Page 2 of Property of Blade (Kings of Anarchy MC: Alaska #1)

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Blade

I t’s the early hours of the morning, the time when the world is still asleep, and the streets are silent and empty.

But we’re not normal people, and we don’t sleep like they do.

We stand here in the cold, my sergeant at arms, Fury, and my enforcer, Ranger, waiting by the inlet.

The boat is still not here, and the air bites at my skin, sharp and bitter.

It doesn’t bother us—we’re used to it. But Ranger and I step closer to Fury.

He’s always running hot, his body a furnace, even in these freezing temperatures.

“I don’t like this,” Ranger mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flicker back and forth, darting between the shadows, searching for movement. His head tilts slightly to the side as if trying to catch every sound, every breath of wind.

There’s a slight change in the air, a shift in the scent.

Ranger freezes for a split second, his nose scrunching, his eyes narrowing, honing in on something in the distance.

Instinctively, his body lowers, crouching, a predator waiting to strike.

But then it’s gone, the moment passing. He straightens up, exhaling slowly, but the tension never quite leaves him.

His body is still coiled, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

“Will you calm the fuck down?” Fury mutters, nudging Ranger with his elbow. “You’re making me nervous.”

“We should’ve kept making the booze ourselves,” Ranger grumbles, his voice low and thick with frustration.

Exhaling, I scan the inlet ahead, my eyes shifting from the dark horizon to the silent shoreline.

The boat is still not here, but I can feel its presence, the weight of it as if it’s hovering just beyond the edges of the night.

The darkness presses in, making it harder to see, but I know it’s close. I can almost hear the engine humming.

“We didn’t have enough, and this will fill the orders,” I say, my voice steady, though there’s a flicker of unease gnawing at me. I’m trying to sound confident, but there’s a heaviness in my chest that won’t go away. Something doesn’t feel right.

Alcohol, like everything else here, costs more than it does in the lower forty-eight.

The price we charge may seem steep to outsiders, but for us, it’s survival.

Out here, everything is tougher, harsher, more isolated.

It’s why we’ve turned to bootlegging. The regulars are always buying, but the summer crowds are thinning, and we’re running low on supply.

This shipment should’ve been here sooner, but now, with the cold creeping in, it’s the last chance we’ve got to fill orders for the locals who depend on us.

I glance over at Ranger. He’s still stiff, his eyes locked on the water, every ripple a potential threat.

“You think they’re coming?” His voice is edged with doubt, uncertainty curling through his words.

His fingers tap against his thigh in that restless rhythm. He’s waiting for the boat as if it’s his lifeline, but he can’t seem to settle into the wait. His nerves are getting the best of him, and I don’t blame him. We’re all on edge.

I turn my gaze back to the water. The darkness is swallowing the inlet, the line between the shore and the open sea growing blurrier by the second. The air feels colder, the night itself is closing in, but I know they’re close. I can feel it in my gut.

“Can’t you feel it?” I murmur, my voice low but sure. “They’re five minutes out. Hell, can’t you hear the engine?”

A distant hum, the faintest whisper of an engine, breaks through the stillness. It’s coming. We’ve been waiting too long, but now it’s here, just as I knew it would be.

Ranger tilts his head, his eyes scanning the still waters again as if he’s hoping the boat will simply appear on its own. Fury, standing off to the side, is grinning like he’s just waiting for the perfect moment to crack a joke.

“Even I can hear it. You’re slipping, old man.” Fury’s voice carries that familiar teasing tone, and I can see Ranger stiffen out of the corner of my eye.

Ranger’s eyes flash, his teeth flashing white in the dim light as his jaw tightens. “Who you calling ‘old man?’ ” he growls, stepping a little closer, tension coiling in his stance.

Fury chuckles, the sound low and mocking. “Your kind is so fucking sensitive. Like I said before, calm the fuck down.”

I let out a sigh and rub the back of my neck.

Fury is grinning now, clearly enjoying this, and I can already feel the heat rising in Ranger’s chest. Dammit, I should’ve known better than to bring these two together.

Fury likes to stir up trouble, and Ranger has that instinct to snap at anything that feels off.

Every.

Time.

“Enough,” I snap, my voice firm and cutting through the air, a whip’s crack.

Ranger doesn’t need to be told twice. His shoulders drop, the tension easing from his stance, but I can still see the irritation flicker in his eyes. He hates being pushed, but he knows when to back down.

