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Chapter Eleven

Touch of the Flu

T hree black cars lined themselves up sideways. The windows totally blacked out. Cyrus stood at the front of his men, but deep down inside he really hated not having Priest to his right. Priest wasn’t just insane and afraid of literally nothing. Priest was smart. He could read a scene, read people and know what to do.

Not that Cyrus didn’t trust any of the other outlaws. Things were different now. He kept a mental card in his head, taking notes.

Linc and Nova, for example. Fuck, look at Slade and Nelle. In fact, Nelle was the reason the mafia showed up in the first place. The mafia wanted Nelle. They killed her other two sisters out of revenge for something their father did. Now all that shit was settled and put behind them.

Slade stood to Cyrus’s right.

“You good?” Cyrus asked.

“It’s all good, Prez ,” Slade said. “Nothing to worry about. I’m here for you. For the club. I’ll take a bullet for you, brother.”

The back passenger door on all three vehicles opened at the same time. SOFRAW made their wall of outlaws, ready for war. Enforcers flanked the left side, ready to fight or kill. Darrow stepped up next to Slade, ready for anything. Monte, Deed, and the prospects flanked the right. Custer and Warren hung back a little, but each old man held a shotgun.

Three people climbed out of the vehicles. The middle car was where Damien stepped from. He stood tall, clean, devilishly evil and handsome. His hair perfectly kept. Facial expression matching. To his left and right were massive bodyguards. Men twice as big as the previous ones.

“You know how we feel about unexpected visits,” Cyrus said.

He stepped toward Damien. The two bodyguards looked ready to pounce.

“Easy,” Damien said to the two men. “Nothing is going to happen here.”

Darrow noted Damien’s slow Russian accent. A very powerful voice.

“You seem to be missing some people, no?” Damien asked Cyrus.

“We call it the Irish flu ,” Cyrus said with a grin. “Ever hear of that?”

“Can’t handle your liquor, huh? Should we pour drinks and see who remains standing?”

“Don’t tempt me, my friend,” Cyrus said. “Or maybe we can get right to the point here. Showing up unannounced. Three vehicles. Blacked out windows.”

“Save the threats, Cyrus,” Damien said. “You knew it was me. And if we wanted to attack, we would have already. We don’t show up and attack.”

Darrow’s jaw tightened. The veiled threats…

“We’re a little busy around here, Damien,” Cyrus said. “Last I checked, our business had been settled. Right?”

“Heard your end of it got messy. You have a rat? You have a guy in a coma? Like I said, you’re missing people… and it’s not from drinking too much…”

“Doesn’t concern you.”

“It actually does,” Damien said. “Let me get us a drink, Cyrus. I have the best vodka in the world. I want you to sip it. Take a drink. Have a drink with me. We haven’t had a moment like that together. It’s a little bit of a tradition for me.”

One snap of his fingers and the bodyguard to Damien’s left hurried to the middle vehicle and reached inside. He emerged with two glasses and a bottle of clear liquid.

The bodyguard poured the drinks. One handed to Damien. One handed to Cyrus.

“Drink,” Damien said to Cyrus.

“You think I’m fucking stupid?” Cyrus growled. “You think I’m going to drink this shit before you do? I don’t have time for this bullshit, Damien. Fuck your vodka. Fuck you for being here. How does that sound?”

Cyrus closed in on Damien. The two bodyguards closed in on Cyrus. Darrow reached for his knife.

“Fuck this, Prez ,” Darrow said.

He stabbed the bodyguard to Damien’s left in the leg. Darrow pulled the knife out right away. The big bodyguard screamed and stumbled and toppled to the ground, but not before Darrow purposely bumped into the guy… for good reason…

Darrow held the bloody knife in his hand, looking at Damien. Damien reached with his right hand and stopped the other bodyguard from attacking.

“I just wanted a drink with a friend,” Damien said.

He downed his glass of vodka and smacked his lips together. Then he smirked at Cyrus.

“How about we get to the point?” Darrow asked, taking charge. “Want me to have our enforcers put your guy into the car?”

