“Obviously, we’re all in agreement that this motherfucker has to die, no two ways about it,” Dirt says. With his braided, graying beard and facial tattoos, he’s old-school Unholy. He not only grew up with my father, but he was also there when Rusty died and was the one who put a bullet in the Berserker’s head who killed my old man. “But we have to know what we’re heading into, son. Need not remind you that what you say in this room stays in this room, but I’m saying it anyway.”
This meeting chamber is sacred, reserved only for senior members. Stays locked at all times. Soundproof. Swept for bugs before every meeting. If something doesn’t stay in this room, we have a rat, and it’s easy to track the snitch.
Or, as we call him, a dead man walking.
Crow gives me a barely perceivable nod, and I flood the room with the details of my captivity, starting with the night of my fight in Pittsburgh and ending with the escape. Through it all, Dirt turns a sickly shade of white. Rebel sinks low in his chair like a weight is sitting on his shoulders. Voodoo leans forward with head bowed and eyes closed, as if he can shut out the visual my words paint. Rotten’s breathing is slow and steady, but his jaw is clenched, and he keeps swallowing down whatever bad taste my story leaves in his mouth. Preacher’s leaning back, his hands folded on the table, his brows pinched in a miserable frown.
My friends already know what happened, and even they look physically ill. Shit, I’m fucking disgusted listening to myself talk about ket and the torture chamber and the cage again. But Crow sits there stoic as always, a true leader.
When I’m finished laying it out in gory fucking detail, Rotten’s face is all sorts of confused. “We knowhowthis Crane sonofabitch took you. What’s missing is thewhy, son.”
“He wanted Wraith because our boy’s a fighter,” Rebel says.
Rotten scrubs a hand over his bearded face. “No offense to Wraith’s skill, but there’s gotta be countless fighters between Pennsylvania and Florida Crane could have grabbed. Why him? Why travel over a thousand miles for one particular man? Especially one from the same town where his wife was raised. Too coincidental if you ask me.”
“You implying Jamie had something to do with it?” Malice’s accusation is quiet but cracks louder than thunder.
“Back the fuck down, boy,” Rotten says. “That girl risked her life to get Wraith home. That’s not what I’m saying. But this whole situation stinks of a jealous husband.”
He’s not wrong. Rotten’s merely saying aloud what’s been a splinter in the back of my brain since the day Jamie showed up in my cell.
“No doubt.” Jester slaps me on the back. “And after hearing the way Wraith got Jamie praying to God for the last few of nights, I’d be jealous as fuck if I were her husband.”
Malice punches Jester in the arm.
“What?” Jester rubs his arm. “Alls I’m saying is you try living with these two. Ever since they did the deed, it’s been impossible to get anything done. I’ve had to go to unbelievable lengths to eavesdrop. Kept the television real low. Held a glass up to the wall. You’d think they’d do the polite thing and leave the door open a crack to allow a brother a look-see, but no. Selfish, both of them.”
“For fuck’s sake, someone shut him up,” Crow snaps, but he’s smiling, and the room feels lighter. Thank God, because it took a lot to unload the details of the dungeon to a room full of people—even though I consider these people family. “But seriously, Wraith, that’s how you want this handled? Full force?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I confirm without hesitation. “You immobilize what’s left of his guards, but no one touches Crane except me. That prick is mine.”
Crow nods. “All in favor?” He’s met with a chorus of unanimous “ayes” around the table. He bangs an old, weathered gavel on an equally battered sounding board. “Ayes have it. We go in. Full force. Rotten, put it together. Twenty men. We’re on the road in forty-eight hours. Preacher, you hang back to oversee Mayhem. Meeting adjourned.”
“I’m on it.” Rotten’s already up and striding out the door.
It’s not easy to organize an invasion that far from Mayhem. But the Unholy have an edge on other gangs. We’re professional. Coordinated. Methodical. A militarized criminal organization with connections that put Crane’s to shame. But even with our edge, it would have been foolish to hit Gomorrah guns out without doing it the smart way. Jamie’s way. We wouldn’t have gotten past the front gate. My only regret was having to rely on the law to do their thing first since it resulted in the slaughter of those prisoners.
No way am I telling Jamie they’re dead until after we get back from leveling Gomorrah. That woman suffered enough. I want her to enjoy her happiness a little while longer before I dump this one her.
Preacher comes around to talk to Crow. “Wish I was going with you, but I thank you for trusting me with Mayhem’s protection.”
Crow nods, having handed Preacher a tremendous honor. “I’d rather have you with us, but I need someone here.”
“No worries. You go wipe that stain off the map, and I’ll take care of Mayhem.”
“I know you will, brother.” Crow claps Preacher on the back. Then he walks over to me. “You good?”
The monster scratches at my skull, its sinister wails a deafening echo in my head. “Once this prick is dead, I will be, yeah.”
“Good. Go home. We got this.”
I stand and stretch to my full height. “You sure?”
“Wraith, go the fuck home.” He glances around the room. “Be back here tomorrow for a weapons pickup.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Crow.”
His brow slam together. “For what?”
