Page 53 of Where Angels Fall

The bastard leans against a rusted shipping container like he’s got all the time in the world. Smoke curls from the cigarette in his hand, drifting lazily into the cold air. He’s dressed in a suit, charcoal coloured, and the intricate swirls of ink peek out from the expensive material. The suit fits him like it were tailored to his body, sharp lines, expensive fabric, not a wrinkle out of place.

It’s been an age since I’ve seen the man, and he looks older. Worn and hard. Granted, he is five years older than me, but he is as ruthless as they come. As ruthless as the man who raised me. His hair is cut close, severe, exposing a face of hard lines, heavy brows, and deep eyes.

He raises an eyebrow at the men flanking my sides, but I know he has men hiding about somewhere. Too much of a coward to come alone, I’m sure he has snipers aimed right at my heart this second, screwing the rules.

“You look more and more like your father every time I see you,” Zeke drawls, a cruel smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes. His voice is low and unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be.

Gritting my teeth, I suck in a slow breath through my nose, trying to dispel the immediate rage filling my system. He watches without moving, just a slight tilt of his head as he watches me intently.

“I am nothing like the cunt,” I reply, cooly. “That’s why I put a gun to his head.”

I know I am nothing like him. Every day I make my choices, doing things in the opposite way I think he’d do it.

Zeke lets out a cruel laugh as he steps out of the shadows, dropping his cigarette butt onto the ground and grinding a polished shoe over it.

“You are more like your father than you know, Ash. I would know.” The spark in his eye tells me he knows he hits the mark.

Of course he would know.

“Dad’s little prodigy,” I murmur, smiling at him. “I wonder if you’ll meet the same ending as him too.”

I wonder if my dad ever knew Zeke had it in him to surpass his level of cruelty. If he’s looking up from the depths of hell and wonders why he couldn’t match that of his found son. Of the boy he found in the arms of one of the gang ladies, who had overdosed on blow with the kid in her hands.

Zeke did try to take the position of president from me that day. The day I slaughtered my father. With a handful of devils backing him. It caused an internal war that shed blood, but evidently, I won. And he had run away with his tail between his legs, finding his way with the Wraiths.

“My dad was a weak man, Zeke. A teenager fell him,” I smile, shrugging.

The look he returns is pure murder; his face transforming from smug satisfaction to pure rage.

His chest heaves under his expensive tailored suit, and his long fingers clench into fists. “You asked me here, Ash. I’m sure you didn’t call a meeting just to reminisce.”

I crack my knuckles, letting the pain bring me back to the present. “No, I didn’t,” I drawl, cracking my neck. “I brought you here to ask you why the fuck you are sending your men into my territory. Killing my men on their own grounds.” My voice rises as memories of my men hit me straight in the gut.

Zeke’s face once again transforms into pure satisfaction as he watches the effects of his actions play out on my expression. I’ve never been good at poker; my face expresses everything I’m feeling.

“If you want an all-out war, then I’ll give it to you. Because that is where this is heading if you keep fucking with what’s mine,” I grit out. No club wants a war. Too many men die. Weakness cracks at foundations, allowing outside clubs to sniff around.

“I don’t really want anything from you and your mutts,” he sniffs, his pretentious actions making my skin crawl. His dead eyes lock onto mine as his lips twitch to the side. “All I want is to right the wrong from all those years ago. To take what you took from me.”

I stare, incredulous. Groups like us fight over harbours. Turf. Clubs. Not revenge for ancient incidents. Not over a decade old.

An amused laugh falls out of me. “So, you are throwing a tantrum because you didn’t get your way... nearly two decades ago.” The humour dies inside me though, knowing now that my brothers died for things I did. My smile falls off my face. “I underestimated your stupidity, Zeke,” I spit, disgust twisting my face.

I start to turn away but stop. “And what exactly do you think I took from you?”

It should be obvious. I took the presidency of the club. I took the club from him. By killing my father, I also took him away from Zeke. But the way death shines in his eyes right now, in the shadows of the grey zone, something has me curious. I want to hear it from his mouth. Because those things I took were inherently mine. And I will not stand for my men dying for them.

He doesn’t answer straight away.

He just looks at me, and the silence stretches thin between us. Already dark eyes darken as he stares straight through me.

A muscle feathers in his jaw, once. Again. His mouth tightens, lips pressing into a hard line as his shoulders draw back, his body going rigid in a way that looks like restraint.

He exhales slowly through his nose. “Everything,” he murmurs.

My head tilts, studying him. The man whom my dad claimed was the better man. Trying to see him in my dad’s eyes but coming up short.

“Then you should’ve fought harder,” I say flatly.