Chapter One
Fury
“I love you” is a lie that falls too fucking fast from some people’s mouths. The first time I remember hearing those words was when I witnessed my father hit my mother before bending her over our couch, yanking her dress up, and shoving his dick inside her so hard she screamed louder than I’d ever heard her scream. It had been my sixth birthday. Mum had made pizza for dinner—my favourite—and we’d waited hours for my father to come home from work so we could eat. My stomach ached with hunger by the time he finally turned up. Mum hadn’t been happy about his drunken state and had argued with him about coming home so late on his son’s birthday. My brother and I went to bed hungry that night while our parents fought. I’d crept out hours later for a drink of water and stumbled into the lounge room as Dad yelled something about loving my mother so much that she made him crazy with anger and caused him to do awful things to her. He’d told her his behaviour was her fault. “I love you” was the chaser.
It wasn’t the last time I witnessed that kind of shit from my father. Hell, it wasn’t even close. The very last time he laid a finger on her was the day I turned eighteen. Dad had taught me well when he’d trained me to fight. So well in fact, that I managed to beat him black and blue before dumping him at the front door of the coke dealer he owed thousands to. I knew the guy would put a bullet through his head, saving my mother in the process.
I haven’t bothered with any bullshit “I love you” declarations in my twenty-five years. Not to any women, anyway. I told my mother I loved her, because it was true. But not my brother. Calvin turned out to be a replica of our father. In some ways, we both are. The main difference between us is that Calvin can’t be trusted. He would have screwed over his own mother if he thought he’d benefit from it. And he did. Me? My word can be trusted. I don’t make many promises, but when I do, I make good on them. The other difference between Calvin and me is that I’ll never hurt a woman. She’d have to be coming at me with a weapon to even consider laying a hand on her. And even then, I’d try to disarm her first.
The fact I’ve managed to get myself tied up with a crazy bitch who’s coming at me with a blade while screaming about how much she loves me is mindboggling. I haven’t done anything to encourage her feelings.
“You’re a fucking asshole, Fury,” she screeches while flying across my lounge room, knife in hand, eyes wide with crazy blazing from them.
I step back and raise my hands defensively. “Lynette, put the fucking knife down before this goes somewhere you don’t want it to.” Christ, all I had in mind when I invited her back to my place was a few hours of getting my dick sucked and fucked. Not this fucking drama. She knows better than to think we’ve got something going on just because we’ve screwed a few times. All the club whores do.
Still coming at me, she yells, “I love you, but all you’re interested in is getting laid. I heard all about how you fucked Lola last night and Veronica two nights before that. Why the hell can’t you keep your dick in your pants?”
I clench my jaw. Definitely don’t need this shit tonight.
When she reaches me, I yank the blade from her hand. And when she takes to me with her fists, I quickly put a stop to that, spinning her around and locking her in place with my arm across her chest. Once all her fight is gone, I demand, “You finished?”
Forcing a heavy breath out, she snaps, “No. We had something special—”
“What the fuck makes you think that? We slept together a few times. I made no promises, and neither did you. What’s special about that?”
She wriggles in my arms enough that I let her go. Turning, she shoots me an angry glare. “We slept together seven times over the last few months. Seven! I didn’t think we needed any promises. I thought seven times was enough of one. I just didn’t know what an asshole you are.” With that, she comes at me again, fists smashing against my chest.
Gripping her wrists, I put an end to the assault. “I’m no fucking saint, Lynette. Never told you I was. But check your facts with Lola and Veronica, because they’re feeding you some bullshit. I’ve never touched either of them. Now, I want you out of my house, and I never wanna see you here again. Whatever you thought was happening between us, wasn’t, and never will.”
I let go of her and step away. When she doesn’t move, I bark, “Leave now!”
Her lips flatten as she continues glaring at me for a few last moments. She then picks up her bag and stalks out of my house while muttering some shit I barely bother to listen to.
As the screen door slams shut, my phone rings. Swiping it up off the couch, I snap, “What?”
King’s voice comes on the line. “You wanna try that again?”
“Fuck,” I mutter, raking my fingers through my hair while trying to work some of the irritation out of my system. “What’s up?”
I hope he’s not calling to drag me back out to take care of something for him or Detective Stark. My president may be feeling the heat of working with that bitch, but I’m the one doing most of the dirty work. Normally I don’t care, but I’ve spent three days tracking and dealing with a target for her; I want a night off.
“Need you on something tonight. Meet me at the clubhouse in an hour.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll fill you in when you get there.”
