Maddox

I left her to get ready. I hoped she’d listen about not going out without me. But I was deeply worried. Maybe yesterday’s shit with The Hawks would be enough to convince her.

But I was worried she was way too stubborn and sheltered to really understand.

Just like Olivia.

I heard Tracy moving around the house and I thought about the night before. Every fucking part of me was hers.

I should have stopped this, but now it was too late. I wanted her with me. And I had to keep The Hawks away from her. Keeping her near me was the only way.

And teaching them a fucking lesson. That had to be done.

I was about to leave, to do just that – find the damn Hawks – when I heard Sarge bark. I turned, and he was trying to make his way to me, slowly, down the driveway to me and my bike.

“You going to the club?” He always asked that same question.

“No.”

“They have to be brought in on this. Three Hawks show up here, mess with our Tracy.”

“Our Tracy?”

“Yeah, she’s a part of this family as sure as I can see. And the MC is a part of this family. They’d want to know. They’d help. You need the club right now.”

“I’m going to handle this on my own. This time I saw faces.”

“Which is why the MC would help.”

“I’ve got a personal score to settle.”

“You can’t keep shutting the club out. That’s the problem.”

“No, the problem is the club. Do you think Olivia would have been shot in the head if you or I were bankers?”

“No.”

“So, your advice is to get deeper, incite a war? When I know who was responsible?”

“You don’t do this shit alone.”

“It’s the only way to take care of it.”

“That’s not going to work,” Sarge said.

I didn’t want to hear any more. I left him in front of the house still pleading his case to go through the MC. To ask my brothers to step in.

I didn’t want to hear it. I’d heard it a million times before with him.

I got on my bike and revved the engine. Sarge wanted me to take shit to Church, get a vote, negotiate. I had other ideas.

Jonesy C, the Devil’s Hawk who’d shot my sister, and messed with Tracy, was going to die. He’d earned it, and I’d do it nice and quiet.

I rode off and left Sarge in the dust.

I’d done my research. I’d had Jen look up Kenneth Charles Jones’ address, the one he’d given his parole officer.

I knew where he was crashing these days. I was going on my own.

I’d overlooked Jonesy C in my search to find who shot Olivia. He’d just got out of prison so he’d flown under my radar, but now he was out. After last night I had no doubt he was the one who’d shot Olivia and now he’d tried to fuck with Tracy.

Jonesy C had a rap sheet that included sex trafficking, domestic abuse, drug dealing, and armed robbery. He was a fucking stain and I was going to get rid of it.

I showed up to the address I’d got for his most recent crash pad.

He was staying at shitty duplex about an hour out of Port Az. It was well outside of Saint territory.

His bike was outside. I recognized it from last night. It was the only bike out front, so I believed luck was on my side. He was alone.

I didn’t wait to be let in.

I kicked in the door of his apartment and he was there, sleeping it off on the ugly couch.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

He scrambled up and I didn’t give him a chance.

I swung first, and it landed good and hard. Jonesy reeled backward and knocked a shitty painting off the wall.

He stayed up though and swung back. He landed one on my cheekbone. I felt the flesh open and hot blood trickle out.

It didn’t stop me though. I swung again.

I kicked him in the ribs and he fell to the carpet. I pounced on him and leaned down to his ear to make it perfectly clear.

“This is what you get if you fuck with my woman, my family, my home, or my club.”

“Fuck you,” came out of his mangled mouth. I nudged him with my boot.

Then I stopped. Something stopped me. I thought about what Sarge had said. Doing this on my own may not start a war as fast as if I’d done this with the MC, but it would start a war.

I could finish him right now for what he’d done, but Tusker, Pecker, and a dozen more like him would slither out to avenge him.

I stood up. I questioned myself, and felt indecisive for the first time since Olivia had been shot.

For a second, I showed mercy. But it didn’t last more than a second.

Jonesy got up fast and lunged at me again. This time he had a knife. Either he’d had it hidden on the floor or in a boot. Either way, I’d given him time to find a knife, thanks to my indecision.

He tried to sink the knife into my neck. I dodged it. But not completely. It jabbed in under my collarbone. The pain was searing. My arm was useless at my side.

I struggled to my feet, but he was going in again with his fucking blade and on my left side where he’d just stabbed.

It was looking shitty for me, but at least it would be fast. This fucker had been inside; he knew how to do maximum damage with a small blade. A knife to the throat wasn’t the worst way to go but I’d fight like a rabid dog to the end.

Then the shot rang out. Plaster from the ceiling rained down on us.

The gunshot stopped Jonesy in his tracks.

I turned to look at the source of the shot.

Sarge. It was fucking Sarge and he’d brought his piece.

“Hands up asshole,” Dad said to Jonesy and he complied.

“Drop the fucking knife too,” Dad said in a voice that didn’t allow for any argument.

“Stay away from us. I mean it,” I added to Jonesy. I was serious about this warning; I thought that was fucking clear. He didn’t reply.

Sarge stood firm and kept the gun on Jonesy.

