Tyrant(3)

I pushed past him, ignoring his question, running toward the house, taking the steps three at a time. I threw open the front door so hard, the screws from the top hinge shot out and clanked down onto the deck. “Pup!” I called out. A small part of me held out hope that somehow she had found a way to stay. But the second I entered the house I didn’t have to search the rooms to know she was gone. I felt the emptiness. “Fuck!” I roared, picking up one of the kitchen chairs. I launched it across the room, where it skipped over the glass coffee table, cracking it down the center, punching a basketball-sized hole in the thin drywall as it came crashing to a halt.

Bear followed me into the house. “Are you going to tell me what happened or you gonna tear the f*cking house up some more?” I moved passed him on my way to the garage. I needed my bike and some provisions.

The kind of provision that required bullets.

“Nothing a f*cking body bag couldn’t fix.”

One handcuff was still locked on me, the other end was open and dangling from my wrist, the chain stained with the fake cop’s blood. As soon as that f*cker was dead and the car crashed against the tree, I’d pulled myself over into the front seat. Thank f*cking god the handcuff keys were still in that f*ckers pocket. “I see that,” Bear said. “Where the f*ck is Doe?” There was a protective tone in his voice, which rubbed me the wrong f*cking way, but I’d deal with that later.

After I got my girl back.

“The good senator f*cked me over. There was no Max. And the last time I saw Pup, she was kicking and screaming as I was being carted away by a guy hired to take me out.” The image of her struggling in the senator’s grip made me see red. “Make a few calls,” I clipped. “Find out where he might be taking her.”

“Fuck.” Bear said. Instead of pulling out his phone he bent over and rested his hands on his knees.

“What the f*ck now?”

Bear pinched the bridge of his nose. “There was a reason why I came back here, man. Besides to kick your ass for f*cking shit up with Doe. I’m thinking that before you solve this problem with a spray of bullets, you should probably know that it might not have been the senator who was trying to send you to ground,” he said, standing up straight and leaning up against the wall where he lit a cigarette.

“What the f*ck is that supposed to mean? He was the one who had the guy arrest me. Of course it was him.”

Bear shook his head. “He’s a problem, but he’s not our only problem. Rage called not twenty minutes ago, and as you know that f*cker’s got eyes and ears everywhere. Word is that the shit that went down with Isaac isn’t over. Far f*cking from it.” He ran his hand through his hair and the ash from his cigarette fell to the carpet.

“I made that f*cker’s head explode myself. Looked pretty over to me,” I argued.

“No, not Isaac. He’s f*cking worm food, but someone who’s f*cking pissed about Isaac not being able to continue selling his shit in Florida on account of him being dead. Someone who ain’t afraid to kill entire families to get to the people who wronged him.”

I stiffened, knowing exactly who he was talking about. “Eli.”

“Yeah man,” Bear confirmed. “And if I was a betting man I’d put my money on it being Eli wanting to take you out over daddy dearest.”

Eli Mitchell was who Isaac had filtered his drug money up to. Well, he did until me, Preppy, and Bear ended him and most of his crew. With his thick rimmed black glasses and his short stature, no one would never think the guy was capable of half the shit he did on a daily basis.

When you wanted to scare a rabbit out of a hole you sent in a smoke bomb. Eli’s version of a smoke bomb was killing anyone you’ve ever loved until you showed yourself and he could finally kill you too.

“The intel I’m getting says Eli’s still in Miami, but he’s making a move, and soon. The MC is on lockdown, afraid of the blowback. Pops is pissed as f*cking hell.”

“First Isaac and now f*cking Eli,” I said. “Can’t catch a f*cking break. Sometimes I feel like I would have been better off staying locked-up.”

“I feel ya, man. Same here. This isn’t just biker shit anymore. This is cartel shit. Bigger, badder…deader,” Bear said. “And I can’t put Grace in lockdown. I know she’s more a mom to you than your cunt of a mother ever was, but Pop’s ass is all sorts of chapped lately. He don’t want no one in the MC bringing civilians into the club, especially during lockdown, but we need to find somewhere safe for her to stay for a while.” Bear looked up at me and as he spoke I realized what he was trying to tell me. “I ain’t got anyone close enough to me that warrants killing, who isn’t in the MC, but you sure as shit do.”