Page 36 of Vendetta
“This used to be Mercy’s sheriff’s station,” Josh explained.“My grandmother lived over here when I was a kid.I remember it.”
The building still looked the part from the outside.It was solid brick with reinforced windows and a front stoop that had once welcomed lawmen instead of outlaws.The Hounds hadn’t bothered to strip the bones of the place.They’d just reshaped its purpose.The front desk was now a check-in point for club prospects and guests.The briefing room, where deputies once gathered for morning updates, looked like it now served as the club’s meeting room, the Hounds’ patch hanging on the wall where a county seal used to be.
Despite the rough edges, the space felt lived-in and secure.The kind of place you could hole up in when the world outside got ugly.And right now, that was exactly what Dylan needed.
Razor directed his men to the meeting room while Josh led Dylan down a quiet hallway.He opened the door to a simple but clean spare room with a bed, dresser, and lamp.Soft light filtered in from a nearby window.
“You’ll be okay here,” Josh said, his voice softer now.“Get some rest.I’ll check on you in a bit.”
“Thanks,Vendetta.”
He started to close the door, then paused, smiling.“You don’t like it?”
She gave the faintest smile.“It’s perfect.”
He closed the door behind him, and Dylan sat on the edge of the bed, finally letting out a slow breath.For the first time in days, maybe longer, the danger wasn’t right outside the door.Maybe a nap was in order.
* * *
Vendetta
It was his first time in the Mercy Hounds’ clubhouse, and the room smelled faintly of familiar things.Coffee, leather, sweat, and whiskey.They all sat at a long table with dusty blinds covering the windows.The crazy energy in the room was coming from all the Hounds.
He stood at one end of their table, his hands braced on the cold surface in front of him.Razor sat at the head of the table opposite him, quiet but watching with eyes that didn’t miss a damn thing.To his right, the VP leaned back in a chair, arms crossed, his gaze sharp.He had solid white hair, but he wasn’t old; he couldn’t have been out of his thirties.Identical twins, enforcers no doubt, sat together near the door, murmuring to each other in low voices until Razor shot them a look.
Vendetta tried not to make it obvious that he was reading patches, but the names made him feel like less of a stranger.Crash, Beast, Player… every man there was a brother forged by battle, betrayal, or blood.He could feel them sizing him up, because he doubted that most of them knew what he was really doing there in their midst.
Razor sat forward, resting his forearms on the table.His voice was low but carried like gravel on steel.“Most of you remember that this isn’t the first time we’ve had bad blood with Sinister Skin.”
A few heads nodded.Beast scowled.Outcast stared at the table like he was watching old blood dry.
“They tried to come through Mercy not too long ago,” Razor continued.“They tried to push their filth under the radar here.Leaning on us to let ‘em ‘expand.’When that didn’t work, they set their sights on the people around us.They tried to shut downNo Mercy Inkand came after Deva and Outcast.”
Razor wasn’t trying to sway sympathy.He laid out facts.
“We pushed back,” Razor said simply.“Took out their warehouse, freed those kids they were trafficking.We sent a message.”
“And now,” Snow added, his voice dry, “they’ve hit Oak Grove?”
Vendetta gave a short nod.“And Eli rolled out the welcome mat.”
“They picked the wrong fucking side of the state,” Player muttered.He was a big, broad-shouldered biker with tattooed knuckles and the kind of energy that said he’d rather solve problems with his fists than words.He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes burned with anticipation.Vendetta pegged him as one of their rabble-rousers, the kind who’d be the first in and the last out of a fight, grinning the whole damn time.
Razor didn’t take his eyes off Vendetta.“Go on then,” he said.“Tell ‘em who you are.And why the hell you’re standing in my clubhouse with Crizer’s niece in tow.”
The room fell silent, all eyes landing squarely on him.Vendetta straightened a little, feeling the weight of the moment.If he wanted their help, he had to earn it.
“Name’s Josh,” he said evenly.“I go by Vendetta now.Before you ran Sinister Skin out of here and they set up shop in Oak Grove, it was Tank.I was a member of the Abingdon chapter of the Cottonmouths.I patched in young, right after I got out of the Marine Corps.I followed orders even when I didn’t like ‘em.Back in the fall, the Oak Grove chapter said they had some big ops coming and needed extra hands.Me and a couple of my Abingdon brothers came over.And that’s when everything went to hell.”
A few heads nodded around the table.
Vendetta didn’t bother sugarcoating it.He laid it out plain.The ops started as muscle-for-hire gigs, backdoor security, and roughing up deadbeats for loan sharks.But that changed fast.The Cottonmouths began taking jobs directly from Sinister Skin.Jobs that involve moving people, not just product.Girls and teenagers, a few young men.All of them scared, drugged, and completely disposable to most of his Cottonmouth brothers.
He explained that he started asking questions and pushing back.When he wouldn’t shut up and follow orders, they strung him up in the woods off a forgotten road and walked away like they had taken out the trash.
“Tried to hang you?”Player asked, looking genuinely curious, his usual smirk tempered by something sharper now.Respect, maybe.
“They did more than try,” Vendetta replied, reaching behind his neck to tug the collar of his hoodie down even farther.He lifted his chin just enough to show them.
