Page 3 of Crown: Phase 4

"A Knight waits on no mu’fuckin' body. Go tell Redd that Danger wanna speak with him."

Chris' hands shot into the air as he nervously nodded. "O-okay. Don't shoot. I'll get him."

"You got ten seconds, bitch."

Chris took off toward the back again, and Danger reached into his pocket, pulling out the printed screenshot from the security footage recovered from the clubhouse. Just as he laid it on the counter and drew his second .45, Chris returned with Redd at his side. Both men froze. Danger had one pistol trained on Redd and the other aimed at Chris. Pulling up one deep and taking control of a room wasn’t shit to a nigga like him. It wasn’t his first time and surely wouldn’t be his last.

“Danger, what's going on, my man? I don't understand. W…what's the problem?” Redd stammered, his mind going to the Hellcat he'd customized at the beginning of the year.

Danger had paid every dollar he owed, tipped the crew well, and never once complained about the work. They'd parted on good terms. So, he couldn’t fathom why the fuck the vice president of the Knights was standing in his shop pointing two guns.

"You." Danger ignored the question, motioning to Chris with the second pistol. "Lock the front door and flip the sign."

Chris hurried to do exactly that.

"Now come have a seat and keep yo' hands where I can see ’em. Fuck wit’ me, and I'll cut both of them bitches off."

Chris quickly pulled one of the waiting room chairs over and sat down, keeping both hands visible so Danger could see them as he said a silent prayer in his head.

"You done any work on a Mustang lately?"

Redd frowned in confusion. "A Mustang? Yeah. Plenty of them come through here."

Danger nodded toward the counter. "Pick up that picture and study it. Then tell me if you recognize that one."

Redd reached for the printed image with a shaky hand and carefully looked it over. It didn’t take him long to recognize he and his crew had done the bodywork. He hesitated, wondering what this was all about.

“I do. I did the bodywork.”

“I figured. Who owns it?”

Redd's eyes drifted toward Chris before settling back on Danger.

“…I can’t tell you that, man. I don’t want no problems with you, but you must understand. I run a business. My customers trust me with their vehicles and their information. If I start giving names out every time somebody walks in here asking questions, I won’t have a business much longer.”

Danger never took his eyes off him as he lowered one of his pistols. Redd realized what he was about to do and tried to talk him out of it, but it was too late. The gunshot exploded through the shop. In pain and shock, Chris screamed as the bullet tore through his kneecap. He tumbled out of the chair and crashed onto the floor, clutching his leg as blood spread beneath him. Redd stumbled backward in horror.

The gunshot cut through the noise of the garage, overpowering the music, impact guns, and air tools for a split second. One by one, the employees looked toward the front office, peering through the window to see what had happened.

Danger was already watching them through the glass, aware they'd heard the shot. In one smooth motion, he tucked one of his guns into the waistband of his jeans before snatching Redd by the front of his collar and shoving him toward the garage.

Panic spread. Two employees ducked behind vehicles while the body technician and mechanic made a run for the bay doors. Accurate with it, Danger fired twice. The first round tore through the mechanic's leg, dropping him to the concrete. The second struck the body technician square in the back, sending him crashing face-first. The other two employees froze where they stood, fear rooting them in place. Seeing no one else willing to test him, Danger turned his attention back to Redd and pressed the barrel against the side of his head.

“You don’t talk, and yo’ business will no longer have you. I’ll kill every one of you niggas.”

“Aight! Aight! I can't remember off the top of my head who the car belongs to. I gotta go through my records. Hundreds of Mustangs come through here, but I'll find it. I got you."

Chapter Two

Gunner stood outside a discreet warehouse he and Nico had secured years ago for times like this… when the Ravens needed somewhere to lie low, regroup, and figure out their next move. The property was tucked away in an industrial area with no signs connecting it to the club, making it one of the few places the Council didn’t know about to check.

Shit had gone left. Way left.

Things weren’t supposed to go down like this, Gunner thought. He wasn’t supposed to be hiding out somewhere like a bitch. He was supposed to be celebrating tomorrow. Just days earlier, he’d cut the first check to start construction on the Ravens’ new clubhouse. After the Knights burned their original clubhouse to the ground and the Council killed Nico, he had been left to pick up the pieces…busting his ass trying to keep the Ravens’ name alive. He recruited new members and even secured a drug supplier capable of supplying every charter. Gunner wanted the Ravens to make a real comeback and prove they were still a force in the outlaw world.

He had pictured the new clubhouse as a fresh start, with his brothers filling the parking lot, finally reclaiming everything they had lost. Now, with the Council on their asses, he wasn’t so sure any of them would live long enough to move in. In fact, every powerful organization in Satin Hills had a reason to come looking for them. Shaking his head, Gunner took another long drag from his cigarette and cursed under his breath. The Council was after him. The Knights were after him. And somewhere in the middle of all that, he had to worry about what Preach would do once he found out what happened.

After pacing for a while, Gunner pulled the burner phone from his pocket and dialed. He knew he needed to tell Preach before the news reached him another way. If he heard it from somebody else, Gunner could end up with one more enemy coming for his head.