PART ONE
THE BREAKING POINT
CHAPTER 1
FABIAN “FURY” MATHIAS
August 26
“Contact!” Jam damn near cheered through the earpiece as the white SUV he and Cash were in, rammed into the back of the red Range Rover.
Half an hour ago, the Range Rover was parked outside of a row house. Skola—one of our top chemists who looked more like a college student that preferred the debate club and anime over frat parties and hot ass sorority girls—was our eyes and ears inside. The quarter of a million-dollar deal had gone down smoothly after Skola’s quality verification. We had no doubt it was good product; Dey, or Deylin Gomez as stated on his passport, was a reputable plug. Zayn had worked with him a couple times some years back before we shifted our focus from pills and coke to weed and weapons.
The minute everyone cleared out of the house going to their respective vehicles, Cash and Jam pulled out of their spot at the corner and followed the Range Rover. KC waited ten minutesbefore following the route Cash relayed via the earpieces we all wore. Now, the Range Rover was traveling east down a street riddled with abandoned houses on one side and an old industrial park on the other.
We hung back a bit from the two vehicles. KC was in the driver’s seat of the black Yukon we rented after landing in Miami, and I was in the front passenger seat. Rafe was in the backseat, quiet but focused. He was ready for this. Had told me so six weeks ago when he showed up at my house and threatened to shoot Curly, my two-year-old Cane Corso. The two of them had a love/hate relationship while my other two Corsos, Larry and Moe didn’t pay the man known on the streets as the Sleeper any attention. They knew he was family and immediately left the room once they verified that he was the only visitor on the property. Curly was an agitator and loved getting under Rafe’s skin. I found it entertaining until that fool pulled his gun out on my dog. Then I had to jump in and remind him where the fuck he was.
Tonight, I wished I was playing referee between the dog and the killer. Instead, I was about be backup for the man who had a score to settle with his younger sibling.
“Cash is a wild muthafucka,” KC said while our eyes remained fixed on our inked brothers as they jumped out of their truck.
Instead of walking up on the Range Rover from the side, Cash had run up to the vehicle, braced a foot on the bumper and launched himself up to the hood. He stomped to the front of the vehicle, and the second the driver’s side door opened, put two bullets through the top of the driver’s head.
KC brought us to a stop a few feet behind the white SUV, and I shook my head at Cash’s theatrics, vowing to tell him to fall back on the Mission Impossible movies or whatever he was watching that gave him dumbass ideas like that.
At the sound of gunshots, the passenger side door of the Range Rover flew open. Jam was right there to deliver headshots to the dude who got out with his gun drawn. After jumping down from the hood, Cash yanked open the back passenger side door. All three of us saw the arm extend from the door, gun in hand, and we jumped out with our own weapons ready. Jam put a bullet in the arm, and Cash caught the gun before it could fall to the ground. Then, he yanked the guy out of the truck by the wounded arm.
“Get yo’ bitchass on your knees,” Cash told him, pointing his gun to his head.
Jam came around him to yank the guy’s wounded arm once more, pulling it behind his back along with the other one so he could handcuff him.
“What the fuck, Cash?” the guy spat as he turned to look at them again.
But Rafe was in his space now. Standing directly in front of him as he knelt down to meet his brother’s gaze.
Tariq’s eyes widened with a mixture of shock and fear. “Rafe. Hey … uh, hey, man. When you get out?”
“Not early enough,” Rafe said through clenched teeth.
It was taking Rafe a massive amount of control to keep him from simply killing his brother right here on the street. I knew this without him speaking because, if it were me, I would be doing the same damn thing.
Tariq’s betrayal hadn’t just been against the Ryders. His decision to go behind our backs and begin brokering a new territory where he could set up his own business was treacherous. Framing Rafe, his older brother and one of his only two living family members, on a gun charge was grimy as hell.
“What the fuck y’all doin’? Get these cuffs off me!” Tariq yelled, his gaze shifting from his brother to Cash, who only laughed in response.
KC and I hung back so Tariq hadn’t seen us yet. We were there as backup only. This was Rafe’s show.
“Get the bags out of the back,” Rafe stated, coming to stand at his full six-foot height once more. “And burn this shit down.”
Rafe didn’t wait for Cash or Jam, who both worked under him as the lead enforcer of the Ryders, to do as instructed. He’d trained them well and knew they would carry out the plan that he’d meticulously laid out weeks ago. Then he rounded his brother, grabbed his cuffed hands, and yanked him up to his feet.
Tariq yelled out in pain as Rafe pulled him past us to the back passenger door of the Yukon. He pushed Tariq inside, then slammed the door. “Let’s go,” he instructed KC.
I glanced at my younger brother, thanking the heavens that he was as solid as they came in this world. If there was one thing I knew for certain, it was that for me, KC and our younger sister, Maleeka, this club and the business behind it would always come second to the blood that ran through our veins. The blood of Archer and Jennifer Mathias who raised us to be loyal and protective of our siblings over everything else. For KC, I was my brother’s keeper, and he was the same for me. As for Maleeka, KC and I, were her keepers and protectors. We were killing any and everybody behind her.
We climbed back into the Yukon while Cash and Jam grabbed the bags from the back of the Range Rover. KC pulled off, heading toward the destination we would all meet at eventually. Tariq moaned in the back.
“Don’t bleed too much on the seats, man,” KC said, looking over his shoulder at Tariq. “This is a rental. I ain’t tryin’ to pay no extra fees for your cryin’ ass.”
