Page 102 of Mensa's Match

Cynic leaned forward, his menacing energy almost palpable. “Because we got the three-hour fire door which should have been installed to start with.”

Tiny tipped his chin up. “Take it that would have saved us money.”

“Yeah,” Cynic hissed.

“Is there a plan for Corrupt Chrome to pay for what they did?” Roman asked.

“Yeah,” Har said, and cast his gaze across all the brothers at the table. “Tonight anyone who isn’t working a shift at Twisted Talons is headed to the Corrupt Chrome MC clubhouse in Ocean Springs.”

“Are we on our bikes?” Finn asked.

“No. Find a brother who has a cage.”

Mensa locked eyes with Har. “Do you know if their hang-arounds will be at the clubhouse?”

“Why the fuck does that matter?” Tiny asked.

Har shot Tiny a serious look. “The less you know the better, Tiny. As for your question Mensa, hang-arounds won’t be there, but prospects will.”

“We’re sure of that?” Gamble asked.

Block nodded. “Scrap and one of his buddies watched their clubhouse over the last week. The friend acted as a hang-around and found out that the four prospects they have are positioned along the perimeter when they have church.”

Har sat back in his chair. “Scrap’s friend found out that they have church every Tuesday night. That means they’ll have church tonight. Scrap studied how the prospects were stationed. Cynic and Brute are gonna take out two prospects at the southwest corner, while Tiny and Roman handle the southeast. That gives us the best shot at their back door.”

“After that, are we gonna torch their clubhouse?” Finn asked.

Roman hissed in a breath.

Har shook his head. “If it were up to ‘Nic, we would, but Roman pointed out, we’re more likely to get caught doing that shit.”

Mensa’s phone rang, and Cynic glared at him. He silenced it and cut his eyes between Cynic and Har. “Sorry about that.”

“If we aren’t setting anything on fire, then what are we doing?” Tiny asked.

Mensa’s phone vibrated on his hip. After a moment it stopped, only to start back up again. He pulled the phone from his hip, tilted it under the table and saw Nadia’s name on the display.

Shit.

“Are you listening, man?” Cynic demanded.

Mensa looked up, realizing he’d spoken aloud.

“Sorry. I have to take this.”

He stood, and hurried out of the room. “Yeah.”

“Mensa, have you heard from Whitney? Is she with you?”

“No, it isn’t even noon, why would she be with me?”

“It’s a quarter to noon, and she left for the UPS store well over an hour ago. She only had two boxes, and she’s not answering her phone.”

“Could she be in a long line?” he asked, even as his gut twisted.

“That wouldn’t explain her not answering her phone, and I got an email saying the tracking numbers had been generated for those two orders. If she isn’t with you—”

The alarm in Nadia’s tone didn’t help matters. “There’s got to be a reasonable explanation, Nadia. Don’t worry—”

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