Page 29 of Volt
“Emiliano Zavala declared war on us. He took Prophet, Beaker, and Axle from us for no other reason than to provoke a response in us. He wants to intimidate us. He wants to make us disband the club and go our separate ways. But most of all, he wants to take Blue Rock for himself. Just like his piece of shit brother did,” Doc spits with the fervor and zeal of a Baptist minister. “But we’re not going to give into that piece of shit.”
An uneasy hush falls over the group, and everybody is exchanging looks with one another. We all know where this is going, and I would assume everybody else is already trying to figure out where they stand on the matter. For me, there is no question. I’m in. Until the bitter end. I am going to fight until one of two things happens: we kill Emiliano, or I’m dead. There will be no quarter from either side and no middle ground to be struck. This fight is for all the marbles, winner takes all.
“Leadership has taken the formal vote and we’re officially going to war,” Doc intones. “We’re taking the fight to this piece of shit, and we’re going to put him in the ground.”
He surveys the room, looking for anybody who is flinching, looking away, or expressing any sort of doubts. Nobody said a word, and nobody moved a muscle. Doc might as well have been looking out over a statue garden.
“All right. This is it then. This is your chance to opt out. If you don’t want to be part of this fight, we’re certainly not going to make you,” he says. “And let us be clear here, gentlemen, this fight is going to be brutal. Not all of us who go into this fight are going to come out of it alive. I can promise you that, so if you want out, now’s the time. Just leave your kutte on the table as you go.”
There’s a murmur of whispers that ripple through the room. It’s a harsh statement. But I understand it. If you’re not willing to risk for this club, you shouldn’t be in it. If you’re not willing to shed blood or even die if required on behalf of the club, you don’t deserve a spot.
But to everybody’s credit, nobody gets up. To a man, nobody leaves. Everybody in this room is willing to give everything, if necessary, to avenge our fallen brothers. To avenge Prophet. To fight back against the cartel that wants to take our town from us. Again.
Doc looks around the room and apparently satisfied with what he sees, he nods.
“Very good. Thank you all for staying in this fight. I know Prophet would be grateful and proud of all of you,” he says. “As I was saying, Emiliano Zavala, like his brother before him, is going to try to take this town from us. He’s going to flood the streets with his product, kill our friends and family with impunity, and run Blue Rock like his shitty little down south of the border.
“We’re not—and I can’t stress this enough—we are not going to let that happen. We are going to wipe Zavala and his fucking cartel off this planet. We are going to put Emiliano Zavala in the fucking ground next to his brother.”
The room erupts in thunderous cheers and applause as we start to prepare for an all-out knockdown war. And I can’t help but wonder how empty this room will be once the dust settles.
Chapter Thirteen
Fallon
“Murdered?” she gasps. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I shake my head. “Not unless he was kidding. And trust me, he wasn’t.”
“Holy shit, Fallon. That’s… intense.”
“That’s one word for it,” I say with a nervous chuckle.
Bree and I are sitting on the patio of Phillip’s, one of Pineville’s best bistros, having lunch. Our schedules lined up for a change, so we actually managed to sit down and have something to eat together rather than passing each other in the bar like two ships in the night.
Between her school schedule and our respective work schedules, if we want to grab a bite to eat together, it entails bags of fast food on the bar counter at the Grizz. It’s nice to get out of the bar and go have a meal with her somewhere with real food that doesn’t come in a bag with wax paper wrappers, and nobody asked if we wanted fries with that for a change.
I take a bite of my French dip and savor the flavors that hit my tongue. I make a noise that would probably be better suited to a porn. What can I say? It’s damn good. I’ve always loved this place and eat here every chance I get. When I die, I’m pretty sure if they crack me open to do an autopsy, they’re going to find Phillip’s au jus filling my veins.
“Oh, by the way, I saw Tommy in yesterday talking to Mary. He seemed pretty steamed about something,” Bree says. “You still refusing to give him a blow job in the back or something?”
“I’d rather stick a leper’s cock in my mouth than Tommy’s.”
“That’s… disturbing,” she says with a laugh. “That is a visual I so did not want in my head today.”
We both laugh, and I cover my mouth with my napkin as my cheeks grow warm. I’m not usually that crude but it pisses me off that Tommy’s complaining about me—not that I didn’t expect it—and it just kind of slipped out.
“I’m sure the story he’s telling Mary has very little to do with actual reality,” I say.
“It’s like one of those movies that say, ‘based on’,” she replies. “You see that you know what you’re about to watch is pure bullshit.”
“Exactly,” I tell her. “But Mary is going to eat it up then go running to Jack to try to convince him to fire me.”
She shakes a head as she pops a French fry into her mouth. “Why does she have such a hard-on for you?”
“I think she resents the relationship I have with Jack,” I say. “I think she’s in love with him and thinks I’m horning in on her action.”
“Pretty sure Jack would never hit that.”
