Reign (Sin City Outlaws #1)

Reign (Sin City Outlaws #1)

M.N. Forgy





DEDICATION

I dedicate this not only to my readers, who I absolutely love, but to anyone who has ever been labeled the ‘bad one’. Nobody knows your story, nobody knows the road you went down to get where you are. So what, you don’t trust easily? Maybe with a little effort, they’d see what really lies beneath the broken shell that you’ve had to carry around like a dead weight for so long. Judgment is one's remedy to their own self-acceptance, blinding them of a future filled with endless connections to some of the best people they’ll ever meet.

I say f*ck them, and eat donuts with colorful sprinkles.

‘Cause sprinkles are for winners…





PROLOGUE





ZEEK


I slam the cap of the beer bottle against the bar, popping the top off.

It’s my third one and I still feel wound-up. Maybe I should smoke some pot, or find a club ho to pound my frustrations out on. Or maybe smoke some pot while pounding out those frustrations.

Flexing my sore knuckles, I look down at them; there’s dried blood splattered against my skin. I’m not sure whose blood it is, though. Could be mine, could be Sal’s. He’ll think twice before getting mouthy with me again. I told him we were switching buyers, and he decided right then to grow a set of balls. We’ve used his product for the last seven years, but when he decided to go off the grid for over a month, it was time for a change. I had some pissed-off buyers when I couldn’t supply them.

“Man, did you hear?” The door to the club slams. Looking over my shoulder, Felix walks in wide-eyed. He’s my cousin and got his nickname ‘cause when he kills, he’s as silent as a panther. His entire persona reminds me of a cat. He’s an *, only wants a bitch’s attention on his terms, and he f*cks like it’s going out of style. Everyone calls me Zeek. My real name is Zevin, but my lil' brother couldn’t say it growing up, so he sputtered out Zeek. Everyone started calling me it, and I never said otherwise. It has that Brady Bunch f*cking feeling to it. White, perfect family, with three and half kids, minivan in the driveway. You know, ordinary. Not much in my life is, but Zeek stuck. That’s about as unconventional as I get when it comes to that shit. “Buck ratted, man. They just took one of our containers. Luckily, it was one we just emptied.”

I shake my head.

“That’s the third f*cking member this week who’s ratted.” Slamming the bottle on the counter, I swipe my hands through my hair, pissed off. Whatever happened to loyalty, brotherhood? Thoughts of betrayal run rampant, my hands aching to strangle someone in retaliation.

“Your ol’ man getting locked down put the pinch on everyone.”

I arch a brow, my heart accelerating with his comment. My father got busted moving drugs, and it was like a domino effect. Every time I turn around, they’re arresting another member. It’s only a matter of time before this entire f*cking club goes down.

Soon, everyone else will start thinking what I’m thinking, that my father talked to the police and broke a VERY important rule. The mere thought of it makes my blood pump with an urgency to be violent. I want to believe my father would never commit such a weak act, that I’m a piece of shit to even think it. However, it’s the only thing that makes sense. He's a f*cking rat and needs to pay the price for his indiscretions.

After all, that’s the price you pay when you seek the life of an outlaw. We make the laws, we are the judge, and we dish out the sentence.

“You’re vice president, Zeek, you gotta figure this shit out. I can’t go to prison, I’ll be killed. Look at me.” He holds his hands out on each side to display himself. He’s big, very muscular—he reminds me of a Tarzan-looking motherf*cker. “I’m likely to be the biggest f*cker in there, so everyone’s going to want to take me down.”

“To f*ck you in the ass maybe. As far as you being top rank in prison, I think you’re clear.”

He frowns, clearly not seeing it that way.

My phone chimes, catching my attention. It’s Rachel. We’ve been seeing each other since high school. She’s high-maintenance, a Barbie. We started drifting apart years ago, but neither of us really have a place to go so we just deal with each other. She hates the club and wants me to quit, thinks I’d be a great dentist or perfect behind a desk or some shit. She clearly doesn’t know me, but I put up with her ‘cause she lets me f*ck her in the ass occasionally. You can’t go wrong with f*cking Barbie in the ass.

“What?” I snap into the phone.

“It’s one in the morning, Zevin. When are you coming home?”

I inhale a deep breath. “When I’m f*cking home.”

“Typical. This is really getting to be tiresome. I never see you. You’re never here anymore.” Her tone of voice is really starting to piss me off. “Why can’t you take me on vacation or something?”

“Seriously, Rachel? I can’t do this shit right now. If you’re so unhappy, why the f*ck are you still around?”

“You have changed so much. One of these days, Zevin, you’re going be left alone and you’ll have nobody to blame but yourself!”

The line goes dead and I slam the phone onto the bar, cracking the screen. I don’t have time for this shit right now. Every time I turn around, she’s pissed off at me and the club. She wonders why I f*ck around. Maybe it’s because she’s constantly trying to change me.