Page 87 of Kane
“We cut the head off the dragon. Yes, we want to get them all, but Meers and Bennett are our priorities.”
“Meers is mine,” Malcolm seethed. “I’ll make him pay, one president to another.”
Kane ignored him. “First thing we need to do is be seen out and about. Preferably somewhere with cameras. The bank, the hospital parking garage. Maybe some of you can go light some candles at St. John’s. Folks will remember seeing you there.” The church wasn’t far from the Soldiers’ base in Druid Hills.
Everyone got an assignment, then agreed to meet back in the woods near the Soldiers’ property around five-thirty. Frank and the prospect were the exceptions. They’d keep watch over Cue Ball in case he got any unexpected visitors at the hospital.
When they arrived on Meers’ property, though, they found the house dark and deserted. So, they waited. It couldn’t have gone smoother. Men arrived one at a time, and the Skulls picked them off like low-hanging fruit, hiding each body and bike behind the tree line. They took out six Soldiers in succession.
Meers, himself, showed up afterward, flanked by two big bastards. Two big bastards who dropped like flies thanks to Pete’s unfailing aim. To his credit, Meers didn’t try to run or even reach for his own weapon as his men fell at his feet.
Malcolm left the cover of darkness to face him in the driveway. Kane followed two steps behind. “You’re lucky your boy isn’t here,” Malcolm rumbled.
Meers grimaced. “I heard about Scott. He wasn’t the target.”
“He was collateral damage, so it’s okay he’s dead?” Malcolm moved closer. “Tell me, Billy, who was the target? Me? My other son? My club?”
“You.” Meers didn’t hesitate. “You were supposed to be home. The idea was to cut the head off the snake.”
Kane smiled grimly at the irony.
“We figured your death would drive the club into chaos. One son without the discipline to lead in your absence, the other without the desire.” Meers looked meaningfully at Kane and the Glock clutched tightly in his hand. “Guess we were wrong about a lot of things.” He folded his hands in front of him, like in prayer, closed his eyes, and dropped his chin to his chest.
Waiting.
Malcolm raised his gun and blew a hole in the center of the man’s forehead.
They waited another hour, but no one else showed up. The guys rolled up the bodies in tarps before tossing them in the back of Scott’s old pick-up. Hopefully, there would be room in those barrels of sulfuric acid where they’d disposed of Sucre’s crew a few weeks back.
He wasn’t sure how long it took acid to eat through bones, but he had no doubt his brothers would figure something out. He lined all the bikes up behind the house, as if the owners had just parked them there for the night. Then he doubled back through the trees to where his bike waited about a mile away. They hadn’t killed Bennett, but Kane would find him soon enough, and when he did, the man was dead.
***
Kane woke up the next morning to a gentle hand running over his hair. When he opened his eyes and saw Mandy, for a moment he forgot his resolve to leave her. He wrapped his hand around her slender arm and pulled her against his chest.
She smelled of hope and lavender. Her skin was silky and soft, her lips so close and irresistible.
Without thinking, he captured her mouth. She tasted like coffee and chocolate, delicious and warm and perfect. Her tongue curled around his own, coaxing his dick to attention.
Pulling away, she whispered, “Where have you been? I’ve been so worried.”
And with her innocent question, the brief respite from his life crumbled into a puff of smoke. “Scott is dead.” No use sugar-coating it.
Mandy gasped, her hand covering her mouth in horror. He didn’t doubt her sincerity for a second. As much as she disliked his brother, she never wished for his death. “How?”
“How do you think?” he growled. “Your father made good on his promise. He made me pay.”
“My father? He killed Scott?” She shook her head in disbelief.
“He didn’t pull the trigger, but yeah. He set the wheels in motion.” He climbed out of the bed and pulled on a pair of jeans over the boxers he’d slept in. “One of my other guys is dead too. Two are hurt. The shit’s hitting the fan.”
She rose to her knees on the mattress. “What can I do?”
Turning to the dresser, he started digging for a clean shirt, then froze. His face burned with the knowledge she could see her name inked across his back. Had she known it was there? He couldn’t remember giving her his back before.
It was too late to hide it now. He turned back, the shirt clutched in his hand. She didn’t mention it, though; she didn’t say anything about his hair either. “You need to go. It’s not safe to be around me right now.”
She moved forward and put her palm over his heart. He flinched back at the contact. “What are you saying?” she whispered. “Are you in danger?”