Strike ( Book 4: Stronger Series )

58. War

I stared down at the silver-gray tombstone, the one with my youngest brother's name carved into it. Just a name, date of birth, and date of death. Nothing else. No special words to carry him onto the next world, nothing to relieve the grieving, nothing to remind anyone of the kind of person he was while he was alive – a complete fucking dumbshit.

I had told him not to go down there. I had told him what would happen if he did and what I would have to do. Dan and I practically beat it into his stupid arrogant face when he tried to argue with me. I thought I had him convinced to let me handle Javier. But no, not Dominic. He played by his own rules. And they cut him to pieces for it.

Javier didn't even need to leave me an explanation. I already knew Dominic's mouth would eventually be the death of him. And now, once again, I would have to clean up his fucking mess.

I stood on as the coffin was lowered into the grave, the remains of my brother's body sinking deep into the ground next to the grave of my mother and father. Less than a hundred people surrounded the plot, all in attendance for the funeral, offering me and Dan and even Regina their condolences while we shook their hands. Her presence next to me was fucking repulsive. She'd been married to Dominic for less than a week, and she was already a widow and officially my goddamn responsibility. I expected the same thing for Jaden from my brothers should anything happen to me. But Regina was becoming a different story.

I couldn't help but wonder how much of her selfish attitude had influenced Dominic into going down there. But I couldn't allow myself to linger on that here. I had to get through this goddamn funeral first, to speak to people I had no interest in conversing with at the moment.

It was just a formality, a show of respect, but their eyes all held the same caution. They knew a storm was coming, and they knew I was bringing it right to Javier's doorstep.

We were officially at war.

Turf wars and contract squabbles were different. I'd settled plenty of those with enough brutality to send a clear message to anyone who wanted to do business with me. Keep straight, follow the terms of the deal, and you live to see your next dollar. Betray those terms in any way, and you will find my remedial clause to be far less than forgiving.

But Javier's actions weren't just some simple breach of contract. They were a deliberate action of war. Javier had to have known what he was doing when he killed Dominic; he had to have known how Dan and I would react, and what we would do in response.

There was no way I could allow him to live after this. And he either didn't care or was completely prepared for those consequences. And likely so was Miguel, his older brother. But Dominic's men didn't give a shit about Javier and neither did my men. They were eager to retaliate. Their thirst for bloodshed would be easily satisfied in Honduras where they could murder and maim in broad daylight, and the police would just look the other way. Their lives were not worth getting in the middle of a war they knew nothing about, especially when they were paid well to ignore it.

And there would be a war.

There would be blood in the streets. Families destroyed. Alliances decimated. Until there was nothing left of Javier Spade. And if his brother chose to retaliate, then I'd destroy his ass too. And the world would be reminded once again of what happened when you fucked with me and my family.

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I stood off to the side, watching Darren accept condolences and sympathies from the guests of the funeral with a solemn expression on his face, making conversation with them like he hadn't just lost his brother in a very grotesque way. His grieving process was not at all what I expected, if you could even call it grieving. I don't even know what I expected, but it certainly wasn't this calm and dark demeanor, the calm before the storm I suppose.