At that moment, it was easy to see the Sarge that founded The Dark Saints and did two tours in Vietnam. He was back, he was armed, and he was pissed.

“My club is going to hear about this.”

“The Hawks can suck my dick,” said Sarge. Then gave me a sidelong look.

“He’s the one who shot Olivia?” I nodded.

For a moment we stood there, frozen in sweat, blood, and adrenaline.

Then Sarge spoke up. “This one is for my Sunflower.”

He squeezed the trigger and Jonesy C’s head brains exploded all over the wall.

I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing. And I couldn’t move.

It was Sarge who shook me out of it.

“Look outside. See if we woke any neighbors.”

This was a crappy area. There were vacant houses on both sides of the duplex.

I looked around. The commotion hadn’t so much as opened one door. The residents were apparently used to gunfire or they were smart enough to stay hidden when it started.

Dad had out his cell phone and was giving orders.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up this mess.”

It was easy to forget that the man in the scooter, the man who needed oxygen to walk to the backyard, the man who sat and read to my sister with tears in his eyes, was the man who founded The Dark Saints. But that man was in plain sight at this moment.

“You see keys anywhere? And maybe some sheets?”

“What?”

“We’re going to take him for a ride. We don’t want anyone to visit until we’ve got this cleaned up.”

Sarge was stone cold.

“You say he shot Olivia?”

“Yeah.”

“Then he deserves what he got. Pull my pickup around back and put him in there. Add some lawn furniture too.”

“What?”

Sarge looked at me. It was all clicking in.

“You want to do time for this, asshole? Cause I don’t.”

Sarge made a phone call.

“Bear. Yeah, I’ve got a cleanup job. Dugger still on retainer? Good. Yeah, probably. I’ll let him fill you in later.”

Sarge gave the address.

“You’re going to have to explain this.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you put this in motion without Church. I’m just cleaning it up.”

“You didn’t enjoy doing that?”

“I’m not happy, but I’m satisfied. And if someone has to do time for killing this scumbag, I want it to be me. Though I have every confidence Dugger will clean this up right.”

I’d wanted vengeance for so long that I’d thought I’d feel relief knowing that the scum who shot my sister was dead.

But I was numb. And I was doing what Sarge said, to the letter. The realization that he knew exactly what do was alternatively calming and terrifying. I’d do as he instructed and hope that he wouldn’t have to pay the price for the wheels I’d set in motion today.

It wasn’t an easy thing, moving a body, but I did as fast and cleanly as possible.

Sarge hobbled out to the truck. He’d be driving it. I’d be following on my bike.

“Don’t follow too close. We’re going to the beach.”

He wasn’t talking about the beach near our house. He was talking about a protected wetland that served The Saints for our darkest purposes.

“Can you drive?” I asked him, and he nodded. I helped him into the truck. We needed to get back to the house. He needed his oxygen.

But the trip home was going to be delayed.

I had forgotten for a moment that I had been stabbed. My arm was tight, but it wasn’t limp. I could move it.

As we drove, hauling our rotting Hawk, I kept an eye out for cops. Eventually we made it to the beach. The spot we used was behind state protected lands. It was beautiful really, but because it was protected, no one came here, ever.

Except for The Saints.

It was daylight, but the bluff doubly protected us from sight. We were miles outside of Port Azreal. The trail to the north led to the dunes, which were too high up for anyone to see from the main road. No one ever came out this far. It was desolate and quiet. Fitting, since to The Saints, it was a graveyard.

I was able to get Jonesy out of the truck but then there was the problem of my stabbing. I could haul with one arm, but I couldn’t dig.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.”

A car drove up. By Sarge’s demeanor, I could see he knew who this was.

A skinny figure emerged.

Shit. Fitzie, the probie. He was there with a shovel and a serious attitude.

“Start digging there, kid.” Sarge pointed to a spot.

“Did you need to call Fitzie?” I said under my breath. I was concerned that too many people knew what had gone down. It was only Sarge and me in the room but Bear, Dugger, and now Fitzie were in on a revenge that was supposed to just involve me.

“It’s a probie job. And if he wants to get that patch, he keeps his mouth shut.”

The rules of the club were set in stone, in large party by Sarge. I wasn’t to question those rules and Fitzie certainly wasn’t. This was exactly the kind of job that turned a probie into a full member. When you did something for the club, unflinching, because the Prez or Church determined it had to be done, that was when we knew you were for real.

Fitzie was proving an apt pupil. I watched as he shoveled. For a wiry kid, he was strong, and fast. I didn’t regret that Jonesy C was dead. That brought me a cold satisfaction. Almost as much as if I’d pulled the trigger. And maybe it was right that Sarge had. Olivia was just as important to him.

It took just over an hour to bury this busted bird. I wasn’t going to cry about it, yet I was still unsettled. Nothing had gone down like I had expected.

In the hour it took to bury the evidence, Sarge got grayer, more tired, and shockingly depleted. The killing might well kill him.

I was worried.

I no longer had revenge burning in my gut.

But there was something else, dread.