Page 99 of Hell Hath No Fury
CAIM
USA TodayBestselling Author
ANNA EDWARDS
CHAPTER ONE
Caim
“I don’t like it. The motherfucker’s too quiet.” Tank, my president, pulls his gun out of its holster and primes it as he speaks.
“Slippery bastard’s probably trying to pull a fast one, again,” I respond, bringing my own weapon up, ready to fire should it be needed.
The gun feels strange in my hands. It’s not my first weapon of choice for this kind of situation. I prefer a sword—hence my road name, Caim. I’m the fallen angel with a rapier.
Prez and I are here to pick up Snake. He’s a grass, and the cunt who lost us at least thirty thousand dollars in a drug deal. He ratted us out to the cops, and they found our stash before we could sell it. Perfectly good weed incinerated after months of hard work growing the stuff. I don't smoke it myself as I like to keep my brain focused. I've got enough shit going on in my head, so it doesn’t need to be clouded by an artificial high. I'm not against it, though. I'd be a hypocrite if I were, considering my club’s business dealings.
Most of our customers are looking for their next high, but there are some people who need it just to get through the day because of their medical problems. You can't always judge a book by its cover.Damn, I need to get my head in the game and stop drifting off into my own thoughts.
The man we’re hunting may have been stupid to go to the police, but he's a skilled fighter and has been around motorcycleclubs for most of his life. He was a prominent member of a club in Chicago until he relocated here to sunny California about ten years ago. Prez gave him a chance on a recommendation from his previous chapter, but he's never really fitted in with us. There’s always been something about him that seems shady. Now we know it’s because he’s only interested in protecting himself. Well, his luck has just run out—tonight he dies. No one crosses the Jade Riders and survives.
Prez mouths, ‘Caim,’ and he nods toward a door at the back of the house we’re searching. The place is run down and stinks worse than the clubhouse after a party. Rotting, leftover meals litter every surface, discarded smut magazines cover the floor, and ashtrays overflowing with butts are everywhere.Reminds me of the wonderful place I grew up in.
Prez wants the door opened and fast. The element of surprise is key to capturing this fucker before he can put a bullet in his own head or ours.
I bring my giant, size twelve, booted foot up and give the door a good, hard kick. The wood splinters and the door flies wide open. In an instant, Prez and I rush the room. It’s dark, but the light coming through the smashed door allows us to make out the lonely figure of the man we came to find. He’s sitting at a table surrounded by books—a strange combination of encyclopedias and fiction stories. All the covers are tattered and torn as though they’ve been read over and over again.I never pictured Snake as much of a reader.
“Snake?” The leader of our club strides over to the table and thumps both his hands down on it.
“Prez?”
“I think you know why we’re here.”
"To kill me," the condemned man replies with a bluntness that sends a shiver down my spine.
This seems far too easy. I'm feeling on edge, and nothing about this room is doing anything to calm my sense of dread. I try to see into the corner of the unlit space but am met with only darkness. I go to my biker brother's side, ready to act on his instructions.
“Why’d you do it?” Tank asks.
“Greed. Why else?” Snake shrugs.
“Didn’t you get enough from me? The club has made all of us rich men.”
“I wanted more. Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with,” Snake answers as he jerks his head toward my gun.
Something feels wrong here—the whole fucking situation stinks to high heaven.
“You know it isn’t that simple. We’ve got to set an example for the brothers. You’ve got to suffer before you die so anyone else who’s thinking of doing the same will reconsider,” Tank responds.
“Just get on with it.” Snake rolls his eyes at us like we’re pissy little girls too afraid to get down to business.
Doesn't the fucker know who I am!I'm the final option. I’m the one they bring in after Heat, our sergeant-at-arms and enforcer. He’s the nice guy out of the two of us who uses his words and smarts to enforce the club law. I’m his deputy and takeover from him when his approach fails.
I'm a sick and twisted bastard. The product of a dysfunctional childhood. My mother was too busy opening her legs for any guy who wanted in her and was willing to pay to support her flourishing drug habit. My father was absent most of the time, preferring to drink himself stupid, and when he was around, he liked to use his fists on my mom, my brother, and me. By the time I was ten, I’d been beaten black and blue more times than I’d had hot dinners.
My parents, if you can call them that—I prefer to use sperm and egg donors—were the sort of people who should have been sterilized the second they discovered what a dick and pussy were for. It would’ve saved a great deal of pain, and it might have prevented me from becoming the freak I am and saved my brother from ending up a junkie lifer in Maricopa County jail, Arizona. I guess I should be grateful my baby sister died before her second birthday from an accidental heroin overdose. She wouldn’t have stood a chance at life and is much better off in heaven.
“Do you know what I’m going to do to you?” I step up and lean forward into Snake’s face.