“I suppose,” Damien said. “He’s bleeding everywhere. Put him in the trunk. I’ll finish him off later and bury the body.”

The man Darrow stabbed screamed in Russian.

“We share a common problem, Cyrus,” Damien said as Virus, Amos, and Dolph began to drag the Russian bodyguard to the trunk of the middle car.

Darrow played both sides of things. He memorized the license plate of the car. Along with the make and model. He would have preferred to grab the VIN too, but it was okay. He could use this info, along with footage from the cameras… Meanwhile Damien and Cyrus faced each other.

“Your rat problem is out there,” Damien said. “My rat problem ended. A lowlife. Also very low in my organization. Very sad to see. No chance of anything making it to me. But there’s an image to it. Except the detective…”

“He’s dead,” Cyrus said.

“That he is. Rotting and smelling horribly.”

“You found him.”

“That we did. I have to admit, it certainly looks like an awful death. One at the hands of some outlaws…”

“Let me correct you there, Damien,” Cyrus said. “A rat killed the detective.”

Damien nodded. He stroked his perfect chin. “And I suppose this is where I’m going to be told to trust you.”

“You can think and do whatever you want,” Cyrus said. “We’ve got our own issues here to deal with. We had an understanding and that’s that.”

“Perhaps our paths continue to cross for several other reasons,” Damien said. “Do you believe in fate?”

Cyrus grabbed between his legs and tugged. “This is fate. Outlaws make their own roads to ride. Take your vodka and get the fuck off our lot. Don’t show up looking for a fight when a war is ready to break out.”

“You can’t find your rat,” Damien said. “I guess we’ll have to do it for you.”

Damien snapped his fingers and nodded to his remaining bodyguard.

“Fitz wears our patch,” Cyrus said. “We have our ways.”

“And I have mine,” Damien said. “Like you said, why start a fight when there’s a war… right? Small fish to kill in a bigger ocean. I’ll be in touch, Cyrus. I think we can work something out here. Plus, I need confirmation of it all. I need to know if there’s an issue within my organization.”

Damien climbed into his car. Before shutting the door he reached back out and placed the bottle of vodka on the ground. Then all three black cars with the blacked out windows exited the lot.

Darrow, still holding his bloody knife, reached down and grabbed the vodka bottle off the ground using his free hand. He handed the bottle to Cyrus, who promptly slammed the bottle down to the ground, letting it shatter.

“He’s going to find Fitz and torture him,” Cyrus said. “Fitz will chirp. Not that we have any issues with the mafia, but we don’t need any of our secrets out there. Fitz sat at prayer. Fitz voted on a lot of stuff.”

“Fucking rat,” Linc said.

“ Prez ,” Slade said. “What’s next?”

“We might need to call in other charters. Someone better find Fitz. And fucking soon.”

Cyrus looked Darrow.

“I’ll run the plate,” Darrow said. “And I stole the big guy’s wallet. When I stabbed him.”

“Yeah?” Cyrus asked.

“Of course. We’ll have all his info. Damien is going to kill him, but the guy has to have family. Has to know someone. Right?”

“It’s not much, but I’ll take it,” Cyrus said.

“Christ, do we really want a war with the Russian mafia right now?” Slade asked.

The voice of reason. Nobody responded. Darrow needed to seize control of the moment. And fast. He rushed back into the clubhouse to find Mara sipping a glass of water. He grabbed her right arm and pulled her off the barstool.

“We’re leaving, now,” Darrow said. “We’ve got a small window to get out of here.”

“It’s not good, is it?” Mara asked.

“No. It’s not good at all. Your husband is scum.”

“No shit, Darrow. I’ve hated him this entire time.”

Darrow managed to get him and Mara outside and onto his motorcycle. The rest of the guys were already on the move. That was good. It allowed Darrow and Mara to put distance between themselves and the club.

That feeling did not sit well with Darrow. At all. He wondered if what he was doing right now was actually any different than what Fitz had done.

I’m not a rat, Darrow thought to himself as he felt Mara’s grip on him tighten as he picked up even more speed.

I’m… not a rat… but I am being swayed by some pussy… and it’s going to cost me my leather cut and my life.