Page 43 of Embracing the Consequences

Johnny sneered at the man. “Looks like you could use your oxygen, old man,” Johnny taunted.

When Buckley could only cough, Johnny motioned at him. “I need him to answer a couple questions first.”

Marcos signaled to the patched brother that had been guarding Buckley when they walked in. The man looked vaguely familiar. Johnny watched him move a large oxygen tank on wheels over to the jail cell and unravel the clear tubing.

Buckley made a desperate lunge toward the cell bars and pulled the clear tube and mask up to his face. He took deep, gasping breaths as he gulped down air.

It was pathetic to see such a piece of shit already on death’s door. Johnny had half a mind to let the man live out his miserable existence in the basement, slowly suffocating.

“Why were you working with Vince Carmichael?” Johnny asked, his voice hard as steel.

Buckley laughed. “’Cause he was a snake and wanted the same shit I did: Mac Taylor dead.”

“Why?” Johnny demanded.

“Why not? Fucking Taylor rode around here making deals with the Tarazovs and stirring shit up with the Seratellis, acting like he owned fucking Creekton and Mourningside too. I was fucking sick of it.” Buckley spat.

Johnny’s eyebrows furrowed together. He glanced at Nico. Nic shook his head slightly; he had no idea. “What kind of deals with the Seratellis?” Johnny asked.

“The kind that blow up the fucking coke trade from Chicago to Birmingham,” Buckley growled.

It fucking dawned on Johnny right then: the Devil’s Psychos had attacked them in Alabama, along the trade routes. They’d killed Rachet because Mac was making deals with the Mafia to move coke.

Rage boiled in his chest.

“Where is Vince Carmichael?” Johnny growled.

Buckley laughed deeply. “Fuck if I know. Asshole only came round to throw money around. He was paying me to start a war with the Knights; he rarely told me shit.”

Hisses of rage zipped around the semicircle.

Johnny locked his jaw, grinding his molars as he glared down at the piece of shit in front of him. He believed him. Looking at Buckley now, the man had no plays up his sleeve; he had no more information Johnny needed.

Any questions he had could only be answered by his father, and that wasn’t possible.

Johnny motioned toward the cell door.

Marcos walked over and unlocked it.

Johnny pulled a nine-millimeter Beretta from its holster under his arm, concealed by his cut. He stepped into the cell, gun aimed at his target, and Buckley laughed again. “I should have fucked your little whore—”

Johnny pulled the trigger.

Blood and brain matter splattered on the cinder-block wall behind Buckley. A single bullet hole, between Buckley’s unseeing eyes, was all it took to end the life of the man who had been a thorn in his side for years.

“Abrazos de la Muerte,” Johnny muttered. He thought when Buckley died that he would feel relieved, thought he would feel a sense of peace wash over him.

Instead, he felt nothing, not even numb.

He nodded once at Marcos, then turned and walked out of the cell. He walked up the basement stairs and out of the clubhouse without a backward glance.

He had done what he’d come to do. The war was over. Peace could reign. And Johnny had the love of his life waiting for him in his bed.

Kara woke to themattress dipping on either side of her. Three sets of hands found her body in the dark and slid rough calloused hands over her warm, smooth, naked skin. She woke slowly as mouths soon joined the hands on her body.

She’d gone back to bed naked, knowing her men would slide in when they came home.

The sheet was pulled slowly from her body, exposing her supple flesh to the cool air. Warm hands and mouths quickly heated her with sensual touches. She moaned as a mouth closed around her nipple, sucking and nibbling. Hands slid down her sides, grabbing and massaging her ass cheeks, parting the thick globes. She moaned, and lips found hers in the darkness and sucked down her moans in a sloppy kiss.Derrick.

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