Page 5 of Massacre
“GET TO THE FUCKING POINT!”
I gulped. “Yeah. Sure thing. Babyface got married.”
“What the hell do you mean—never mind. I’ll call Doolittle and get the condensed version. Where are you right now? One word, Massacre, or so help me God, I will burn your cut with you wearing it.”
“Albin.”
I sat there on my bike and listened as Reaper took a deep breath and let it out before asking, “Where the fuck is that?”
“Wyoming.”
“Sypher is in Diamond Creek, Nebraska.”
“The kid?” I smiled happily. “Cool, but what’s he doin’ there? Seriously, boss, there ain’t nuttin’ in Nebraska but corn. Lots and lots of corn.”
“While you’ve been fucking off, a lot of shit has gone down. I need you in Diamond Creek.”
“What about the clubhouse in Lincoln?”
“Shit’s changed. Just get your ass to Diamond Creek and stay put. Phantom found chatter on the dark web. Trouble is brewing with the Death Dogs, and King’s gonna need help, only he doesn’t realize it yet.”
“Recon duty?” I smiled, fingers crossed.
I loved recon duty.
Groaning, Reaper sighed. “God help King, but yeah. And, Massacre, stay the fuck out of trouble.”
“Sure thing, boss. I will be on my best behavior!”
“Damn it, Dec, I want my phone call!” I argued as the big Irish fucker hurled my ass into the nearest cell. Which now that I thought about it, wasn’t an easy feat, considering the both of us were basically the same build.
But I was handsomer.
“Don’t make me call your brother!” I threatened, grabbing the bars as the fucker walked away, only to stop mid-stride and stiffen. Slowly turning back around, the sheriff of Diamond Creek smiled and walked back over to me and simply said, “Don’t threaten me, Buchanon.”
Grinning from ear to ear, I leaned forward and rested my face against the bars. “Not a threat,cuz.”
“You are no cousin of mine.”
I shrugged. “To-may-toe-tomato... speaking of which, how is the big Kahuna doing these days, anyway?” Grinning, I added, “Yeah, that’s right, Declan. You aren’t the only person who knows people. Like I know my uncle Brian Buchanon is the boss of your big brother. One little phone call and I can have Diamond Creek flooded in Irish Pride.”
Yeah, looking back, that maybe wasn’t the best way to go about getting my phone call. I knew damn well how Declan felt about Braesal. My uncle Brian wouldn’t stop bitching about it when I visited a few years back. From the stories I heard, Braesal, or Sal as most of the family called him, butted heads with Dec. Like a lot. The two barely tolerated one another. Bad enough Dec had to go find the moral high ground, but he poured a heaping bag of salt in the wound when he became a cop.
Hell, even I knew cops and the Mafia didn’t mix. Nor did the Bratva or bikers for that matter, but to each their own. No matter which way the bread was buttered, there was always that one family member who danced to their own tune. And Declan O’Rourke was that man. He also had a fucking temper on him, because the next thing I knew, the Irish fucker reared back and punched me in the nose.
“You fuckingeejit! You broke my nose!” I growled, grabbing the bridge of my nose as I tilted my head back to stem the flow. “That’s police brutality, and it’s a crime!”
“Shut up, Dwayne.” Declan’s lips curled into a sneer, his eyes hard as flint. “Be glad I don’t add plain stupidity to your list of crimes. And quit whining—if I broke your nose, it’s an improvement.”
I wiped at the blood trickling down my upper lip with the back of my hand, shooting Declan a look that could curdle milk. “You know, all this could’ve been avoided if you’d just let me walk away. I didn’t do anything that anyone else in this town wouldn’t have done. Hell, man, did you even see the civilians with guns in their hands? That fucker wasn’t getting away.”
“That wasn’t for you to decide!”
“He raped and tortured my wife!”
Declan, all sharp edges and scorn, sneered at me. “Your stupid ass can sit and wait until I’m done trying to figure out how to get your ass out of this mess. Fuck, Dwayne. You seriously fucked up! And you did it in front of the entire goddamn town! I can’t just look away from this. Too many people saw you kill him. Besides, who would you call—that Italian fucker with more brains than sense, or some seedy lawyer your club keeps on speed dial?”
I sniffed, wincing as blood dripped down onto my shirt. “None of your business, O’Rourke. Just hand over the phone, and maybe I won’t press charges for roughing up an unarmed man.”
