Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Titus looked around the table. He smiled his usual fucking cocky smile. “You looking at me, Prez?”
Styx tilted his head to the side. “You got anything to say?” Ky translated. “Anything to . . . confess?”
Titus’s eyebrows pulled down. But the fucker shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I heard the door open behind me. Tanner re-entered the room, a folder in his hands. He stopped next to Tank.
“No,” Titus replied in answer to Styx’s question.
Ky took the lead this time. “We’ve been doing some digging.” He waved his hand at Tanner. Tanner walked around the table and threw down the folder . . . right in front of Titus. Titus stared at the folder. “Noticed money was coming up short from the New Orleans chapter.” Ky smiled his fucking Hollywood smile, but it was laced with fury. “Turns out a little prez with white-power dreams has been skimming to fund his local ole-worldly Ku Klux Klan.” Ky tutted, the room rising with tension. “And that just ain’t playing by the rules.”
Titus threw the folder back across the table. “This is bullshit!”
“Won’t let anyone of any color in the chapter, except white.” Ky sat back in his seat, folding his arms. “Then blaming the theft on the only brown brother and banning him from your club.” My eyes widened. Titus snapped his head to me. His lip curled in disgust. Crow looked too, and I could see a fucking flare light up his face.
“Got anything to say, fucker?” Ky asked sweetly, then dropped his smile. “You have the floor.”
Titus jumped to his feet. His eyes narrowed and roved all around the room. “This fucking club used to stand for something. We were white. Only allowed in white members.” He spat across the table, aiming for me. “Then y’all start letting in blacks and browns and whatever the fuck else inferior types you could find. The club quickly took a fucking nosedive.” Titus looked at Ky and Styx. “When your papas were in charge, at least in the beginning, they had it right. Only fucking soldiers wore the Hangmen patch.” He glared at Styx. “Then the stuttering retard moved in and took over. Coughing and spluttering over words, having to speak with his hands like a fucking pussy. Making us the fucking joke of every one-percenter club in the States—”
Styx launched from his chair, as silent as the fucking night, and grabbed Titus by the cut. He dragged him to the front of the room, kicked his legs from under him, and shot him right through the fucking skull.
Styx tossed Titus’s still-warm corpse to the ground, only stopping to rip his “Prez” patch from his cut and slam it into Crow’s chest. Tucking his gun back into his jeans, he signed, “Congratulations, you’re the prez now.”
Styx took a seat and, like there wasn’t a fucking dead man on the floor, blood pooling at his feet, signed, “Any other disloyal fucker I gotta deal with?” Heads shook. Styx exhaled. “War is coming. So fuck your old ladies, drink as much fucking bourbon as you can take, and get the fuck ready . . . because some of our days are numbered.”
Styx lifted the gavel, calling time on church. The minute wood hit wood, the doors slammed open behind us. We all spun around to see a tall blond guy walk through the door. His hair was styled to the side, like he belonged in the fucking nineteen-forties. A short beard framed his face. He smiled. “Long time no see, you fucking bunch of Yank wankers!” His thick British accent traveled like lightning through the room.
“Yes!” Vike shouted, jumping from his seat, cutting through us brothers to pick the guy off the floor and spin him around. “Hell to the fucking YES! Fucking Barnaby Rudge!”
“Vike!” the guy greeted him, a fucking wide grin on his face. “How’s my partner in crime?”
“Fucking ecstatic now you’re here.”
Ky pushed through the crowd. He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Rudge, what the fuck are you doing here?”
Rudge threw his arm around Vike, their massive heights matching. With a shit-eating grin, he explained, “Over here bare-knuckle fighting on the circuit. Heard there was a meeting of the prezes and veeps here in good ole Texas.” He flicked his chin. My eyes fell to his cut. He was from the London chapter in England.
“Yeah, VPs and prezes,” Ky confirmed, leaving the sentence hanging. Rudge clearly wasn’t either.
He shrugged. “Yeah, mate. But it’s me. The fucking Judge! Knew you’d want me here, if you knew I was close.”
“You know it!” Vike tapped Rudge’s back with his big-ass paw.
“So?” Rudge asked, his gray eyes finding Ky. “What’s going down?”
“We’re going to war,” Vike said excitedly. “Cartel and Klan together.”
Rudge moaned, eyes rolling back in his head. He bit his lip. “Fuuuuccckkkkk . . . I almost came.” He leaned in close to Vike. “Say that to me again, big boy . . . real fucking dirty.”