Page 14 of Miguel
I had to rush away from the school and to the warehouse where we kept our product. Belatedly, I realized I hadn’t said goodbye to Zeke in my rush there, and it only made me feel like absolute shit en route. I shoved away my own feelings of inadequacy, promising myself I’d take them back out to contemplate what the fuck kind of father I wanted to be at a later time.
My hermanos were already at the warehouse, and I’d arrived in time to see Loco tearing through the place, knocking over tables and breaking chairs across the floors. When there was nothing left to destroy, he whirled on the prospects that had been on duty and set his sights on them.
Fists flew. Blood splattered. And we watched as his knuckles came out bloody and mangled, while the prospects fell and laid unconscious in their own blood.
No one dared stop him when he was on a warpath.
Millions of dollars in illegal weapons, stolen. Not a trace of who’d done it was left behind, though we had a pretty fucking good idea who it had been.
“The motherfucking gringos,” Loco growled, eyes wild with a thirst for blood.
Rumors that said the president of an MC was supposed to be calm were bullshit. Loco had a short fuse and the smallest things set him off. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a great leader, because he was. But that’s why I was there. To ground him when he went on a rampage. To be the voice of reason.
Level-headed Miguel.
“Have we checked the cameras yet?” I asked, turning to our tech brother and Sergeant at Arms, Chema, hoping he had good news for us. Anything to calm Loco down.
Chema’s expression was grave. “They took out the cameras with sniper rifles,” he said grimly. “Can’t see shit.”
“Who the fuck cares? We know it was those hijos de puta. Let’s go fuck them up!”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Loco always got this way when he was pissed. Impulsive, irrational. It was the heat of the moment, when he had a chance to cool down, he’d see reason.
“Calmáte,” I ordered. “We don’t know for sure it was them.”
“Do you see any other gun runners in this fucking town?” he snarled. “Do you think anyone else is stupid enough to fuck with us and our operation? It was the Americans. Open your eyes, pendejo.”
“I’m not saying I don’t think it was them,” I leveled, ignoring the jab. “But we have to be sure before you start a war. We need eyes and ears on the street. Tail them, see if you hear word about them being spotted moving a big shipment.”
Tension vibrated through my hermanos. I understood. While we had legit businesses, most of our money was made through gun running. Besides, we had a drop off in a few weeks. That was the product we were supposed to take to the Raven Brothers. And the Raven Brothers didn’t like to be fucked with. Small-ganged bastards. If they even caught a whiff of this, it would be our end. And with the drop-off date only a few weeks away, we didn’t have the time or the funds to get more product.
Wehadto find who did this. And make them pay.
Loco took a breath. I could physically see him calming down. He shook his hands out, the tattoos covering his neck and face stark against his brown skin. “Crank, I want you on the streets. Keep your eyes open for anything fucking shady going on.”
Our Road Captain gave a firm nod, the line of his mouth grim beneath his thick, fluffy beard.
“Ángel, go door to door and bust fucking knee caps. I don’t care who you have to hurt or what you have to do to get information out of people, just fucking do it. And take a couple of prospects with you for clean up.”
Ángel smiled at the promise of violence. He was our Enforcer. Breaking kneecaps was his job. It was also how he’d gotten his road name. With his pretty face and long, black hair, he was almost angelic in appearance. Something that offset his thirst for blood. The Angel of Death was what our enemies called him. El Ángel de la Muerte.
“Chema, get to work on the fucking cameras. Hack street cameras if you have to, I don’t give a fuck. I want to know who did this. And call Ink and tell him to get his dick out of his vieja’s pussy to come help. Mayan, help Cubano get these assholes cleaned up and get them the fuck off our property. Worthless comemierdas.” He gestured at the beaten prospects on the ground, stopping long enough to send his foot flying against the closest one, burying the toe of his boot into their sides.
I almost felt sorry for them. They couldn’t have known that they were going to get ambushed. But the minute they heard the first shot and saw their fellow prospects getting taken down, they should’ve radioed this shit to us sooner. They’d cowered, and instead of going out fighting, they’d hidden behind crates. Useless fuckers, couldn’t even get a decent look at the bastards that stole from us.
“Come on, hermano.” Loco clapped me on the back with a little more force than necessary. “We got shit to do.”
They hopped on their bikes while I jumped in the cage, and I drove with Loco back to the clubhouse. The club putas tried draping themselves over us the minute we walked through the door, but when Loco barked at them all to fuck off, they backed away with fear in their eyes.
They enjoyed fucking him, but dealing with his sporadic mood swings was another fucking thing entirely. I wondered if there was a woman out there equipped to handle him, but shook the thought off.
I sent a quick text to Cami as I followed Loco into his office, asking her to pick up Zeke after school. I hated not being able to go myself when it was only his second day, but this was an emergency.
Loco plopped onto his seat, eyes shining bright with malice. I could practically see the violence vibrating beneath his tatted skin like a beast ready to be unleashed.
We spent the next few hours making calls, trying to figure shit out in case we couldn’t find the shipment in time.
Loco was convinced it was the Americans. I didn’t voice aloud that I was inclined to agree. They’d fucked with us once before last year. Their pendejadas ended up in bloodshed. My brother Ink’s Vieja ended up getting kidnapped by those bastards, though none of them had made it out alive. When they hadn’t retaliated for their dead, we’d grown too comfortable, too confident, that they wouldn’t seek us out again.
