War of Hearts (Storm MC Reloaded 2)

Part I

1

Fury

* * *

“I love you” is a lie that falls too fucking fast from some people’s mouths. The first time I remember hearing those words was when I witnessed my father hit my mother before bending her over our couch, yanking her dress up, and shoving his dick inside her so hard she screamed louder than I’d ever heard her scream. It had been my sixth birthday. Mum had made pizza for dinner—my favourite—and we’d waited hours for my father to come home from work so we could eat. My stomach ached with hunger by the time he finally turned up. Mum hadn’t been happy about his drunken state and had argued with him about coming home so late on his son’s birthday. My brother and I went to bed hungry that night while our parents fought. I’d crept out hours later for a drink of water and stumbled into the lounge room as Dad yelled something about loving my mother so much that she made him crazy with anger and caused him to do awful things to her. He’d told her his behaviour was her fault. “I love you” was the chaser.

It wasn’t the last time I witnessed that kind of shit from my father. Hell, it wasn’t even close. The very last time he laid a finger on her was the day I turned eighteen. Dad had taught me well when he’d trained me to fight. So well in fact, that I managed to beat him black and blue before dumping him at the front door of the coke dealer he owed thousands to. I knew the guy would put a bullet through his head, saving my mother in the process.

I haven’t bothered with any bullshit “I love you” declarations in my twenty-five years. Not to any women, anyway. I told my mother I loved her, because it was true. But not my brother. Calvin turned out to be a replica of our father. In some ways, we both are. The main difference between us is that Calvin can’t be trusted. He would have screwed over his own mother if he thought he’d benefit from it. And he did. Me? My word can be trusted. I don’t make many promises, but when I do, I make good on them. The other difference between Calvin and me is that I’ll never hurt a woman. She’d have to be coming at me with a weapon to even consider laying a hand on her. And even then, I’d try to disarm her first.

The fact I’ve managed to get myself tied up with a crazy bitch who’s coming at me with a blade while screaming about how much she loves me is mindboggling. I haven’t done anything to encourage her feelings.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Fury,” she screeches while flying across my lounge room, knife in hand, eyes wide with crazy blazing from them.

I step back and raise my hands defensively. “Lynette, put the fucking knife down before this goes somewhere you don’t want it to.” Christ, all I had in mind when I invited her back to my place was a few hours of getting my dick sucked and fucked. Not this fucking drama. She knows better than to think we’ve got something going on just because we’ve screwed a few times. All the club whores do.

Still coming at me, she yells, “I love you, but all you’re interested in is getting laid. I heard all about how you fucked Lola last night and Veronica two nights before that. Why the hell can’t you keep your dick in your pants?”

I clench my jaw. Definitely don’t need this shit tonight.

When she reaches me, I yank the blade from her hand. And when she takes to me with her fists, I quickly put a stop to that, spinning her around and locking her in place with my arm across her chest. Once all her fight is gone, I demand, “You finished?”

Forcing a heavy breath out, she snaps, “No. We had something special—”

“What the fuck makes you think that? We slept together a few times. I made no promises, and neither did you. What’s special about that?”

She wriggles in my arms enough that I let her go. Turning, she shoots me an angry glare. “We slept together seven times over the last few months. Seven! I didn’t think we needed any

promises. I thought seven times was enough of one. I just didn’t know what an asshole you are.” With that, she comes at me again, fists smashing against my chest.

Gripping her wrists, I put an end to the assault. “I’m no fucking saint, Lynette. Never told you I was. But check your facts with Lola and Veronica, because they’re feeding you some bullshit. I’ve never touched either of them. Now, I want you out of my house, and I never wanna see you here again. Whatever you thought was happening between us, wasn’t, and never will.”

I let go of her and step away. When she doesn’t move, I bark, “Leave now!”

Her lips flatten as she continues glaring at me for a few last moments. She then picks up her bag and stalks out of my house while muttering some shit I barely bother to listen to.

