CHAPTER ONE
CAPONE
Weeks earlier…
As the youngest of five, and the only boy, I’ve seen my pops go to war for each one of my sisters. Hell, the man kept a baseball bat under his bed and another next to his recliner in the living room. The latter he took extra care with, making it even more of a lethal weapon by wrapping barbwire around the length of it. Pretty fucking savage if you ask me, but he was always ready to attack. My mother, on the other hand, wasn’t the fighting type. She’d let my pops go handle business and when he got back, a crying sister in tow, she’d fix him a sandwich.
That was not the dynamic here.
Tara Burnside calls her daddy, crying, begging him to come get her, and her mother hops on the back of her father’s Harley—the two of them leading a convoy of bikes, ready to maim and murder whoever is the cause of her tears.
And while Maverick is no doubt a badass motherfucker, my money is on Holly.
We pull up to the entrance of Knightdale Environmental Park and judging by the volume of cars and the belligerent teens loitering around, it seems as though the princess of the Satan’s Knights decided to party it up in the woods.
Ah, to be young and stupid again.
I’d give my left nut to go back ten years, to a time when I had zero responsibilities and my Nonna’s biggest concern was whether she was serving pasta or gnocchi on a Sunday. These days, the old troll is worried about my sperm going dry before I can carry on the family name. Someone should tell her I play with guns all day and that there is a lethal cartel biding their time, waiting for the perfect moment to obliterate us. Not to mention a bunch of other unsuspecting threats we don’t even know about.
But, hey, so long as I leave behind a couple of Capizzones—who cares?
I drop my boots to the gravel, keeping my hands wrapped tightly around my handlebars and wait for someone to tell me where we’re going. I mean, what’s the actual plan here? Are we the keg police now?
Maverick and Holly dismount and I take that as my cue to kill the engine on my bike and join the others. Holly points to a silver BMW parked about a hundred feet away.
“That’s Mark’s car.”
Figures.
I bet the kid just got his license. He’s probably still on probation but I guess that didn’t stop his parents from dropping a couple of G’s on a fancy whip. And everyone wonders what’s wrong with this generation. They’re a bunch of spoiled fucks, that’s what’s wrong. Do you know how much grass I had to cut before my pops finally caved and got me a twenty-year old used car? The paint was rusting on the damn thing, and I had to crawl into the car from the passenger side, but I drove it around Chicago like I was sporting a brand-new Cadillac.
Christ—would you listen to me? I sound like my old man. By the end of the night, I’ll be pulling up my pants, asking someone to find me the ‘clicker’ for the television.
Maverick stalks toward the BMW, Holly hot on his tail, Shady and Ghost not too far behind. Mav opens the driver’s door and pulls Tara’s boyfriend out of the car, slamming the tall football player against the hood of his fancy whip just as Holly tags her daughter from the passenger seat of the car. I don’t get a look at Tara. My focus is lasered in on her boyfriend, who looks like he’s one breath away from pissing his pants.
“I…uh…I’m sorry, Maverick, I… uh…”
Mark continues to stammer and slur, revealing Tara caught him with his pants around his ankles and his dick in another girl.
Fool.
“I didn’t mean it,” he blurts.
“Oh, yeah, she just fell onto your dick, right?” Tara shouts over her mother’s shoulder.
“Maybe if you put out you would’ve been the one to fall onto it.”
I shake my head.
Fucking fool.
Of all the things the little fuck could possibly say, that has got to be the worst. My gaze swings to Tara and my eyes nearly pop out of my head as I take in the revealing outfit she’s wearing—a pair of skintight jeans and a crop top that if it were any shorter would show the undersides of her tits, and by the looks of it—the girl ain’t wearing a bra.
Normally I wouldn’t blink an eye. I’ve seen grown ass women wear a whole lot worse. Our clubhouse may have gotten quite tame since Maverick and Holly reunited, but there was a time when we had porn stars roaming the joint and those bitches walked around wearing scraps of clothes no bigger than dental floss.
This, though—Tara in that top, her nipples hard and pointed for the world to see and those fucking jeans that mold to her ass—it’s quite the opposite of anything I’ve ever seen her wear before. And the knee-high boots really throw the outfit over the edge.
I’m surprised Maverick let her out of his sight, much less out of the house.
If she were my daughter, I’d lock her up and throw away the key. I’d never give a punk like Mark a chance at her, and I certainly wouldn’t give a dirty bastard like me the opportunity to ogle her.
Jesus Christ.
