“Me.” All eyes went to the man dressed in an expensive fucking suit, casually walking out from the woods like he just appeared out of thin air.
All the blood drained from my father’s face, immediately turning pale as if he was looking at a goddamn ghost and in a way...
El Diablo was.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Damien questioned, arching an eyebrow.
He wasn’t in on this part of the plan. I only did it for Martinez. I gained nothing with him being there.
But I owed it to him.
“I heard you were missing me. So I came just to see you,” Martinez rasped, standing beside me. Making Damien chuckle and shake his head.
“You’re... the papers... I thought... you... were dead...” Pops stuttered, still staring only at him with petrified eyes. An expression I’d never seen before.
“You can’t believe everything you read, Jameson,” Martinez relayed, grinning. “The news and the papers are always exaggerating shit.”
“Now ya scared, Prez?” I mocked, smiling. “You wanna have a little bedtime story before you go to sleep for good?”
He swallowed hard, his eyes couldn’t focus on one of us for very long before moving onto to the next.
“You see, Martinez handed me a disc, and I hid it under the mattress of my bed when I reported back to base. When Diesel went to find it, it was gone. Fast forward to a few months ago, and it miraculously showed up in your C.D. collection. Funny how that is, yeah?”
“That—”
“He texted me a photo the day of the shootout of my mother, your wife, sittin’ on another man’s lap. But you probably already knew that... seein’ as the shootout was that night. Needed to distract me, yeah? Get me away from her? Why do you think he chose that picture?”
“Creed—”
Martinez stepped forward, rendering him speechless. Crouching down in front of the makeshift grave, trying to get as close as he could to my dad’s face, wanting to look him in the eyes. “I may be a lot of things, but I don’t fuck with women and children. You know how these things go, Jameson. People talk, especially fucking criminals. There isn’t anything I don’t ever know. When I learned about your involvement, I saw an opportunity, and I took it. Seeing as it involved my niece’s friend’s daughter. And family has always come first to me. No matter what.”
“The photo was so old, it was hard to make out it was Striker’s lap she was sittin’ on, but that wasn’t what Martinez wanted me see... It was the fact that the picture was taken in Mia’s mom’s restaurant, a pigtail faintly in the background. I didn’t figure that out until I saw what you wanted to do with my girl... Now, the rest of the fuckin’ files you had,” I breathed out, pursing my lips and shaking my head.
“The pictures of a woman bein’ fuckin’ gunned down? Now, that! That was helluva fuckin’ surprise! Why did ya hold onto that for? Souvenirs? You sick fuck! I didn’t even realize who the woman was until I saw a written agreement on another document, statin’ you murder his wife and he’ll deliver the sex traffikn’ to you on a silver fuckin’ platter... Mind-fuckin’-blowin’! But you do have trust issues, yeah? Why else would you leave a fuckin’ paper trail? It just took one phone call to Leo, one fuckin’ call lettin’ him know I knew who killed Martinez’s mom, and the next day this motherfucker was at Diesel’s door. Not gonna lie, it took us a minute to figure it all out. To make it work so everyone would walk away satisfied. But here we are...” I paused to let it all sink in. Needing him to understand every last word that came out of my mouth.
“The question is, Prez,” I eyed him, “did you know Martinez was gettin’ close to the truth? Or did you just kill Striker cuz he was the only one who knew what really happened? Since he was there with you. Or did you just put a hole in his head cuz he was fuckin’ your wife?”
“You—”
“I asked ya a question, expectin’ a fuckin’ answer,” I interrupted my father, not wanting to hear any more of his bullshit lies.
It was the first time I had ever seen pure fear cross my father’s face, realizing that he was really going to fucking die. Never expecting it to come from the hands of his own firstborn son.
His fucking prodigy.
“Look me in the eyes, motherfucker,” Martinez ordered, leaning forward, closer to his face. He didn’t falter. “I promised my mother the day she died in my arms. The day that you and your biker trash murdered her... I would find the pieces of shit who put her there and make them pay. And as you know, Jameson. I am a man of my fucking word.”
“Ya got any last fuckin’ words, Prez?” I baited.
“Please, don’t—”
“On second thought.” Cocking my gun to the side, I locked eyes with my father for a split second. Needing him to know it was me who put him to ground. “I don’t give a fuck.” I pulled the trigger.
His brains blew out from the back of his head, splattering all over the dirt before his body fell back into the deep, dark hole with a hard, loud thud. Mimicking the sound of Luke’s body the night he just threw him in there like he was taking out the fucking trash. Time just seemed to stand still, nothing moving, including me. While Martinez and I battled our demons for a whole different set of reasons.
There was an unfamiliar feeling lingering in the air, burning into my senses. Where it would forever be etched in my skin. Except this memory would be the first one that would never, ever, fucking haunt me.
I was the first to break the silence, whispering, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and all that fuckin’ shit.”
Martinez spit in the grave before standing up, walking back over to us. Once again the cool, calm, collected man he’d always been.
“Well... that was entertaining,” Damien proclaimed, bringing our attention to him.
Martinez grinned, taking him in. “He just murdered your promotion. How the fuck you going to explain that?”
It was Damien’s turn to smirk, cocking his head to side. He pulled out Pops’ gun from the back of his slacks with the handkerchief wrapped around the grip, and aimed the barrel right into his own shoulder.
He didn’t hesitate, pulling the trigger. “Mierda!” he shouted, chucking the gun to the ground. Immediately holding onto his bullet wound while blood gushed out all over his white suit. “Murdered?” he repeated, mocking Martinez. Letting out a big, throaty laugh as more blood seeped through his fingers. “All Creed did was save my fucking life,” he simply stated. “Clean up this mess so I can call it in.” With that, he turned, walking back toward the clubhouse like nothing ever happened.
It was then I realized this man would do anything to get what he wants, including shooting himself to fucking prove it.
“Damien!” I called out after him, making him turn to face me once again. “Everyone know you’re a corrupt motherfucker?”