Home > Club 22 (Hades #3)(3)

Club 22 (Hades #3)(3)
Author: Tate James

I needed to blink a couple of times when people started standing around me, and refocused on the present. Six tattoo-covered Reapers approached the front of the chapel and lifted Cass's casket between them, their faces stricken with grief as they hoisted it to their shoulders.

Most of the congregation filed out of the chapel after the pallbearers, women wailing and sobbing and more than a few tough gangster men sporting red-rimmed eyes. It'd been a good service, from what I'd paid attention to.

"Hades, sir." The newly appointed leader of the Reapers approached awkwardly, dipping his head with a nod of respect. "Thank you for allowing this."

I didn't trust my voice, so I just gave him a tight, cold smile, which only seemed to make him more uncomfortable. Poor guy had been thrown straight in the deep end, having been appointed Cass's second barely a few weeks ago. He could handle it, though. He was smart.

"Uh, I will, of course, make an official meeting request with you this week, sir," he continued, running a hand over the back of his tattooed neck. "But I just wanted to assure you that the... that I'm taking care of things. The Reapers are loyal to you, sir."

I knew what he was saying. He wanted me to know that he was ensuring Chase's access to the Shadow Grove drug distribution network was well and truly cut off. Whatever connections he'd made through Cass were dead, and Roach would do everything possible to ensure not a single crumb of PCP was being sold in Shadow Grove.

"See that it stays that way, Roach," I told him in a voice like ice. "You've seen how I deal with betrayal, and I actually liked Cass." Understatement of the century.

Roach nodded his understanding, though, and that's all that mattered. "I'm handling it," he assured me. "Thank you, again." He indicated to the almost empty chapel. "This meant a lot to the Reapers. Will you be joining us for the wake?"

I shook my head, already desperate to get the fuck away from the morbid, depressing atmosphere that was doing nothing but make me feel like the God of Death I'd named myself for.

"No," I replied. "I don't believe I would be a welcome guest. We can discuss business next week in my office; please call and schedule an appointment."

"Understood, sir," Roach replied quickly, smart enough not to want to hang around chatting any longer. He gave polite nods to both Zed and Lucas, then made his way out of the chapel with the last of the mourners.

I released a small breath, feeling the weight of responsibility resting heavier than ever across my shoulders. Some days, lots of days, I fucking hated who I was. I hated my position, my power, my carefully crafted reputation that was so firmly built on fear and violence. I hated me.

Lucas took my hand in his, but I jerked away from his touch. My hands still felt sticky and wet with Cass's blood, no matter how many times I'd washed them since that night. I could still feel the heat of his bloody flesh under my bare hands as I’d desperately tried to stop the bleeding after Chase had gone... I could still feel the burning path of my own tears down my cheeks as I’d used my own shirt as a compress.

"Let's go," Zed murmured softly. His touch to my lower back was featherlight, just enough to bring me back to the present and get me moving. He understood where my head was at without me needing to tell him.

Silently, the three of us left the chapel and climbed into Zed's Audi. Roach gave us a small wave as we left the parking lot, but I could imagine he was glad to see us gone. The Reapers blamed me for their leader's death and rightly so. I'd been the one to fire the gun, even if he'd had it coming. They knew the consequences of crossing me, and Cass was far from the first gang leader I'd disposed of.

My phone rang in my handbag, the sound startling me. Swallowing hard, I fished it out. I needed to pull my shit together, or I was likely to end up getting caught off guard by Chase.

I gave a small frown at the caller ID and accepted the call.

"Rodney, what's going on?" My bar manager had been in the bathroom when Chase gatecrashed our meeting below Club 22. Thanks to Rodney's sudden urge to shit, he'd avoided Chase’s bullet to the head. Fang hadn't been so lucky.

"Sir, I apologize for the interruption. I know today isn't..." He trailed off with an awkward sound, like he was clearing his throat. "Anyway. Figured you'd wanna know there's a snake in the hen house."

My spine stiffened, and my fingers tightened on my phone. "Right now?"

"Yes, sir," Rodney replied. "Doesn't seem in any hurry to go anywhere either."

I seethed with anger. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Ending the call, I took a hot second to scream internally, then turned to Zed. "We need to stop by Club 22. Chase is there."

Zed jerked in surprise, his jaw tightening, but he increased his speed and turned us in the direction of Club 22 without arguing.

"What the fuck is he doing there?" Lucas muttered from the back seat.

I grimaced. "Hopefully not killing any more of our employees." It sounded flippant as hell, but it was the truth. I really hoped he wasn't killing any more of my employees, or I was about to find myself very short of staff. As it was, we'd lost three of our girls from Club 22 who’d quit after the incident with Jessie killing herself while high on PCP.

"You armed, Gumdrop?" Zed glanced in the rearview mirror, raising his brows.

"Of course I am," Lucas replied. "I'm not an idiot."

That night at Club 22 I'd asked Lucas to start carrying a weapon on him at all times. Now that we knew he could handle a gun and shoot with decent accuracy, I didn't want him walking around unarmed. Not after the way Chase had declared he was gunning for my guys.

One down, two to go.

I shuddered, remembering the smug satisfaction on his face as he stood over Cass's blood-soaked body.

Zed gave a small nod, then tightened his hands on the steering wheel like he was imagining wrapping them around Chase's neck. "We should just kill him and deal with the consequences later."

I gave him a sharp look. "No."

"I'm with Zed on this one," Lucas offered. "Chase can't have covered all his bases. You guys make people disappear all the fucking time; what's one more?"

My teeth clenched as I tried to get a leash on my frustration. These arguments didn't help ease the brittle tension that had existed between the three of us since I'd shot Cass, but what the fuck was I supposed to do? I couldn't change the past, and I wasn't going to make a stupid, reckless move to try and make it up to them.

"We've been over this, Lucas," I snapped, "too many times already. We're not making any direct moves against Chase yet. Not until I know it's safe for everyone."

Because my ex was far from stupid and his moral compass was so far from north it was laughable. We had proof of that already. After the incident at Club 22, my aunt, Demi, had found a series of explosive devices planted around her home in Italy. If I'd shot Chase the second he’d shown his face in my meeting, Seph would be dead. Along with everyone else in that house.

"I spoke with Steele this morning," Zed told me, clearly on the same train of thought. "They've moved Seph to a new safe house, and I've submitted a request to the Guild for assistance."

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