Page 7 of What He Wants

All eyes turned my way, but it was Hawk who spoke, getting right to the point, as he always did. “Hey, brother. You know anything about the Trouble Makers MC?”

Shit! That was the last fucking thing I’d been expecting him to ask. I hadn’t thought about the Trouble Makers in a long time, not since I’d left their MC, long before I’d become a prospect for Phantom Riders MC. In fact, I was surprised that they were still around. They’d gotten into some serious trouble soon after I’d left, the kind of shit that had sent most of their club to prison. As far as I knew, that was where they still were.

I could tell by Hawk’s expression that it was too late to make up some shit story, not that I would have anyway. My history with the Trouble Makers was just that, history, and it didn’t involve Phantom Riders. I’d come to them a nomad, free and clear. I crossed my arms and expelled a low growl. I had the feeling that I wasn’t going to like what came next.

“I used to ride with them, back when I was in my early twenties. Left them long before I came here. Why?”

“Do you know what happened to them?”

I didn’t like the look of mild suspicion on Rock’s face. “Last I heard, most of them went to prison, wouldn’t be surprised if they were still there. The FBI and ATF picked them up for human trafficking, kidnapping, and the murder of some important government official.”

“Whew!” Clay responded, shaking his head with disbelief. “That kind of shit will send you away for a long time.”

“Were you involved in any of that, brother?”

I set my gaze on my president. I didn’t blame him for the questions. Hell, I’d be doing the same damned thing if the situation were reversed. Hawk looked out for his club and brothers, and I knew that no matter how he felt about me personally, if I’d fucked them over he’d put a bullet in my head himself.

“No.” It had been one of the reasons I’d left the MC. They’d been heading down a dark road, and it wasn’t something I’d wanted to be involved with. Shooter, the president, and once a good friend of mine, had known that. “What’s going on?”

“You’re not very forthcoming, brother,” Rock snarled.

“What are you looking for, brother?” I snarled right back. “I belonged to the MC, I left them. I haven’t seen or spoken to any of them for, hell, fifteen years, at least.”

The low, growly noise Hawk made caused us all to look his way. “Covacks just called me to give us a heads-up. Seems some of the Trouble Makers are out of prison and looking for redemption.” I furrowed my brow, waiting for him to continue, because I knew that he had something more to say. “Your name was mentioned, and not in a good way.”

I thought about it for a minute. “They think I betrayed them?” I would never do that. Hawk confirmed it with a head shake. “Fuck, I had nothing to do with it.”

“Right after you left the club, shit went down. Doesn’t look very good for you,” Painter remarked in a hard tone.

I shrugged. “A coincidence. The club had been heading in the wrong direction for a long time by the time I’d made up my mind to get out and go nomad. Any names mentioned on who’s out?”

Hawk shook his head. “Does it matter? They were asking questions about you at one of the fights in Last Hope. They’re coming here for you, brother. We need to be ready.”

“It’s my problem to take care of,” I snarled firmly. I didn’t need to remind them of my position in the club, and that taking care of a few bad-asses with a grudge would be a piece of cake.

“You’re not a nomad now,” Ned said, entering the discussion.

“We deal with this together.” Not one of us would question the finality in our president’s tone, and we all knew how Hawk felt about brothers having each other’s backs. “If those fuckers show up here, we’ll be prepared. I’ve already got Fox looking into it to see who’s been released from prison.”

I thought back to that time of my life when I’d been with the club, trying to recall what I’d heard about them. I’d only been gone for about three months when I’d received word that there’d been a bust at the clubhouse, and that just about everyone present had been arrested. Not everyone had gone to prison, but most of the officers had, along with some of the soldiers. What had been left of the club had been too insignificant to keep the MC running, that was certain. Prospects didn’t know shit.

“If I remember correctly, about twelve members ended up in prison.”

“The officers?” I nodded in response to Rock’s inquiry. “Which is probably why you haven’t heard anything from them all this time, the members were probably told to lay low until they were released.”

“Makes sense,” Ned said, lighting a cigarette. “Now they’re starting to get out, they want to bring their club back together. Do you remember any of the officers?”

“Hell, I don’t recall their real names, but Shooter was the club president. There was Taco, their VP, Mooch was Enforcer, and Tiger was Road Captain. What they didn’t have in numbers, they made up for in ruthlessness. They were ambitious and reckless.”

“It’s probably good you got out when you did.”

I nodded.

“Who do we have to look out for?”

I knew what Hawk was asking me. Who were they going to send to kill me. If they believed that I’d turned them in, someone would come for me. Spending ten plus years in prison gave you a chance to think about who put you there, and what you were gonna do about it when you got out. It hardened you, made you mean, and filled you with hate. And revenge gave you the reason to keep going.

“Shooter.”

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