Page 4

THREE

SHOTGUN

I feel like I’m suffocating, and while I want to blame it on the fact I’m driving Jade’s truck and I don’t remember the last time I was behind the wheel of anything, I can’t be too sure. I sneak a glance in the rearview mirror, eyeing Legend as he stares mindlessly out the window. I’m worried about him. Raiden doesn’t get what has happened, but being a little older, Legend understands more, and I get the sense he has questions he’s too afraid to ask.

Questions I’ll be tasked to answer when he’s older.

Until then, I’m not sure how to proceed, and I don’t feel comfortable discussing it with Jade. At least not yet. She only just started speaking to me after avoiding me like the plague. I get it, though. She wishes it were me being buried today and looking at my mug only stands as a reminder that she’s not.

I probably should’ve given her the space she desires by letting one of the prospects drive her and the kids to the cemetery, but I selfishly wanted them close to me.

“Is this it?” she asks as the hearse rolls to a stop in front of us. I turn to her, watching as her fingers twist the hem of dress. It’s a nervous habit of hers. If she weren’t wearing a dress, she’d be tugging the sleeves of her shirt over her hands and twisting them. I used to tease her about it when we were younger.

That seems so long ago.

Clearing my throat, I glance out the window. Biggie dismounts from his bike, and signals for the rest of our chapter to do the same before they head for the back of the hearse to carry the casket containing Irish’s remains to the plot we purchased yesterday.

I turn back to Jade. “Yeah, it’s just up that hill.”

My gaze darts to the designer heels she’s wearing, and I frown. In the years since she and Irish married, her style has evolved. She went from being the girl who favored the latest pair of Jordans, vintage band tees, and baggie jeans with cuts in the knee that always rode low on her hips, to a woman who gets her hair blown out twice a week and wears six-inch heels and outfits that cost more than my rent. Both versions are beautiful, but I wish the practical girl from apartment B4 showed up today. The ground is soft from all the rain we had yesterday, and there’s no way those heels are making it up that hill.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”

My eyes snap up to hers. “You don’t happen to have another pair of shoes in your trunk, do you?”

Her brow furrows. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”

“Nothing, aside from the fact you’re not making it up that hill in those things.”

She purses her lips, popping her seatbelt free. “Watch me.”

Right. In doing my best to avoid spending any time alone with Jade, I forgot how fucking stubborn the woman is. Not looking to aggravate her on what will likely be the most emotional day of her life, I bite the inside of my cheek.

She opens the passenger door, and gets out, going right to the back seat to help Raiden out of his booster seat. I kill the engine on the truck and go to do the same with Legend, but the kid is quick to exit the truck on his own. I hit the lock button on the fob, and shove the keyring inside the inner pocket of my kutte.

“Is she going to fall or something with her shoes?” Legend asks as we round the back of the truck, walking side by side.

I glance down, laying my hand on his shoulder. His concern for mom is palpable. The kid just lost his dad, and he doesn’t understand why. It’s not unnatural for him to fear something is going to happen to his mother too.

“No, we won’t let her.” I give his shoulder a squeeze.

“How?” Legend asks.

My gaze cuts to Jade, as she quietly talks with Raiden.

“Well, we’ll just have to stick close and catch her if she starts to stumble.”

“But you’re bleeding, What if you’re not quick enough?” he asks, his big, brown eyes narrowing at the blood stains on the gauze circling my wrists.

It’s easy for me to ignore them. I’ve gotten used to the burning and stretching sensation, but every little movement makes the skin rip open under the bandages and I bleed. It’s more annoying than it is painful at this point because it’s prohibiting me from riding. But I get how the sight of my wrists could scare a little kid.

“That’s why I said we .” I crouch down to make myself eye level with him. “Remember what I told you back at the clubhouse when your mom was getting Raiden dressed?”

His tongue sneaks out and wets his lips as he nods. “I’m the man of the house now.”

“That’s right. Do you remember what else I said?”

“You promised to always be there for me and Raiden, and mom too. But on the days when you can’t, I need to step up and help mom out.” He pauses for a beat. “It’s like my football team. Sometimes we tap in other players on the team to make a play.”

“It’s exactly like that.”

“So we’re a team? You, me, Raiden, and Mommy?”

I swallow thickly, wondering what Irish would think of me infiltrating my way into his family. I want to believe this is what he had in mind when he asked me to look after them, but it still feels like I’m doing something wrong.

“Yeah, bud. Is that okay with you?”

He seems to give it some thought before holding up his pinky finger. “It is if you promise not to die like daddy did.”

Fuck.

