Page 2 of Rise of the King (Checkmate 5)

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John

Three Months Later

Blizzards. Fucking blizzards in February.

Pulling a beanie low over my eyes and digging my hands into my coat pockets, I walk through the club front entrance like I belong here and move through the hall.

The bouncer on the door doesn’t know me, but he doesn’t stop me, either.

The dancing girls on poles shoot flirty winks to the customers, to me, as they spin and seduce. They sway nice asses in the faces of men whose wives are at home. Men who’d rather throw a hundred dollars at a college girl shaking her ass, rather than at the woman he married twenty years ago and swore his loyalty to.

I’ve been in a million clubs in my life; some were downright filthy, some were clean, some were questionable, and some were classy. But they’ve all been dangerous, and this one is no different.

I wear a nine-millimeter Glock at the back of my jeans and another beneath my coat. I flip a blade in my left hand inside my pocket, hidden but easily accessible if the wrong guy recognizes me.

And people will recognize me eventually; it’s inevitable.

I’m looking for a twenty-five-year-old gangster-wannabe with a gold tooth and a fat wallet. He thinks he’s invincible. He thinks he’sinvisible. He thinks he’s important to the success or failure of this war, and thus, he thinks he’ll win it. But no one wins this war except me, because what I have to protect is too important to lose.

This club, aptly named Devil’s Court, is dark, but it’s on the classier side, since the dancersmostlywant to be here. I doubt they grew up wanting to dance for old fucks who take little blue pills before they come out at night, but if they’re going to dance anyway, it may as well be in a club that doesn’t allow touching, and the bills being flung to the stage are worth significantly more than a dollar.

If these women want to sell their bodies, then they’ll be compensated in such a way that’ll make it worth their time and effort.

Glancing across the large room and between a set of long legs, I catch sight of my target just half a second before he sees me.

He’s twenty-five, but acts like he’s an original gangster from way back. Face tattoos, tear drops, gold tooth – he’s a walking cliché – but he’s fast, and when he catches my eyes, he pivots and bolts.

Breaking away, I run adjacent rather than straight across the room. I’ll catch him at the door rather than run in circles like a dumb shit. I sprint through bodies and bump only a few. The music is loud enough, and my feet sure enough, that my running barely raises a single brow.

I know this club now. Ace makes sure I have access to everything I need before I step foot outside my apartment, so he sent the blueprints days ago with orders to study the layout, memorize my targets, and be ready to jack a motherfucker up in pursuit of answers.

I don’t have room to fuck this up, becausesomeonehas put a contract on the head of someone I love… and that just won’t be permitted.

I cannot lose this war.

Sprinting, I push my way into a hall and time my steps. He’s going to enter the hall from ahead in three… two… one.

I slam against his hundred-and-fifty-pound body and send us both sprawling. Women squeal, and men pull weapons, but Cole – that’s my gangster’s name – and I slam against the floor, against the wall, and stop when his head raps against the metal emergency exit at the back.

“What, man? What the fuck?” He throws his hands out to hold his injured head. He calls himself a gangster, but can’t do shit once he’s caught. “What’s your fuckin’ problem?”

“Get up.” I climb to my feet and pull him up by the front of his shirt. I don’t pull my weapon, and I don’t spare a glance for the men who stand around holding theirs.

I’m not scared of them. I’m not scared of anything.

I’ve seen the fire already. It burned me up and snuffed out my life, but here I stand, alive and well, and un-fucking-touchable.

Having led us exactly where we need to go, I shove Cole through the emergency exit and back into the ball-shriveling blizzard with a groan. It’s so fucking cold out today, it eats at your bones and threatens frost-bitten extremities.

Fuck the weatherman for forecasting this shit last night.

Cole fights my hold; he tries to escape my hands and shivers as we move. I walked into that club with my coat and hat still on, but this pussy is wearing a wife-beater and jeans five sizes too big for his skinny ass.

His gold chains aren’t gonna keep him warm like he’d hoped.

Slamming the door closed and flipping the lock until the barrel snicks and echoes in the dark alleyway, I turn and snatch my gangster back when he tries to make a run for it. Smashing him against the wall until the breath explodes from his lungs, I lift him off his feet and wait for the stench of urine. “Talk.”

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