That’s right. Stupid Charlie. Vladimir Yankovich likes his girls young and na?ve, easy to charm and make them believe he’s one of the good guys sent to sweep them away from their boring lives. He takes them away from their families, hooks them on drugs and when they’re so far gone, he sells them to the highest bidder.
Yeah, this creepy motherfucker that the G-Man saddled me with isn’t into selling dope on the streets of New York. He sells girls. Vlad’s no pimp though, —he ain’t selling five dollar hookers under the Brooklyn Bridge, he’s carting them in containers and shipping them overseas, selling these girls to twisted foreign millionaires.
I’m down with a lot of shit but I ain’t down with that. The G-man blindsided me, paired me with a fucking glorified pimp and made me promise to destroy Pastore’s power over the New York harbors. He then promised me I could move in on the Satan’s Knight’s territory. Vlad would take over the docks and I’d get the streets. If I eliminated Jack Parrish and his club, the new gangster taking over Victor’s territory wouldn’t have a leg to stand on; he’d have no choice to relinquish control to Vlad.
I’ve been biding my time, working with some shady as fuck cop named Brantley to bring these fuckers down and I had a plan all set in motion but someone beat me to the punch and tried to wipe out the Knights and Pastore’s family all in one shot.
I wish I could take the fucking credit for the explosion that mangled the club responsible for murdering my predecessor but I can’t.
Vlad grills me as I push the ginger off my lap and shove my limp dick back into my jeans. That brutal face stares up at me like a lost puppy and I roll my eyes, slapping Dipstick upside the head.
“Give her a hit of something and send her on her way,” I command.
“Oh I’ll give her a hit all right,” he replies sleazily.
Drawing my attention back to the Ruski and the posse standing behind him, I lift an eyebrow and reach for my beer bottle.
“What’re you even doing here? I thought our business was finished.”
“Why would you think that?”
Sure he had heard, every outlaw on the east coast knew the Satan’s Knights of Brooklyn were fucked. They might not all be dead but they were fucking disabled, the fucking president was deaf, their clubhouse was a mountain of dust and their bikes were a fucking scrappers dream.
“Parrish and his club are crippled, off the grid. The Brooklyn charter of the Satan’s Knights is finished. You can move whatever the fuck your heart desires through that harbor, Spinelli doesn’t have the power to stop you.”
“We had a deal, and you didn’t deliver,” he says calmly, pulling out a gun and aiming it straight for my limp dick. “I don’t give second chances but I’m feeling generous,” he says pulling back the safety on his gun.
Second chances? I didn’t even get a first chance and now my dick would pay the price for some negligence I wasn’t even responsible for.
“Fine,” I agree, shielding my cock with my hands. “I’ll do it. I’ll finish someone else’s job.”
“No, you’ll complete your job and while you’re at it, you’ll add Spinelli to that long list of casualties. If you don’t succeed, it’ll be your head.” He pauses and a mischievous smile spreads across his face. “I’ll let you decide which one gets the bullet.” He lifts the barrel from my cock and targets between my eyes.
A moment later he drops his weapon and stares at his watch.
“It was nice knowing you, Charlie,” he says eerily before turning around and leaving me with both heads intact.
“It was nice knowing you, Charlie?” I repeat. What the fuck did that mean?
Pulling up my zipper, I stand on my feet. I slide back the curtains leading to the common room and make my way to the stash of coke on the bar. Pretty soon this powder will decorate Brooklyn and make me a shit ton of money.
But first I had to kill anyone with a reaper on their back.
I cut the coke and push it into a fine line. One rip and I’ll be good, then I’ll call church and we’ll finish the job these faceless pricks started, and when I’m done wiping out the Knights, I will hunt down whoever the fuck blew their shit up and make them my bitch too. Fucking amateurs.
“Shit! Incoming!” I hear my vice president shout as I snort the coke. The motherfucker is probably hallucinating again, goddamn junkie.
He grabs my cut and spins me around, throwing a rifle into my hand and to my surprise he looks straight. I fight for focus but I’m too distracted by the blaring engines approaching the clubhouse. I glance at the security footage and all I see are headlights, the whole fucking screen is lit up like the tree in Rockefeller Center.
I order my club to spring into action and collect their weapons but we’re not quick enough. The ginger that sucked me off shrieks in horror causing me to turn around and watch as the Molotov cocktail flies through the glass window and lands on her lap. The flames crawl up her skin and the message is clear.
Satan has arrived.
Chapter Forty-Nine