I don’t know if that’s something Irish or I considered when he was knocking on death’s doorstep. Neither of us anticipated our brothers would elect me to take his place as vice president of the club. At least I sure as fuck didn’t. I suppose it’s fitting, though, as I’ve always been two steps behind Irish, standing in the shadows.

I’m not saying my new rank makes me more of a target, but the club is in a bad place. More blood will be shed—there’s no way around it. I don’t want to make a promise to the kid that I can’t keep.

I stare into his wide, expectant eyes, and against my better judgement, I wrap my pinky around his.

“Promise,” I rasp.

“Legend,” Jade calls. “Come hold Mommy’s hand.”

He gives my pinky a final tug, then releases it.

“Duty calls, kid,” I say as I straighten to my full height. He salutes me, then turns and rushes for his mom. I stare at the three of them for a beat. Jade in those ridiculous heels that are already sinking into the wet Earth, and the two boys—one dressed like a mini rapper going to an awards show, and the other in jeans, and his daddy’s kutte that is impossibly too big for him, the Kings Of Anarchy patch on his back. Then I turn my head and watch as my brothers lift the casket from the hearse.

Part of me wants to join them, but a bigger part knows my place is with his family.

Two steps behind, standing in the shadows.

Waiting to catch them if they fall.

The procession makes it way up the hill, pausing to give the guys a moment to situate the casket. As we all stand there waiting, Jade’s heels sink into the grass. If I wasn’t worried my wrists would split open entirely, I’d carry her the rest of the few feet.

Jersey pushes Irish’s mother’s wheelchair up to the grave site, and Jade goes to follow but her shoes get stuck as she tries to take a step. I’m about to bend down and pull the heels out of the mud when she releases Legend’s hand and takes the shoes off her feet. She doesn’t even bother to pick them up, she just takes her boys’ hands and marches the rest of the way up the hill barefoot.

“That woman is a force,” Guido says lowly from beside me. “Barefoot in a cemetery, burying her ol’ man. Makes me wish I had an ol’ lady that loved me half as much as she loved him.”

“Loves,” I correct, my jaw clenching.

He turns to face me, his brows drawn tight. “Huh?”

“Just because he’s dead don’t mean her love for him died with him.”

I grab her shoes and proceed to follow her up the hill. Guido parks Irene’s chair next to Jade, and I stand close behind as the traditional Catholic service begins—a nod to Irish’s mom, and the religion she tried so hard to instill in her son.

I try to follow along, but my eyes keep darting to Jade’s bare feet, all covered in dirt and grass clippings. Foolishly, I glance around the cemetery like a pair of women’s flats are going to miraculously drop from the fucking sky. Grinding my molars, my gaze lands on one of the prospects who looks to be playing with his fucking hands instead of paying attention to the priest.

“Skid,” I growl.

He doesn’t acknowledge me, so I call him again, this time a little louder which effectively causes Jade to turn and glare at me. Ignoring her, I stalk over to Skid, smacking my hand against his chest. He startles, lifting his hand to pull out an ear bud.

What a disrespectful little shit.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Come again?”

Gritting my teeth, I pluck at the cotton under his leather vest. “Your shirt. Take it the fuck off.”

“Brother, we’re at a funeral.”

“And you’ve got fucking Air Pods in your ears. Lose the shirt.”

He stares at me wide-eyed for a beat, then shrugs off his kutte. I grab it from him, waiting as he pulls the shirt over his head.

“Now what?”

I hand him back the kutte and take the shirt before I turn back to where Jade is standing, glaring at me.

“Are you done causing a scene?” she hisses.

Guido hit the nail on the head when he said she’s a force.

Holding her shoes in one hand, I use my other to shake out the shirt, laying it on top of the grass in front of her. My eyes take notice of the pale pink polish on her toes before I pop up and resume my position behind her. Heat creeps up the back of my neck as I feel the heavy weight of everyone’s stare.

She glances down at the shirt, then steps forward, placing her feet over it. Turning her head, her eyes find mine over her shoulder, and she whispers, “Thank you.”

But when the words hit my ears, it’s Irish’s voice I hear.

After the burial, the visiting chapters returned to our clubhouse, and some of the presidents sat down with Biggie, offering their assistance with the war. Some offered weaponry, others offered manpower. It was generous of them, but before we could take them up on any of it, we needed a plan of attack, and Biggie owed me a sit down.

The last few days have been chaotic, but now, with Irish laid to rest, and the other Kings on their way home, it was time to get down to business. The club couldn’t stay on lockdown forever, and I was hungry for revenge.

“Hey, Shotgun, I’m heading out,” Bella says, diverting my attention from the beer I just opened. Guido stands closely behind, his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes stuck on his boots.

