Somewhere Between the Depths

Chapter Twenty

Silas: Age Twenty-Seven

I fire off a bullet right into the back of the Royal fucker's head, unable to hide the smirk crossing my lips as he drops to the ground. I flex my fingers around the handle of my gun, smoothing back my hair with my other hand even as Cash glares at me. I shake it off, placing a joint in my mouth. Despite the horrified looks coming from the Iron Creed in attendance, I'm a picture of calm indifference. I don't give a fuck anymore, and I'm tired of fucking talking. Only one way these assholes are gonna get the message, and it's exactly like this. Lodging bullets into fucking skulls until they understand that the Horsemen are not the ones to fuck with. Cash can be pissed all he wants, but it looks like the message is ringing loud and clear to me.

"You thought you could get one over on us, Mac?" I ask, addressing the Iron Creed Pres directly. 

He fidgets, guilty eyes dropping to his boots as I call him out in front of his men. Their eyes volley between us, this revelation news to them. They were only getting the bare minimum payment off this exchange, but their Pres was stuffing his pockets with this little fuck-over scheme. One by one, it clicks, and their jaws simultaneously clench, their eyes drilling holes into Mac. I grin at their expressions, stalking toward him with loud steps before I press my gun against his shoulder and fire. He howls seconds before I slam into him, shoving him against the wall of the warehouse while I bare my teeth in a snarl.

I place my joint between my teeth, gripping his throat in one hand, while I hold tight to my pistol in the other. His screams are strangled as I choke him tighter, his body trying to thrash beneath my grip, but I give him no leeway. 

"You thought you could play us all for fools and have Royal protection while you did it." I laugh darkly, blowing smoke in his face. 

I press the nose of my gun beneath his chin, tilting his head up with it until he's whimpering. His lips turn a fancy shade of blue at the lack of oxygen. 

"Royals can't protect you, Mac. I suggest you have all of our money by tomorrow, or I'll blow out your other kneecap."  

I release him, taking a small step back and relishing the confused expression on his face a full five seconds before I fire off a shot into his right knee. His screams of pain echo off the empty space between the warehouses. Mac's body thumps to the ground as he groans, and I turn my back, uncaring if his brothers take a shot or not. Though judging by the harsh glares on their faces, he may be in more danger with them. 

I glare at Matteo when he tries to step into my path, brushing past him and the rest of the Horsemen as I mount my bike and let it rumble to life. I slip on my shades, forgoing my helmet, an evil grin plastered on my face as I slowly ride past the pissed off Creed members. The rumble of engines quickly sounds behind me, and everyone falls into line as we hit the highway back to Variety. Though I can't see his face, I can feel the heat of Cash's stare on the back of my neck. He's going to lose his shit the minute we step into the clubhouse, but I don't give a damn. The time for playing nice has been far over, and if he thinks I'm going to bow down to any of these fuckers, he's deadly mistaken. I've grown accustomed to my shoot first, ask questions later philosophy, and I don't plan on changing it anytime soon. 

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As expected, Cash waits for everyone to step into church before he turns the full force of Death's scowl on me. His stance is menacing, shoulders squared, and hands fisted as he approaches me. I stand tall, refusing to cower before him or anyone else. We both know that Pres is my rightful spot, has been for quite some time, but the old fucker was too stubborn to release the reigns. I lift my chin in a silent invitation, facing him head on as he stops barely a few inches away.