Being in charge of the brewery the MC owns, we see Mick all the time.
I reach my hand out to shake his, and he eyes me with concern, returning the handshake.
“Cash, what’s going on, man? What brings you here this late?”
I cut to the chase. I don’t have time not to. “My girl was taken.”
His brows rise in shock. “The bar owner?”
I nod. “Thea.”
“This have anything to do with that piece of shit you told meabout?” he asks, referring to what I told him back at CT’s wedding.
I nod again in confirmation.
He shakes his head, looking from me to my brothers. He’s a big ass motherfucker at six foot four and probably three hundred pounds of solid muscle, seeing a concerned look on his face is slightly off-putting. “I’m not sure how I can help.”
“Her ex is part of the South Roses.”
He bites his lip and nods. “Those pricks are evil, man.”
It’s almost funny coming from a man who is a part of an MC that most people are terrified of, but I don’t contradict him.
“I’m gathering that. He just got released from prison and found her.”
He nods and claps my shoulder. “Come on, let’s talk to Prez.”
We’re standing in a small office before we know it, an old, aging man sitting before us. I’m not sure if he’s really as old as he looks or if he’s just lived a really hard life.
Hard to say.
“Prez, this here is Logan Cash. His girl had gotten mixed up with another club and left it behind, but it seems trouble followed her anyway,” he starts, and the president of the club just stares at us, no change in his expression as the situation is explained to him. “Since we have the contacts, he came to us for help.”
Again, the guy says nothing, so I take a step forward to say my piece. “I’m not asking your boys to go to battle for me, sir. I’m just asking that you give us any kind of guidance or a contact we can use to find where he took her.”
“No.”
“Prez—” a girl to his left starts, she’s wearing a cut too and looks to be a member herself.
“No, Temp. We don’t involve ourselves in civilian matters.”
“It’s not strictly a civilian matter,” I start. “A member of another club took an innocent person. Doesn’t that fall under your jurisdiction?”
I have no idea what the hell their jurisdiction was, but I did know that if they got crossed, they handled it.
“We don’t owe anything to anyone,” he states, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. “Go home, call the police, let them handle it.”
“The police?” I didn’t doubt our town police, but they were two old geezers and a deputy who didn’t have to deal with more than a dispute between disgruntled neighbors.
They weren’t cut out for this.
“Let’s go,” CT says to me, nudging my arm. I glance at him, and he gives me a look like he knows something.
“Fine.” I turn and we’re led out of the office and then left on our own as we head out of the worn-out building, heading for my truck.
“What’s the plan, CT?”
He leans against the hood of my truck. “All we can do is follow his steps. We retrace where he went. We know he snatched her at the bar, do they have security cameras?”