That’s King’s code for one of two things—either he doesn’t have time to discuss it, or he suspects our communications have been compromised. With the shit that’s been going down recently, I figure it’s the latter.
“Be there in twenty.”
So much for a night off. The beer I put in the fridge earlier will have to wait.
Just under twenty minutes later, I enter the clubhouse. It’s fucking rowdy tonight. Football night. Half the club is in the bar watching the game on the TV. Ignoring them, I make my way to King’s office and find him deep in conversation with his brother, Axe, who has been helping the club handle some shit lately.
Axe glances up and gives me a nod as King takes in the cuts and bruises on my face and says, “I take it you sorted that motherfucker out.”
That motherfucker was a scumbag who liked to mix business with the kind of underage pleasure no man has any business touching. Stark wanted him in prison; King managed to convince her he would be a waste of space and taxpayer money. I’m fairly sure King had his own reasons for wanting the guy dead, though, the least of which was what he did to young girls.
“Yeah.” I lift my chin. “What have we got on tonight?”
“Hyde and Nitro picked a guy up this afternoon who Stark has had some issues with. Need you to head over to the warehouse and watch him for the night so I can drop by tomorrow and get some answers from him. I’d do it tonight, but I’ve got family stuff on.”
I remember the days when King stayed out all night taking care of club business if he had to. Not that he doesn’t get shit done now if necessary, but his kids always come first, and that’s something I respect the hell out of.
“What’s the go with him?”
“If you’re asking whether I need him in one piece tomorrow, the answer is yes.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he says, “Stark is fucking squeezing our balls on this one, Fury, so don’t fuck this shit up.”
“Anything else you need?”
“Yeah, some fucking peace and quiet. Tell those assholes to keep the noise down on your way out.”
King doesn’t look the best. Hasn’t for a couple of weeks. And he’s been cranky as fuck lately. None of my business, though. I never get involved in anyone’s shit. Easier to just stick to my own.
Without another word, I leave him and Axe, and head out of the clubhouse. As I pass the bar, I call out, “Keep the noise down. King’s orders.”
Loud grumbling is the only response I get; they’re all too engrossed in the game to give much of a shit.
To say I’m happy King sends me out on jobs mostly by myself is a fucking understatement. Not that I don’t respect my brothers, but I prefer the silence of working alone. That, and the fact I know things won’t be screwed up. Even after six years with Storm, I still only ever count on myself to get the job done right. There’re no fucking surprises in life that way, which is how I like it.
***
Four hours pass without any issues. The guy hasn’t given me much hell. Not that he can. Nitro restrained him so he can hardly move and can’t talk. But he has expressed his anger by making as much noise as possible, and that has grown old fast. I’ve just put him out of his misery with a punch that knocked him unconscious when Devil calls.
“I need a little help, brother. Got a situation at a party that might lead to something. I’m about to go check it out and I want some backup.”
I eye the asshole on the ground. “I’m dealing with something for King. You’ll have to find someone else.”
“No one’s answering their fucking phone. You’re it.”
“Where’s the party?”
He rattles off an address that’s less than ten minutes from where I am, and I figure I can make it work. “I’ll be there in ten.”
“Thanks, man. I’m hoping this is nothing, but if it is something, I wanna deal with it before it turns into a fucking turf war.”
Ten minutes later, I pull up outside the address Devil gave me and find the fucking party of the century in full swing. Teens litter the front yard, spilling out of the large double-storey house. Most of them appear to be either drunk or high. Loud rap music fills the hot summer air, its beat pissing me off. I fucking hate rap music. And I can’t stand wasted teenagers. The sooner we get in and get out, the better.
“What’s the plan?” I ask when I find Devil.
“I got word Ricardo’s dealing here. We’re looking for him.”
“Fuck.” This party is in our territory, and Ricardo isn’t one of our dealers. It’s never been confirmed he works for Black Deeds, but King has always assumed it. If that’s true, Devil’s right about this leading to a turf war.
Devil’s brows rise as he nods. “Yeah.” He glances around at all the kids before eyeing me again. “Look, however we need to do this, we do it, but my preference is not to do it with a heap of kids watching.”
I nod with a “Got it,” before following him inside to search for Ricardo.
Whoever owns this joint needs a lesson in parenting. There’s not one adult in sight. As we make our way through a maze of teens, of which I’m sure the youngest is barely thirteen, my anger grows at the shitty parents who let their child throw this party. I mightn’t be the most upstanding fucking citizen, but no way would I allow this kind of shit to happen under my roof.
