Chapter One
PRONUNCIATION
Nycto [ nĭk′tow ]
Nyctophilia [ nĭk′tə-fĭl′ē-ə ]
NYCTO
“Done. I’ll rendezvous with the ship to collect the packages myself…” I pause before speaking again, “As always, it’s a pleasure doing business with you, Andrés.”
His raspy chuckle chimes down the line. “The pleasure’s all mine, Nycto. Just make sure all six packages leave that ship in pristine condition. No damage. Not a mark in any way to the products… you know how I like my presents wrapped.”
I shake my head with a smirk. Fucker. “I’m aware. We’ve been in business a long time, Andrés. Have I ever let you down?”
“Not yet! Why do you think I keep coming back to the Tampa Royal Bastards? You get the job done. No questions asked. I like that about you.”
That’s the thing about delivering the packages the way we do here in Tampa. The buyers want no questions to which I’m happy to oblige, as long as I get my hefty paycheck. I don’t give a shit what I’m delivering in this deal, all I care about is making as many bills for my club as I can.
Being a Royal Bastard means we’re built for this line of work. We ride hard. We don’t ask fucking questions, and furthermore, we don’t give a flying fuck about anything. Danger? We laugh in the face of that shit, then give it the middle finger for good measure.
We’re Bastards—we live by the code, and we’ll die by the damn code.
I feel sorry for any fucker who gets in our way.
“I’ll inform you when we’re en route. Till then, Andrés, I’m off.”
“Can’t wait to get a handle on these new packages. See you soon, Nycto.” The call ends abruptly, and I throw my cell onto the church table. Picking up my lit cigarette, I take in a long draw as I peer around the room.
My brothers are all watching me waiting for their orders. Exhaling a ring of smoke, I glance at my VP, Void. “We’re making a run tonight to Palma Sola Bay to unload six packages.”
Void narrows his eyes on me. “We transiting them here or straight to Andrés?”
“We collect, then transfer to his men at the yard. Simple snatch and swap. Like always.”
Nerve sits forward, resting his huge fucking hands on the table. “When do we leave?”
I take another drag on my cigarette. “I have shit to settle underground first. Then we leave. Ship should be docking by the time we arrive.”
“Who you wanna take, Prez?” Void asks.
I run my hand over the day’s growth on my chin, thinking it through. There’s always a risk when going on a run. I need to leave at least one good man behind at the clubhouse, just in case. “Void, Nerve, Spark, and Voltage, you’re with me. We’ll take a couple of prospects, too. Everyone else stay back, keep an eye on the place. Be ready with bail money if we need you.”
A chuckle echoes around the room. We might be laughing, but I’m deadly fucking serious. If we get caught, hell, I’m not even sure if we’d get damn bail. “Right, we all know what we’re doing?”
“Aye!” The answer rumbles around the room.
I slam my gavel on the industrial metal desk. The force of the strike causes a couple of giant rivets lining the top edge to jiggle. The table’s old. Small rust stains have formed in each corner from years of spilled booze. The table was in our bunker when we purchased it. The old thing has history. Character. Appeal. When the Tampa Royal Bastards moved into this bunker, or more appropriately our clubhouse, we gave the table new life with our Royal Bastards insignia being proudly displayed in the middle. The bunker was given a makeover to turn it into the clubhouse we need.
My brothers stand to get ready for our mission as I take in the chapel. The area is small, the industrial wall lamps sit against the gray stucco texture illuminating the room, but only barely.
Just the way I like it.
The entire clubhouse is located in an underground bunker which has a rounded ceiling. There’s no natural light.
Light is the enemy in my domain.
I was taught that from an early age.
So, I avoid light as much as possible. I stick to the night. Sure, people mock me, but they don’t tend to last very long.
I have my methods of punishment. Most think my fascination with the dark is unnecessary, so I show them just how beautiful the darkness can be—permanently.
I take one last drag on my cigarette, then butt it. Standing from my president’s chair, I walk out of the chapel to finish what I was doing before church was assembled for Andrés’ call. I know I only have around five minutes before my brothers will be ready.
That should be plenty of time.
My eyes shift to Void. “VP, just gonna finish up, then I’ll be good to roll out. Make sure everyone’s ready.”
He gives me a two-fingered salute as I head for the stairs leading down into the lower bunker. It’s said back in World War II this area was used as a civilian shelter by a man who was wealthy as fuck and wanted protection for his family. The owner had the lower bunker built-in case they were invaded. He could capture the enemy and hold them captive below the main area of the bunker—the sick fuck! But then again, it comes in handy for a club of 1%ers to have a feature like this at our disposal. So, I’m a sick fuck too.
I take the stairs two at a time leading down to the lower bunker. The dim hue of lighting grows even duller. The musty smell becomes thick with the scent of mildew as I open the thick concrete door leading through to the Bricking Room.
The walls are lined with red bricks.
Some new.
Some old.
All holding an array of sins.
“Let me out, you motherfucker!” a raspy voice calls from the other end of the Bricking Room.
I narrow my eyes in the darkened space, my eyesight’s almost crystal clear as Dustin’s terrified face pokes out from behind the wall. His pale skin is almost pasty from malnourishment. His cheekbones are starting to sink into his face.
The corner of my lips turn up as I saunter over to him.
“Nycto, c’mon, man, I’ve been hauled up in here for weeks. I did you wrong, I know that. I’ve paid for it. You gotta let me go, man.”
I step over to Dustin, whose hands are tied behind his body.
His head pokes out through the small gap I’ve left unbuilt. His pleading eyes meet mine.
I tilt my head. “Dustin, Dustin, Dustin. When will you learn? In Florida, the Royal Bastards are the only dealers in heroin. You came into our territory to sell. Now while I don’t personally move the stuff, my brother chapter in Miami does, and Hatch was nice enough to let me handle you. He knows I like to have a little fun from time to time.”
“Fun? You call this fun?” Dustin blurts out through the small opening in the bricks I’ve left exposed.
I shrug. “I call this a balancing act. You tried to shift the balance. I’m simply righting your wrong, but, alas, the fun is wearing thin for me. I think you’ve done your share of recompense.”
His eyes widen as his body begins to shake. “W-what are you saying? Are you going to take me out from behind this damn wall?”
Excitement boils my blood. Adrenaline pumps overtime in my veins as I lean down grabbing the bucket, pulling off the lid to find the mortar powder ready for use. Dustin’s eyes go wide as I pour water into it and stir.