Page 38 of Total Carnage
Surprise sucker-punched us, but only for a heartbeat. I locked eyes with my brothers, and without missing a beat, I found my voice. "Easy, boys," I said, the calm in the storm, the eye of the fucking hurricane. "Let's keep this civil."
They hesitated, just a flicker of uncertainty, but they saw it too—the steel resolve settling over us like armor. We weren't somegreen-as-grass recruits; we were RBMC, and hell would freeze over before we lost our cool.
"Down on the ground! Now!" That same cop wasn't asking; he was demanding, his hand resting way too cozy on the butt of his gun. Take away the gun and the badge and I’d end this situation in a swing or two.
"Comply," I instructed, loud enough for both sides to hear. It wasn't a question or a suggestion—it was an order, and my brothers knew it. "Stay calm. This ain't nothing but a shakedown."
I lowered myself to the floor, slow and deliberate, showing them I wasn't going to be the spark that lit this powder keg. I glanced at Moab, Shivs, Canon, Toolie, and Bump as they followed suit, each of us swallowing the bitter pill of the moment with the silent vow that this would not stand. Regardless of the hidden faces, there’d be retribution in some form or fashion.
"Remember who we are," I reminded them, the unspoken promise hanging between us like the smoke from our exhausts. "And remember who they're messing with."
The cops circled us, sharks smelling blood in the water, but they didn't know they were the ones in danger of drowning. We'd survive this; we always did. Because when it came down to it, I'd rather die free than live on my knees, and every last one of my brothers felt the same damn way. More cops entered and swarmed us like locusts, each one hell-bent on proving who was the biggest dog in the yard. With calculated roughness, they shoved us to the ground, their knees digging into our backs like they were branding cattle. It was all intimidation and power games—old hat for us, but it didn't make it any easier to stomach.
"Keep your heads, brothers," I growled under my breath. Our leather kissed the dirty floor, and I felt the grit against my cheek,but every pair of eyes stayed glued to me, taking in every silent order I threw their way.
"Officers, surely there's a peaceful way to handle whatever misunderstanding brought you here," Mama Celeste's voice cut through the bullshit, smooth as aged whiskey. She stood her ground, a solitary figure of aged defiance against a sea of badges and brute force clad in black.
"Back off, lady. This doesn't concern you," one of the goons spat out, but Celeste just gave him a look that could curdle fresh milk. The man swallowed hard, his bravado faltering under her steady gaze. I noticed Mama Celeste mumbling and wondered if she’d hit the man with some kind of curse.
Just when we thought the circus couldn't get any more crowded, the door swung open with an air of entitlement so thick, it clogged the room. Charles E. Stansfield sauntered in, flanked by his private goons. The shift in the atmosphere was tangible—like the drop before a storm.
"Vin Reed, how delightful to see you playing nice with law enforcement," Stansfield sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he surveyed the scene.
I wanted to leap up and wipe that smug look clean off his face, but two pairs of hands clamped down on my shoulders, pressing me further into submission. Every muscle in my body tensed, screaming to fight back, to protect what was mine—especially Raven. But I knew better than to give in to the urge; it was what he wanted, after all.
"Stansfield," I acknowledged him with all the warmth of winter in the grave. "To what do we owe the displeasure?"
"Merely ensuring that my interests are protected," he said, eyes scanning the room with cold calculation. "And making sure certain... relationships are kept in check."
The double meaning wasn't lost on me, nor was the threat. Stansfield didn't need to say her name; we both knew who hemeant. Every protective instinct I possessed roared like a caged beast. If he laid a single finger on Raven... "Your interests don't mean shit here," I shot back, the taste of blood from biting my tongue filling my mouth. His guards tightened their grip, a warning that said I was already on thin ice.
"Such language, Vin. One might think you don't appreciate my visit," Stansfield quipped, but the ice in his eyes betrayed the malice lurking beneath the surface.
My jaw clenched, fury boiling in my veins. But this was his game, and I wasn't about to let him see me lose my cool—not while my brothers watched, not while the stakes were this high. Raven needed me to be level-headed and calculating. And that's exactly what I'd be. Hell would take us all before I let Stansfield win.
The moment stretched, a standoff of wills between me and the silver-tongued devil himself. Then, with a nod as subtle as a viper's strike, Stansfield unleashed his goons. They surged forward like a pair of rabid dogs, their hands heavy and unyielding as they grabbed at my leather cut.
"Easy, boys," I growled, twisting to break their grip, but they were on me in full force, the smell of sweat and malice thick in the air. A fist connected with my gut, driving the air from my lungs, and I doubled over. Another blow glanced off my shoulder—a warning that said, 'We can do this all night.' Through the haze of pain, I locked eyes with Shivs, his expression hard as stone, a silent promise that retribution would come. But now wasn't the time for payback; it was about survival and playing the long game.
"Vin!" Mama Celeste's voice cut through the chaos, her tone sharp with worry. I managed a grunt in response, a signal that I was still kicking—barely.
"Comply, brothers," I spat out, every word laced with blood and defiance. "This ain't the end." I could feel the guards'satisfaction as they pinned me down, their boots planted firmly on my back. The weight was crushing, almost personal, as if each pound of pressure was meant to grind the rebellion out of me.
"Looks like the big bad wolf ain't so tough," one of the guards sneered, his voice a jagged edge against my ear.
"Fuck you," I managed to bite out, even as another punch slammed into my ribs, a stark reminder of just how real the situation had turned. My world narrowed down to the throb of my pulse in my ears, the sharp jabs of pain, and the iron scent of blood.
I could hear the rest of the club, their boots scuffing against the concrete floor as they complied with the police, the tension coiled tight amongst us. But my focus shifted when the sounds of heavy boots echoed through the clubhouse, the methodical rhythm of a hunt underway.
"Find the girl," Stansfield commanded, his voice dripping with lethal calm.
They moved like ghosts, sweeping through our sanctuary with cold efficiency. I strained against the boots on my back, the urge to protect Raven surging through me like wildfire. I couldn't see her, couldn't reach her, but I could damn well sense the danger closing in.
"Check the garage!" someone barked, and my heart hammered against my chest, a drumbeat of dread.
"Got nothing here," a voice called out, followed by another, "Clear!"
Until, "Hey, what's this?"
