“Gaaaah!” The man brings up his left arm, and something sharp slices across the bottom of my face. It’s a broken beer bottle, which strikes against my jaw and cuts my chin.
I stand and thumb at my chin. Blood pours from the cut.
My eyes dilate with rage. “You’re a fucking dead man.”
He blinks rapidly, and I slam my boot into his face.
“Zeek!” Felix grabs at my arms, but before he manages to pull me away I stomp the man’s face again.
“Brother, get a fucking grip!” Felix pushes me and I wipe at my chin, focused on the bloody, unconscious man on the floor.
“Jesus, man.” Felix turns, interlocking his fingers behind his head as he looks the man over.
I turn, trying to calm myself, when I catch my reflection in the mirror. My dark hair is everywhere, my beard needs a shave, and my chest is puffed out in rage. I look like my father.
I punch the mirror that lines the back wall of the bar. It shatters into a million little pieces, landing at my feet, some sticking to my bloody knuckles.
“Feel better?” Felix questions calmly.
“Maybe I should call Phillip.” Using the back of my hand, I wipe at the cut. It’s bleeding, and stings like a bitch.
“Who?”
“My brother, Lip.”
Felix gives a disgusted face. “Yeah, good luck.”
Me and my brother, we don’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things. He is my mother’s pride and joy since he hates our father and me, just like our mom. My mother pretends like I’m an equal to Lip. I know better, though; I sense the hatred from her when she looks at me. When my father tried to get Lip to join the club, he refused and my mother had his back. That’s where Lip and I disagree. I know we were born to be in this club, but Lip, he looked at us with disgust.
Turning in my seat, I dial his number. It rings four times before it goes to voicemail. He ignored my call. As usual.
“Let me guess, he didn’t answer?” Felix asks, his voice thick with smoke. I’ve tried to call his ass since Dad got locked up, and he’s not answered once.
“Doesn’t matter. This is club business, not Lip’s business. I’ll take care of this.”
“What are you going to do?”
Inhaling a breath, I stand. “I’m going to fucking show this club what we do to rats.”
***
Walking into Dad’s old office, I sit behind his desk. A desk that will be mine. I don’t know how I’m going to get to my father when he’s in prison. My eyes sweep across his desk, landing on payouts. People we have in our pocket. People and organizations we’ve got by the balls to do our dirty work. Uncle Frank has some, but the MC has more.
“How the hell am I going to get to him?” I mutter, sliding my hands back and forth through my hair. My father is smart; he’ll be protected.
“Felix!” I holler.
He straggles into the office, his eyes bloodshot as hell.
“You still in contact with that one guy, the one that has every drug, plant, and prescription you can think of?”
Felix turns his head slightly, eyeing me like I’ve lost my mind.
“I try to stay away from that guy, he’s weird. Why? What are you looking for?”
“My dad is probably going to be protected in prison, so I’m not going to be able to hire someone to take him out. He’ll expect that.”
“Yeah, he will.”
“I was thinking about getting something that will take him out without him expecting it.” I sit up in my chair, and my eyes perk when it hits me. “Ricin.”
“Dude.” Felix’s face goes serious. “That’s a pretty lethal drug. I don’t know if he’ll have that shit. But I gotta give you credit for thinking like a fucking psychopath. I’ll text him and find out, though.”
I smirk. “I’ll lace the butt of a cigarette with it, and I’ll get a dirty cop to give him a pack of smokes.” I nod along with my words. The whole plan is coming into play easily. “It’ll be my mark on Vegas. My first kill as president.” Adrenaline spikes my heart into a racing beat as I think about it.
“He has it, for a price,” Felix informs, taking me from my mental planning.
Taking my gaze from my hands, I glance at him.
“Name it.”
***
Felix picked the Ricin up for me an hour ago, already rolled into a cigarette. I placed it into a fresh pack of smokes, and am now waiting for one of our payouts to meet me. You can see the sun peek over the horizon, threatening us of its heat and glory to follow.
Fucking rat, I still can’t believe this shit.
A sheriff’s car pulls up, dust from the desert kicking up in a cloud of smoke behind it.
“Zeek,” the man greets, getting out of the car. He pulls on his shirt and narrows his eyes at me. “I’m surprised to see you. I usually only deal with your father.”
“Yeah, well, my father is locked up,” I respond bitterly.
“Now you’re in charge?” He says it on a long breath, as if he’s tired of us.
Lifting my head with confidence, I give him a beaming, toothy smile.
“You’ll never get rid of us. Kind of like you pigs. One dies, another fills your place.”
His face sours, his hands tugging on the waist of his pants as he looks off into the desert.
“What can I do for you, Zeek?”