It was after midnight, and Murphy and I were feeling pretty unsettled as we headed into Frazier—a part of Memphis that most people avoided, especially at this time of night. For us, it wasn’t its history of crime, the dilapidated houses, or the graffiti-lined streets of this area that had us feeling uneasy. Hell, we were used to that. Instead, we were concerned about the call, Gus, our club’s president, had gotten from two of our handlers. Apparently, they’d run into some trouble and needed our help, but before they could tell him what was going on, the line went dead. That didn’t sit well with Gus. He was a man who prided himself on knowing what was going on at all times, especially when it came to his club. To make matters worse, it wasn’t the first call he’d gotten over the past few weeks. In fact, there had been several. A couple of our boys had been jumped and robbed while others had come up missing altogether. That shit just didn’t happen. Even though our runners didn’t wear a patch, they were our guys, under our protection, and everyone knew it. Whoever was fucking with our boys knew what they were doing, and there would be hell to pay.

Murphy pulled up to the curb and killed his engine. After I did the same, he turned to me and said, “Let’s go check it out.”

Eager to see what the hell was going on, he got off his bike and started down the dark, abandoned alleyway. As the club’s sergeant-at-arms, it was Murphy’s job to ensure the safety and security of the club, and he took his role seriously. Knowing that two of the men under his watch might be in danger had him on edge. I followed him down the alley, and as we headed further into the thick of darkness, an eerie feeling had me reaching for my .45. Even though we were downtown, it was quiet—too quiet, and only the low hum of rap music could be heard as I pulled my gun out of its holster. Just as we reached the second dumpster, I saw them—Spencer and Mayfield. They were two of our best handlers, and they were both lying on the ground with bullets in their heads. “Fuck.”

Murphy quickly turned, and as soon as he saw our boys on the ground, he roared, “Goddamn it!”

He rushed over to each of them, checking for any signs of life, but it was clear they were both gone. “Murph … we need to call Gus.”

Knowing Gus was going to be on the warpath when he heard the news, Murphy sighed as he reached for his phone. I listened as he described what we’d found, and even though I was standing several feet away, I could hear Gus’s reaction as his voice blared through the other end of the phone. Once they were done talking, Murphy put his burner back in his pocket and said, “Gus is sending Gunner over with a couple of prospects to pick up our boys and clean up this mess.”

I nodded, then started walking further down the alley. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I hoped to find something that might help us figure out who’d killed Spencer and Mayfield. I’d just made it over to Third Street when I saw Boon Franklin sitting in his car. He was one of those guys who was always into something, and when he saw me walking towards him, his face grew pale. In a blink of an eye, he’d started his engine and sped off. Clearly there was something up, so I walked back to Murphy and informed him, “I just saw Boon Franklin parked around the corner, and he took off as soon as he saw me.”

“Boon Franklin? That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. Who’s he running with these days?”

“Not sure. Might be worth finding out because something tells me, one way or another, he’s behind this.”

Turns out I was right.

It hadn’t taken Riggs long to track him down using his cell phone, and once they ran him down, he and Blaze brought him back to the holding room at the clubhouse. Gus left it up to me to find out everything I could about his involvement with Spencer and Mayfield’s deaths. I stood in the corner smoking a cigarette as I watched him whimper and whine like a wounded animal. I’d been working him over for around four hours and he’d yet to talk, but I wasn’t worried. I was just getting started. By the time I’d gotten done with him, he’d tell me exactly what I needed to know. Without moving from my spot, I growled, “I’m not a man who likes to repeat myself, Boon.”

“Then, stop asking me about your boys because I don’t know shit. I swear it.”

I knew he was lying.

“I think you do,” I told him as I tossed my cigarette to the floor and started towards him. Boon was a big guy, at least six foot four and three hundred pounds; he was playing the tough guy, but I knew he was about to break. It was written all over his face.

He grimaced when he noticed me getting closer. “I done told you, asshole. I didn’t knock off your boys.”

“Haven’t you been listening?” I reached my hand into the bucket, and his swollen eyes widened with panic as he watched me pull the rag out of the water. “I never asked you if you killed them. I already know you did. I asked you why.”

With that, I placed the towel across his face, and while he pleaded with me to stop, I reached down for the jumper cables. I tapped them together to check for an active spark before I placed each end on either side of his head. When I pressed them against the rag, a jolt of electricity surged through his temples, making his entire body grow rigid. After several seconds, I removed the cables, and his body fell completely limp. I lowered the rag from his face, and his eyes trained on mine as he watched me place it back in the bucket. My voice was low and firm as I asked, “Why’d you do it, Boon?”

I stood there staring at him for a brief second, but when he didn’t answer, I reached for the rag again. After I placed it over his face, he started to thrash from side to side as he tried to break free from his restraints, but it was no use. He wasn’t going anywhere. Ignoring his attempt to free himself, I reached for the cables again, but stopped when he cried, “I can’t take this shit anymore! Jasper ordered the hit. He’s been the one behind them all.”

And there it was.

Jasper was a local thug who’d been trying to make a name for himself for years. He’d tried everything from pimping out second-rate prostitutes to starting up his own little drug ring out on the East Side. We all knew he was a piece of shit, but since he’d managed to stay out of our way, we left him alone. That was all about to change. I cocked my eyebrow as I looked down at Boon and calmly asked, “And why would he go and do that?”

“I don’t know, man. I swear, I don’t. I just know he’s got something going down. He’s paying big money for every one of your guys we take out,” he rambled.

And the plot thickened.

I lowered the rag back into the bucket and watched as Boon’s shoulders sagged with relief. The man had taken one hell of a beating. Knowing his life was hanging in the balance, he’d done his best to keep his mouth shut about his new connection with Jasper, but in the end, he was just like all the others—he sang like a canary. I left him bound to his chair as I stepped out of the room and went down the hall to find Gus. It was time to tell him what I’d uncovered. As I walked towards my president’s office, I thought about how much my life had changed since the Culebras came knocking at our door.

We’d taken a real hit when they came after our territory. They’d chosen Memphis as their startup location for their new meth lab, hoping to distribute their product throughout the southern region by transporting it down the Mississippi River. When they’d first arrived, they’d made it their mission to wipe out any and all competition, and when they’d set their sights on Satan’s Fury, they’d not only destroyed our diner and garage, but they’d also killed two of our brothers, Runt and Lowball. Runt was a good man, and an even better enforcer. His position in the club wasn’t an easy one, but he’d faced adversity head-on, never letting anything get him down. We all knew he wouldn’t be easily replaced. Unfortunately, the club was under attack, and after we’d learned that Terry Dillion, one of our drug runners, had been aiding the Culebras in their pursuit, we brought him in for questioning. We all knew he had information on the Culebras—information the club needed to take them down, and even though it would mean letting the darkness rise to the surface, I knew I had it in me to make Terry talk. Thankfully, I was right. In a matter of hours, I’d gotten him to provide us with the intel the club needed to bring the Culebras down. By doing so, I’d proven myself worthy as the club’s new enforcer, and since then, I’d done everything in my power to live up to Runt’s legacy