Page 155 of Fury

I strode into the metal shed, an old seed warehouse we kept for storage between shipments and drop-offs. Plenty of shit lay buried in the ground here. Butler leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed, his hair damp with sweat. My men, eyes on me, had gathered around the prisoner. Creeper tugged on his chains, and my pulse beat hard at the sound.

I got in his face, two inches from his sweating, foul-smelling skin. “You fucking kidnapped a baby? One of mine?”

His red, glassy eyes flared as he twisted in his shackles. Moans and growls escaped his taped mouth.

“Such a fucking bad move, you shit. You’re going to feel how bad, then Butler’s going take you back to the One-Eyed Jacks. You don’t betray your own club and other clubs over and over again and not pay the price. Am I right?”

“Yeah, that’s right!” My men hooted their agreement.

I took in a breath, my chest lightening at the potency of communal anticipation, the fierce smell of blood in the air.

I removed my gloves and nodded at Catch. “Show him what you got.”

Butler had taken off, leavingCreeper behind at our safe house. He’d let us know when he’d be back to take the prisoner to the Jacks. The man was designing his presentation for Jump.

“You good?” I asked Catch later that night in our lounge, pulling him from a potential threesome with two petite brunettes before he got his dick out. My men were thrilled that we’d taken down our target. The holy trinity of adrenaline, testosterone, and job satisfaction always demanded a celebration.

“For now, yeah.” Catch drained his beer, leaning against a wall by my office door. “I have something for you. I found this on Creeper.” He handed me a torn and blood-stained business card.

Alejandro Calderón

The Calderas Group

Denver, CO

“Found plenty of business cards and a bunch of crazy shit in his pockets and on his bike. From what Butler said, he started out as a petty thief, pickpocketing, breaking into cars. Old habits die hard.”

I tapped the edge of the creased beige card. “I’ve heard of this guy. You get anything on him?”

“Me and Den did a little research after Butler left,” said Catch. “This Calderas Group is Salvadoran mob parading around as a Latin American import-export business—coffee, wines. But back in the eighties, they were the Executioners—”

“The most powerful Salvadoran gang in Denver.”

“You’ve heard of them?” Catch asked, wiping at his mouth.

“Yeah, the Executioners were big time back in the day.”

“They got their shit organized in the nineties, transforming themselves into this “legitimate” commercial corporation. Word is they still have ties with a major player in Mexico.”

“Which means, they’re still heavy into crack, cocaine, weapons, like they used to be in the good old days.”

“Yep.”

“You asked Creeper about him?”

“I convinced him to share.” Catch’s eyes gleamed with a satisfying memory. “Seems this Calderón was at the Broken Blades. He’s looking to spread his organization’s wings outside of Colorado. New opportunities for all and all that corporate bullshit.”

The ache at the base of my skull pounded. The Blades had been weakened over the years, and now Notch was flirting with a crime organization from Denver? An organization that was trying to control territory right next to mine? Push against mine?

Fuck no.

Catch gestured at one of the girls to bring him a fresh beer. “Calderón has got choice routes out of the old country through New Mexico to Colorado,” he said. “And don’t tell me he hasn’t heard of the Blades’s underground warehouse and meth factory which isn’t too far away from us. Everyone’s salivating over it. We’re salivating over it. If the Blades hook up with them, that could be a real problem for us in the long run.”

“Fucking Notch.”

“You got to give him an A for effort,” Catch said.

“He’s going to be getting an F and in more ways than one.”

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