Page 89 of Down & Dirty: Rage

Zeke asked, “What if they ask the Mafia to fuck with us? They could negotiate with the Russos to help steal our goddamn territory. It would be much fuckin’ easier to take us on with the Mafia behind them.”

If that happened, they’d be fucked. “They could blow our shit up easily. Come in guns a-blazin’. They did it with the Demons. Nothin’s stoppin’ them from doin’ the same to us.”

“God-fuckin-dammit,” Zeke muttered.

“That’s a fuckin’ understatement. The more I think about this shit, the more I think we gotta do what Reaper said.”

“Get a war started between two Mafia families?”

“Yeah. Thinkin’ that’s gonna be the smartest and safest play for us.”

“Think we need to have another sit down with Vi and the Shadows. At our last meet, she said she was gonna do some recon on other crime families that could go head to head with the Russos.”

“Yeah. Maybe she came up with somethin’. We gotta do that soon. Like yesterday. That motherfucker never should’ve shown his face in this club.” How many other Souls have walked into their other businesses without them knowing?

He squeezed his eyes shut when he imagined a Soul going in for an appointment with Lyric and doing the same shit to her that he had just done to their now-dead MC member.

“You give him a lesson ‘bout bein’ nosy?” Zeke’s question snapped Rage back to their conversation.

“Sure as fuck did.”

“He learn it?”

“He ain’t gonna be doin’ fuck all from now on.”

Zeke huffed softly. “I wanna know?”

If his prez asked for details, he’d give them. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t. “Up to you.”

Zeke sighed. “Yeah, wanna know.”

A few years ago, Zeke might not have cared about the details, but with each passing day since Kyra returned with Ledger, the prez was settling into his position of both club president and father and becoming much more responsible and less selfish.

About fucking time.

Rage had been one of the rare DAMC members who believed that Zeke would eventually be a great president, like his father was, once he pulled his head out of his ass.

Did he still have his moments? Fuck yeah. But didn’t they all?

Rage glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing distance. “Let’s just say his neck was smilin’.”

“Damn. Where at?”

“Private room. Lured him in there and took care of it.”

“Cleaned up?”

“In the process,” Rage answered.

“What about the leftovers?”

“Gonna burn all his shit and Pugsy’s takin’ him for a swim.”

A few seconds ticked by before Zeke exploded with, “For fuck’s sake, does our club need to buy our own fuckin’ dog furnaces?”

Dog furnaces? “You talkin’ a pet crematorium like theFury’s got? Smartest shit they coulda done. No chance of someone comin’ across a floater.” The idea to buy that business had been fucking genius.

“Yeah. Couldn’t hurt. Easy way to dispose of problems so they don’t come back to bite us in the fuckin’ ass. Hard to identify a fucker once they’re turned to ashes. Especially after those ashes are scattered.”