Page 16 of Scarred Redemption

The resurgence had come only years before when two major biker clubs had been at war with each other. Somehow, through their bloodshed and loss, they’d come to realize if they formed an alliance, they could win wars against larger syndicates. Including absorbing various cartels determined to make their way into the US.

I’d done a much deeper dive on the misunderstood mafia in early January and long after I’d given a harsh blow to the main core body of the alliance. While the damage to their organization had been significant, our sources were telling us there’d been a certain determination of revenge.

Perhaps that had been the problem. I’d assumed what I’d been told had been accurate.

“Where?”

“Hilton Head.” Kristoff’s answer was short and his inability to look me in the eye meant both men were concerned about my reaction. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” I repeated.

“The sources are decent,” Sergei added, trying to smooth it over.

I wasn’t convinced. Neither was he. But at this point, what other opportunities had been found?

“Then we go hunting. Either the vice president of the illustrious group talks, or he dies with the rest of them.”

My statement was met with frustration from Sergei, his inability to hide the way he was feeling becoming the last irritant I didn’t need.

“What is your issue, Sergei?” There was no emotion in my voice, just determination.

“There is some indication the Dixie mafia weren’t involved. You’ve already heard this. Yes, I agree with talking with this man, but I know you. You’ll kill him if he doesn’t tell you something.”

I had to laugh. “And just what is this information you suddenly believe is viable?”

“Word on the street.”

My reaction was minimal. “The word on the street was that the bastards had been dealt a blow that provided the incentive needed to back away permanently. That was at the end of last year, I seem to recall.”

Shadow refused to be ignored, bringing a toy to Kristoff since I was all but ignoring him. With the man’s brutal nature, witnessing his shift in personality as he grabbed the toy, fighting to claim it should provide levity to the moment.

It didn’t.

“Apparently the blow you issued didn’t reach the top of the food chain.”

Just then, Kristoff threw Shadow’s toy down the hall toward my office. The pup dutifully ran off as he always did, leaving an awkward silence in his absence. My men were searching for something concrete and nonviolent as a determination while all I had desire for was seeking retribution.

“What is the man’s name?”

“Zane Moore. He’s known as the Blade. He’s been with the Steel Mustangs for almost his entire life. He’s an old timer. He’s seen many a turf war and from what I’ve heard, is being protected.”

“Which is why you’re not completely certain he’s in Hilton Head.”

Kristoff was distracted, finally walking down the hallway to find out where Shadow had gone.

Sergei shook his head. “I’m not certain we’re not being fed bad information.”

“Burn the city down if he’s not there.”

“Come on, Maxsim. You can’t do that.”

“Your dog is bleeding, Pakhan. I thought you should know.”

Kristoff’s exclamation brought my immediate reaction. “Fuck.” I moved toward my office, realizing instantly I should have shut my damn door. Shadow was standing in the middle of the carnage.

“Jesus,” Sergei said from behind me as I rushed toward the pup, scooping him into my arms before he had a chance to walk back through the broken glass. Blood dripped from his two front paws and his pitiful whines triggered a moment of protectiveness.

As well as a feeling of desperation.