Page 38

CROAK

T he Louisiana air stuck to my skin. It was humid, thick, and ripe with something rotten underneath. I hated this town. It reeked of blood and ghosts, but that didn’t bother me. I’d left bigger skeletons behind. Ghosts were nothing compared to the shit I carried with me. It was the smell of Bastards that annoyed me.

They called me Croak. I was considered a Nomad for the Bloody Scorpions although I wasn’t loyal to anybody. Since I’d arrived, they’d had me doing all the dirty work. I didn’t really get along with anyone, so I kept to myself.

Trust me, it was better that way.

It was probably because they all knew I was a murderer. Not that I cared what label people slapped on me, long as they said it with respect, or fear. Either worked just fine. I suppose what I had done, gained me some respect.

Nevada was dust in my rearview. Blood on the floor of a pretty suburban home still probably haunted some poor local cop, no doubt. They’d found pieces of the scene, bits left behind. A blood-soaked carpet. A shoe. No bodies. Just enough to make people wonder. A neighbor swore she saw a motorcycle parked outside the night it all went down.

Shame. That guy should have never tried to steal from the Bloody Scorpions. And it was also a shame his family walked in right as I put a bullet in his head. His kid shouldn’t have come at me with that bat. He went down with one sharp knife blow, digging through the main artery on his neck.

A bloody fucking mess.

Then there was the wife and daughter. Fuck. No one told them to be so fucking pretty, especially the girl. I’d had fun with her, my cock buried as I her pussy tightened around it just as I choked the life out of her. Her bitch mother got on my nerves. I finished off inside her and then put a bullet in the back of her head.

But that was then. And I’d moved on.

Here in New Orleans, I kept my head down just enough not to attract heat, but not so low anyone mistook me for weak. That was the trick of survival in the Scorpions. Walk the razor’s edge between invisible and feared. Keep your blade sharp, your lies sharper, and make damn sure nobody gets close enough to see how broken you really are.

I’d just left Brewer, the current President of the Bloody Scorpions, and the old bastard was wasting oxygen. He was weak and too old. Too fucking cautious. Sitting on his leather throne like he was untouchable, when half the club whispered about his time coming to an end. The man still clung to his patch like it meant something in this new world, while I was out here doing the dirty work, keeping the blood flowing.

What pissed me off more was hearing that Tadeo Reyes was being considered for the title next. That slick motherfucker and his pet lapdog Cesar Dominguez. Always playing clean. Always kissing Brewer’s ass. But I’d deal with them later. At the moment, I had more personal matters to tend to.

I lit a cigarette outside a shitty dive bar off Decatur, leaned on my bike, and watched the street where she lived.

Natalia Ramirez.

The one who didn’t know her place yet. The one who needed to be taught who she belonged to.

I’d been watching her for weeks, always from the shadows. Close enough to see the soft sway of her ass under those tight little scrubs. Close enough to fantasize about her lips wrapped around something other than a smile. She didn’t know what I was capable of. Not yet.

“Gnash,” I grunted at the dumbass prospect beside me. He looked like a drowned rat, all wiry limbs and jittery hands. Louisiana local with a New Orleans drawl so thick half the time I didn’t understand a goddamn word he said.

“Y’uh?” he mumbled, slouching against the fence.

“See that house?”

“Y’uh,” he mumbled again.

“That pretty little nurse lives there. She’s going to be my Old Lady.”

He blinked, confused. “Are you sure? Cause I heard she was fuckin’ one of them Bastards, boss. The Tick Tock one. Big, mean lookin’ motherfucker.”

I turned slow, letting my stare drill through him. “Tick Tock,” I repeated with venom. “Sarge at Arms, yeah, I know him. What have you heard?”

Gnash gave a nervous laugh. “That man’s a crazy one. They say he once beat a man with a crowbar then used the same bar to brand him. That’s wild shit, man.”

“So, what’s that got to do with me?”

“Nothin…I’m just sayin’ he’s got one helluva body count.”

I was in his face before the sentence finished, one hand wrapped tight in his collar. “I ain’t afraid of fuckers like him. Understand?”

“Yessir,” he croaked, wide-eyed.

I shoved him back and straightened my jacket. “Tick Tock’s just a man. And like all men, he’s got a weakness. Her .”

Gnash rubbed his neck and looked over at Natalia’s house. “What’s the plan?”

“She’s going to know what it feels like to lose everything. Just like I will when I gut Reyes and Dominguez.”

“Whoa… we goin’ after the top now?” Gnash asked, brow furrowed.

I sneered. “Not yet. Let the sons of bitches get comfortable. I’m patient. I’ll cut their throats while they sleep.”

I stepped forward, my voice low, dark and heavy like a loaded chamber. “Natalia though…I’ll take what’s most precious to her. To him . Tick Tock has to learn what it means to touch what doesn’t belong to him. And when he loses it, when he breaks, I’ll be there. Watching with a big smile on my face. Ready to end him and I’ll make sure she’s watching.”

Gnash shifted, glancing at me like he wasn’t sure if I was joking. I wasn’t.

“And Reyes?” I added with a wicked grin.

“He’s next. Right after I deal with Tick Tock. I’ve got more than patience. Soon as he’s named Prez, I’ll cut out his eyes and then burn the patch right off his chest. The club won’t know what hit it when I announce I’ve taken the title.”

Gnash licked his lips, his eyes growing wide. “And me, boss?”

I clamped a hand on his shoulder with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “You, Gnash? You’re my right hand. My VP, of course.”

He lit up like a firework, pride puffing his chest. But what he didn’t know is that I planned to gut him like a pig the second he outlived his usefulness.

But for now...

“Grab the van,” I said. “We’re takin’ the kid.”