He wasn't so sure about that.
"I'm just lookin' out for the club. We do this, we do Frankie, and we're at war with Preacher. Full out war. Shit won’t be easy; it will be downright fuckin' ugly."
He looked back at the house. Loud music was blaring, bikes and a few pickups covered the lawn. Through the lit windows he could see people dancing with beers in their hands. It was a typical MC party.
But he wasn’t here to party, he was here to kill the Silver Demon's VP.
He looked back at his brothers. "We all agree or we all leave."
Tag, ZZ, Cox, Mick and Jase all gave him the thumbs up. He looked at Ripper.
Ripper stared at the house. "We got the manpower to go up against Preacher. We got the connections, we got the money, we got the Russians, fuck, we even got some of Preacher's connections ready to go up against Preacher for the right price, so what the fuck. Let's do it. 'Bout time someone put that rabid dog down."
Deuce nodded to Cox. "You and me are goin' in. Tag and ZZ take back, Mick and Jase take front and Ripper…you just fuckin' wait and I'll bring the fucker right to you and you can gut him like the fuckin' pig he is."
Ripper grinned his deformed half grin. "You sure do know how to turn a guy on,
Prez
."
He shoved an extra clip in the back of his leathers. "I try," he said dryly.
He grabbed Cox's arm before they entered. "Remember we need to be cool. Frankie knows we got beef. Look like you're here to party. Start drinking just don't get shitfaced or grab some pussy but keep your eye on your phone."
"You got it."
It wasn't hard to grab pussy at an MC party, it was usually a free for all. But Cox, being Cox, shaved head and pierced everywhere, every-fuckin'-where, covered from neck to
ankle in tats, the women fucking
flocked. Boy didn't even have to crook his finger. They just magically appeared on their knees in front of him.
They walked in and split up. The place was packed solid with Demons. He saw a few Red Devil cuts wandering around and healthy mix of nomads, but fuck, there was a crap load of Demons. He went straight to the kitchen, nabbed a blue, pushed off a crack whore who'd grabbed at him and started walking around, getting the lay of the place.
"Horseman!" A familiar voice shouted. A meaty hand hit his shoulder.
He turned around and faced the three hundred pound, sweat covered asshole.
"Tiny," He said evenly.
"Whatcha doin' in Virginia?"
"Passin' through."
"Lucked out brother. Mad fuckin' pussy here. Got sugar too."
Fucking morons. Snorting what they're supposed to be selling. Fuck-ing mor-ons.
"Gonna get some pussy first. Been on the road for weeks. You gonna be around?"
Tiny slapped his bicep. "Blow your load and come find me. Got some side business goin' on that you might be interested in."
Rolling his eyes, he resumed walking, stepping over drunk fucks and drunks fucking. When he reached the back, a closed in porch that ran the length of the house, he stopped walking and started staring.
Leaning casually against the wall, smack dab in the middle of a long line of Demon's was mother fucking Frankie. And no, his eyes had
n’t
gotten any less crazy. But he had gotten a fuck of a lot bigger.
His long brown hair was pulled back in a man bun, displaying his spider web neck tattoos interspersed with extensive, thick scars. His beard was long and ratty and the brother's muscles were bulging out of the skintight Val Halen tee he had on.
He might have half an inch on Frankie but bodily they were evenly matched. And with the asshole being as crazy as he was he wasn't too sure he'd come out on top.
Frankie and his crazy eyes were fixated on something across the room. He followed his line of sight.
Fuck.
Black Harley tee, the collar cut off causing it to fall off her shoulder, exposing a new tat, a colorful collage of flowers. Her pants were leather, tight, and on her feet, sparkly silver chucks. Her dark wavy hair had grown even longer, nearly reaching her ass. She'd gained a little weight, none of it bad. How long had it been since he'd seen her last and acted like a fucking asshole? Four years? Five? She had to be around thirty now. She didn’t look it. If he didn't know her he
’d
think she was in her early twenties.
He wanted her still. Fucking. Bad.
He looked back at Frankie whose gaze hadn't moved, whose body hadn't moved. Every inch of him was solidly trained on Eva.
Crazy. Fucking, scary crazy.
Eva looked up from her conversation with another woman, older, battered looking, wearing stripper heels, definitely an MC whore, and her gaze caught Frankie's. Frankie's eyes fucking blazed with possession and…insanity.
Eva handed her beer to the woman next to her and started for Frankie. Crazy fuck never took his eyes off her, watched her like a vulture does when it’s waiting for something to die.
When she reached him, his arm wrapped around her wrist and he pulled her up against him. His head lowered and his mouth covered hers and he just fucking ate at her. Eva's arms went up around his neck; she pressed her body into his and kissed him back just as hard.
He stared at them, his fists clenched, his chest aching something fierce.
Frankie pushed Eva off him. "Got business babe," He yelled over the music. "Stay right fuckin' here until I get back or you’re gonna catch a lot of fuckin’ shit from me that you know you don’t fuckin’ want and I don't wanna give it to you but I fuckin' will if you don't fuckin' listen."
She nodded.
She just fucking nodded.
Frankie walked off and disappeared out the back door.
Turning around, he dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed Cox. Brother answered on the first ring, breathing hard. The sound of skin slapping against skin came through the phone loud and clear.
"Yeah?"
"Got a problem."
"Fuck. What is it?"
"Eva."
"She here?"
"Yeah."
"Fuck."
"Yeah."
"Is Kami here?"
Deuce closed his eyes. What. The. Fuck.
"No asshole. Kami is not here."
"Damn."
"Cox, call the fuckin' boys. Have
‘em
stick with Ripper till I figure this shit out."
"Got it."
