He stubbed his cigarette out with his boot heel and then tossed it in front of Lauren’s door.
I bent down and retrieved it. “Don’t throw your shit down here. Show some respect.”
He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t realize I’d raised a fucking pussy and here I’d been proud of you for turning out just like your old man. You’re on thin ice, dickhead. You know where to meet us.”
My father left me standing on the stairs and fired up his Harley. I dutifully followed after him, cursing the way my life had turned out.
We drove down into that familiar canyon and pulled up outside the old Wagon Wheel motel. I killed my truck and stared wearily ahead at the various bikers and club whores roaming the property. I no longer felt young; instead, I felt every bit of my thirty-one years.
There was a tap on the driver’s side window and I climbed out. “Hey, Goblin.”
Goblin was this twenty-two-year-old kid that had apparently had no higher aspirations for himself and thought an illegal club was a good career path. From what I’d heard, he was a gangbanger before, so maybe this was a step up.
“Mikey, hey. You know, since you’re not a club member you could call me Little Ricky. That’s what my mama calls me. It’s better, you know?”
I sighed, “Do I look like your fucking mother, kid?”
He shook his head and dejectedly made his way back into the clubhouse. I was in rare form tonight. I stood a real chance at pissing every member off before I left.
Grey walked out. “You’re late for church.”
I scratched at my beard. “Since when do I show up for church? I’m not patched in.”
He opened the door and ushered me in. “Right now, I don’t give a fuck if you’ve ever even ridden a bike. We’ve got problems.”
The bikers all filed in and sat down, leaving me a spot near the back. Then Grey took my biggest fear and made it a reality. “We got word tonight that there’s another MC moving into the area. They’ve contacted several of our guys and I want it shut down before it turns into a fucking shit show.”
I’d often wondered when they would pull me into a turf war. I could ensure that there wasn’t a police presence when they were moving drugs and guns. I could also pay off the right people when needed. This was so much bigger than that.
If this club was looking to take over the area, then they weren’t going to play fairly to do it. They’d take out bikers, families, and even cops to get it done.
Sweat ran down my back as I worked through every possible scenario. “Who’s your source?”
Grey paused and looked back at me. “Excuse me?”
I stood up and faced him. “Who’s your source? This is some heavy shit.”
His jaw tightened, while his face remained blank. “You want sources? Alright, I’ve gotten the exact same story from both the Mexican Mafia and Lone Star Syndicate. The Sons of Death are trying to poach the local gangs. I didn’t fucking build this club up from nothing to let it fall apart now.
“I want kuttes worn all the time. We fought and earned the rights to that lower rocker. We are the MC of Texas. I’ve reached out to our other chapters and they’re sending in the troops. Mike, I want the entire force backing us. You see any of these guys, take them out. Broken taillights, driving a mile over the speed limit—I don’t fucking care. Just send a message.”
I nodded.Sure, I’d just get the entire police force to back me in taking out a rival club.
Absolutely.
Yeah, no way this was going to blow up in our fucking faces.
Lauren
July 4, 2014
“So, you’re sure you can’t stop by later? We could watch sappy chick flicks and cry because we’ll never find a love like that.” Elizabeth begged.
I browsed through the various pastas on aisle three like a visitor to a strange planet.
Angel Hair? Fettucine? Vermicelli?
So, I might’ve offered to cook without actually knowing how.