It Ain't Me, Babe (Hades Hangmen #1)(8)
With a loud hiss, the large vehicle crawled away into the distance as I staggered down the long road toward the far-off building. It was vast, imposing, and fenced in. But most importantly, it was near and the heavy-looking tall gate was open just enough so I could squeeze through.
I made it through, my sight fading fast. I knew I could not go on anymore. My energies exhausted, I lay down on the rough, hard ground behind a row of large, wide containers and I submitted to the urgings of my eyelids for sleep. The last image I saw as I glanced up was… Satan… painted on the wall of the building opposite. He sat on a grand throne with a blue-eyed female by his side.
Startled awake, I shook in panic at the image, echoing the words of the lady who drove the large vehicle. Where the hell am I?
Soon after, no longer able to fight sleep, one final thought filtered into my mind as I slid into unconsciousness: There is nothing on the outside but deceit, sin and death…
Chapter Two
Styx
Crashing through the doors of the compound, I was seething. Several club sluts scattered outta my way—wise move.
Bursting through the door of my office I paused at the nearest wall, my hands slapping against the cement. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, carefully thinking over my words. I couldn’t lose it in front of the brothers.
My VP and best friend, Ky, quietly closed the door behind me, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. Turning to face him, he nodded his head to signal we were alone. I expelled a long, frustrated breath.
“F-f*ckin’ Di… Di… Di-Diablo s-s-s-scum!” I manage to push out of my damn defective mouth.
Ky stared at me, no expression in his eyes. He walked to the bar and poured me a bourbon—he knew the routine. Holding out a full glass of source, Ky supplied my kinda medicine. I knocked the liquor back in one practiced action… then another… and another still. At last, I felt it loosen, the ever-present rope choking the f*ck out of my throat.
“More?” Ky stood ready at the bar, Jim Beam bottle in hand.
Clearing my throat, I tested that shit out. “I… I… I… I—”
Shit! Waving my hand, I signaled my VP for another shot… and another… and just one more to be sure.
His blond eyebrows rose, silently asking if I needed more.
“It… it… it’s better,” I said, expelling a sigh of relief. The room was kinda spinning, but at least the f*ckin’ python wrapped around my vocal cords had decided to catch forty.
“K-Ky you better get to the b-bottom of this… sh… sh… shit or we go… to war, you hear? I-I’m ’bout done with the whole lot… lot… lotta ’em!”
Ky’s expression changed. He went as white as a damned ghost and lifted his hands for emphasis. “Styx, man. I swear we had it all worked out. Some f*cker cut the deal behind our backs.” This f*cked-up run had been his deal and it was clear he had no idea what the hell’d gone wrong.
Rubbing one hand across my forehead, I pointed with the other to church. Ky nodded his head, getting my instruction.
Reaching for the half bottle of Jim, I drank directly from it, feeling the burn of its fiery liquid down my throat.
Ky took off to gather the brothers, giving me time to pull it together. As I paced the floor of my office, I knew Ky was telling the truth. The f*ckin’ Diablos. It had to be the Diablos! How can a deal made with the Russians after months of talk just turn to shit in a few days?
Someone sold us out; it was the only explanation. And some * will die for it!
I left my office and entered church, still pouring the hard brown liquor down my throat. It helped the words flow more easily. Those f*ckin’ just-out-of-reach words that stuck in my throat, never wanting to play ball.
The brothers quickly filled the room, tension leaking from their pores as they stared at me, in fear. They should. I was ’bout ready to tear someone a new *. I smelled a rat. A rat in my own f*ckin’ brotherhood. My old man would be turning in his stone-cold grave. No one turns coat on a brother. Well, no one who wants to live a long and pain-free life.
I smiled to myself as the brothers almost pissed themselves watching me. The one thing that stops people ripping on you for being a mute * is being a cold-blooded killer with fists of iron. Funny how no one openly says a damn thing ’bout choking on vocab when one smack in the mouth can paralyze from the neck down.
Ky shut the door, which signaled that all of the Hangmen were present. I grabbed another swig of bourbon and sat at top seat, gavel in hand. My VP was to my right, eyes tight as he studied my rigid face, waiting for me to begin.
I pulled my favorite KM2000 German Bundeswehr knife from my boot and stabbed it into the wood of the table before me, the blade cutting through the thick oak like flesh.
Eyes widened around me.
Point made.
I sat back and signed Ky to start translation.
If someone knows what the f*ck went on tonight, they’d better start talking… Now.
No talking and no meeting of eyes. I felt a tick of annoyance in my jaw.
Elbows on the table, I further signed, That deal’d been on the table for four months. Drop off, transport—the whole f*ckin’ nine yards. Every minute detail was planned to perfection. Then we get to location, hauling truckloads of gear, only to be told we’d been undercut by some other supplier, someone trading on our turf. Commi bastards! Question is… Ky sat back in his seat, watching my hands move furiously the more irate I became. Who’s stealing our business? More important, how the f*ck did they know ’ bout the deal? That info’s been locked down tight.