Impossible Attraction (Deadly, #1)

Chapter 4 - Blake

Blake

           

"What do you mean he's missing?" I demand angrily. "How does he just go missing? Fuck, I have a bad feeling about this. I had a gun pointed at me last night. Somehow someone knew where I was going to be. A woman, too, I think. The build was small. She and a big man took off in an SUV before I could get a shot in."

Butch, one of the older men, groans and lights a smoke. "It ain't the cops. They'd have busted us by now, followed you back here, called in the SWAT team."

"Could be anyone with beef with us," Bert, another older member adds.

"Maybe it's the fucking feminists after us for killing women," another man jokes sickly.

"It could be just about anyone," I decide. I shake my head in disbelief. No one messes with us. Anyone who does, gets their head blown off by me or Harry. Only Harry seems to be missing. The men who went looking for him found blood outside his car. I have a bad feeling about this. "No one travels alone. Gun on you at all times. While Harry's away, I'm in charge," I instruct. No one argues, because that's what Harry would've wanted, and plus, no one wants to mess with me.

I grab one guy's smoke and take a draw from it. I need some pot to relax myself right now. I need to calm down and take this slowly. What would Harry do?

I know what he'd do, he'd snort some coke and grab a beer. Then he'd probably pass out before midnight. He'd take this in stride the next morning somehow. There really isn't anything I can do until we know who is on our asses. "Guys, let's get out of here. It's Friday night. Let's go see what's up at The Red Dog. Nothing we can do about this problem we have right now."

The Red Dog is a bar we visit often. There's a lot of tourism in Orlando thanks to the overwhelming number of theme parks in the area. The Red Dog is a small pub that most tourists miss or don't know about. We spend a lot of our money and time there because they have cheap shit on tap and a buddy of Harry's owns the place.

A couple of the guys chuckle and jump up. Everyone loves The Red Dog, especially on Fridays because it's lady's night.

We get to the pub and Tyrell immediately begins causing the ladies grief. He's a looker and the ladies love the guy. He's smooth too, I'll give him that. I sit at the bar and order a pint of beer.

"Hey, kid, you look frazzled," Bert notices, sitting down beside me. "Don't think you're ready to run the guys, or what?"

"I'm ready," I lie. "Just not feeling well. How's your grandson?" How the hell have I managed to become the leader of the gang that killed my family and ruined my life? I can only hope this is temporary, that Harry isn't dead, but I have a bad feeling about this situation.

Bert loves talking about his grandson Jazz who lives with him and his son. Bert spends most of his time at our shack, but he makes sure to make it home every night so he can wake up to his grandson's smiling face.

"He's good, said 'grandpa' finally last week. Love the little gaffer. He's a go getter. He'll make a great addition to the CCs one day," Bert muses. How could anyone ever want this for their son, their grandson?

"I don't have kids, obviously. You want this life for Jazz?" I ask him, hoping he'll shed light on what I don't understand.

"I want him to have a purpose. Too many people in this world live their lives watching the entertainment news and doing shit all. This life has meaning. It's a brotherhood, it's his legacy. My son wants it for Jazz as much as I do. We rid the world of the weak, the unworthy. We are natural selection." Bert chuckles after saying this, but I know he's not joking. "This is the life."