Page 86 of Disturbed Lucidity

“None the wiser.” Saint smirked.

“Good, I want everyone on their game tonight. Motherfuckers thought they could play us, use our turf to move their product, well fuck that. This is Disturbed land. Tonight, we show those motherfuckers exactly who they fucked with. Tonight, we send a fucking message to everyone. No one dares anger the brothers of Disturbed.”

My brothers erupted boisterously.

“Why Victor?”

“It’s the Devil I know, man.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, clenching my teeth, when an ache like no other ran down the line of my jaw. “I guess it is.”

Fuck it all to hell.

This wasn’t what I wanted to be doing tonight.

I had other plans. Mainly I wanted to get back to the clubhouse and sink my dick into Ivy, not deal with this fucked-up shit.

It was a simple agreement. I provided the Diablos with the weapons they needed to solidify their turf and in exchange, they took out Los Santanas. Nowhere in that agreement were they to join forces with Los Santanas.

Now I had this shit to deal with.

Maybe Slash was right. Maybe I should have just killed the motherfuckers when I had the chance.

Instead of heading home, I was standing before what remained of two gangs that had merged, and now, Miguel Chavarria would soon corner the market in guns and crystal meth.

Talk about a shitstorm.

The problem was these idiots had no fucking clue what they’ve done.

“Bossman told you gringos that San Francisco belonged to Los Santanas,” one of the Los Santanas sneered, pounding on his chest like he thought he would walk away from this shitstorm like he was the man. “This is our fucking turf, gringo.”

He couldn’t be the man if he tried.

Trash moved quickly, coming out of the shadows to shut the fucker up. Now that the motormouth could barely speak through a mouthful of broken teeth, I didn’t have to listen to him anymore.

Someone had to be the voice of reason and sensibility, since Miguel had left half of his crew to fend for themselves when all hell broke loose.

I tried to tell the motherfucker, but, apparently, he refused to listen.

I hated repeating myself.

There was no use.

Instead, I got to listen to some fucking dying minions drag out every last sordid detail he could think of before his life expired.

Too bad for this motherfucker, because Trash beat him within an inch of his life. If I was a decent man, I would have just snapped the fucker’s neck and put him out of his misery.

But I wasn’t, so it didn’t matter.

“You know, Vic, for a small operation, you could have made bank if you hadn’t aligned yourself with Los Santanas. Good money in guns. Could have kept your crew busy for years. Greed is a nasty bitch, but crystal meth. Really?”

“Had no choice.”

Saint added, “From what I hear, Los Santanas’ shit isn’t even that good.”

Fucking amateurs.

Now they were my problem.

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