BANE: A Devils' Due MC Romance Novel (24 page)

Weeks ago, Peterson, the motel owner in Buffalo, wanted me to get rid of some fucking commies who were pestering his business. It's funny to think that I ignored his request when, as things turned out, it was exactly what the club needed to wash our hands stained by the mess we made.

"Gunshots only, I hope?" Prez sarcastically questioned.

"Yes, boss, one for each... just like you ordered," Bumbux confirmed.

"Very well, let's get this party started," Loco instructed. "We ain't got all night."

The brothers moved quickly. They knew what they had to do. We have discussed this only once, just before we left the clubhouse, but everyone was on board with the plan. Everyone had a role to play, and they were more than willing to accomplish their tasks.

“Don’t forget your fucking gloves!” Prez reminded everyone.  “We don’t want your dirty fingerprints all over these motherfuckers.”

The prospects carried the bodybags from the van to the entrance of the decrepit building. They removed the covers and, just as what the prospects said, the lifeless forms of two Russians - which was quite obvious given their very square jaws, not to mention the Russian flag tattooed on the arm of one of the corpses - were revealed.  Bear, K.O. and Talon carried the Don's body as well as his lackey's and proceeded inside.

"There," Loco said, pointing to the base of the stairs near the entrance. "Put the old jackass' body there, then position his lapdog at the top of the stairs. Make sure it'll be realistic."

The brothers did as he said, staging the fake scene with meticulous care. Once they were done, the Don looked like he really fell from the stairs after getting shot at, and his bodyguard looked like he died protecting his master.

Loco then ordered the prospects and Pip to carry the Russians upstairs, where Mason supervised the placement of their bodies. Once again, after they were done, the commies looked like they were killed in the middle of a gunfight.

This was our goal, to make it appear that the Don was abducted by the
Bratva
- the Russian mob - and he died while trying to escape. The Captolis and the Bratva have a long history of bad blood. It was the most believable scenario we could think of... the one that would put the blame on their sworn enemies instead of us. This way, we'd be able to avoid a war that, based on numbers alone, we would most certainly lose.

It wasn't a perfect plan. There were many variables at play. Many questionable details that can uncover the sham that we were trying to pull.

But it was our best option.

It was our
only
option.

And right now, all we could do is hope for the best.

I looked at Lana. She was clutching the edges of the blanket that embraced her body. I tipped my head to tell her that it will all be over soon. Her eyes brightened like the morning sun, and I felt a fucking prod in my goddamn gut.

I always hated being in love.

All the brothers converged at the faux scene when the arrangements were completed. They gathered around the fallen Don in a circle. K.O. opened up a bottle of beer, removing the cap with his teeth.

"For Trevor!" he yelled as he raised his booze.

"For Trevor!" we all barked in unison, celebrating the Don's death as just retribution for our fallen brother.

Veep's death still weighed heavily in my heart and celebrating our revenge didn't make me feel any better. I started to turn around and walk towards the corner of the area to be alone, when Mason invited us for one more declaration.

"For Lana!" he said as his eyes searched for her. She returned his gaze with a surprised look.

"For Lana!" the brothers repeated as one... willingly, strongly, without hesitation.

"For... For Lana..." I belatedly proclaimed as I returned to their circle.

She remained by the door, stunned into stillness. She was teary-eyed and smiling... and that told me everything I needed to know.

The mamas, the sweet butts and the ol' ladies were all at the clubhouse when we came back, in full force as they welcomed us home like conquering heroes who emerged victorious from what was once thought of as a hopeless battle. They gathered around the brothers and hugged them, sprinkling some kisses here and there, both tender and not-so-innocent.

Some of them immediately went to Lana. They assisted her to one of the rooms.
Let's get you cleaned up and dressed
, one of them said. Lana looked at me, wondering perhaps if what was happening was real. I nodded and gave her the go signal to join them.  Before she walked away, though, she gave me back my kutte.  Her soft hands touched my forearm... and I realized how much I missed her so.

The brothers settled on their favorite tables, exchanging grand tales about the night that was about to pass. K.O., Mason and I remained at the bar as Bumbux served us some drinks.

An hour later and Loco called everyone's attention.

"Church. Now." His order was serious and firm. All of us were surprised by his sudden request. We wondered what the meeting was supposed to be about and why it had to be urgently set.

Five minutes later and everyone converged at the chapel. Loco took the gavel and banged it on the surface of the table to start the assembly.