It doesn’t get lower than this, does it? It don’t matter how old she looks, she’s just a kid and it would do me a world of good if I kept that in mind the next time she decides to parade around in an outfit like the one she’s wearing. For fuck’s sake, I’m ten years older than her. She was likely playing with Barbie’s while I was getting my dick sucked for the first time.
How’s that for a harsh reality?
Feeling ashamed, I tear my gaze away from her body and let my eyes travel north. I expect the sight of her face to sober my racing mind, but it’s like she grew up overnight and I’m just seeing her for the first time. I don’t know if it’s the makeup she’s wearing or the streaks she’s got going on in her hair. Maybe it’s the nose ring—when the fuck did she get that?
I shake my head.
Any way you slice it, all the traces of a young girl seem to have disappeared. Her face has slimmed out and her features have become more pronounced. And that fire in her eyes—that’s new too. The girl has Mav and Holly’s blood running through her veins and a fiery spirit, something she makes clear when she pulls out of her mother’s hold, and lunges for Mark. Maverick still has him pinned to the hood of the car, so she doesn’t get too far.
It's a damn shame.
I for one would’ve liked to see how that played out. Her heart may be broken, and she may have called her dad in hysterics, but I bet there is a little vixen in there somewhere and God help everyone when she unleashes that part of her.
Shady grabs his niece around the waist and pulls her back.
“He ain’t worth it, girl,” he grinds out. With a firm grip on the little firecracker, he calls out to his brother, but Maverick doesn’t move. “I’m taking her home,” Shady says to his back, then turns to Holly. “You’re riding with Ghost.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Holly spats.
Still keeping a firm grip on Tara, he levels Holly with a look.
“In ten seconds she’s gonna be in a puddle of tears. You know it and so do I. Now, I’m equipped for a lot of shit, but drying my niece’s eyes is not one of those things. She needs her mother. Mav will handle Mark.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Holly chokes.
Considering her words, Shady turns to the rest of us. A lethal expression flits across his face as his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.
“Make sure he doesn’t kill him,” he says, then his eyes zero in on me. “You got this?”
A while back I went on a run for Shady. He was hiding his woman, Bianca—who, if we’re getting technical was actually Ghost’s woman at one time—in his apartment, away from the club, and I, not knowing who he was hiding, went and bought her some necessities. You know the basics like, sweats, toiletries, and Nutella. Don’t argue with me, that hazelnut spread is life. It’s a hill I’m willing to die on.
Anyway, he asked me to keep it quiet until he got a chance to plead his case to the club and I did. Ever since then I’m like the Robin to his Batman.
I jerk my chin.
“Yeah, brother. I got this.”
Then for some odd reason, I look at Tara. Shady was off by a couple of seconds, but he was right about the tears—they rain down her cheeks, smearing her mascara all over her pale skin. I don’t like seeing any girl cry, and maybe that’s because I’ve been surrounded by women my whole life, but I especially don’t like seeing Tara Burnside cry, not over some two-bit prick who ain’t worth her spit.
Shady leads her to his bike and fixes his helmet to her head before he swings his leg over the seat. Curious to see if she’s a natural like her parents, I watch as she climbs onto the back of her uncle’s bike and sure as fuck, she does it in one fluid motion, straddling the Harley and winding her arms around Shady as she plants the soles of her boots on the pegs, making it clear she’s not only a natural, but she’s biker royalty too.
Shady peels away from the scene, Ghost and Holly too, leaving the rest of us with a very angry Maverick and a drunk little punk. I crack my knuckles and roll my neck, bracing myself. Hawk sighs loudly beside me.
“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t kill him, with Ghost gone one of us will have to dig the hole.”
“I say we skip the hole, and put him in the smoker at Sally’s,” Ink volleys. “If it squeals like a pig, who’s to say it isn’t?”
It’s not a bad idea, but I don’t share that much. Instead, I make my way toward Maverick. The fact that he’s still standing there holding the kid against the car throws me. For as long as I know Maverick, he’s always been the leader who acts on instinct and apologizes for it later. This is a new tactic, and I don’t know what to make of it.
I come to a full stop a couple of feet away from him and call out to him, but he ignores me. Grinding my molars, my gaze slides to the kid. Eyes wide with fear, his lower lip trembles. What the fuck Tara sees in this guy is beyond me. He’s nothing but a little bitch.
“Please don’t kill me,” he begs, tears rolling down his face.
Maverick’s grip on him tightens and he pulls him forward only to slam him back against the hood of the car again. Then he releases the kid altogether, taking a step backward.
