Page 154 of 12 Months of Mayhem

Ricardo complies, guiding the SUV down a narrow street lined with dilapidated houses. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating overgrown yards and boarded-up windows.

“Stop,” I command as we approach a ramshackle shotgun house, its paint peeling and porch sagging. “It’s in there.”

Ricardo kills the engine, exchanging a glance with his brother in the rearview mirror. “After you, Mr. Reed.”

I lead the way up the creaking steps, acutely aware of the two men at my back. The front door swings open with a rusty groan, revealing a musty interior cluttered with debris.

“This way,” I mutter, picking my way through the mess towards the back of the house.

In the kitchen, I pause in front of an ancient refrigerator. With a grunt, I shove it aside, revealing a trapdoor beneath. I heave open the door, revealing a set of rickety wooden stairs descending into darkness. The musty smell of damp earth and mold wafts up, making my nose twitch. I flick on my phone flashlight.

“Watch your step,” I warn over my shoulder. “These stairs have seen better days.”

The wood creaks ominously under our combined mass as Ricardo and Mateo follow me down. The air grows cooler and thicker with each step, the sounds from above fading away until all I can hear is our breathing and the soft shuffle of feet.

At the bottom, we emerge into a low ceiling room, the beam of my light barely penetrating the inky blackness. The walls are rough-hewn earth, supported by old timber beams that look like they’ve been here since before the Civil War.

“Where’s the light switch?” Ricardo demands.

I smirk in the darkness, my finger hovering over the switch in my pocket. “Right here,” I say and press the button.

Instantly, the room floods with harsh fluorescent light, momentarily blinding us all. As my eyes adjust, I hear the unmistakable sound of multiple guns being cocked.

“What the fuck?” Ricardo barks, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness.

As the spots clear from my vision, I see we’re surrounded by a dozen armed Zulu Kings and Voodoo City Queens, their weapons trained steadily on Ricardo and Mateo. The brothers freeze, hands instinctively moving towards their own guns before realizing the futility of the action.

“Sorry, boys,” I drawl, stepping back to join my people. “Change of plans.”

Ricardo’s face contorts with rage. “You lying son of a bitch,” he spits. “You’ll regret this, Reed. My men will-”

“Your men?” I interrupt, unable to keep the smirk off my face. “Oh, you mean the ones back at the warehouse? Yeah, they’re probably having a real bad night right about now.”

Mateo lunges forward, but one of the Heaven’s Rejects steps in, pressing the barrel of his shotgun against Mateo’s chest. “I wouldn’t.”

I turn my attention back to Ricardo, whose eyes are darting around the room, no doubt looking for an escape route. “Here’s how this is going to go down,” I say. “I am going to give you two options. One, the same deal as I laid out at the warehouse. You get the fuck out of Louisianna. No more drugs or using my club to move and manufacture your product.”

Ricardo lets out a harsh laugh. “And why the hell would I do that?”

I step closer, my lips dropping to a menacing smile. “I’m glad you asked. Option two is far better, in my opinion. We feed your corpses to the alligators. I hear those fuckers are real hungry this time of year.

Ricardo’s jaw clenches, his eyes burning with barely contained fury.

“You’re bluffing,” he says, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

I shrug, maintaining my calm demeanor. “Maybe. But are you willing to bet your entire empire on that?”

Ricardo and Mateo exchange a look, having one of their silent conversations. The tension in the room is palpable, everyone’s fingers itching on their triggers.

Finally, Ricardo turns back to me, his face stone cold fury. “Fine,” he spits out. “We’ll leave New Orleans. But this isn’t over, Reed. You’ve made a powerful enemy today.”

I lean in close. “Better to be your enemy than your brother, Diaz. I mean, we could ask Alejandro’s opinion on your options, but he’s not really talkative these days.”

Ricardo’s eyes widen slightly, and I know my words have hit their mark. The implication hangs heavy in the air between us.

“You son of a bitch,” he hisses, his composure finally cracking. “What did you do to Alejandro?”

Mateo lunges forward again, rage contorting his features, but Big Mike’s shotgun stops him cold. “Easy there, tiger,” Mike remarks.

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