War of Hearts (Storm MC Reloaded 2)

Ten minutes later, I pull up outside the address Devil gave me and find the fucking party of the century in full swing. Teens litter the front yard, spilling out of the large double-storey house. Most of them appear to be either drunk or high. Loud rap music fills the hot summer air, its beat pissing me off. I fucking hate rap music. And I can’t stand wasted teenagers. The sooner we get in and get out, the better.

“What’s the plan?” I ask when I find Devil.

“I got word Ricardo’s dealing here. We’re looking for him.”

“Fuck.” This party is in our territory, and Ricardo isn’t one of our dealers. It’s never been confirmed he works for Black Deeds, but King has always assumed it. If that’s true, Devil’s right about this leading to a turf war.

Devil’s brows rise as he nods. “Yeah.” He glances around at all the kids before eyeing me again. “Look, however we need to do this, we do it, but my preference is not to do it with a heap of kids watching.”

I nod with a “Got it,” before following him inside to search for Ricardo.

Whoever owns this joint needs a lesson in parenting. There’s not one adult in sight. As we make our way through a maze of teens, of which the youngest looks barely thirteen, my anger grows at the shitty parents who let their child throw this party. I mightn’t be the most upstanding fucking citizen, but no way would I allow this kind of shit to happen under my roof.

A kid runs into Devil, spilling his drink on him. “Sorry, man,” he says, his lack of real care clear in his spaced-out tone.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” Devil says with enough force to catch the kid’s full attention.

He slows so he can take a good look at Devil. “Are you the guy that Ricardo said would be swinging by with some more shit for us?”

“Yeah. Where is he?”

The kid lifts his chin towards the internal staircase. “Upstairs in one of the bedrooms.”

Devil alters course and heads for the stairs. Both of us pick up the pace, taking the stairs two at a time.

It doesn’t take us long to locate the motherfucker. The minute he lays eyes on us, he begins to sweat. His eyes dart between the two of us and the door, and he pushes the two teens in the room with him out.

“Good fucking idea, asshole,” Devil says, closing the door behind them.

“I was just about to leave,” Ricardo starts, tripping over his words.

I move closer to him, my muscles straining for a workout. Glancing at Devil, I ask, “Is in here good for you? Or you wanna mo

ve him somewhere else away from the kids?”

Alarm flares on Ricardo’s face and he raises both hands in a defensive gesture. “We can do this here! We don’t need to go somewhere else. I mean, I didn’t realise I’d overstepped—”

I punch him hard in the face without waiting for Devil’s response. As he drops to the ground, I say, “I fucking hate liars, and if you wanna keep lying, I’ll keep going.” I crouch down next to him. “You want me to keep going?”

“Fuck, man! Why’d you have to fucking hit me?” he whines, trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose.

I grip his chin. “I asked you a question, Ricardo. Do you want me to keep going?” I tighten my hold. “Or are you ready to do some straight talking?”

Devil crouches next to me and without waiting for Ricardo’s answer, he looks at me and says, “We’ll do this here.”

Ricardo looks nervously between us. “Do what?”

I don’t answer.

Neither of us do.

I find it fucking hard not to just let loose on him like I know Devil wants me to, but this is the time to draw this shit out. To move him closer to the edge of panic before bringing the kind of hurt down on him that will encourage information out of him and also remind him to never cross Storm again.

Ricardo’s pupils dilate as he babbles through his stress. “Okay, I admit I knew what I was doing. But I had a good reason. You guys are open to good reasons, right? Like, if your sister was sick and you needed cash to pay for—”

I’m done. As far as I’m concerned, there are no good reasons to go against Storm. Grabbing him under his arms, I yank him up and shove him backwards so he hits the wall with a thud. A hard fucking thud that will shock him enough to rattle him further. Before he’s able to get his bearings, I move in and land a string of punches on his face and then his body, knocking him to the floor. Each punch grows more brutal than the one before it. By the time I’m finished with him, Ricardo will pray he never runs into me again. And he’ll sure as fuck never mess with the club again.

Devil’s voice cuts through my focus on beating the shit out of Ricardo. “Don’t go easy on him, brother. King will be pissed if you do.”