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Chapter 1
Rax
Jury Trial, Mellbind, Tennessee, 7 years prior
“Can you point to the man that did this to you?” the obnoxious persecutor asks the man on the stand as he tucks his hand into his pocket, a smug look on his face.
The man on the stand swallows roughly, looks at me and nods. That makes me smile. I know my lawyer will probably be pissed at that display, but the man just sealed his fate. He won’t live much longer. Too bad his death will come after this testimony.
With a shaky hand—the one that’s not bound in a cast—the man points at me, a tear streaking his cheek. Fucking pussy. His voice trembles as he says, “It’s him. Raxel James. He did this to me.”
My usual levelheaded best friend and member of my MC, Zeke, stands up and shouts, “You fucking bitch!”
A laugh burst from my chest. I didn’t expect that outburst from Zeke and it’ll no doubt turn the jury against me, but I don’t give a fuck. It’s always hilarious when Zeke loses his temper.
A roar goes up in the courtroom, my other brothers urging Zeke to sit back down. Zeke’s eyes blaze and his brown cheeks are red as he fumes. I wink at him, shaking my head subtly and he nods back. Zeke won’t be the one to kill Antonio, the man on the stand. It’ll be too obvious.
I laugh again at the brilliance of it. The cops will be too busy focusing on Zeke to pay attention to any of my other brothers. They’ll take care of the snitch. They might not even find the body.
My lawyer leans over and whispers, “Stop laughing. The jury won’t think you’re remorseful.”
With a low growl, I reply, “I’m not. I already have one foot in prison, man. Just make sure it’s not for too long or my brothers won’t regret anything with you, either.” I grin as he pales.
The cops caught me in the act of beating the shit out of the bitch on the stand. Antonio owed my club over thirty grand after he stiffed us from the large order of coke the president of the MC fronted him. He told us he could flip it and give us our money back, as well as placing another large order.
He fucked up the minute he tried to steal from the Devil’s Mayhem MC.
Our motorcycle club tried to reach him, giving him a chance to come to us. Then Prez sent me. As the Enforcer, I had to send a message. The first warning was just a drop by, a quick threat to let him know the MC wanted payment with interest.
He tried to duck me, had me searching for him for a month. That only pissed me off more. I don’t like being made to look like a fool. So, I made sure when I caught up with him, I beat him to within an inch of his life.
This ain’t fucking baseball. We don’t do three strikes and you’re out.
I probably would have finished the job if the nosey-ass rookie cop hadn’t driven by and shined his light down the alley I cornered Antonio in. It took the rookie less than a minute to call for backup and have me face down in the dirty alley, used needles and piss under my prone body.
Antonio was in the hospital for three weeks with several broken bones. I’m pissed I didn’t rearrange his face more. Now my crew is out of an enforcer and still don’t have the thirty grand to show for it. Hopefully, they have a plan to recoup their losses and pick someone worthy to take my position.
After the judge gets everyone in order and the shouts have calmed down, the pompous persecutor shakes his head and looks at me with a snarl. “This … brute inflicted these injuries?”
“Objection!” my lawyer, Shane Astor, shouts as he stands.
The judge looks disinterested in the objection. “On what grounds?”
“Name calling is juvenile, Your Honor,” Shane says pointedly, looking at the jury. “Can you please ask the counsel to be more professional?”
To his credit, the judge nods. I’ll tell Prez not to have him murdered too. He’s been fair during the trial, not really caring for either me or Antonio, so I’ll allow him to keep breathing. “Agreed.” He turns to the prosecutor. “Keep it professional, Mr. Peoples. Strike that from the record,” he tells the scribe.
The slick talking prosecutor, Mr. Peoples, says, “Apologies, Your Honor.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Again, I ask,” he says to Antonio, “did this man do this to you?”
Just like the jury, I survey Antonio’s injuries and I’m proud of my work. His arm is in a sling, he had to use a wheelchair to attend the trial because both ankles are broken, and his right leg is broken in three places. He also has six broken ribs, I broke his nose, and he lost three teeth.
Damn, I’m good.
After he is dismissed from the stand, Antonio’s x-rays and admitting photos that were taken as soon as he arrived at the ER are shown on a projector for the jury to see his documented injuries. My boys cheer and the judge orders his bailiffs to remove them from the courtroom. I wave at them and Zeke grins and shoots me some finger guns, the crazy fucker. I love that fucking guy.
With a disgusted look, the judge reprimands me and I almost change my mind about sending my boys after him. “You would do well to distance yourself from that crowd if you live long enough to leave the prison walls.” His voice is full of disdain, like he’s giving me some life lesson.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to fuck off, but my lawyer puts a hand on my arm and answers for me. “He’ll keep that in mind, Your Honor.”
