Madeline Sheehan - Unbeloved

He spared them only a quick glance before abruptly turning away. Outside the cage, ZZ took a wad of cash from some greasy-looking asshole, grabbed a jacket from a nearby chair, and then he was on the move, shoving off the poor souls who dared to approach him before disappearing behind a door Hawk hadn’t previously noticed.

“Follow him!” Hammer shouted. “I’ll head back upstairs and cover the front!”

Cursing, forcing himself into action, Hawk started maneuvering his way through the throng of people, heading for the exit ZZ had taken. As soon as he passed through the open door, he slipped his hand inside his cut and pulled his gun free from its holster.

He was only a few feet inside the dark hallway when the door behind him suddenly closed with a loud bang. He spun around, his trigger finger ready, only to find Hammer and two of his men standing there.

Confused, he lowered his gun. “Why aren’t you . . .”

He trailed off as something hard and cool, undoubtedly the barrel of a gun, was pressed against the back of his neck.

“You thought you had the drop on me, huh?” ZZ’s tone and the laugh that followed were so cold and devoid of emotion, chills went skittering down Hawk’s spine. But even worse was Hammer’s refusal to meet Hawk’s eyes.

Well . . . shit. You really couldn’t fucking trust anyone, could you? There was no loyalty among criminals. The only man he’d ever met who’d been the exception to that rule had been Deuce.

The barrel of ZZ’s gun dug deeper into his neck. “Drop your fuckin’ piece.”

Thumbing the safety, Hawk opened his hand, allowing the weapon to fall. It clattered onto the floor with a sad, slapping thud that echoed throughout the empty hall.

Grabbing hold of his arm, ZZ roughly turned him, shoving him face-first into the wall. Without having to be told, Hawk assumed the position. After placing his palms flat against the wall, he then spread his legs apart.

ZZ’s pat down was quick, yet thorough, and within moments both of Hawk’s blades and his phone had joined his gun on the floor.

Hawk blew out a silent, frustrated breath. It was just a phone, but it contained the only photos he had of his son. Living life on the road didn’t allow him the luxury of keeping anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary. Not that any of that was going to matter if he didn’t make it out of this warehouse with his brains intact.

“Whatever you’re gonna do,” Hawk said quietly, “you best do it now. If not, I got places to be.”

“Yeah?” ZZ snorted. “More fool’s errands for your prez?”

“He was your prez once too.”

“He’s out for my blood, meanin’ he ain’t jack shit to me.”

“You shot Cage,” Hawk said, “meaning you shot us all. Your brothers. You can’t be dumb enough to think that shit was gonna fly with Prez.”

“He pulled on me!” ZZ yelled.

“Enough!”

Hawk turned toward the voice just as Hammer and his men parted, allowing four more men to enter the hallway. Dressed in expensive suits, their hair perfectly styled, these men weren’t more of Hammer’s crew.

The lead man, a good twenty years older than Hawk, judging by his white hair and wrinkled skin, stopped directly beside Hawk and smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile but a vicious one. It was a smile that niggled at his memories.

“Luca,” the old man said, his voice heavily accented. “Is good to see you again . . . alive.”

Hawk blinked. That name, his name, his real goddamn name and that thick Russian accent. Which meant . . . this man was mafia. Cut from the same damn cloth Hawk was.

Behind him, ZZ burst out laughing. “To think all those fuckin’ years I was livin’ amongst mafia royalty.”

Hawk said nothing. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, too busy trying to compute what was happening. Or better yet, why it was happening.

“You no remember me, do you?” the old man asked.

Hawk stared at his face, his features, trying desperately to place him, but for the life of him, he couldn’t. Not until he looked directly into the man’s eyes, such a dark shade of brown that the pupil was virtually indiscernible from the iris. Not only were they a mirror image of his father’s eyes, but of his own as well.

“Yenny,” he said flatly.

As the man’s smile grew, so did Hawk’s anger.

Yevgeniy Polachev was Hawk’s uncle and had been his father’s second-in-command. Hawk had been under the impression that Yenny had died along with everyone else in his father’s company.

But Yenny hadn’t died, he’d lived, and from the look of his expensive clothing and the armed men behind him, had prospered.

“You,” Hawk spat. “You turned on my father, didn’t you? You took everything he’d made for yourself!”

In answer, Yenny simply shrugged. “Your father was greedy, Luca. He would have fallen eventually.”