“Here they come,” I say, nodding toward the horizon, where a faint light is finally beginning to show through the darkness.

Ranger’s fists unclench, Fury straightens, and they are back to being the men I need them to be instead of their constant bickering.

The boat pulls up to the end of the dock, the engine sputtering to a stop as it creaks against the wooden posts. A man jumps off and strides toward us, his boots thudding heavily on the planks.

“You got the cash?” he asks, his voice rough but sure.

I match his gaze. “You got our goods?”

“Yeah,” he grunts. “They’ll unload it as soon as we get paid.”

“Doesn’t work that way,” I retort, my voice cold. “Put it on the dock, and you’ll get your money.”

The man spits into the water, his eyes narrowing as he considers me.

Without a word, he turns and walks back to his boat, his silhouette disappearing in the dim light.

Moments later, three other men appear from the shadows and begin unloading the crates.

The sound of the cargo hitting the wooden dock echoes in the still night air.

They take thirty minutes, but when they’re finally done, and I’ve counted all the goods, their leader jumps off the boat, and I hand him an envelope sealed tight with cash.

He holds it up, then waves it in the air with a grin. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Aren’t you going to count it?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, not entirely trusting this piece of shit.

He shakes his head, his lips curling into a smirk. “Nah, I trust you.”

But it’s then I hear it—the subtle click of a gun being cocked. My body tenses, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. These bastards are going to try to fuck us over.

I step forward, closing the distance between us until I’m an inch away from him.

My voice is low, menacing. “Don’t do it. Tell your men to stand down, or you won’t live to see the dawn.”

He smiles, a mocking tilt of his lips, and shrugs, trying to play it cool. “There are only three of you and four of us.”

Before he finishes, the air cracks with the sound of a shot.

I don’t hesitate. My head slams into the man in front of me with a sickening crunch, and from the way he drops, with blood spurting from his nose and dull eyes, I know he’s dead.

I barely register the pain as I move, my body already in motion, vaulting over the crates of booze, a predator on the hunt.

Fury is a blur of motion, too fast to track.

His fists are hammering into one guy’s face, the blows coming so fast that all I can see is a mess of blood and broken bone.

Ranger is already on the move, and I don’t need to look to know he’s got blood on his hands—he’s always the first to draw crimson.

I stalk toward the last man standing. His mouth hangs open, his eyes wide with panic as he watches Fury, his shotgun wavering uselessly in his hand. Ranger is creeping up behind him, the glint in his eyes unmistakable—he’s hungry for blood.

I raise a finger, signaling Ranger to hold back. The man with the shotgun shifts his gaze from Fury to me, his finger twitching on the trigger. I hold his gaze, my own cold and unblinking. Ranger halts his approach, but the tension is thick in the air.

“Do you want to live?” I ask, my voice a low growl.

“Tell him to stop!” the man begs, his voice shaking.

I don’t take my eyes off him, but I can hear Fury’s fists still relentlessly pounding into the other guy’s face. My gaze flicks to Fury, and I speak again, my tone sharper, more commanding.

“Fury.” He doesn’t stop. I can still hear the sickening thud of his fists. “Fury,” I repeat, my voice more forceful this time as I stare at him.

Fury halts his assault, the guy crumpling in front of him, his face unrecognizable. I nod, and Fury steps back, still panting with rage. He has blood speckled over his face and is grinning like a madman.

“Nobody fucks with the Kings,” Fury states.

The man with the shotgun is trembling, but the terror in his eyes tells me he’s not sure if we’re about to kill him or let him walk away. Either way, he knows this is the last chance he’s getting to make the right choice.

I keep my eyes on the guy as his hands shake, the gun still in his grasp. His voice wavers, full of desperation as he tries to justify himself. “I didn’t want any part of this, but my girl is pregnant and—”

“We don’t care.” My voice is flat, emotionless, as cold as the water beneath us. My fingers twitch at my side, itching for the gun I keep hidden under my coat, but I don’t reach for it. Not yet. “Put the gun down.”

He hesitates, looking from the weapon to me, back and forth, weighing his options. It’s obvious he’s too scared even to think straight. His breath comes in shallow gasps. Finally, the gun drops from his hand with a clatter, the metallic sound sharp in the night.

As he straightens, his fear doesn’t fade—it intensifies. Ranger steps up behind him, his large hands landing on the guy’s shoulders, and the man screams, the sound ragged and broken.