Page 45 of Dash

Both of the younger bikers jumped at the president’s sudden appearance. Nearly dropping his cigarette, Dash stuck it back between his lips and stood. He didn’t have to, but it felt right.

Taking a deep breath, Clark stuffed his hands in his pockets. Creases had formed at the corners of his eyes, aging his late-thirties face ten years in the past few weeks. He scuffed his motorcycle boots along the cement patio, giving the impression he was just too tired to lift his feet as he came closer to his club brothers.

“I know Whiskey is a solid brother. I remember him as a prospect.” The rusted patio chair creaked when Ohio’s new club leader dropped his bulky frame into it. “There’ll be a viewing tomorrow. The funeral is the day after.”

The pair nodded.

“Sparrow and I will head home after the funeral. Unless you need me to stay,” Romeo said.

Leaning forward, resting his forearms on his spread thighs, Clark covered his face with his hands.

“Have you slept?” Dash asked. He’d left Clark with Bowie’s family to handle the arrangements—to do the things a president did. Dash, on the other hand, did what he had to do for himself. Selfish.

“I’ll be fine.” Looking up from his hands, he locked eyes with Romeo. “Go home. Monty needs you back. I can handle Ohio.”

Step up to the fucking plate VP. “Get some fucking sleep, Prez.” Dash blew smoke out of his nose. Dragon mode engaged. “I’ll track down Whiskey. He’s in our territory.” That’s right, their territory. Dash had taken the Vice President role, and that meant that this territory wasn’t just Clark’s, it was Dash’s too. He needed to act like it, he needed to own it and the men just as much as Clark had. “He’s our responsibility. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

Snuffing his cigarette out in the ashtray, Dash shifted on his feet with anxious energy. He didn’t want to leave any room for arguments or doubt. He accepted the role. It was time to put his money where his mouth was. Words didn’t mean fucking shit. They were men of action. A man’s word was only as good as what he did to back it up. So he nodded to his two brothers and turned to head inside the club. He would hunt down his brother. He hadn’t seen him in a few days, so it would take some doing.

The first place to go would be where he’d stayed. Then he’d check out the club businesses. Whiskey had been helping here and there at a few of them. He picked up shifts when he could. He had bills to pay too, after all.

Pulling open the door to the clubhouse, Five Finger Death Punch’s I Apologize came through the speakers. Well, there was a fitting song if he’d ever heard one. Then his phone vibrated.

Pulling it from his vest pocket, his shoulders sagged. “Whiskey,” he announced as he answered it, closing the door and returning to his brothers on the patio. Putting the phone on speaker for his brothers to hear, Dash answered, “Yo, fucker.”

“I don’t have a lot of time.” Whiskey’s whispered rushed words sent red flags sailing in Dash’s mind and shut him right up. “It’s the first time in three days I’ve been left alone. I gotta ditch this phone. They smashed my other one. It won’t be long before they find it. Jackal and Tut revived the Roughneck Riders. When Bowie died, they officially left Odin’s Fury, burned their cuts and everything in some drunken ceremony. They want the territory. They’ve been steering recruitment away for months toward their own club on the down low. I’m a prospect, so I’m getting what I can, and will be in touch when I can. Shit.”

The call timer on the phone flashed for a few seconds, then the screen went black in Dash’s hand.

The call ended.

“Whiskey!” Romeo leaned forward with urgency in his tone. He couldn’t see the phone’s blank screen, but he flicked his gaze up when he stood.

Pushing the phone into the front pocket of his jeans with one hand, Dash reached for a cigarette with another. “Tut and Jackal can’t—”

With a roar, Clark stood and launched the metal chair. It flew several yards before landing in some grass and rolling on the ground. His chest heaved as he balled his fists, causing both Dash and Romeo to freeze in place.

“We own fucking Ohio,” Clark growled through gritted teeth. “Odin’s fucking Fury.” The deep thud of his fist against his chest vibrated his voice and punctuated each of his words. “My club owns Ohio. Those rat bastards have enjoyed my fucking hospitality. I’m done.” With raised brows, a fire lit behind his normally icy blue eyes. Dash could almost see the flames of unpredictable rage from all the stress recently heaped upon him. A switch had been flipped within Clark like Dash had never seen before.

One of the reasons Monty had chosen Clark to head up the new chapter was that he’d been one of the most even keel members of his club. In the face of almost every situation, Clark kept his calm. He almost never lost his shit. This was the first time Dash had seen him lose it, and he couldn’t blame him. He’d been busting his ass building Ohio up from what Bowie had done. Now, he finally officially had the reins, and he had to deal with this, as though the funeral wasn’t enough.

“Bright side,” Dash chimed in, drawing both their attention. “We now know the problem. We have a target and it’s well known.” He pointed to the building. “Tut and Jackal are known entities. They have been around our brothers for a long time. The men know their weaknesses, and you can exploit them once we get more information from Whiskey.”

Using both of his hands, Clark scrubbed his hands through his hair. The hair that he bought special gels to get what he called a spit curl, now looked like he’d gone riding without a helmet through a tornado. “They’re going to Nástrond,” he declared.

“We putting it to a vote?” Dash asked. “The men have known them. To send them after them without a say ain’t going to sit right.” As the Vice President he had to talk sense into Clark on what he suspected would be the rare occasions he acted on impulse.

Staring at the patio, the president of the motorcycle club ground his teeth. In the heavy silence, Dash glanced toward Romeo, who looked like a stunned teenager caught in the middle of his parents’ argument. He was Odin’s Fury, and he was a member of the mother chapter. He knew Dash, Clark, Whiskey and the situation, but Ohio wasn’t his club. However, he’d taken the acting SAA position while Dash took the acting VP position. Which meant it was his job to see to the club laws. So he was caught.

“You putting this to the table now?” Romeo stepped into the conversation. “Before the funeral?”

“When else?” Clark countered.

“Your men just lost their president.” The youngest of them looked between them. “Would you want to be voting on Nástrond if it were Monty?”

Monty was a flawed man, he was a goddamn criminal for fuck’s sake. They all were. However, he was their president. He had been the only president Dash knew and he would lay his fucking life down for him, no questions asked, no hesitation, if it came down to it. Dash thought of him as he had any of his commanding officers in the Army, which was higher than a father. Glancing up at Clark, he saw it in his eyes. He felt the same way.

“We need to update him,” Clark said.

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