Hawk said nothing, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. In the background, the shouts of the spectators could still be heard, along with the low hum of a plane flying overhead. But predominant was the sound of Hawk’s own heart, fast paced and erratic, his blood thundering violently through his veins as he fought the urge not to reach out and strangle the man he’d once called Uncle. Something that would undoubtedly end badly for him, seeing as he was the only unarmed man in a room full of guns.

“Luca!” ZZ continued laughing. “I still can’t believe this shit.”

Ignoring ZZ, Hawk focused on Hammer. “You set me up? You set this up?”

Whereas every Hell’s Horsemen chapter had their own president, their own business dealings, and their own way of doing things, Miles City was the mother chapter and Deuce was ultimately in charge. Hammer’s involvement in this wasn’t just disloyal, it was traitorous. Once Deuce found out, the Nevada chapter would be gutted and rebuilt from the ground up, if it even was rebuilt at all.

A body slammed unexpectedly into Hawk from behind, forcing him flat against the wall. He felt a gun pressed into his cheek, causing the soft skin on the inside of his mouth to grind painfully against his teeth.

“I set this up,” ZZ hissed, his breath hot across Hawk face. “Deuce has been buyin’ less and less Russian metal since teamin’ up with Preacher and those Chinese fucks.”

Hawk cut his eyes toward Yenny. “Deuce hasn’t been buyin’ less. Fact, this isn’t about Deuce at all, is it? You want Preacher. You want the East Coast.”

“You always were a smart boy, Luca. Such a shame what happened to you . . .”

Yenny’s gaze ran up and down the length of Hawk as he eyed his leathers and his cut with nothing short of disgust. Once upon a time, Hawk would have done the same, way back when his name was still Luca. But he wasn’t Luca anymore. He was James motherfucking Hawk Young, he was Deuce’s boy, and he was unfailingly loyal.

“I’ll never help you,” he gritted out.

Hawk found himself suddenly spun around and face-to-face with a smiling ZZ. No, ZZ wasn’t smiling, he was mocking him with a crude and ugly grin.

“Brother,” ZZ said with a sneer. “You already have. Now we wait to see if your prez gives a fuck about you.”

“Enough,” Yenny demanded. “The car is waiting. Shoot him already.”

The declaration caught Hawk by surprise, but he had little time to dwell on it as a shot rang out, and his left leg bent suddenly and then gave out entirely. Searing pain shot up and down the limb as he stumbled backward and slammed into the wall behind him. Falling forward, his body crumpled to the floor in an awkward heap.

Blinking through watery eyes, he tried to assess his injury, could almost make out his shin. The bullet had gone into the left side of his leg, torn straight through, blowing out the other side, taking with it bone, muscle, and a shit ton of blood. Seeing the gaping wound, the broken bone fragments sharply jutting through the gory mess of shredded muscle and blood, all caused his stomach to roil.

Shaking, starting to shiver from the cold quickly taking hold of his insides, Hawk glanced up at ZZ and, despite his pain, attempted a smile. No fucking way was he going to let these assholes use him against Deuce. He would die first.

“Never did see Danny lookin’ at you the way she looks at Ripper,” he whispered hoarsely. “Must burn you up inside knowin’ she loves lookin’ at somethin’ Crazy Frankie carved up, more than she ever did you.”

ZZ’s nostrils flared wide as the hand holding his gun began to twitch.

“And Tegen,” Hawk continued through chattering teeth. “Shit, brother . . . you packin’ light . . . ’cause you’re losin’ women left and—”

Hawk jerked as a gun discharged and sent ZZ sprawling backward. But before Hawk could see how badly ZZ was hit, Yenny stepped in front of him, blocking his line of sight.

“Luca, Luca, Luca.” Yenny sighed and tsk-tsked. “You made me shoot my best fighter.”

“Yeah,” Hawk rasped. Defeated, he let his head drop back against the wall. “So not fuckin’ . . . sorry . . . about . . . that.”

Christmas Eve Day

“Just sign the papers, Jason.”

Inside a secure and guarded room within the confines of the Montana Women’s Prison, Jase was seated beside his eldest daughter, Maribelle, staring across the dull metal table into the big blue eyes of his wife. Eyes that had once looked upon him with utter love and devotion, but now were filled with the bitter sting of resentment.

Chrysanthemum “Chrissy” Montgomery had once been a vision to behold. Never, in the history of ever, had there been a man who hadn’t looked her way. That wasn’t the case anymore. She was in her forties now, yet looking exceptionally older, hardened to the point where she’d become a woman he barely recognized.