Page 84 of Kane

Kane shoved his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket, pushing images of Mandy out of his head. She had no place among the dark thoughts consuming him right now.

The police had finished their work, leaving him seeped in his mother’s grief, his father’s frozen stupor, and a clubhouse riddled with bullets and soaked in blood. “What happened?” He needed answers, and his parents were the only ones here. “Malcolm,” he barked, shaking his father’s shoulder. “What. Happened.”

Malcolm glanced up, the dazed look in his eyes clearing. “We were shooting pool when the gunfire started. Cue, Scott, and me. I’d walked back to the kitchen to grab a beer, and then I heard it. It was automatic for sure.” His jaw tightened. “I crawled back in on my hands and knees, but it stopped as fast as it started. Your brother was dead before I got to him.”

A large pool of blood next to the table supported his version of events. The array of bullet holes along the front wall of the house and the interior did as well. There were too many for it to be anything less than automatic fire. “Who did this?” Either the Christian Soldiers or the Russians were behind it. Both groups would want Scott’s head on a pike.

“Witnesses told the cops they saw a black van.” With shaking hands, Malcolm poured a healthy dose of bourbon into a glass.

“Sergei,” Kane growled. The Soldiers would have been on two wheels, not four.

“You tried to warn us.” Malcolm gulped back the amber liquid. “We should have listened.”

He wasn’t interested in his father’s self-pity. It was time for action, not words. “Call in the rest of the club. There’s going to be a reckoning.”

Malcolm had the men assembled in thirty minutes flat. Their reactions ranged from anger to heartbreak to fear.

“First thing we gotta do is be there for Cue.” He turned to the prospect. “I need you to take Mama V and Desiree to the hospital. Use my mom’s car.”

The kid took the keys Malcolm held out, then led Mama out the front door.

Kane returned his focus to his brothers. “What do we know about where the Russians stay when they’re here?”

Frank cracked his knuckles. “They’ve got a safe house in Mechanicsville. At least, they did a few years back. It’s where we met with them the first time…me, Randy, and Scott.”

Randy stroked his mostly gray beard, a frown wrinkling his leathery forehead. “Right. It was on Love Street. I remember Scott said he was gonna steal the street sign to hang over his bed. The Russians didn’t think it was funny.”

That sounded like Scott. He always—Kane’s heart stuttered when he remembered his brother would never do anything again. No more corny puns or practical jokes. Scott’s legacy was complete. It was all past tense now.

He shut down the rising tide of emotion. “Do you think you’d recognize the place if you saw it again?”

Randy’s eyes narrowed. “No doubt.”

Frank crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Me too. Plus, their van will stick out like a sore thumb. It’s no Escalade, but it’s nicer than anything else you’re gonna see in the neighborhood.”

“What are we going to do, Kane?” Scratch asked the question, but every eye in the room was on him. Funny how no one looked to Malcolm now. It wouldn’t matter if they did. Nothing would stand in the way of his retribution.

Justice would be swift.

And it will be mine.

“We’re going to pay them back, an eye for an eye. We’re going to descend on the place where they feel safe, and we are going to kill every last fucking one of them.”

A cheer went up in the room. Every voice bayed for blood.

“But we’re gonna do it my way.” He looked at the faces around him for any sign of a challenge. There was none. “We’re not gonna drive by. We’re gonna break in. This isn’t business. It’s personal,” he snarled. “I want to look those bastards in the eye. I want my face to be the last thing they see when they take their last breaths. They will die knowing it’s in my brother’s fucking name.”

The men murmured in agreement, and he handed out assignments for lookouts, drivers, and members of the hit squad. They split up, forgoing the bikes and piling into the Bronco and Pete’s black Impala to keep a lower profile. Ten men in all would be part of the operation. Four would stay back with Malcolm at the clubhouse.

On the drive to the safehouse, the only sounds were the rumble of the Bronco’s engine and clips sliding into various guns as the men readied for their attack. Pete parked a few houses down from their target, and the brothers split into their assignments without prompting.

He led the hit squad with back-up from Frank, Randy, Bear, and Scratch. Randy and Scratch might be older guys, but they were ruthless and had shown no hesitation in taking a life, which was exactly what they needed right now.

Sure enough, the black van was parked in the carport, though it was half covered by a ratty tarp. Scratch snuck up behind the lookout, and Kane saw the flash of a blade a few seconds before the man’s body hit the ground.

He and his men fanned out into positions at multiple points of entry and at Frank’s shrill whistle busted in with guns blazing. Shouts and gunfire echoed through the house. Though it was impossible to know which Russian fired the fatal shots at his brother, he was looking for one man: the one in charge. He had no doubt Sergei gave the order.

The blond bastard was unloading a clip toward the front door when Kane shouldered his way in from the back. The fucker’s normally slicked back hair had fallen over his forehead, his normally placid face twisted in rage.

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