Once upon a time their parents dated each other, and after they broke up, Guido and Bella remained friends. A couple of years ago, Bella became a trauma nurse, and every once in a while, when mayhem strikes, Guido calls on Bella. She’s removed a bullet from Stacks and stitched almost every guy here. Us Kings have a soft spot for the girl.

“Club is still on lockdown.”

Guido lifts his head, meeting my gaze. “She’s got a shift at the hospital.”

I nod. “I assume you’re going to stick around there then.”

“That’s the plan.”

Normally Bella would argue, but I think she’s shaken up by Irish’s death. She points to my left wrist. “Do you want me to change the bandages before I go? They look like they’re starting to bleed again.”

I glance at the gauze and shake my head. “I’ll be fine, babe. Appreciate you.”

“Okay, well, Jade went to put the boys to bed so I didn’t get to say goodbye. I told Guido, but it’s worth repeating—if she needs any help, I’m just a phone call away.”

“Thank you, Bells. I be sure to pass the message along.”

She turns to Guido. “Am I allowed to drive my car or am I riding on the back of your bike in my scrubs?”

“The wind don’t care what you wear when you ride it, babe,” Guido says as he removes one hand from his pocket and presses against Bella’s lower back. He tips his chin. “See you later.”

Lifting my beer, I tip the neck toward him before bringing it to my lips and taking a long swig. From the corner of my eye I spot Biggie walking toward me. He rounds the bar, tagging a bottle of bourbon from the shelf, then reaches for a glass.

“You want some?”

I shake my head. “I’m good with the beer.”

“Suit yourself.” He starts fixing his drink, dumping a handful of ice into the glass before he fills it generously.

“We need to talk.”

His eyes lift and lock with mine. “It’s been a long day.”

I lean forward, propping my forearms on top of the bar. “Every day is long when you’re at war. You put me at your left, in his chair after I watched him die. I need to know where we go from here, Biggie.”

He stares at me for a beat, his nostrils flaring as he lifts his glass and takes a drink, nearly draining the contents of the glass in one gulp. He sets the glass down and eyes my wrist.

“We don’t go anywhere until you can throttle an engine without bleeding all over your Harley.” He sighs, swiping a hand over his face. “I know that ain’t what you want to hear, but it’s all I got to give right now. I have a meeting with the Mondestino brothers in the morning.”

Vito Mondestino is the head of the Campanello crime family, and his brother Bruno is a foreman at the Longshoreman’s Association. They were the ones seeking control of the Brooklyn Seaport, not us. But in Vito’s quest to expand his territory, he made a deal with the Kings. We supplied him with the weapons his organization used on a raid targeting the Albanians.

We scrub our guns before we deliver them to anyone so I’m not fucking sure how the Albanians tracked them back to us, but when Irish and I went to deliver a new batch to the docks, where Bruno was supposed to be there ready and waiting to collect, we were ambushed.

“I don’t trust the Mondestino brothers as far as I can throw them,” I share. “Our guns were clean, Biggie. There is no fucking way the Albanians could trace them back to us without someone in the Campanello family giving them the intel.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he asks, his tone gravely. “Do you have any idea what we’re looking at if that’s the case? We’re talking about taking out one of the most notorious crime families on the East Coast. I don’t got a problem doing it—but it needs to be executed perfectly, and it can’t be done before we drain them dry of everything they got. I’m anticipating tomorrow’s meeting will result in them giving up the Albanians. The way I see it, they set us up so that we would do their dirty work and take them out.”

I give that some thought. “So the Italians use our guns to kill one of the Albanians’ top guys, and they retaliate by killing Irish.”

“Vito wants Fatmir out of the picture, and he knows a King’s death is always avenged. He cleared the path for us to take out his guy.”

“Fatmir is the leader?”

“Yeah. He’s the one I was negotiating with.”

“That’s not who killed Irish. I told you there were three guys.”

“But he’s the one who ordered the hit.”

I see where he’s going with this, but I feel it necessary to make myself perfectly clear. “You want to take out Fatmir.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”

“I want to take them all out. We don’t get to the masked cunts who killed Irish without Fatmir. They gotta be first, then we take out the rest, including the leader. But it don’t end there, Biggie. I want the fucking Mondestino’s too. Every fucking one of them.”

“Understood, but that’s going to take time. Mondestino played with me, now it’s my turn to play with him. We’re going to do his bidding for him and take out the Albanians just like he planned, all while planning our strike against him.”

Satisfied with that answer, I nod. “One more thing. I don’t care who puts hands on them. I know everyone here wants to avenge Irish’s death, and play their part, but I draw the last breath out of the three men who tortured us, and Fatmir is mine, and mine alone.”

“Then you better get those wrists healed, because I expect you to wreak havoc on those motherfuckers, and in the condition you’re in, you can’t even jerk your own cock.”