"Great job tonight, boys," he began his spiel. "But we'd be fools to think that it all ends here."

"We know, Prez," Romeo concurred. "But c'mon, at least we can have this evening to celebrate a lil', right?"

"Yeah, we do," Loco agreed. "We have tonight. But we don't have tomorrow."

Gloom returned on the faces of the brothers. It was a dose of reality that we hoped could wait for later... much, much later.

"The Captolis will blame the Bratva for the Don's death," he continued. "But they're not stupid. Soon enough, they'll be able to piece everything together and we'll get back the heat we've tried to avoid."

"You're talking about
Salvatore?"
Mason asked, referring to Don Vito's son who was in Portland taking care of the Italian's operations in the Western front.

"Yeah," Prez said. "That motherfucker's ten times worse than his old man... we all know that. He's savage, eccentric, unreasonable... he's a fucking lunatic! He'll want some blood when he finds out about his daddy dearest."

"And he'll be targeting the Russians," Mason insisted. "That's what we're leading them to believe. And if that leads him to a dead end, he'll be going for the Falco family... or the Mexican cartels... or the other Italian crime families on the East Coast. The Captolis have a lot of enemies.  Surely, we're not high on his list of suspects. We're
just
a motorcycle club after all."

A number of the brothers chuckled at his remark.

"Yeah, we're just a motorcycle club who happened to be the last crew that had a beef with his family," Prez reminded him. "As I've said... Salvatore may be a crazy
mofo
... but he's not stupid. We'll be on his radar... eventually... and maybe sooner than we're expecting."

"S-So... what should we do, boss?" Pip nervously asked.

"The same thing we've always done," Prez answered. "When push comes to shove, we fight!"

"Aye!" everyone yelled in agreement.

"We fight until our last breath... and we will try our fucking best to survive. It's not the most ideal scenario... but it's our way... it's the
due
we have to pay for being the damn
devils
that we are.

Another round of
ayes
echoed throughout the chapel.

"We'll fight until we have nothing else to give!" Mason screamed. "We'll fight for ourselves! We'll fight for our club!"

"Yes, indeed," Prez affirmed. "However... we're not the only ones who are involved in this mess." He turned his gaze towards me. "We have family... loved ones... people who won't be able to fight like us."

"What're ‘ya tryin' to say, Prez?" I asked anxiously. 

"Brother, when Salvatore figures things out, he'll be gunning for the girl," he replied.

"And I'll be there to protect her!" I reiterated.

"And so will we. But will that be enough? We will die for you and for your ol' lady, brother... but the odds do not favor us."

"So... what're ‘ya tryin' to say?" I asked once more, hoping that it wasn't leading to where I thought the conversation was headed.

Everyone fell silent. They, too, had an idea about what Prez had in mind.

"Bane, you know we love you, brother," he broke the quietness. "We wouldn't have gone through all this shit if we didn't. But I know you also know that there's no other way to do this. So stand up."

"Why?" I questioned defiantly.

"Just stand up, brother," he repeated. "That's a fucking order!"

Reluctantly, I did what I was told. I was duty-bound to obey him.

"Shit!" Talon mumbled in distress. "No, no, no... there must be something else we can do, Prez."

"There's nothing else we can do," Prez answered back as he approached me. He pulled out his jungle knife, further solidifying my hunch. "Take off your kutte, Bane," he commanded.

I groaned as I removed my vest. I threw it towards him. He caught it with one hand and laid it down on the table for everyone to see.

"This has to happen," he said.

He was about to strip me of my membership.

"Loco... ‘ya know that this club's my life, man," I started my plea. "It's all I've got."

He didn't reply.

He pointed his knife on the bottom rocker at the back of my kutte, the one that proudly stated the club's territory:
Wyoming
. He slid the sharp end of the blade through the stitches that supported it. The rocker almost flung into the air with the first cut. Another motion and it was completely removed from my kutte.

He did the same with the lower right patch in front which displayed the same word.

What he did bewildered everyone in the chapel. If he wanted me out, he would've removed the club's colors: the upper rocker and the logo at the back, as well as the upper right patch in front which proclaimed the club's name:
Devils' Due.

But instead, he only removed the words that defined our territory.

Why?

"I'm not kicking you outta the club," he started to explain. "You've been a loyal soldier... often, far too loyal for your own good. You're our brother. You'll always be our brother."