Page 2 of Hell's Claim

Booze flowed freely, and Zeus made bad choices.

In Enigma’s time, all brothers worked and paid into the MC a cut of their wages. Most of them had left, so Zeus used illegal means to get money. He’d been running pussy for three years, much to our disgust, and that was the tipping point for the decent brothers. Last month, we’d breached into drugs, and now Zeus was making noises about guns.

Chance had started looking outside the club to recruit brothers that thought the same as us. Shotgun and Levi, our friends from childhood, had joined us a year ago. A quiet lad we had known at school, Chatter, would join next year. He was another old friend from kindergarten. Chance was searchingfor more decent guys to bring in, and we’d slowly start taking Hellfire back from the filth that infected it.

This would be a drawn-out battle. But that was too fuckin’ slow, in Sunny’s opinion. Sunny wanted Zeus and his band of thugs gone. Despite Zeus’s clique denied knowing anything about Cutter’s killing spree, Chance and Sunny did not believe him. Much like they didn’t believe Zeus and his buddies knew shit about Enigma’s murder.

Some days, Sunny felt like pulling a gun and just shooting the fuckers dead, but his father deserved justice. True retribution would come by Sunny’s hands. Cutter hadn’t killed Bullet of his own cognisance. That was Sunny’s word of the day, and he’s used it. Kudos to him. Whatever.

Cutter was a sheep, not a leader. The fuck had been ordered to murder Bullet, Slash, and Stingray. Sunny shook his head. What type of animal could kill his own father? Cutter must have been snorting more than coke.

“Sunny!” Zeus bellowed.

Sunny looked up with narrowed eyes. Chance, Levi, and Big Al glanced in his direction.

“What?” Sunny drawled rudely.

Zeus swivelled his head to where Sunny was sitting. His eyes fixed on him, and Sunny straightened his shoulders. Sunny recognised that mood. Zeus planned to fuck with someone, and he’d chosen Sunny.

“I wanted fried chicken. Go get it,” Zeus demanded.

Sunny held his gaze as Zeus’s little clique chuckled.

“Yeah, that ain’t happening,” Sunny drawled.

“Say what?” Zeus snapped.

“Get a prospect. I’m a full brother. I don’t do food runs, the prospects do. Oi, Grinder, get Pres fried chicken,” Sunny called out. He deliberately picked Grinder, knowing he was Zeus’s cousin.

Zeus smiled.

“Didn’t ask him. Asked you, fucker,” he sneered.

“And I don’t do scut, I’m patched in,” Sunny insisted.

“You’ll do as I fuckin’ order!” Zeus screamed. “Or end up in the ring. Hound needs a workout.”

“Hammer, go clean the toilets, there’s shit everywhere. Anarchy, I want the kitchen scrubbed spotless, and Matches, the trash needs emptying,” Chance said from behind Sunny.

Zeus rose to his feet. “What the fuck are you doing, Michaelson? The inner circle doesn’t do scut work!”

“If Sunny has to, then so do the others. And if they refuse, then they’re in the ring.” Chance smiled. “And in case you forgot, it’s Chance. That’s what my patch name states.”

“Are you fuckin’ with me?” Zeus screeched, going red.

“Sunny is an enforcer. He’s leadership!” Chance said calmly.

“I’ll have your—”

“Watch your mouth!” Chance snapped as Zeus’s eyes narrowed. “I’m a legacy, whether you are president or not.”

“And you don’t outrank me,” Zeus sneered. He stroked the president’s patch. “You’re just VP.”

“If you wanna go for a vote, let’s do it. Right now. I ain’t a kid anymore, and I have a founder behind me,” Chance taunted.

“Watch your back, you’re dangerously close to mutiny,” Zeus warned.

“Since when were we on a boat?” Big Al demanded.

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