Lethal (The Disciples 1)

“I’m sixteen.” That does the trick. He releases me like I have the plague.

His nostrils flare for one moment and he steps back. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.”

He nods. “Good. Now wipe that schoolgirl crush off that pretty face. I’m a bad guy, Angel.” His guys snicker and catcall.

He ignores them zeroing in on me and my harsh breathing. “You’re young, so I’m going to give you a pass. But if you ever pull a blade on me again, I’ll pull your pants down and blister your ass.” He turns and walks away, his posse following. I don’t know how long I stand there. It could have been five minutes or twenty. But suddenly a gentle hand pulls me into the cold aluminum seat. I look at Pedro, his eyes full of worry.

“You stay away from that boy, Eve. Everything he said was true. He is bad—bad to the core. Now he showed you mercy tonight, but don’t ever pull a blade on the Blade again. How do you think he got his name? How do you think he became president of one of the strongest MCs on the West Coast?” He reaches for his Big Gulp and takes a long sip.

When he removes his hat, it reveals an old, weathered face painted in terror. “Why don’t we close early tonight? Soon we will be far away from this place and the Disciples.”

I stand and rub my arms, suddenly cold. “Yes, soon we’ll be gone.” I should be happy about that. Instead I can’t help but feel cheated. Like I was teased with a really good piece of candy only to have it taken away from me.

My eyes narrow on Pedro. “I thought you were passed out?” Retwisting my hair, I put it up with a pencil since my rubber band seems to be gone. “And the night’s barely ten. I’m not closing.” I tuck the sign away.

Pedro sighs and the loud sounds of the club’s engines firing up drown out all other sound. I hold my chin high, wondering why I’m sad that a monster is leaving.BLADE/JASON

PresentTo say I have no patience right now would be an understatement. I’m fucking pissed and tired. And here I stand in this tiny shithole, looking at a man who needs to be put out of his misery. Yeah, I’m two seconds away from doing James Smith a favor and blowing his head off. The fucking guy deserves more than dying in a chair knowing his son is a thief and a junkie. And his daughter is going to be my whore to pay their debt.

“James? Out of regard for you, man, I’m gonna give you some air.” I nod at Ryder my enforcer and brother, not by blood—by respect. He’s got my back, and I respect the fuck out of him. He leans down. The dude is pushing six foot six, so this tiny box of metal they call a home barely holds him. The air stinks of stale cigarettes. Not to mention half of us have been on our bikes the better part of the day. We smell of pussy, BO, and booze.

When we hear the small sizzle of oxygen releasing, the blond girl held by Axel, my VP, sags with relief. I almost laugh. She can’t be that naïve to not know what’s coming.

James Smith sits, wheezing and choking in oxygen, his hands shaking as if he’s trying to will himself to stand up. But life isn’t fair and his body is too weak to even try.

“Rest, man. I’m gonna ask you one time since I already asked your baby girl. Where is Benny? Where is that piece of shit Paul? And where the fuck are my money and drugs?”

The girl hisses and struggles, again pointless. Axel is a foot taller. All she’s doing is wearing herself out. She’s got a fire, this one. I warned her I was bad years ago. I guess some people hit the shit lottery.

“We don’t know. He doesn’t know. Please don’t hurt him.” Her voice quivers. I know because the trailer is silent save for James gasping and the small hiss of the oxygen machine. All my guys are probably waiting for me to lose my shit. After all, I am the president of the Disciples. We don’t take kindly to bitches with mouths.

It’s an image I need. I don’t actually abuse women and I don’t tolerate my brothers to either. But we come from a long line of sexists. I know a lot of guys join so they can get pussy. It’s an ongoing struggle and making sure your guys are in it for the right reason is another headache. It was a whole lot easier when there were fifty of us, rather than three hundred plus now. We’ve become the biggest 1 percent in the area all because of our drugs, or let me rephrase, my drug that Doc and I perfected years ago. It’s made the club strong and wealthy. But with all that comes a fucking mess to keep together. So, I don’t need shit today. I especially don’t need punks like Paul and Benny stealing from me and being dumb enough to think they can get away with it.