He shoved his phone back in his pocket and headed back the way he came. After grabbing another beer, he headed out the kitchen door. The door had just barely shut behind him when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.
Startled, he dropped his beer.
"What's up fucker? Think I didn't see you standin' there watchin' me. Think I don't know you're here for me? Been waitin' on you assholes for a grip now. Figured you didn't give a fuck I carved your boy up but here you fuckin' are givin' a fuck. Took you long enough."
He didn't say anything. There wasn't anything he could say that would make a man like Frankie back down. He had to think fast or he was going to die. Frankie didn't fuck around. So he played the only card he had. Eva.
"Saw your old lady in there Frankie, she's lookin' fuckin' good."
The barrel pressed in harder. "She's my fuckin' wife and you shouldn't be lookin'. People who look get fuckin' dead real fuckin' quick."
Wife. Christ.
He shrugged. "She ever tell you 'bout us?"
Frankie went stiff. "There ain't shit to tell," he growled.
Perfect. So perfect. Asshole walked himself right into it.
"First taste wasn't yours kid. That was all fuckin' mine. Demon barbeque 'bout fourteen years ago. Right after she fuckin' denied you I had your bitch up against a wall, a hand on her tit, two fingers up inside and my tongue shoved so far down her throat I could taste her heart beatin'. Bitch loved it, was ready to give it up right fuckin' there. Didn't even remember your fuckin' name cuz she's pantin' mine. Her first fuck, got that too. Stripped her naked and fucked h
er in an alleyway in the pourin’
rain; had her fuckin' beggin' me for it."
Frankie sucked in so much air Deuce felt the world go dry. Time to sucker punch. He slammed his elbow into Frankie's chest, simultaneously grabbing the barrel of the gun, then he grabbed Frankie's arm and twisted, wrenching him to the ground. With one hand gripping Frankie's forearm, he put his boot on the fucker's shoulder and fucking yanked. Crazy fucker didn't even scream when his shoulder dislocated. Didn't even flinch.
Crazy. So fucking crazy.
Pressing Frankie’s own gun into his forehead, he leaned down over him.
"Know how I know I had her first? Aside from her being tighter than a mother fuckin' vice. Bitch fell to her knees after she caught fire and sucked her own pussy blood off my cock. Didn’t even know what she was doin’, but bitch fuckin' licked my shit clean and let me blow in her mouth. So it don't matter how many times you been takin' that ride cuz I fuckin' own that shit. You can choke on that while your brains are leakin’ all over the place."
"If you kill me," Frankie said quietly, eerily calm. "You'll kill Eva."
He blinked.
"What?"
"Eva. I die, she dies."
"How do you fuckin' figure?"
He grinned. "As a weddin' present I put a fuckin' hit on her. I die, she dies. Bitch by my side in life, bitch by my side in death. Way it should be."
He. Just. Stared.
Stared.
There wasn't a whole lot in this fucked up world that could shock him. He'd seen so much shit in the forty eight years he'd been alive, most of which had all happened to him personally. And it had happened so often that when he came across some pretty fucked up shit, he wasn't surprised. But this, Frankie telling him in all seriousness that he'd put a hit on Eva, his life long obsession, his mother fucking wife, had shocked the fucking shit out of him.
It also told him that Frankie needed to die. He just didn't know how to take care of that with E
va's life on the line. Yet.
With Frankie's gun still trained on Frankie, he pulled out his cell phone and called Mick. Two by two, his boys began appearing at his side forming a circle around Frankie. He held his palm up, silently telling them not to take Frankie out.
"Get up you sick fuck," Ripper growled.
Frankie got to his feet, his arm hanging limply at his side. He turned his back on them and positioned the side of his body against the house. With a heave and a shove, his shoulder popped back in its socket. Everyone stared. Fucker had balls of steel.
Rubbing his shoulder, he
focused on
Ripper. "Nice face fuckwad. I were you I woulda just let me finish you off, now you gotta go round' life lo
okin' like Freddy fuckin' Krueger
."
Ripper's gun hand started shaking. Jase grabbed his wrist and lowered his arm.
Frankie shook his head smirking. "Fuckin' bitches, the lot of you. Cryin' 'bout scars and missin' eyes like little fuckin' girls."
Frankie turned to him. "So I
’ve
been getti
n
' Horsemen sloppy seconds all these years. Whore coulda least picked an MC
Prez
worth fuckin'."
Furious, he took a step forward.
Mick's hand came down on his shoulder and squeezed. "He's baitin' us, Prez," He whispered. "Crazy fuck wants one of us to step to him."
Frankie grabbed a cigarette from behind his ear and dug out a Zippo from his fr
ont pocket, oblivious as all seven
men tensed, ready to shoot.
He took a few long drags before he spoke again.
"Knew she wasn't a virgin when I took her the first time. She cried like one but she wasn't. Never would tell me who broke her in. Been tryin' to get her to give it up for fuckin' years. She won’t, cuz she knows I'd kill
‘em
."
His chest went tight. She was protecting him from fucking Frankie. He didn't know whether to be insulted that she thought he needed protection from this fuck or to
do
a mother fucking jig because the woman obviously still cared about him.
"You're fuckin' twisted," ZZ spat.
"Don't matter anymore how fuckin' twisted he is," Jase hissed. "Cuz he's done."
Frankie ignored them. "Knowin' it was you, shit makes sense now. Bitch cries in her sleep, says shit I don't catch but she's always grabbin' that fucking Horsemen tag round her neck and holdin' tight when it happens. Never did think much of it, seein' as she's had it nearly her whole fuckin' life but you gave it to her, yeah?"
He didn't say a word but he didn't need to. Frankie knew.
"Yeah," Frankie said, "You got to know, Deuce, that shit ain't sittin' well with me."