Page 64 of Undone

CHAPTER TWELVE

Making Moves

THE PORT AUTHORITY uniform itched my neck. We erased the security tapes just because we could. But we knew the law wasn’t gonna come after us. In the hours before dawn, we met at the Port Authority and emptied the shipping container.

“Fuck. There must be twenty-million-dollars’ worth of goods here.” Cortez smiled, giddily.

I frowned. “We ain’t holding this shit. This could all backfire if it gets called in and we are caught with it.”

Bikes with revving engines wove through containers. “Fuck! Was this a set-up?” I raised my Glock at Cortez. He answered by turning around and emptying a few rounds at the group of men riding at us. I stood with my feet planted behind the opened steel door of a large metal shipping container, using it as a shield. I fired round after round. I haven’t been engaged in a firefight since my days in the Middle East, adrenalin pumped through me. My mind switched into the soldier I was trained to be.

“I’m hit!” Blood gushed from Vasyl’s chest. I knew instantly—it wasn’t survivable. Roaring like a madman, I drew my second gun from the holster at my ankle and burst into the open, with two guns firing rapidly.

I didn’t know how many men I took down. I just kept firing—becoming someone else. I wasn’t Lucas Smith.

I wasn’t anyone.

My mind separated from my body as I charged through the thick fog that had rolled in with the dawn. I killed every last motherfucker I could. Cortez and I worked in sync, not stopping until it was over.

The tips of my boots turned crimson as I walked through puddles of blood, over bodies and back to where Vasyl lay.

I knelt by Vasyl’s side, closed his eyelids, and punched the pavement so hard my knuckles split wide open.

My blood mixed with his.

He died for me—for the Club. And I knew it was all fucking bullshit.

Everything that mattered to me; I couldn’t have anymore. Even if I walked away—I’d be hunted. The only way out of this—was to fight.

“Prez? How do you want to clean this up?” Federico asked, as he draped his cut over Vasyl.

“We need to move. The port opens in an hour.”

Will started picking up bullet casings that were still hot.

“Get Vasyl in our truck. We’ll bury him with respect. As for the Felons, put them in the container with their drugs. Call it in after we wipe all traces of ourselves from here, with a tip that The Vega Cartel and the Felons are at war. Maybe it’ll make them question their new partnership and buy us some time.”

“What about our guns? The ballistics will be traced back to us?” Federico, asked.

“No, they won’t. None of them are registered. Wipe them clean of our prints and dump them in Mexico near the tunnel The Feds have under surveillance. Just be careful and don’t get caught. It will further the belief that this was a Cartel hit.”

“Sí. I have many friends there. I will get it done,” Federico vowed.

“That’s fuckin’ genius.”

“Thanks, Will. But tell that to Vasyl. This was bullshit!” My boot kicked the container, leaving a dent.

“Did he have any family?”

I turned to Federico. “We were his family.” Then I stalked toward the fallen men from the Felons, took out my knife, and carved a V into their foreheads. It was the Cartel’s calling card.

I took a kerchief from my back pocket and collected as many empty casings as I could and used the dock hoses to wash away any boot prints or tire tracks and left the scene.

I went back to the Clubhouse, locked myself in my office, and drank half a bottle of vodka for Vasyl. I saved the other half to bury next to him. I knew I couldn’t sit idle much longer or more of my men would die. I picked up my burner cell and called Rog.

“Brotha… we have a war on our hands.”

He was silent for a few seconds. “How bad?”

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