As the screen door slams shut, my phone rings. Swiping it up off the couch, I snap, “What?”

King’s voice comes on the line. “You wanna try that again?”

“Fuck,” I mutter, raking my fingers through my hair while trying to work some of the irritation out of my system. “What’s up?”

I hope he’s not calling to drag me back out to take care of something for him or Detective Stark. My president may be feeling the heat of working with that bitch, but I’m the one doing most of the dirty work. Normally I don’t care, but I’ve spent three days tracking and dealing with a target for her; I want a night off.

“Need you on something tonight. Meet me at the clubhouse in an hour.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll fill you in when you get there.”

That’s King’s code for one of two things—either he doesn’t have time to discuss it, or he suspects our communications have been compromised. With the shit that’s been going down recently, I figure it’s the latter.

“Be there in twenty.”

So much for a night off. The beer I put in the fridge earlier will have to wait.

Just under twenty minutes later, I enter the clubhouse. It’s fucking rowdy tonight. Football night. Half the club is in the bar watching the game on the TV. Ignoring them, I make my way to King’s office and find him deep in conversation with his brother, Axe, who has been helping the club handle some shit lately.

Axe glances up and gives me a nod as King takes in the cuts and bruises on my face and says, “I take it you sorted that motherfucker out.”

That motherfucker was a scumbag who liked to mix business with the kind of underage pleasure no man has any business touching. Stark wanted him in prison; King managed to convince her he would be a waste of space and taxpayer money. I’m fairly sure King had his own reasons for wanting the guy dead, though, the least of which was what he did to young girls.

“Yeah.” I lift my chin. “What have we got on tonight?”

“Hyde and Nitro picked a guy up this afternoon who Stark has had some issues with. Need you to head over to the warehouse and watch him for the night so I can drop by tomorrow and get some answers from him. I’d do it tonight, but I’ve got family stuff on.”

I remember the days when King stayed out all night taking care of club business if he had to. Not that he doesn’t get shit done now if necessary, but his kids always come first, and that’s something I respect the hell out of.

“What’s the go with him?”

“If you’re asking whether I need him in one piece tomorrow, the answer is yes.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he says, “Stark is fucking squeezing our balls on this one, Fury, so don’t fuck this shit up.”

“Anything else you need?”

“Yeah, some fucking peace and quiet. Tell those assholes to keep the noise down on your way out.”

King doesn’t look the best. Hasn’t for a couple of weeks. And he’s been cranky as fuck lately. None of my business, though. I never get involved in anyone’s shit. Easier to just stick to my own.

Without another word, I leave him and Axe, and head out of the clubhouse. As I pass the bar, I call out, “Keep the noise down. King’s orders.”

Loud grumbling is the only response I get; they’re all too engrossed in the game to give much of a shit.

To say I’m happy King sends me out on jobs mostly by myself is a fucking understatement. Not that I don’t respect my brothers, but I prefer the silence of working alone. That, and the fact I know things won’t be screwed up. Even after six years with Storm, I still only ever count on myself to get the job done right. There’re no fucking surprises in life that way, which is how I like it.

Four hours pass without any issues. The guy hasn’t given me much hell. Not that he can. Nitro restrained him so he can hardly move and can’t talk. But he has expressed his anger by making as much noise as possible, and that has grown old fast. I’ve just put him out of his misery with a punch that knocked him unconscious when Devil calls.

“I need a little help, brother. Got a situation at a party that might lead to something. I’m about to go check it out and I want some backup.”

I eye the asshole on the ground. “I’m dealing with something for King. You’ll have to find someone else.”

“No one’s answering their fucking phone. You’re it.”

“Where’s the party?”

He rattles off an address that’s less than ten minutes from where I am, and I figure I can make it work. “I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thanks, man. I’m hoping this is nothing, but if it is something, I wanna deal with it before it turns into a fucking turf war.”