Page 164 of Monster

It was at times like this that I wished I had my son’s hacking skills. It would have been useful.

I flipped through the papers first, a lot of them listing all the properties the Sons of War owned and how much they paid for them, along with the shell companies they used to make the purchases.

How fucking sloppy.

It made my job easier, but I was still fucking disgusted that a club as chaotic as this was causing my club trouble.

It must be fucking old age. I had gotten too lenient.

That wasn’t going to be the case anymore. Once I find the fucking traitors, I was going to make an example of them.

I grabbed the papers, quickly scanning each one, and noting the locations. I pulled out my phone and took a photo of each.

I stopped when I got to the bank statements, showing deposits made to a fucking Trent Henderson.

Anger ripped through me, sharp and fast.

I had already suspected Trent was a part of the traitors, and this just confirmed it, taking fucking money from the Sons of War.

But I also knew that dickless weasel wasn’t the one in charge. He didn’t have the brains for that. So who the hell was it?

I stopped when I got to the last one.

What the fuck?

A doctor’s bill.

Not just any doctor. A plastic surgeon.

Now, why the fuck would the Sons of War need a fucking plastic surgeon? I doubted I would be able to find the good doctor now and ask him for the answer. He was probably buried deep somewhere in the desert after providing his services.

It took a little more digging before I finally found my answer.

I stiffened when I came upon the before-and-after pictures, anger coursing through me and making it hard to see.

“Fuck!” I screamed.

A gun clicked nearby. “Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

I turned and saw good old Johnny boy—with a fucking gun.

“Don’t you know little boys shouldn’t play with guns?” I asked, trying to calm the rage in my heart. It was hard. So fucking hard.

Betrayed by my own men.

And I was gonna kill every last one. This time, I would make sure there would be no resurrections.

John narrowed his eyes at me. “You really want to insult me? I have a gun pointed at you.”

Even with the fucking weapon, he still looked unsure. As if he didn’t quite know how to use it.

“I know.”

I approached him, and he pulled the trigger.

A loud bang rang out, and a small sting spread from my side.

A miscalculation on my part.

---