Page 33 of Strider's Misstep

We’ve commandeered the assistance of a support club the Soulz have in Dallas and have taken over their clubhouse for the day to act as our headquarters. The weekend warrior fuckers couldn’t do enough for us, and seemed overwhelmed to have our one-percenter presence in their home. Not only have they allowed us to house our meetings in their church, but have also instructed their bar to provide us with beers on tap.

Their prez, Rufus, VP, Samba, and SAA, Arch were around to personally welcome us, but they made themselves scarce when we indicated their presence wasn’t needed.

Out of respect for the Arizona prez who’d ridden a fair distance to be here, I position a second seat beside mine at the head of the table. Chaz has brought his VP, Bull, sergeant-at-arms, Iron, Weasel, his road captain, and Claws, his enforcer with him. I’ve got Shotgun, Tequila, Buzz, Madman, Shout and Tex here. Drumming my fingers against the table, I impatiently wait for Data and Legend, my IT expert, and Chaz’s to join us.

Chaz grins at me, his bald head shining in the harsh overhead lights. “Club prez here seems a pussy.”

I shrug. “They’re an okay support club. Keep themselves to themselves, mind their own business, follow the rules, and give assistance where needed. What more could I ask?”

He rolls his eyes. “Ever met Drummer of the Satan’s Devils?”

I smirk. “Heard of them. Now they’re made of different stuff. The real shit.”

He nods slowly. “Men you’d want on your side, not against you.”

I raise my chin to acknowledge his point. This club is welcoming, but if hell broke out, we couldn’t depend on them to stand beside us.

Being the dominant club, the Wretched Soulz vet all MCs setting up on our territory. This one’s harmless enough, pay their dues on time, and give us respect. But he’s got a point. I’ve only met the man at some of the ride-outs our joint clubs join, but my impression of Drummer is sound. He’s one motherfucker I’d like on my side in a time like this.

Chaz casts his eyes to the door, seemingly as anxious as I am to get an update. He confirms it when he states, “My woman’s in that fuckin’ signing.”

Bull snorts. “She can look after herself.”

Chaz sends him a glare. “More worried about the cleanup she’ll leave for us if any trouble starts.”

“Cleans up after herself.” Claws chuckles, completely unconcerned.

I’ve met Helo at the Arizona clubhouse, and hell, I’ve got to admire Chaz for taking her on. She’s something else. I’m pleased as fuck to know she’s currently sitting beside my woman. With StoryTeller and the Night Stalker, Jasmine’s got more than enough protection. Or that’s what I use to console myself.

At last, the door opens. Legend’s first to enter, Data not far behind. Both geeks take the two empty chairs, and I’m not sure I like the grins they give each other.

With no gavel, I slam my fist on the table. “Update,” I demand.

Data sits back in his chair and links his hands behind his head. He glances around lazily, then announces, “Ain’t got anything to worry about, Prez. Barclay Aster is not going to put in an appearance. He’s,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “otherwise engaged.”

Legend butts in, “Yeah, as we speak, he’s up in front of a judge discussing his unpaid taxes.”

What?“You’ve confirmed he’s there?” I snap, sitting forward.

Data nods then follows up his gesture with, “Yeah. He sure is.”

Mex chuckles loudly. “He going down?”

“Fuck no,” Legend answers, lines on his forehead. “Judge is a golfing partner of his lawyer. Case is a formality and sure to be dismissed. But all that matters is that he can’t be in two places at once, so Strider,” he nods to me, and I raise my chin back, “your woman’s safe.”

It should be good news. I should be delighted. But the hairs rise on the back of my neck, and something in my gut tells me things aren’t right.

Madman sighs and leans back in his seat. “I was enjoying the hospitality here, but I suppose we’re riding back to Austin and that our friends from AZ have had a wasted journey.”

Chaz turns a presidential glare toward him that would match one of my own. “No one’s going anywhere until our women are back safe and sound.” He bangs his hand down. “Not leaving without my Queenie.”

Shotgun turns to face me. “And you’re going to want to talk to Jasmine. Persuade her to come home.” He, too, frowns Madman’s way. “So we’re here until the end of the day. We’ll pick them up at the end of the signing.”

Madman doesn’t look contrite. He rolls his eyes, then asks, “Well, can we get more of the free beers in here then?”

As long as they stay relatively sober, I don’t mind. I beckon to Mex to go make arrangements. Rufus, it seems, can’t do enough for us, and within moments, not only have we each got a fresh round, but plates of delicacies appear before us. Apparently, Arch’s old lady’s a quite renowned baker, a talent we benefit from.

With no immediate enemy and nothing to plan, our two charters start chatting among ourselves.

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