Page 4 of Kane

He said all the things she wanted to hear, but based on everything he’d told her before, she knew rejecting the club could drive a wedge between him and his family he may never overcome.

“I don’t want you to lose your parents or your brother and resent me one day for it.”

“It’s never going to happen. With you or without you, I’m never going to join.” His voice hardened with resolve. “I promise, Mandy. As long as I live, I will never be part of my family’s MC.”

***

Kane

Present Day

Blood and gore stuck to Kane’s boots as he tromped through what was once the city’s most notorious drug den. Now it bore the hallmarks of a slaughterhouse. Bodies littered the floor, all members of the crew once run by Sucre de la Cruz.

All dead at the hands of the Skulls MC.

His gaze met his brother’s across the dimly lit room. Scott’s tongue peeked out of his toothy grin. No doubt, he reveled in the carnage.

Kane only came for his friend, Brick. Well, Brick and the ten thousand dollars the man had promised the MC to help him take out his drug dealer boss and the bastard’s crew. The violence didn’t excite Kane like it did Scott. He considered it a necessary evil to protect his club.

They were his family.

When everyone else had started killing, his job had been to hold a weapon at the drug lord’s head, so the piece of shit could watch his empire crumble before his eyes.

He found it immensely satisfying. De la Cruz and his organization had been a stain on Atlanta for years. The guy ruled through violence, fear, and death. Now his reign was over. Not only did Kane have a hand in the takedown, he did his part without taking a single life.

His brothers were another story. They ripped through Sucre’s men like they were made of tissue paper, and they loved every second of it. All the crazed smiles and laughter would have given it away even before they’d raided the bar and started toasting with tequila shots.

In his years with the club, Kane had seen plenty of violence up close and personal, but he’d never had to kill anyone. Maybe it was a cop-out, but he didn’t want to start a body count now.

He swiped one of the tarps piled right inside the front door and dropped it next to a body. Nobody could skip clean-up.

Holding his breath against the stench of viscera and human waste, he grabbed the dead man’s arm and slid him onto the black sheet of plastic. He had to plant one foot on the tarp to keep it in place. Stealing a quick gulp of air through his mouth, he knelt and rolled the man up like a burrito. Blood coated his hands and speckled up his arms over his sleeves of tattoos.

He climbed to his feet to repeat the process with the next body. There were about forty to dispose of and only fourteen brothers to get the job done.

Cue Ball lugged each drug-dealer-burrito to the pickup parked out front. Once they were all loaded up, the brothers would take them to Sucre’s own dump-spot, the one Brick had told them about, ready-made with barrels of sulfuric acid. Not only was it convenient, but he could appreciate the poetic justice in it.

A playful slap landed on his shoulder as he finished wrapping his third body. “Fuckin-A, man. You really came through with this job tonight. We needed this money in a major fucking way.”

Scott didn’t exaggerate. Ten thousand bucks was less than a lot of crews would demand for a job like this, but right now they needed it like water in the desert. The club hadn’t been making the same kind of cash it once had. Sure, they brought in enough to get by, but the profits from running guns declined more every year. The demand was still there, but the weapons were easier to come by these days. Buyers weren’t willing to pay as much for a middleman anymore.

Most of the guys made ends meet with a second job. Scott worked on cars. Kane did construction.

He didn’t mind his day job. In fact, he preferred it. He never had to wash blood off his hands after a day nailing up sheetrock.

“I’m glad to do it.” The old scar on Kane’s cheek tugged when he smiled. Even at thirty-two years old, it felt good to have Scott’s approval. He loved his brother, even though they didn’t always see eye to eye.

He gripped the backpack Brick had left behind after the massacre was done. No telling what Scott would do if he suspected there was another forty thousand dollars in arm’s reach. “Are you heading out with Cue Ball or staying here to bleach the place down?”

“Are you serious?” Scott barked out a laugh. “You think I’d miss a chance to drop bodies in vats of acid, so I could stay here and play housemaid? Fuck you, man.” He chuckled as he walked toward the front door.

Kane pulled the elastic from his hair and gathered all the stray pieces back into a ponytail at the back of his neck, then surveyed the bar. All the bodies were gone, but it would take hours to mop up all this blood. Half a dozen members of the crew had left with Scott to dispose of the bodies, while the other half of the team stayed behind to manage the mess.

It was after midnight by the time they’d erased the evidence of the massacre. As much as he wanted to go home, he had to head back to the clubhouse to meet up with the disposal team and divvy up the money they’d made tonight.

He gave his hands a final wash in the sink behind the bar before he strapped on his helmet and settled on his bike. A Harley Davidson Dyna Super Glide Sport. Black, it was only a few years old with a matte finish.

The engine purred to life, and the rides around him did the same, creating a humming chorus. Kane pulled onto the dark street, and the others followed in a single file line before sliding into a staggered riding formation.

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