“Kill you?” he scoffs, his tone venomous. “I wouldn’t waste a fucking shell on your sorry ass, boy.”
I arch an eyebrow.
I guess we’re not digging a hole or throwing his ass on a spit after all .
Bummer.
Mav swipes a hand over his bald head and cranks his neck from side to side before taking a step forward.
“Stand up straight,” he orders.
Mark stalls and stares at him completely bewildered.
“Now,” Maverick roars.
The kid scrambles from the hood of the car and sways on his sea legs, which I’m assuming is a side effect from being drunk and scared shitless. He lifts his chin and meets Maverick’s gaze.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Burnside. I had too much to drink and, well, you know how it goes.”
I flinch. Maybe killing him isn’t off the table, and if that’s the case, the kid will dig his own hole before we shove him into it.
Maverick clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and nods.
“You’re right, I do know how it goes, that’s why I ain’t gonna harm a single hair on your head.”
“You’re not?” Mark croaks, sounding just as shocked as I feel.
Surely we’re going to rough him up a little. Break a couple of bones. I vote for his legs, but I’ll settle for a finger or two. Hell, even his nose.
“No, the penance you’re going to receive is far worse than any beaten I can give you. You see, I’ve been where you’re at and what’s coming is fucking torture. You don’t know it yet because you’re too young and too inexperienced, but you just lost the greatest thing you’ll ever have, and I don’t say that because she’s mine. I say it because she’s Holly’s. I lost Tara’s mom. I watched her move on and live her life without me and the same hell is coming for you. It won’t hit you now, it might not even hit you ten years from now. But one day you’re going to find your sorry ass sitting in a dark room, wishing you kept your dick in your pants. And when that happens, you’ll try to get back in her good graces. You’ll apologize and beat yourself up. You’ll beg and barter for a second chance, but you won’t get it because I’ll be the roadblock standing in your way.” He pauses to crack his knuckles. “You fucked up tonight, kid. You humiliated my daughter. Broke her fucking heart, but the right guy is out there waiting to put it back together and he ain’t you.” He points a finger at Mark. “Stay away from Tara. You see her walking the halls at school, you walk the other way. Don’t call her. Don’t text her. Don’t even fucking look at her. I find out you do any of those things, I’ll break your fucking arm and I’ll break it so that you not only never play football again, but you’re unable to jerk your own dick.” He pauses and Mark gulps. “Understand?”
The kid nods.
“I don’t hear you,” Maverick growls.
“Yes…Mr. Burnside, I…uh…understand.”
Maverick turns around, his eyes scanning over all of us.
“We’re done here,” he announces, then he starts for his bike.
That’s my cue to follow suit, but a foreign feeling sweeps over me, keeping me rooted in place. My gaze cuts back to Mark before sliding to his shiny BMW.
So fucking pristine.
I really hope everything Maverick said is true, that one day this little cunt realizes he fucked up. I hope and pray he’s haunted by regret. But I’m not willing to take any chances. There needs to be definitive punishment and maybe I’m just the guy who delivers it. Reaching into my kutte, I pull out my tactical knife. It’s not my usual weapon of choice, but there isn’t time to pull a page from my old man’s book and wrap barbwire around a baseball bat.
I stalk toward the car, turning out the blade. Mark’s eyes widen and he fumbles with his words as I crouch down beside the rear tire on the driver’s side, pushing the sharp tip of the knife into the rubber and slicing it wide.
“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?” Mark cries.
Ignoring the cheating pig, I rise to my full height and brush past him, making my way to the front tire. I slash that one too.
Nice and fucking wide.
But I don’t stop there.
I meander to the passenger side, destroying both tires on that side too.
“Capone,” Maverick calls curtly.
I stand tall and meet his gaze over the roof of the car. I can tell by the scowl on his face he isn’t happy with me, but that doesn’t deter me. I turn to the little punk who is pulling at the ends of his hair, gawking at his slashed tires.
“Dude! My car.”
I pocket my knife and walk around the front of the car, getting right up in Mark’s face.
“Now call your daddy, prick face, and tell him you need a ride. That should go over real well.”
I step around him and stride toward my bike, pausing when I pass Maverick. He leans against his Harley, his arms crossed against his chest.
“What the fuck was that?” he growls.
I shrug.
I won’t apologize.
“I’ve got four sisters, man. I’m just doing what I would’ve done if it were one of them who got their heart broken tonight.”
Oddly enough, that’s a lie. I’ve seen my sisters through heartbreak, and I’ve never slashed any tires before tonight.
But for some reason, I just couldn’t help myself.