Page 1 of Abel

Chapter One

Abel

November 2020

It’s a cold, rainy day in November. The air is thick with fog as the chill sets into the bones of everyone present. The damp ground threatens to swallow my feet whole with each step I take closer to Clive Owens’, our President of The Anarchy Saints, casket.

I still can’t believe this shit went down the way it did.

“He should still fucking be here.” I growl low, not wanting others to hear my outburst as I lean over, looking into his angry face. Even in death, he’s stillthatmother fucker.

“Abel?” His wife, Goldie, whispers walking up behind me.

Glancing over my shoulder, I answer “Yes?” pissed at the fact that he’s in there, dead, and I’m still here.

“Are you going to get who’s responsible for killing my husband?” She sniffs, voice cracking with each word she forces past her lips.

“Get them? They’re gonna wish that’s all I do to them once I’m fucking finished. You let us worry about that, Goldie, you focus on yourself and the kids.” I say on autopilot.

“Don’t make threats you don’t intend to keep, Abe.” She grunts. Her words cut deep, but I know she’s hurting.

We’re all hurting.

“You of all people know that I don’t make threats.” I growl, looking over my shoulder this time. “I make promises and you knowdamnwell I’m gonna keep them.” I focus on Clive once more, making an oath to him. “I swear on my life, Clive, I’m going to kill the fucker responsible for this.” Balling my fist, I hold it over my chest.

And then I leave.

As time goes by, we’re no closer to finding Clive’s killer. There have been some promising leads, but no useful information we can rely on.

I’ll kill every mother fucker I need to in order to find who was responsible for killing our President.

Pushing my bike to the limit, I race down the busy highway, toward The Underground, a club I’m about to steal right from under its current owner’s nose since he thinks he can move drugs in and out on our turf. I’ll be damned if I let some lowlife mother fucker come in and ruin what Clive built.

It’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens.

Pulling my bike right up to the front door, I hop off.

“Hey, you can’t park there!” Someone shouts, rushing to try and stop me. When I don’t make any attempt to park elsewhere,his hand lands on my shoulder… Hard. “I said move your fucking bike.”

I’m always down for a good fight, so when I ball my fist and it connects with his chin, I feel no regrets.

He doesn’t go down easy as I thought he would. Good, because I don’t like no weak opponents.

“How about you get the fuck out of my way before I kill you. My business isn’t with you.”

“You’ve made it my business.” He roars, shaking himself off and charging for me. We tango for I don’t know how long before it starts to wear him down.

His steps are too slow and his punches are sloppy. I knock him out in two seconds flat. “Next time, mind your fucking business, bitch.” Stepping over him, I head straight for the entrance, daring anyone else to get in my way.

Swinging open the door, I head straight for the bar. “Yo, where’s Deuce Deuce?” I ask, gun raised, cuz I ain’t taking ‘I don’t know’ for an answer.

“He’s in the back, down the hall with about six of his men, and they’re all armed.” He says, hands raised, pointing to his left. “Please don’t shoot me, I have a family at home. This is just a night job.”

“Get everyone out of here, lock the door behind them, and don’t let anyone else in… You’ll be spared for your loyalty to The Anarchy Saints.”

He doesn’t blink an eye. “You heard the man, get the fuck out!” He yells after I take off down the hall. There’s two other rooms back here. I head to the first one, gun in hand. Pushing the door open, I find the room empty.

Coming up to the next closed door, I hear voices from the inside.

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