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Spree is taking a shot on the eight ball as I storm into the game room. He looks up and opens his mouth as I approach, but I don’t even give him time to speak. I just slam my fist right into his mouth. I hit him so hard that I feel his teeth loosen inside his mouth.
He stumbles back, his leather-clad ass hitting the floor as he laughs, hyena-like, teeth stained red with blood.
“Fuck, yeah!” he hoots, scrambling to his feet. “That’s what we need to see more of around here!”
I punch him again, an uppercut to the jaw, and he stumbles but stays on his feet. I jab three times, fast, into his gut, the air rushing from his lungs in a “whoof” sound. He dodges my next blow, sticking a leg out to hook the back of my leg. I use it to my advantage, grabbing his leg and body slamming him. Once I’ve got him down, my fists pummel his face. His nose cracks and blood splatters across his cheek. He’s still smiling, though, so I punch him straight in the mouth. He turns his head and spits out a tooth.
With every punch, I retreat further into my base self. David Grisham is controlled and calculating and smart and careful. Grisham is not. Grisham is predatory. Hungry for blood. Grisham is unforgiving. The animal that begged to get out when I was with that girl is now fully uncaged. Spree is nothing but lunch to me right now.
I’ll kill this motherfucker. I’ll fucking kill this crackhead piece of garbage. Why the actual fuck did I ever allow him to ascend to vice president of the club? What the fuck kind of leader allows a wild-card piece of shit like this in leadership? Fuck this guy. Fuck. Him.
His face is bloody and swollen and he’s still hooting and hollering like he’s watching a goddamn football game. Just as I pull back, ready to unleash a blow to knock him unconscious, someone grabs my arm. Two more hands encircle my chest and I’m pulled away from this cock sucking son-of-a-bitch, thrashing and growling like some wild creature. It takes a third member before they can control me enough to get me away.
Two of my members, Jake and Dexter, shove me back while Dexter’s old lady, Anna, runs to Spree’s side. She’s a nurse, so she checks him out, declares that it’s mostly cosmetic damage, and gives me a dirty look. Not something I’d tolerate on a normal day. Club members’ wives and women do not get to give me attitude about how I run my club.
As it is, I snarl at her. “Get your fucking eyes back in your head,” I snap. “Mind your fucking business or get out of my club.”
“You nearly killed him,” she shoots back. “That what you want?”
Dexter sees this interaction and tells Anna to back off. They both help Spree to his feet. That piece of shit has the nerve to smile at me again. It’s like a horror movie in real life. My lips turn down in disgust.
“How’s my hair?” Spree asks one of the club girls, the one he’d been beating at pool a moment earlier. She’s got one hand holding her stick, still, but the other clutches at her flimsy tank top. Her eyes are wide, but she otherwise seems frozen in place.
Spree waves a hand at her in dismissal. He runs a hand through his blond hair, placing it back in his usual ponytail. Then he swaggers up in my personal space, as if I didn’t just beat his ass and hand it to him for dinner.
“That was a good ass-whoopin’, boss. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
My nostrils flare. “Where do I begin? Bragging to a police informant about our upcoming deal with the Juarez family? Snorting product meant for another buyer? Trafficking girls to Mexico? Oh, or maybe kidnapping the daughter of a rival club leader and leaving her in my bed? I mean, to start.”
Spree wipes his nose on the back of his hand. The skin below his eyes is puffy and bruised and one eye is nearly swollen shut. He says, “Hey, I just helped some girls get across the border.”
“We don’t traffic people,” I say, leveling him with a stare. “Especially not underage ones. You want to do human trafficking, you go find another club.”
Spree’s hands go up in surrender. “All right, okay, I gotcha. Won’t happen again.”
“What won’t happen again?” I ask, my voice a growl.
“Any of it. I am here but to serve you, my liege.” He sneers at me, bowing, half of his mouth quirking upward.
I make eye contact with every single member as I look around the room, finally focusing my gaze back on Spree, who has stopped grinning and now seems to realize I’ve done some rather painful damage to his face. Good. He’s bracing one hand on the pool table to hold himself up.
I give him just the slightest smirk before speaking.
“This asshole,” I say, pointing at my second-in-command, “chose to abduct and rough up the daughter of the Blazing Pistons. He left her bound and gagged in my bed to claim.”
Jake smirks at this. Anna and Dexter both frown at Spree. There’s a ripple of uncomfortable shifting and murmuring among the people in the room. People shift on their feet, look away, anything to keep from getting caught in my crosshairs right now.
“It’s not as if we haven’t laid claim to people before, but there is no reason for this. We want to invite respect from other clubs, and there is no reason to openly incite war by taking someone’s daughter. And I don’t personally enjoy fucking dirty, scared, barely-adult women after they’ve been accosted. Call me crazy, but taking a woman when she’s wet and begging is so much more enjoyable than taking her when she’s begging me to stop.”
“I’ll bet no one’s ever asked you to stop, boss,” one of my club members says, laughing.
I level him with a stare and he stops laughing right quick. “If anyone ever laid a hand on Shannon, I’d expect every one of you motherfuckers to be out with weapons. I don’t care who it is; anyone who touches my daughter ceases to exist. If you think Drew Williams isn’t thinking the same thing right now, then you’re dumber than I thought.”
“Boss is right,” Dexter says. “That was a bitch move, Spree.”
Some of the guys mutter words of agreement. They know how I feel about my daughter. They know I’d rip the fingernails from anyone who ever hurt her. Some of the guys have kids of their own. Those are the guys nodding in agreement right now.
“The point is, we need to be smart and vigilant,” I continue. My gaze settles back on Spree. “We now have a rival club’s princess in hand. There is no doubt in my mind that someone will come to reclaim her, and soon. And I won’t stand in front of a bullet for someone who didn’t have the common sense to think through what was a shitty, useless decision. You were thinking with your dick, and I’d happily let Williams cut it off for what you did.”
“She was a gift for you,” Spree says, a little less cocky and looking like he’s about to fall to the floor. “Go unwrap her and enjoy the spoils of war.”
“You fucking moron,” I snap, “there was no war. Blazing Pistons aren’t friends, but they weren’t foes either. Now they are. Now go get yourself cleaned up, get some sleep, and I’ll expect you in my office first thing in the morning. You’re going to help me clean up the messes you’ve made.”
“Fuck you very much, then, too,” Spree mutters, trying to get the other guys to laugh.
I take two long steps and punch him right in the nose I’ve already broken. This time, he has the decency to pass out cold.
I look around and say, “Any questions? Alternative opinions? Power plays?”
No one says a fucking word.
“Then get him to the infirmary,” I say, jerking a thumb toward Spree’s lifeless body as I walk out, “and clean up this fucking blood.”
*
