I’m fucking exhausted.
Thoughts of vengeance for my brother Conrad, his girlfriend Hannah, and the entire Savage Kings MC are all that are keeping me on my feet, a broom in my frozen, chapped hands thanks to the chilly, late-January air that’s been constantly blowing around me.
For the past three days, Darius, the Harley dealership’s one other winter retail employee, along with Lucas and Jake, the club’s two prospects, have been helping me clean up the mess left behind in the showroom. The one that was caused by some kind of Hummer or military vehicle, maybe even a damned tank, rolling through the glass doors and over all of our brand-new bikes. I gotta give whoever did it credit. They didn’t miss a single one. Half a million dollars in inventory was destroyed in the blink of an eye. The insurance company is giving us hell since it was neither a natural disaster nor a robbery. Winston, our main mechanic and fellow brother in the MC, is working with his team in the shop, doing some custom work on the bikes that were still mostly in one piece, trying to salvage what we can.
I don’t like all these negative feelings that are trying to boil over inside of me. My preference has always been to let the small shit slide and keep things light and happy, avoiding anything serious ever.
This direct attack on the Kings is not something that can simply be ignored, unfortunately. And since my brother has a baby on the way, he doesn’t need to any additional stress on his shoulders. I plan to handle this mess for him, if I can, while he lays low.
So far Conrad hasn’t been arrested for beating the shit out of the former police chief, which is more than a miracle. It has to be some sort of plot by the fat fuck who is, at this very moment, daring to walk through the open front of the showroom he destroyed with two uniformed officers on either side of him. The layers of clothes I’m wearing are suddenly too warm thanks to the rage growing inside of me.
“You lost, you porky fucking bastard?” I yell at him, throwing my broom to the ground. From the corner of my eye, I notice Darius, Jake, and Lucas all freeze around me like they’re not sure what to do. The gun tucked into the back of my jeans feels heavier than usual, and the urge to whip it out and either beat the bastard with it or shoot him is so strong I have to ball my hands into fists to resist. I have no doubt that as soon as my hands disappear out of sight for even a second the cops would all gladly go for their guns and put a clip of bullets in me. Even the former chief is armed, his gun holstered next to a shiny badge that I know is worthless. He resigned his position to run for mayor because he wants to try and be threatening. Can’t say I blame him for going armed once I finally get a good look at his fat face. He is still bruised and puffy around both eyes and his lip from the damage Conrad did to him. I’m not exactly sure what tipped my normally calm brother over the edge to violence, but the thought of his pain makes me smirk at him.
“What the hell happened here?” Bailey, the asshole, says as he glances around while hefting up the waist of his khakis. His damned pants haven’t stayed up on their own as long as I’ve known him; he’s had that gut since he was my age. “Looks like you finally pissed off the wrong person.”
“Well, you know the saying, what goes around comes around,” I mutter. “Or even better, karma’s a bitch and then you die.”
“Is that a fucking threat?” one of the uniformed officers grits out as he puts his hand on the butt of his weapon.
Grinning even wider, I ask, “Where were these pussies when my brother was whipping your ass? Looks like you could’ve used the backup then because your face is still fucked up. Or is that how it always looks? I honestly can’t remember your lumpy, ugly ass mug now that it’s covered in bruises.”
“Watch it,” the fucker warns.
“Or what? You’ll drive a tank through our dealership? Too late.”
“I came here to offer you a chance to keep that perverted brother of yours out of prison, but never mind. I’ve had a change of heart. We’ll go pick him up now.”
The son of a bitch turns to leave, and it takes all of the strength in my soul to swallow down my pride and say, “Wait.” I don’t want Conrad to get locked up; and by running my mouth, I’m only making shit worse.
Looking over his shoulder through his swollen eyes, he says, “You finally ready to play nice?”
“What do you want?” I huff. I’m too tired and too angry to play games with him.
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