Page 24 of May 11

Before he started his bike, he checked the time. It was three o'clock. Cora worked at Whale's Tail until four. He had an hour.

He slipped the cell in his vest pocket when it vibrated. Bringing it back out, he recognized the number.

"Yeah?" he answered.

"Meeting," said Bane.

"When?"

"Now."

"I'll be there in five." He disconnected.

The vice president would call a meeting only if something had happened. He started the bike and rode away from his house. Everything forgotten as he focused on Havlin.

When he reached the clubhouse, he found the back parking lot filled with motorcycles. He parked in the first opening he came to and jogged to the building.

Once inside, the somber atmosphere hit him in the face. Jagger stood at the head of the table with his hands planted on the surface. Bane stood beside him, studying the table.

The younger members stepped to the side, letting Wire through the crowd. He made it to the side of the table and got his first look at what put everyone in a serious mood.

A baggie full of blue pills.

"Fuck," he muttered.

Jagger lifted his gaze. "Everyone inside and lock the door. Do a sweep. If you see someone here that hasn't earned the right to stand by the table, get them the fuck out of here."

The slamming of the door echoed in the clubhouse. Jagger ran his hand over his jaw and down his beard. As a club, Havlin chose to stay out of drug trafficking. The security jobs they ran centered around the casinos and money laundering. To protect their interest, they often went after those trying to infringe on the territory that would impact the club's income.

There could only be one organization running the area.

And the men they worked with never dealt with Fentanyl.

"The third crew came off their shift and found a package with our name on it." Jagger pointed to the bag on the table. "It's a gift to turn our backs and let the pills come into the territory."

Someone in the back whistled. Wire shook his head. He wanted no part in dealing drugs. Especially not Fentanyl.

"Do we know who gave it to us?" he asked.

Jagger met his gaze. "Los Li."

"The Mexican mafia?" He shook his head. "Last I heard, Bantorus Motorcycle Club was responsible for keeping them out of the states."

"I've got a call into Kurt in Idaho to get the latest." Jagger reached into his pocket, pulled out his hand, and put a bullet casing on the table. "This was also in the package."

"What's that mean?" asked Dio.

Rush stepped forward. "A three-eighty shot me."

"You're sure?" Wire cocked his head. "The bullet went through you."

There was no bullet found.

"I know the sound, brother. Especially when that sound is coming for me. Most everyone carries nine millimeters because it's easier to get ammo. It's harder than hell to get some for a three-eighty—I know that because it's my personal preference." Rush picked up the shell. "The only reason to include the shell in the package is to threaten us. They already shot me. They won't be afraid of shooting any of us if we don't let them bring in their pill killers."

"The last fucking thing we want is Fentanyl in our territory." Jagger widened his stance. "I want to double our crews. No parties until we run Los Li out. We can't afford to let one of them inside mistakenly."

"Damn." Dio picked up the bundles. "How much is there?"

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