Page 39 of Cain

“Let’s get the fuck out of here and fill Hash and Trick in. Lucky fuckers missed out on this fucking shit hole,” I say, heading toward the front door. I don’t even make it down to the last step before gunfire erupts out of nowhere, aiming right for me.

Quickly jumping back up and into the trailer, I slam the front door shut and dive behind the paper-thin wall that separates the kitchen from the entryway. A few shots have penetrated the cheap siding, hitting the couch and the other side of the trailer since this piece of shit is only 14 feet wide.

“Everyone okay?” I yell over the shots. They definitely have a semi-automatic.

“We’re good!” Scotch yells, crouched behind the coffee table he overturned.

“What’s the plan? I’ve got two clips on me,” Cyrus yells just before the firing stops.

Raising my pointer finger to my lips, signaling for them to be quiet, I slowly creep toward the edge of the front window. A few of the blinds have the ends snapped off already, creating a tiny opening, which I try to look out of without being noticed. .

Darting my eyes all along the treeline of the front yard, I come up blank.

What. The. Fuck.

I start to stand to my full height when laughter outside has me freezing. It sounds like he’s coming closer, but I can’t tell for sure. I make eye contact with Scotch and Cyrus and notice they have the same look in their eyes. What are we going to do? There’s nowhere to hide in this small piece of shit. And it’s three against however many with bigger guns than we have right now.

This will be the last time I underestimate this stupid fuck.

“Boss will be very pleased to know we just killed the Dirty Devils’ Prez.”

What accent is that? It sounds so familiar, but I can’t place it.

“Who were the guys with him?”

“Do not know. Do not give a fuck. Let’s go talk to Boss.”

“I’m getting real sick of doing his bitch work.”

A smack sounds out as if the one guy smacked the other. “Do not talk about the Pakhan like that.”

Fuck.

I look over at Scotch and Cyrus, who are sharing the same as me. Because why in the fuck are the Russians on my territory, and how did they know I was coming to talk to Storm?

Chapter Twenty-Six

CAIN

We waited until we were sure they left, not knowing if they had more power with them. We’re not ones to hide and cower, but we’re also not eighteen anymore. We know when we’re outnumbered.

“How in the fuck did the Russians know we were going to be here?” Scotch growls as we walk back to our bikes.

“No fucking clue. None of this makes any sense. I don’t want to talk about it out here, though.” It’s too open, leaving us vulnerable. I scan the woods around us. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re still being watched. These woods have eyes, and I don't like that. Evan did say that she had the same feeling, though, didn’t she?

I nod to Scotch and Cyrus to watch their backs as we start up our bikes and head back. None of this is sitting right.

Trick is already out front by the entrance of our clubhouse, smoking a cigarette.

“Well?” he asks as soon as we cut our engines.

“Inside,” I growl as I prowl in. “Brock! Levi! Outside watching the gate. Now!” I yell as I head straight to the bar, pouring myself a glass full of Jameson and downing it in one swallow.

“What in the hell happened?” Hash asks, eyes wide, knowing I only drink like that when shit is fucked up.

“We got shot at by the Russians, and I’m pretty fucking sure they think that they killed me.”

Silence. That’s what I’m met with before the guys lose their fucking minds, shouting questions at me at the same time.

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