DESPERADO | Serpents of Western Rock Book #1

N I N E: Moartea

Ｖｉｐｅｒ:

"Prospects," Dallas demanded to Felix and Kai as he swung his leg off his bike, "you stay behind with the guys."
We all parked beside one another outside the abandoned warehouse off route 50. It was barely standing up on its foundation and looked as if the beating desert sun would melt it down any day now.
Kai and Felix stayed on their bikes as Skinner, Rocky, and Cobalt with the other nomads and riders stood beside their own. All their arms were stiffly by their sides or crossed against their chests. Axel and I stood next to each other, watching Roman and Dallas tuck their guns into holsters inside of their jackets.
I kicked at the dirt, trying to get Josie's damn eyes out of my head.
"Viper!" Shouted Prez, not turning around.
I looked at Ax immediately and noticed his eyes widen.
"Come with us."
I followed behind Dal, standing tall after adjusting the gun in my pants and the knife in my boot.
Axel grabbed my shoulder as I began my way to the only door to the building. He looked worried. "Be careful, brother," he warned. "They're gonna be pissed."
I nodded and stepped closer to the entrance. We checked our surroundings and threw open the steel door. In front of us stood a tall buff man in a sleek blue suit, an almost shaved head, with a trail of symbols inked along the side of his neck. His hands were crossed and his eyes were on us intensely. Beside him stood two men, almost as big but not as tall. They also wore fitting suits and let their arms hang to their pockets. The rest of the warehouse stood empty. Empty.
What the fuck?
Dallas and Roman stopped in their tracks and looked around, shock and anger falling upon their faces.
   We knew what we were walking in on when the Romanians called us, but seeing it with our own eyes was too real. We were in some deep shit.
Barney couldn't have ruined this for us. He was dead. I killed him myself. I haven't stopped seeing his lifeless eyes. I've kept awake at because of it.
   We found this location this this morning. No way The Outlaws had info on the site. Skinner and Cobalt brought the truck up here at 6am. This wasn't possible. That fucking dirty MC stole our shipment. Now the war between us has really begun.
"You see what I see?" Rumbled the tall neck tattooed man, with a thick accent. His voice was heavy and angry.
Dallas took the lead. "Forgive me, Petre." He kept his tone sincere.
"Kovacs, to you now, Mr. Michaels."
"Mr. Kovacs," he went on to say tightly, "forgive me. We've had a rat on our hands."
Petre gave a smile. It filled the room with demise. "That seems like a problem you need clearing up."
I stepped forward confidently. "A problem that has been taken care of."
"Clearly not early enough." The foreign man's smile widened when he looked to the patch over my heart. "Viper. You've grown."
Dallas looked to Roman and they both put their heads down.
"Excuse me?" I hissed, sending the man a glare.
"You're father and I did a lot of business together." His explanation only made me more angry. I knew he and my dad had a lot of business between one another, but I'm disgusted this piece of shit met me as a kid.
I gritted my teeth.
"Sad to see you didn't become President of your little possy. I'm assuming you took care of that rat problem?"
I gave a slight nod.
"Your father would be proud." He stepped closer to me, almost shoulder against shoulder. He muttered, "Văd în ochii tăi că devii însuși moartea."
I didn't pull back. I looked straight ahead, looking unenthused. "English please?"
He leaned in more and whispered, "Its Romanian. I see in your eyes, you are becoming The Death—death himself."
I wrinkled my forehead and clenched down on my jaw some more I could practically break it.
"Anyway," he pulled away, walking back to his men. "What are we going to do about this, seeing as we already wired you the majority of the money for this shipment last week?"
"We'll get you your guns." That came from Roman. He looked confident, but I knew he wasn't.
"When?" Petre growled, hands in the air, gesturing around the vacant warehouse. "Now? Tomorrow? Next month? Because if that money sits in your account long before I get my guns, I want the money back and I will take my business elsewhere."
"Give us a week. We have a shipment coming in and we'll throw in a few StG 44s.....for the inconvenience," Dallas offered graciously.
The man laughed. "Cat de dragut," he said to his men, and they chuckled menacingly. "And what makes you think I can wait a week?"
"I guess we are just hoping in your good graces that you'll look at the good business relationship we've had with you for all these years." Dallas was desperate. We all were. Outlaws were ruining all our business, we couldn't afford to lose our last serious tie to big cash.
The man brushed one of his shoulders off and lifted his chin. "I'll give you a week," he began, something lingering in the air, "but I'd like a favor in return." There it was.
"Yes?" Roman responded immediately.
"You," he called, voice deep, finger pointing to me, "Mr. Cash. You're father owed us many favors and I've generously left you out of it. But your his blood, so this favor is going to fall into your hands."
"I didn't know favors were hereditary." I leaned against a steel post. "We do business with you, not for you."
"Cocky like your father, I like it."
I rolled my eyes and Dallas flashed me a look to shut up.
"But no, favors aren't. Debt is." Leave it to my dad to be selfish enough to put us into debt with the Romanians. "I need you to take out a man for me. Named Popa Vasile."
   Great, I'm now a hit man like my father was. Only difference is my Dad got himself into this shit, and willingly took people out rather than figuring things out the hard way. And it drove him crazy.
I tilted my head. "And who the hell is Popa Vasile?"
"Old business partner of mine. Also my brother in law." He was heartless. He went on to elaborate. "He thinks because we are family that he can control things around my crew. He's a nuisance. He needs to be rid of."
"So why don't you do it yourself?"
This time Dallas sent a flying elbow into my arm angrily.
"If my wife finds out his death came from my hands or the hands of my men, that would be a problem for me, you see?"
I sighed.
"And don't you take care of problems now?"
I stood up straight, muscles tensed and nostrils flaring.
Roman interrupted. "He'll take care of it."
My throat tightened.
"Good." He put his hand out and shook both Dallas' and Roman's. He then stepped in front of me, offering the same gesture.
I stared at his hand for a long moment before swallowing my pride for my club. I reached out and grasped it fiercely.
He returned the firm hand shake, coming back into my ear to mumble, "It's nice to see you've grown into yourself. And your tendencies. Like father like son. We'll meet again, Moartea."
The Death.