Page 12 of Ruthless Son

Our drugs were clean, and shipped straight to Mexico, then it was their problem.

But now, it was becoming our problem. And we didn't like problems.

Sly slid a folder down the table toward us, the contents spilling out onto the dark wood. Image after image faced upwards, faces of pale skin and dead eyes, bloody noses and blackened septa.

Whatever the fuck was being added to our coke was burning the users from the inside.

“I wanna know how the fucking hell it’s getting on our streets, who’s dealing?” the prez gritted out. “Sly, what else have you found out?”

The normally jovial man had concern written all over his face, his shoulders hunched over as he rested his elbows on the table. Lines crossed his forehead as he stared into the grains of hardwood as if they were telling him a story. “I’ve got nothing, Prez.” He sighed. “I’ve checked every CCTV camera, I’ve questioned every family member of the deceased, and we have no idea how the drugs are getting in.”

Threads adjusted his collar, fidgeting in his seat and catching my eye. I frowned as he tapped his fingers in a rhythm, a clear sign his thoughts were twisting and turning trying to come up with something just beyond his reach. The man really did love puzzles.

“What about Felix?” he quizzed. Our Mexican counterpart had been reliable for almost a decade, he’d never screwed us over yet.

Cal shook his head. “I’ve been calling, it’s radio silence on his end.”

“Fuck,” I muttered. “That’s not like him.”

“No, it isn’t.” Cal leaned back in his chair, the only one handmade just like the table. It was a throne fit for a king… or the president of an MC. When he leaned back, you couldn’t see the skull etched onto the back, only the engraved crown was visible. If you glimpsed from the corner of your eye, it almost looked like the crown sat upon his head.

It’s probably why he always looked so worried lately, because it’s true what they say, ‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown’. And my president took everything on his broad shoulders—every problem, every issue became his to fix.

And this… this wasn’t just a problem, it was a colossal fuck up.

“Someone’s bringing our own coke back over the border and selling it right under our fuckin’ noses in my own goddamn town… kids…” Cal pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed to the images of the dead youths before him. “I want… no, I need to know how the fuck this is happening.” His arm dropped to the table and picking up one of the pictures, he held it before him. “This kid, his mom packs my old ladies groceries at the mini-mart. Her only son. Fuck. Threads, you’re gonna take a little road trip, it’ll be quicker and easier if you’re in and out as soon as possible. I know you’re sneaky when you want to be—work the finer details out with Kannon.”

Threads sat up straighter, his eyes glinting with the thrill of the chase. “Anything you need, Prez.”

“I need you to find out what’s happened to Felix. Head across the border and do some recon, no colors though, I don’t want anyone knowing you’re there… just in case, ya know.”

Threads’ head nodded at each point, his eyes glazing over as he ran the plan over in his head. Kannon’s shrewd gaze already planning to re-arrange those of us who are here. As our road captain, it was his job to sort out the runs, and with one coming up next week, he’d need to make sure everyone was accounted for and there were enough of us to see our newest shipment almost 2,000 miles to the Mexican border, to our drop-off point. We’d be gone just under a week. Three days of driving there with rest breaks, we’ll make the return journey home in two.

“I’ll visit Nag before we leave, he might know something new.” The old man lived on the outskirts of town, bordering on living in the woods. If it wasn’t for the fact that he liked a cold beer and had no electricity in his little shack he called a cabin, we wouldn’t even see him. But his visits to the local bar were frequent, and he kept to himself, sitting in the corner ignoring everyone. But what they didn’t know is that he heard everything. I couldn’t even remember the amount of times I’d got information from the ancient man who clung to the shadows. He had been more scarce than usual recently, but he was my first stop as soon as church ended.

“Get in touch with your contacts,” Cap growled. “I want this business handled, and when you find out who’s been selling the drugs,” he cracked his knuckles, “I want him alive.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve been under,” I muttered. “Drains been running clear too long. It’s about time it runs red.”

Fists slammed on the table in unison, grunts of approval at the threat to the unknown dealer followed grins of malice.

“Let’s show these motherfuckers who they’ve crossed,” Wheeler called out, whooping at the imminent violence.

Cal’s eyes narrowed on the brothers… on me. And with a nod, we kicked back and stood, with Threads the first one out the door to get ready for his trip.

I held back, letting the others leave before me and closing the door softly behind my brothers.

Rex

With only Sonic, prez and me in the room, it was nowhere near as lively as when all of us were present. The camaraderie was gone, now it was all business. The menace permeated the air, a vengeance that was going to be ours. But the balance that we maintained in our town was skewed, and we needed to right the scales before more kids died.

The position of the clubhouse wasn’t just convenient because it lay behind the business, the business and clubhouse were built here deliberately… right on top of an old war bunker. Built by the prez’s crazy-ass old man who was paranoid that the Vietnamese would come back for him. He had the bunker dug out with a tunnel connecting the two buildings. We’d added onto it over the years since we took it over, more tunnels that led to rooms for each of us in case of lockdowns. Rooms where we can keep things hidden in case the sheriff decided one day that our green wasn’t enough to keep his head turned. A maze of our own making, and Cal was the Minotaur in the center, the beast that destroyed any who entered his territory.

And the best bit—the tunnels weren’t on any plans. They were ours. The Street Kings had our secrets, the minute you took that patch and were permanently branded with the wire, you were a lifer… no getting out.

And then you were shown the bunker.

Prez pushed aside the large chest, conveniently on hidden runners for ease. The trap door was pulled open, an automatic light flashing on to guide our boots down the metal staircase.

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