Page 43 of Grim

As soon as she was out of earshot, I leaned closer to Jud and said, "Thanks for giving her a chance, Jud. I owe you one.”

“I should be the one thanking you. She’s a good one.”

“I’m glad it’s working out.” My gaze lingered on Jenna for a moment longer before I stood and announced, "I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything."

“You know I will.”

Once he returned his attention back to the bar, I turned and started weaving my way through the crowd. When I reached the door, I looked back, and a sense of pride washed over me as I watched Jenna as she carried a round of beers to a group in the corner. She was doing alright. Hell, she was doing more than alright, and that pleased me in ways I didn’t expect.

I left there feeling pretty good, and the feeling stuck with me the following day as I entered the clubhouse. The guys were gathered in the kitchen, talking and enjoying their coffee, and even though it had been a long week, they all seemed to be in good spirits. I poured myself a cup of coffee and made my way to the end of the table where Memphis was sitting. As I sat down beside him, I asked, “How’s the hand?”

“It’s still attached,” Memphis grumbled. “But I gotta tell ya. This cast is a fucking nuisance. Hell, I can barely wipe my damn ass.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you got tanked and tangled up with those Kings,” Prez barked from across the room.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He leaned in closer as he whispered, “Dude had a noggin like a fucking brick. I don’t know how he could keep his balance with that damn thing. Had to be heavy as shit.”

“I bet he said the same thing about you.”

“Hey, I’m a wounded man over here.”

“Because you pulled a stunt you never should’ve pulled.” It had been a couple of weeks, and Prez was still pissed about the fight. I couldn’t exactly blame him. We’d had issues with the Kings in the past, and none of us were looking forward to another run-in with them, especially Prez. He knew their threat wasn’t something to take lightly, and that had him on edge. He was at his breaking point when he told Memphis, “Hell, you should’ve just broken it yourself and saved us all the trouble.”

“Hey, this shit ain’t all on me,” Memphis argued. “The Kings have been a pain in our asses for months. I just gave them a little taste of what they’ve got coming.”

“And you didn’t think we needed a minute to catch our breaths after everything we had going on?”

“He didn’t think,” Prez interjected. “That’s the problem. He was too busy wallowing in his little pity party to think about the consequences of his actions, and now, we’re stuck having to deal with the aftermath.”

Memphis turned and glared. “It’d be nice to see you doing a little wallowing. You lost a son, remember?”

“You’re going through something. I know that ‘cause I’m going through it, too. So, I’m gonna let that shit slide, but I’m only gonna let it slide once.” Prez’s eyes glared with a fury I’d never seen before as he growled, “You even think about throwing your brother in my face again, and I’ll have your ass on a fucking string. You got that?”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered with defeat. “I got it.”

“Good. Now, pull your head out of your ass and figure out a plan for next week’s run.”

There was no plan to figure out. We already knew exactly who was going where and when. It was decided days ago. Goose, Memphis, and I were meeting with our handler later in the week. We’d give him the goods, and he’d give us a satchel of money in return—money that we would launder throughout the next month.

Each Fury chapter had a front business—a construction company, a diner, or a bar. The business was used to launder the money we made from running guns and high-grade marijuana.

We had the Vault.

It was a high-end gentleman’s club with décor that matched its name. Our women were not only smoking hot but clean and eager. We also had certain VIP amenities that drew in a crowd from miles away, which gave us ample opportunities to move the marijuana we had coming in.

It was a successful venture all around, and we needed to make sure it stayed that way—which was why I turned to Prez and said, “We’ll take care of it.”

Prez nodded, then turned his focus back to his conversation with Seven and Creed. Memphis looked like someone had pissed in his Cheerios as he grumbled, “I need a fucking drink.”

“I tell ya what. Let’s ride over and check on things at the Vault.” I gave him a nudge. “I’d bet that cast will get ya some extra attention from the girls.”

“If it means getting the fuck out of here, I’m all for it.”

And with that, we got up and headed out. It was a beautiful day—perfect for riding, but Memphis’s broken hand made that difficult. We had no choice but to take the truck. As soon as we got inside, Memphis looked at me with a grimace. “Sorry about having to take the cage. I know it sucks.”

“Don’t sweat it.” I started the engine. “It won’t be long before you’re back at it.”

“Three weeks seems like a lifetime.”

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