A kid runs into Devil, spilling his drink on him. “Sorry, man,” he says, his lack of real care clear in his spaced-out tone.
“Watch where you’re going next time,” Devil says with enough force to catch the kid’s full attention.
He slows so he can take a good look at Devil. “Are you the guy that Ricardo said would be swinging by with some more shit for us?”
“Yeah. Where is he?”
The kid lifts his chin towards the internal staircase. “Upstairs in one of the bedrooms.”
Devil alters course and heads for the stairs. Both of us pick up the pace, taking the stairs two at a time.
It doesn’t take us long to locate the motherfucker. The minute he lays eyes on us, he begins to sweat. His eyes dart between the two of us and the door, and he pushes the two teens in the room with him out.
“Good fucking idea, asshole,” Devil says, closing the door behind them.
“I was just about to leave,” Ricardo starts, tripping over his words.
I move closer to him, my muscles straining for a workout. Glancing at Devil, I ask, “Is in here good for you? Or you wanna move him somewhere else away from the kids?”
Alarm flares on Ricardo’s face and he raises both hands in a defensive gesture. “We can do this here! We don’t need to go somewhere else. I mean, I didn’t realise I’d overstepped—”
I punch him hard in the face without waiting for Devil’s response. As he drops to the ground, I say, “I fucking hate liars, and if you wanna keep lying, I’ll keep going.” I crouch down next to him. “You want me to keep going?”
“Fuck, man! Why’d you have to fucking hit me?” he whines, trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose.
I grip his chin. “I asked you a question, Ricardo. Do you want me to keep going?” I tighten my hold. “Or are you ready to do some straight talking?”
Devil crouches next to me and without waiting for Ricardo’s answer, he looks at me and says, “We’ll do this here.”
Ricardo looks nervously between us. “Do what?”
I don’t answer.
Neither of us do.
I find it fucking hard not to just let loose on him like I know Devil wants me to, but this is the time to draw this shit out. To move him closer to the edge of panic before bringing the kind of hurt down on him that will encourage information out of him and also remind him to never cross Storm again.
Ricardo’s pupils dilate as he babbles through his stress. “Okay, I admit I knew what I was doing. But I had a good reason. You guys are open to good reasons, right? Like, if your sister was sick and you needed cash to pay for—”
I’m done. As far as I’m concerned, there are no good reasons to go against Storm. Grabbing him under his arms, I yank him up and shove him backwards so he hits the wall with a thud. A hard fucking thud that will shock him enough to rattle him further. Before he’s able to get his bearings, I move in and land a string of punches on his face and then his body, knocking him to the floor. Each punch grows more brutal than the one before it. By the time I’m finished with him, Ricardo will pray he never runs into me again. And he’ll sure as fuck never mess with the club again.
Devil’s voice cuts through my focus on beating the shit out of Ricardo. “Don’t go easy on him, brother. King will be pissed if you do.”
There’s no need to worry about me going easy on him. But then again, he hasn’t said that for my benefit, but rather for Ricardo’s. And it works. Within a second of those words leaving Devil’s mouth, Ricardo is begging me to stop.
“Please, man, I won’t do this shit again! I promise!” He loses his shit and attempts to get up, but I place my boot on his chest and press hard to keep him down.
The door to the bedroom opens and the music from downstairs floods the small space. A blonde girl practically falls into the room, slamming the door behind her. She comes to a halt when she spots us. Her gaze quickly flicks from me to Ricardo to Devil, at which point she narrows her eyes and stumbles forward towards us. “Devil?”
Fucking hell. She’s King’s daughter. The one he warned me off months ago at his other kid’s birthday party.
Zara.
“Fuck,” I mutter. This is a complication we don’t fucking need.
“Jesus, Zara,” Devil says as she trips and crashes into me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
I catch her, stopping her fall. For my efforts, I’m rewarded with her throwing up all over me.
“Oh God, I feel so sick,” she mumbles, clutching my shirt and looking like she’s got more in her to share with me.
“No shit,” I say, trying to pry her fingers from my shirt. I’ve removed my foot from Ricardo, but not my attention. He’s taking the opportunity to get up, which I’ll deal with in a moment, but first I want to move Zara to sit on the bed so I can take my vomit-soaked shirt off. Vomit is the one thing I’m not good with; if I don’t get the smell away from me, I’m likely to fucking vomit right alongside her.
“You deal with her,” Devil says. “I’ll deal with Ricardo.”
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