He occupies the chair to Zeus’s left, and Jigsaw, the sergeant at arms, sits on his right. Butch, Snake, Tank, and Buffalo are also seated around the long rectangular table, which has the club’s logo intricately etched in the center. The rest of the opulently furnishedoffice boasts a matching cherrywood desk, a cozy sitting area, a stocked bookcase, a liquor cabinet, and an electric fireplace. I pad across the wool carpet and drop into the seat beside Snake.
“Well, I’m here now.” I wink at him, fueling his rage.
“You degenerate piece—”
“Leave off it, Draco,” Zeus cuts in.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” he spits, his nostrils flaring wide. “You allow this wild animal to run amok with no consequences.”
“We have more pressing matters to address,” Zeus reminds him.
“Why do you allow this—”
“Enough!” Zeus booms, and Draco’s lips snap together. The irritating fucker may be dumb, but he ain’t stupid. He don’t want no smoke for real.
Zeus’s fearsome reputation, coupled with his brawny six-foot-five frame, makes motherfuckers think twice before crossing him. I have witnessed hardened criminals sob and piss themselves when facing his wrath. He will lay anybody out, even his sons.
We went toe-to-toe about two and a half years ago. And he taught me “respect” with a black eye, broken nose, and three cracked ribs. But a lot has changed since then. It won’t be so easy to take me down if we square up again.
The sound of the gavel hitting wood draws my attention to the front of the table.
“I’ve called Church because we have a shit storm on our hands,” Zeus states gravely, then nods at Buffalo. “Tell them what you told me.”
“Caesar didn’t double-cross the club.” He pauses and swallows hard. “It was Brick. He’s feeding intel to the Disciples.”
Tank leaps to his feet, murder in his dark-brown gaze. “What the fuck you say?”
Fuck me. Caesar leads the Latin Maniacs—a fast-growing street gang with ties across several states. Zeus supplies the firepower they and other criminal groups need to protect their territories for a steep sum. It was a shaky alliance, but it worked until three weeks ago.
Five of our brothers went to deliver guns. None came back. Slaughtered. The weapons, gone. Caesar swore innocence, asserting his people arrived at the meeting location after the bloodbath. Efforts to locate the merch and uncover the truth led to a dead end. The brotherhood couldn’t take Caesar at his word and let the slaying of five Gods go unpunished. Blood had to spill.
We hit back hard. His crew lost twice what we did, ending the business arrangement and igniting a war. Now Buffalo’s saying Brick sold us out to the Disciples instead. If true, we’re in deeper shit than we thought.
An alliance broken and a possible snake in our midst. Mistrust is bound to spread and chip away at the brotherhood’s once-ironclad bond.
This isn’t just bad. This is catastrophic.
“Let him finish,” Jigsaw says, his stern tone brooking no argument. He’s a no-nonsense type of motherfucker. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him crack a smile.
His aquamarine gaze shifts to Buffalo, waiting for him to continue. The healed lacerations dominating Jigsaw’s rugged features resemble a puzzle, hence his road name. In addition to ensuring club laws and rules are upheld, he used to handle Zeus’s kill orders until I inherited his unofficial secondary position. Jigsaw was far more ruthless in the role. He prolonged the agony until his victims begged for a bullet.
The tragic story behind his horrific disfigurement is a mystery. That hasn’t stopped the speculations, though. Zeus is probably the only person who actually knows the truth. A confidence he’d never betray. They’ve had each other’s backs since basic training.
“I overheard Brick on his cell talking all whisper-like,” Buffalo recounts to the group. “I could tell he was real pissed—”
“Get to the fucking point, Buffalo,” Zeus growls.
“I heard Brick say, ‘That wasn’t the deal, Spider. You promised me a quarter mil for the guns.’”
“Hearsay,” Draco protests, skepticism evident in his voice. “Do you have any proof to corroborate your story?”
It’s hard to believe Buffalo would fabricate a claim like this, especially against his own cousin and roommate. They were patched in together. What would he even gain from lying? Nothing, as far as I know. The decision to come forward must’ve been a difficult one, knowing the revelation would result in Brick’s death sentence.
And it’s no secret Spider has a personal vendetta aimed squarely at Zeus. His ragtag MC, the Lawless Disciples, ruled the heroin and gun trade around here until Zeus rolled into Kent and gutted his empire in under a year. Blood painted the streets.
In the end, Spider folded. Been lying low ever since, licking his wounds. But maybe now he figured it’s time to slink out of the shadows and make a power play. Bad move. He doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.
“No,” he admits. “I could try to get his cell phone, but he has the face recognition and passcode lock on.”
