’ll wipe them from the board. We’ll take every single one of them down, and then we’ll burn their empires to the fucking ground.”
Chapter 30
“What have you done?”the bald, greasy fucker drawls, cocking his wide hip against the doorway. He crosses his tattooed arms and lifts a split brow, as if he’s actually waiting for me to answer.
Against my will, my frazzled mind runs through all the shit I could have possibly been spotted doing in the last ten minutes. My throat tightens around nothing, a ghost of the tracker nearly choking me. I fight the urge to check again for cameras. I’d been pretty damn sure there weren’t any.
But what if…
Even if there had been, I’d been discrete. And judging by their poor fighting skills in the parking lot, this pack of feral dogs doesn’t have more than two brain cells to rub together.
No. He’s probably just testing me, toying with me.
“You’ve pissed someone off real good, haven’t you? Boss has a special punishment set up just for you.” He licks his lips and his pupils flare as if he’s already imagining all the horrors they’re about to inflict on me. “Gonna fuck you up, little boy.”
A shiver of revulsion crawls across my skin, but I hide it. Of course, they would send the sick fuck to my cell. I barely resist rolling my eyes.
“Oh, goody,” I drawl, smirking lazily. “Can’t wait.”
He scoffs, settling deeper into his casual pose as his eyes trail a disgusting path down my body. “You got no idea where you are, do ya, kid?”
His infatuation with my size and referring to me as way younger than I am doesn’t go unnoticed by me.
Like I said: sick fuck.
“I have an idea,” I murmur, narrowing my eyes as I inspect all the tattoos he has on display.
Three in and I can deduce I’m still in the bay. He’s definitely a fan of our state. I tilt my head, noticing a Reaper tattoo. Why does that look so familiar? I brush it off when I spot what I’m looking for.
So, I was right. These are Augustus’ trash goblins. The pieces of shit he hides under the radar to do his dirty work. I’ve beenpiecing together how he’s gotten so many things by us for a while now.
The Diablos are a front. A showroom.
They’re the street gang Augustus created to flex his power for the locals. To scare business owners into paying ridiculous tithes. Money they can’t afford to part with. The monsters that go bump in the night, keeping everyone in line.
I bet if I lift this asshole’s shirt, I’ll find a tat of the Los Diablos sigil. But on his left forearm, he bears a second mark. One I’ve seen popping up more frequently amongst our enemies. Quan had it. The men we killed at Dolores’ bakery were etched with the same sigil. They all work for Augustus, but they’re not part of the club.
They’re his Clowns.
I scoff as I take in his tattoo. It’s a clown mask that’s permanently smiling in a creepy as fuck way. I know without a shadow of a doubt that Gus is laughing at us.
It’s a stupid tattoo, and I hate it.
But there’s also a part of me that wonders what else he was able to get past us. If he was able to keep an entire division of the club underground for so long, what other pieces could he have moving in the background? Connections beyond the Broadway Boys and the Diaz Cartel?
Instead of letting my anxious thoughts spill out across my face, I push my shoulders back and widen my stance, clasping my hands behind my back in nonchalance. Doesn’t he know you should never stand in such a pose? Arms crossed over your chest lengthen your response time. Standing off balance makes you an easier target.
But it’s the cockiness that will really fuck you over.
I may be a small guy, but I could have this piece of shit flat on his back in five seconds.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” he snarls, flexing his fists.
My eyes slide down his tubby frame, and I let my lip curl in honest disdain. “Not much.”
“You little motherfucker,” he growls, shoving away from the door. I’m expecting it when he barrels into the tiny cell and slams his chest into mine. I don’t even stumble, righting myself in a single step.
