A lump swelled in my throat, and I swallowed at it to clear it. “I do. Part of it died the day the club voted against Aaliyah.” I kicked my boot along the ground. “We don’t abandon a brother in need. That goes for a sister, too.”
Slade nodded, drawing down more smoke, blowing out puffs of gun shapes that fired bullets the bond told me were aimed at Brix’s skull. “Agreed. The club lost its way. Lost their brotherhood.” The president’s fists clenched. “First chance I get, I’m gonna kill that cunt, Brix, for poisoning it.”
Remove the weed that needed to be rooted out and killed for good.
Slade drew me in for a hug. “I love you, brother.”
Fuck me. The Love god in him kicked the War god’s ass and asserted control.
I threw my arms around him, missing his hold, his brotherhood, our long talks, sharing a whisky after a long day.
“Okay, you assholes.” Alaric strolled over. “I’m all for this show of love, but we have an enemy to kill, and I want to get back to my woman to mate.”
No better motivation than that.
“Amen to that. I want pups in my woman’s belly.” Slade thumped his helmet on, giving us our signal to go.
I got back on my ride and started my engine, ready for the next task. In a haze of fumes, we departed and brought our bikes back onto the back streets of Vaucluse, the same suburb where Raine lived. Castor tracked down the address of his mansion. Damn bastard hid his tracks well, tying up the purchase in shell companies to hide his identity but not good enough to conceal himself from the avatar of Thoth.
A quarter of a mile from our target, I pulled over, Slade and Alaric following. The road captain threw a shield over himself as he stripped free of his clothes, released his shifter, and propelled his hawk into the air.
Impatience prompted Slade to light and puff on a cigarette, waiting for Alaric’s return despite the president cutting down a hell of a lot recently.
Slowly, methodically, the hawk circled above, riding the currents, scanning for movement within the grounds of Colton’s mansion. Alaric’s normal routine to survey an area or target. Satisfied with the results, he moved onto his next protocol, swooping lower to take a closer look at the residence.
“Check if the cunt’s dead?” Slade sucked pure death into his lungs. He was lucky Aaliyah cleaned out his lungs with her magick.
“If he were dead, I’d know it,” I retorted.
“Just do it.” Slade bounced his knee, being extra cautious, and for good reason too. Colton Raine was a slippery prick.
Obeying an order, I stretched out my powers, searching for Colton and his Underworld magick. Nothing. Not even a trickle. The only things dead here were ants, skinks, and worms.
Life wandered through the halls of the mansion, though. Three. None belonging to my Underworld. All loyal staff that remained in Raine’s employ after his rivals made a move on his turf, according to reports from Castor.
Fucker fought a war on both ends. Couldn’t say I felt bad for the prick. Death awaited Colton Raine. He knew it. We knew it. Prick bided his time. Not for long, though. No one outran death. Certainly not an avatar of it.
“He’s not here,” I informed my president. “Three people inside.”
Slade grunted, blowing out a large plume that fanned into the shape of flames. “Of course, he isn’t. Fucking weasel cunt.” He drew down the entire cigarette, burning it all the way to the butt, the ash flittering from his fingers in promise of what lay ahead for Raine. “Plays in the shadows but isn’t man enough to stand and fight his enemies.”
Smart, really. If I were Colton, I’d be cautious and strategic too when up against four avatars. Battle-hardened bikers. Shot, scratched, cut, punched, and kicked, we took every injury imaginable. Out in the open, like Men. Like warriors.
Prissy little bitches like Raine cowered behind bulletproof glass and traveled with security. Born with silver spoons in their mouths, they took a few hits, punches, and a bit of torture from their fathers to harden them up. They never entered the fray themselves, always getting their lower ranking men to do their dirty work.
Castor never trained in fighting, yet old bookworm learned to deliver lethal blows from his texts and almost beat some assholes to death. Man to man, I lay my money on Castor to kick Colton’s ass. But the cold prick Colton might have some tricks up his sleeve. With his knowledge of the body’s anatomy and embalming, I didn’t put it past him to dispense some deadly blows.
A shriek from above signaled Alaric’s return, and he circled and landed. Lean muscle with barely any fat flexed as he threw his clothes back on. He winced and rubbed the pink scar on his shoulder. Battle wounds. A bullet to his wing during an ambush on a Pharaoh run. Aaliyah might have healed him, but some scars remained.
“Place is all shot up and damaged,” Alaric relayed. “Columns brought down and smashed. Windows blasted out. Debris everywhere.”
Fuck. War between the Egyptian mafia families would keep our enemy busy. Distract him while we snuck up on him and ended him. Maybe we could make new business connections. Men thankful for eliminating their enemy and granting them new territory.
“What about Raine?” Slade knew the answer. The rat abandoned the ship well before an attack like this hit. We had to find him before the other families did and claim the prize.
Alaric flattened his windblown hair, which didn’t remain sleek and smooth from the flight, unlike his feathers. “I didn’t see him. I checked in every room. Perched on his balconies. Nothing.”
“Was anyone there?” Slade glanced at me, already knowing the answer but wanting confirmation of my scan.
