Never expect to win.
“You think I care about the Satan’s Knights enough to go to war with them? I’ll piss on your club, swallow you motherfuckers whole. It’s not the club I got beef with, it’s the man who shook my hand and pissed on my trust I have a problem with. It’s you I want, Blackie, and no fucking deal you or your boys try to swindle out of me is going to work. You crossed me Blackie, there’s no retribution for that. Be thankful if you leave here with a pulse and don’t you ever fucking threaten me with the Satan’s Knights. You have a debt to pay, your club has a debt to pay, I just haven’t figured out what kind of payment I’m going to accept. So I’ll bide my time, turn the hourglass and watch as the sand slips through to the other end and your days become numbered,” he threatened, leaning back in his chair as a smile spread across his face. “And you know what the best part of that is? I won’t even have to lift a finger because the Bulldog will snap when he finds out what you’ve been up to and that crazy cocksucker will cut your ass up,” he enthused.
I froze as I pinned him with a glare, knowing the words he was about to say before they even left his lips.
“Been watching you, Black,” he said as he rose from his chair and walked around the desk. He bent down, leaned into my shoulder and whispered into my ear.
“I know you’re banging Jack’s daughter.”
I clenched my fists, turning my face just as he straightened up and our eyes met.
“What do you think will happen if his daughter became a casualty of war? If daddy found out his precious little girl died because she was the only way to make his vice president bleed?”
I shot up out of my chair, reached for my gun, forgetting the clip on the desk and pressed the barrel of the gun into Boots’ temple.
“You stay the fuck away from her!” I pressed the gun harder against his temple. “Do you fucking understand? YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM LACEY!”
“Next time you put a gun to my head, make sure it's loaded,” he said as he gritted his teeth.
I slammed his head against the wall, lowered my gun as I stepped backwards and retrieved my clip from the desk.
“W-A-R,” he hissed.
I should’ve shot him dead right there, splattered his walls with his brains and ended the mayhem before it started.
I’m sure I’ll regret turning around and walking out of his office. I just prayed I didn’t feel the regret as I lowered another innocent woman’s body into the earth.
I didn’t bother hiding my gun, walking back through the clubhouse like a crazed man, ready to shoot anyone who stood in my way. I ignored Charlie as he called out to me and stormed outside, heading straight for the fucking van. I banged my head against the driver door as his words played repetitiously in my head.
I knew that this meeting could go one of two ways, Boots could take the deal and keep peace or he would tell me to go fuck myself. I never prepared myself for the threat against Lacey.
She’s not fair game.
She won’t be put in the middle of this shit.
What do you think will happen if his daughter became a casualty of war? If daddy found out his precious little girl died because she was the only way to make his vice president bleed?
Boots’ threat declared Lacey my property.
It wasn’t a malicious attack on Jack. He wasn’t promising to hurt his daughter to prove a point to him, to hit him where it hurts.
No, Boots words were aimed at me.
A vow to take what was mine, to cut me off at the knees and make me putty in his hands.
W-A-R.
He spelled out his declaration, mimicking the timeless card game and throwing Lacey into the middle of a fucking massacre.
I climbed into the van, threw my gun onto the passenger seat and turned the key in the ignition, pulling away from the Corrupt Bastards like a mad man trying to escape fate.
And then I realized I wasn’t running away from fate but headed straight towards it.
I fought back the urge to turn the fucking van around and buy a vile of heroin shit, I’d settle for an eight ball of coke. I could’ve swiped some off the bar and no one would’ve even notice.
I lifted one hand off the steering wheel, pushed up the sleeve of my shirt and looked down at my forearms.
Clean.
I glanced up, stopped short as the traffic light turned red and spotted the tavern on the corner across the street.
Fate.
There she was.
I blew the light, making a sharp left and parked the van.
W-A-R.
It was coming.
But before we went to war with the Bastards I had a battle with the biggest bastard of all.
Johnny Walker.
Chapter Twenty-two
“Last call, buddy,” the bartender called from the other end of the bar. I stared at the amber liquid, swirled it around in the glass then knocked it back and turned it upside down lining it up next to the other empty shot glasses. I had quite the collection going on.