Page 1 of Cain

Chapter One

CAIN

“What did you just say?” I know I didn’t just hear this motherfucker right.

“It’s gone,” Hash, my VP, growled.

“How in the fuck does five hundred pounds of tree just fucking disappear into thin air?” Hash just shakes his head, face hard, letting me know that he’s just as pissed off as I am. I’m trying to keep my cool. I really am. But some motherfucker is about to pay with his life for this shit.

“Call church now,” I growl at Hash, leaving him behind to round up the brothers as I head inside the compound. Five hundred pounds just gone. How does that even happen?

I take my seat at the head of the table, my fists clenched, resting at my side, face blank as I watch them file in. If we don’t find this shipment, we’re fucked. Out over half a mil.

We could move some money around from some of the other club businesses, but the Reapers, a rival club from a few towns over, would know the product never made it. We don’t need a war on our hands. And I definitely don’t need my club looking like a bunch of fucking pussies that can’t protect their own shit. I’ll be damned if our reputation gets ruined over fucking weed. We never should have agreed to transport this for them.

Rubbing my temples, I ask once all the brothers are seated, “Does someone want to tell me what the fuck happened?”

“No clue. I decided to take a drive up to the Motel Inn, where Ox and Tights were going to stop for the night, just to check shit out since they are still prospects. They never even made it to the motel, Prez. Shot dead on the side of the fucking road. The truck was still there and everything,” Scotch said, shaking his head. His face shows that his head is exactly where mine is right now. Fucking fucked.

“Who is on clean up? I wanna keep this shit under wraps until we figure out what the fuck is going on,” I say, dragging my hand down my face.

“The prospects are taking care of it as we speak, Prez.” Thank fuck. At least one thing is being taken care of. “Right now, we need to somehow pull 500 pounds of tree out of our fucking asses before anyone catches wind,” I say as I look around the table at my brothers’ pissed-off faces.

Silence falls over the room. I can see the gears turning, trying to figure out our next move.

“Does anyone have any ideas? I’m fresh out. I can try to hit up the Aducci’s, but that isn’t really their area, and I don’t really want us to be involved with them. We might get some leads, though.” I’m just thinking out loud at this point.

Scotch breaks the silence a few minutes later. “I might have something, Prez. If it’s okay with you, I can hit up Evan and feel around,” Scotch says while looking around the room at the brothers’ wary faces.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea to bring outsiders into this, brother,” I say. Hash and Trick both nod their heads in agreement.

“Look, I know this is club business, but I’ve known Evan since I was a kid. Evan is basically a pot-smoking hermit. If shit gets out, I know for a fact that’s not where it came from.”

I look Scotch dead in the eyes, searching for any sort of hesitation, but come up empty. Honestly, at this point it seems like our only option until I figure something else out. “Alright. Call Evan and set up a meeting. If anything blows back from this, it’s your ass on the line.”

“Wouldn’t have said shit if I was sure of no blowback. Appreciate it, though, Prez,” Scotch says as he gets up out of his seat and pulls his phone from his pocket.

Let’s hope this doesn’t fucking come back to bite me in the ass.

Chapter Two

EVAN

“Cock sucking mother fucker,” I grumble to myself as I flip the light switch that’s now not working up and down. Buy an old Victorian house, I said. It will be fun, I said. Jokes on me, right? Victorian homes are so breathtakingly gorgeous, but no one tells you what a fucking money pit they are. My goal in life was to always have my dream house. And a family. That’s one thing I haven’t quite locked down yet.

I bought this gorgeous headache last year. It was in foreclosure, and I got it for a freaking steal. And the best part? It sits on ten acres, most of which are woods. Perfect for my little business and to keep people out. I’m also just far enough outside of Ravenna Heights that I don’t really hear much of anything. I honestly only ever hear a bunch of bikes come down this way, and they’ve never bothered me.

This will come as a shock to some, but people aren’t exactly my favorite. It’s the whole ‘they’re nice to your face and shady as hell behind your back’ thing.

Unfortunately, there is a downside to this place. I seriously underestimated the amount of TLC it would need. I’ve been running on booze and boxed mac and cheese because I refused to go into town while I was finishing this kitchen. And as a fellow foodie, it’s been slowly chipping away at my soul.

Sighing as I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket, I set the bags of groceries down before pulling it out to see that it’s Zeke calling. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey, Ev. Was wondering if you had a minute to help me out today?”

“You know I do shit head. Just tell me what you need,” I say as I roll my eyes.

I remember the exact day I met Zeke. I had just arrived at what was probably my fifth foster home, and let's just say I… wasn’t met with the warmest welcome. It probably doesn’t help that I’m awkward as fuck when I first meet new people. But Zeke took me under his wing that day and has been the closest thing to a brother that I’ve ever had. Like recognized like or whatever the fuck they say. Plus, I’m still working on paying him back for that night I’ll never forget.

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