There were wooden crates stacked from the floor to the ceiling, filling the entire container. The clock was ticking, forcing us to hustle and get the fucking job done before Wu showed up and made this shit messier than we planned.
Stryker and Deuce, another fool who decided Brooklyn was the place he wanted to call home, charged in first, tucking their guns away. I kept my eyes trained on Stryker, curious about the man who claimed we all had secrets and watched him get down. The guy looked like he had trained for this shit as he got down on one knee, placing one palm over the other while Deuce put his boot clad foot onto Stryker’s hands hoisting him up. Deuce pulled a crate from the top and dropped it onto the floor beside us. Neither of the nomads stopped what they were doing to the see what the fuck Wu was selling, they demolished the first row of crates, proving their worth to the club.
The last crate they dropped opened and Wolf sifted through it with the tip of his gun.
“Well, well, looks like Wu wanted to get fucked after all,” he mocked, as he held up a pink dildo.
Riggs strolled curiously over to the crate, pushing around the contents, and pulled out a bunch of sex toys.
“I bet this one is labeled butt plugs,” Pipe said, prying open the top of another crate.
“Dump it,” Jack ordered.
Pipe raised an eyebrow, questioning Jack.
“You sure about that, boss? Bet we can turn this shit for a pretty penny,” he countered.
We weren’t about to start pushing dildos on the street. This move was to show these motherfuckers we would not sit back and take it in the ass anymore. It wasn’t about taking their shit and turning a profit but more about sending a message—you don’t fuck with us.
“Dump the fucking shit,” Jack barked, as he lifted a crate over his head and threw it into the water.
I grabbed the next crate and hoisted it into the river. As Stryker and Deuce unloaded the container, one by one we silently dropped the merchandise into the Hudson. Looking around at my brothers, I could see the aggression painted on their faces.
Stryker was right.
We all have secrets.
We all have nightmares that haunt us.
And being the devil’s soldiers provided us with an outlet for the torment we all suffered.
We emptied the container, dropping the last of the sex toys into the river, creating quite a sight.
“Pack it up,” Jack demanded, as he reached into his back pocket and produced a can of spray paint and nodded toward Rienzi. He closed the container, locking it up with a new plastic seal before taking a step back and letting Jack do his thing. He pulled the cap off the bottle, throwing it into the water before putting his finger on the aerosol can and writing a message to Wu.
Fuck you.
In bright red letters across the door.
Jack took a step back, admiring his handy work then dumping the can of paint into the water and turning around to face us.
“Clear enough?”
“Still think we should’ve fucked him with one of his toys,” Wolf clipped.
“Message is clear,” Pipe confirmed, smacking Wolf upside the head.
Jack and I stepped toward Stryker, Deuce, Cobra and Linc, offering them a pat on the back, impressed with their efficiency. I extended my hand to Stryker as I met his gaze.
“Welcome home,” I muttered.
“Thanks, man, nice to finally have one,” he said, cracking his knuckles as he stared back at me.
We all got secrets man. Some of us hide them better than others, but every one of the Satan’s Knights has a tale to tell or we wouldn’t be brothers.
We were half way down the dock when Jack fell into step beside me.
“I’ve had my head wrapped around this shit with Wu for weeks—working with Spinelli to find the right time to make our move,” he started, stopping in his tracks and turning to me. “You’re using again,” he accused, running his fingers through his hair. “I turn my back for a second, thinking you finally got your shit together and when I turn around you’re more fucked then before. What’s your deal Black? What demon caught you this time?”
“Not your problem,” I ground out, turning to face him. “If I want your two cents I’ll ask for it, but until then do us both a favor and worry about yourself and your own demons—let me handle mine,” I sneered, turning around and stalking down the pier.
I paused when I heard the roar of the engines, glanced at our parked bikes and knew shit was about to go down.
“Shit, we’ve got company,” I shouted over my shoulder as I pulled out my gun.
Everything moved in slow motion as the Red Dragons started shooting at us. Without hesitation we ran down the rickety peer toward the enemy, our guns drawn lighting the shipping yard a blaze as we fired back.
It’s not the story behind us that makes us the Satan’s Knights it’s this. Taking the lives of people and doing it without remorse. It’s the blood that decorates us as our bullets pierce their heads and their brains splatter back at us.
I swiped the back of my hand over my eye and pulled back my hand staring at the crimson that painted my skin.
Blood.
That’s what it’s all about.