Page 23 of Seizing Control: Part Two

“You’ve got rats?”

“Four of them,” he tells me. As I step away from him, I forget to stop my fingers from straying to the top of my head. Silver shoots me a quizzical look when I curse under my breath and jam my hands in my pockets. “They got themselves caught up with the Maddison’s... I caught it early. They haven’t infiltrated deeper into the club—none of my long-term brothers are particularly fond of them. They’re not part of my hierarchy, and they’re not old timers or legacies.”

Settling back into my original seat, I lace my fingers at the back of my head and stretch. My vertebrae pop. The tendons in my neck strain. Tension drains from my limbs, not completely, but enough for me to find the energy to properly question Silver about his vermin problem.

His ensuing explanation has Brutus’ fingerprints all over it.

The bikers were sucked into our enemies vortex via gambling debts owned by the Maddison clan. Promises of extra earnings if they can talk the chapter into selling hard drugs and women were offered as a solution to their cashflow issues. A small fracture was created within the brotherhood, push back from the other brothers when they came on too strong, and it alerted Silver to the impending division. He’s dealing with a smaller version of the treachery my chapter faced... which didn’t begin in earnest until after Brutus’ plot to marry Cherub off to Alex, and then Hugh St. James, fell through.

Curiouser and curiouser...

“Fuck.” I scrub my palm over my head. The feel of my close-cropped hair abrading my skin does nothing to calm me, so I settle for worrying my lip piercings with my teeth while I mull over everything I just learnt. In the end, the decision is easy. An extermination is necessary. Extending my arm, I tell Silver, “Deal.”

He clasps fists with me, then lets me pull him in for a backslap. “Deal.”

“How do you want this done?” I ask.

The malice that darkens his features is familiar. It matches the desire for vengeance that floods me every time I think of the damage Brutus has done to the people I love. We’re proud men, and we don’t take slights against our brotherhood lying down. When someone taints our commitment to each other, we instantly mete out punishment and a deterrent.

Unfortunately, the warning will have to be foregone this time in lieu of maintaining unity. It’s untenable to have the two biggest chapters of the Black Shamrocks MC fall apart at the same time. I’ll hold the mother chapter together in the daylight while Silver works to rebuild his brotherhood without exposing how close they came to splintering into different factions.

As soon as that thought hits, I understand that Brutus didn’t overlook the growth of the South-East Queensland chapter. He manufactured it. Allowed the numbers to swell when it became clear that my chapter wasn’t going to be as easy to break apart as he’d hoped. So, while it goes against my beliefs to allow the rats to receive a proper Shamrocks send off after their deaths, I know that’s exactly what needs to occur.

Maintaining unity is one thing.

Alerting Brutus that we’re closing in on him is an entirely different proposition.

It can’t a coincidence that Gabriel has exposed this rift to me under his terms.

He must’ve known that I would find anyway, but chose to leverage it for his gain.

Meeyal’s warning crashes around my skull.

The watchman’s assessment was straight on.

I need to remember to get out of my own way and listen to him more often.

An hour later, once Silver and I settled on a plan, we emerge from the chapel. My enforcers and Meeyal have been made to feel welcome. They have fresh drinks, and the single enforcers also have a cut slut warming their laps. As I down the beer that was thrust into my hand, I work up the balls to voice the order that I know I need to give for the benefit of my club.

It pains me to open myself up to their censure, but they’re as invaluable to me as Meeyal.

“All good, prez?” My watchman fixes his gaze on mine after I drop into the recently vacated seat next to him. “Silver seems happy with the outcome of your discussion.”

“Yeah, he is,” I reply. “I am not quite as enthused by what I learnt.”

“Hmmmm.” Meeyal makes a noncommittal sound when he sees that I’m not ready to talk about my conversation with the other president.

We sit in silence for a moment, listening to the music playing on the jukebox.

Draining another fresh brew, I tap my fingers on the top of the table, then I blurt out, “Need you to arrange for Toker and Cub to come back... shit’s getting’ serious and I want them on our six while we fix it.”

“Sure thing,” he readily agrees. Lowering his head, so no one can read his lips, Meeyal murmurs, “What time are we headin’ to the docks?”

“In an hour.”

After a curt nod, he ducks off to place the call I requested, and I spend the next seventy minutes giving the chapter the face time they deserve from an incoming president. Listening to their tales, I laugh where it’s appropriate and commiserate when it’s due. The conversation flows easily, but I quickly identify the four rats who will die shortly.

They set themselves apart from their brothers.

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