Page 117 of Property of Rattler

“Fuckin’ know that.” Volkov has apparently made up his differences with the Pakhan, and is on his way to claim Ames. It’s why she isn’t here. She’s gone to Trixie’s while we have a discussion with him. Lancelot is with them.

“So, we thought you should be prepared to greet him as the grieving widower. And what better way to persuade him than to show you’re completely grief-stricken?”

“By blinding me?” I ask incredulously.

“Look in the mirror.”

I turn and regard my reflection. Then complain, “I thought I was a tough biker, not a damn pussy.”

“Pussy is more convincing right now,” Saint states, then his eyes crease. “And I’m not touching the first part of that statement.” The bastard even indicates my wobbling legs. Then, he offers his arm to me. “Let’s get you out of here, and set up in prime position.”

I suppose I have to acknowledge my appearance will make the part I’m supposed to play more convincing, though I’m sure rubbing my own eyes would have reddened them. Now I’m clinging onto that box of tissues as if they’re a fuckin’ lifeline.

Saint manoeuvres me into the clubroom, and I’m sat on a chair, my brothers around me. Someone places a glass of whisky in my hand, I drink it greedily, then hold it out to be refilled. I’m obliged immediately.

It’s then Bullseye’s phone rings. He answers then fills us in. “Dee says they’re approaching. You ready, Rat?”

I again clear my nose noisily, dab at the tears which are at least slowing, though my eyes must be glistening. “I’m ready, Prez.”

The front door opens. “Prez,” Dum’s voice sounds hesitant. “Mr. Volkov is here to see you.” He then steps aside and lets the Russian enter. Only it’s not just him. He’s got half a dozen heavily armedboyevikswith him. Within seconds weapons are in the hands of the brothers surrounding me.

“No need for that,” Volkov speaks, his voice heavily accented. “If we wanted you dead, you would not have seen us coming.”

I take a moment to study the man who now doesn’t resemble the handsome image in the pictures I’d seen. But then, two blackened eyes, an obviously broken and hastily set nose, and his arm in a sling would have detracted from anyone’s appearance. The Pakhan had obviously doled out some punishment, though I’d have preferred a more final solution myself.

Prez speaks coolly. “We agreed to this meeting. If your soldiers will leave their weapons on the table,” he indicates the one closest to our visitors, “then we, too, will put our weapons away. Nothing today will be resolved with violence.”

Volkov makes some kind of signal, and his men obey. Behind me, I can hear the sound of guns being holstered. Then there’s silence.

The Russian is the first to break. “Let us keep this simple. I want Amethyst Stone.”

“Why the fuck would you want a dead body?” Prez responds, his brow rising.

His eyes widen. “She is dead? I do not believe you.”

“You don’t believe she’s dead?” I cry out, as I get to my feet, or, at least I try to. I make it halfway out of the chair before the nearest brother, Paint, I notice, comes forward to steady me.“She was my fuckin’ wife. I saw her body with my own eyes. You bastards took her from me.”

Volkov sneers. “You expect me to believe that a two bit stripper walked into this clubhouse and managed to shoot her? And what do you mean, wife? Malachi said that was fake, a ruse to try to fool him.”

“She was my wife. You can check. The marriage was real and you took her from me.” My hands fist as I get into my part. Paint is now holding me back as well as supporting me. “And the stripper you sent in killed her,” I correct him, “under your fuckin’ orders.”

Volkov opens his mouth to contradict me, but Prez gets in first. “Deny it all you want, we’ve got it on our security footage.” He turns and waves Genie forward, who steps front and centre, setting up a laptop so Volkov can see it. Immediately a video starts playing. It’s a view from the camera that’s now been placed over the bar, and shows Ames, sitting opposite Satin.

“You’re married? Who the fuck too?” Satin snarls at her friend.

“Satin?” Ames looks startled, and worried.

Satin makes a dismissive gesture. “No matter. Just come outside with me now.”

Ames half stands, her head looks around as if searching for help, but this time there’s no prospect standing behind the bar ready to assist. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Are you working with Volkov? My God, you are, aren’t you? How much is he paying you?”

“Don’t bother your silly little head about that. Just come with me, now, and no one’s going to get hurt.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re so stupid. All I need to do is scream, and the Kings will come running. Get out now while you can save yourself. And I advise you too getwell away from Gravity. I trusted you, Satin. I can’t believe you betrayed me.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about the money! Trust? It goes both ways. And there are no fuckin’ Kings. They went on a run. I watched them leave.”

“The prospects are still here.” Ames opens her mouth as if to scream, but Satin fires the gun. Ames’s face disintegrates, and as if in slow motion, she folds and drops. Before her body hits the floor, Satin makes a run for it.