“This is the address I was provided,” the driver says.
I find his eyes in the rearview mirror, itching for a reason to reach over the seat and make him bleed. He isn’t popping off at the mouth though. He looks uneasy, scared even, afraid he’s fucked up somehow. He must be new to this position.
“This is the right place,” TJ interrupts. “The bikes lined up on the side are a dead giveaway.”
“We know the plan?” I ask as we shrug on the cuts that were stowed in our duffel bags and climb out of the SUV.
They both nod. As directed when we hired this service, the driver waits in the vehicle.
“I sure as fuck hope they cooperate,” TJ mutters as we near the front door. “The jeans are new. I’d prefer not to get blood on them.”
“I thought your victim’s blood was your favorite accessory,” Ronan says as he reaches for the doorknob.
TJ snorts, but it falls short when we step inside. Not unlike our own clubhouse, smoke fills the air, music blares around the room, and couples in various stages of sexual deviance pepper the room.
“Church!” I yell as I walk fully inside.
Keeping my hands at my back, fingers brushing the two pieces of steel there, I look around, challenging anyone to refuse.
“Ravens Ruin,” one of the whores says as she pulls herself off of the cock of one of the guys. She licks her lips, pushing her exposed tits out further as she walks toward me.
“Nice,” TJ mutters, but I’m not fooled. He’s fully focused on what’s going on around us. He’d never let his guard down, no matter the size of this woman’s tits.
“Dolly,” a guy on the far side of the room spits. He’s in a cut, Dragon and President proudly displayed on his chest. “Take the other girls and go to the house.”
Dolly stops short, frowning at the command, but she obeys, motioning for the other girls to stand and follow her out of the room.
“What’s the special occasion?” Dragon asks as he tucks his cock back in his jeans before lighting up a cigarette.
“We got wind that the Dead-End Demons were rallying an attempt against our club,” I tell him without emotion, even though my blood is boiling at the thought.
TJ, not as in control of his emotions, growls and takes another step in Dragon’s direction.
“Bullshit,” Dragon snaps.
A real man would admit to what he’s done. He would ask for forgiveness, even though he knows there is none to be given. A real man wouldn’t do exactly what this fucking idiot is doing. I pull my gun from my waistband and shoot him between the eyes before he can raise the glock that was tucked beside his leg.
“Motherfucker!” TJ yells, looking down at the dots of blood staining his new jeans.
Ronan snickers, and the rest of the men in the room stare at us in disbelief.
“Thank fuck,” one of the guys mutters as he watches his president’s skin ashen to a sickening gray.
“Which one of you fuckers is Virus?”
“I am.” A tall man to my left stands, his VP patch on his chest proof that he’s exactly who I’m looking for. “I know you guys aren’t really known for forgiveness, but I can vouch that no man here, other than myself, knew what was going down with Dragon’s plan.”
“And what exactly was your part?” TJ sneers, his knife twisting in his palm as if full of life itself.
Virus’s back straightens as he shifts his eyes from me to TJ. He has balls, and that’s one of the prerequisites for consideration of a Ravens Ruin patch.
“Not much,” Virus answers. “I tried to talk him out of it, but Miller had him seeing dollar signs.”
“Miller is no longer a problem,” I inform him.
Dietrich Miller was Zoe’s father. He was also a rejected DEA agent gone rogue, using the Dead-End Demons as the firepower to try to take down our club.
“We heard,” Virus says. “Dragon’s dreams were crushed.”
“You’re not concerned your president’s body is getting cold over there?” TJ asks.
Virus shrugs. “Cartel was going to get to him eventually. He owes more than he could ever pay back. Same for Miller.”
I don’t know if we’ve hurt or helped our standing with the Colombians, but there’s no going back now.
“What’s going to happen to us?” another guy across the room asks as I tuck my gun into my jeans at the small of my back.
“You’ll disband,” I explain.
I expect arguments, but all I see is relief on the faces of the four guys still sitting around the room.
In church last week, we discussed absorbing them into our MC, but there isn’t one member here, other than Virus, that benefits us.
“You need help with that?” TJ points to Dragon’s body as he questions the sitting men.
“We have a wood chipper out back,” one of the guys mentions.