Page 10 of O'Mega's Revenge
He bobbed his head, as if acknowledging I’d read him properly, but kept his secrets close to his vest. “Winds of change are blowing, Wolf. That’s all.”
He was right. I tipped my head in understanding.
Then he had to go and ruin it.
“That was some fuck, wasn’t it? All hot with her ass in the air like that.”
“Sure was. You like watching my ass or something?”
“Fuck you.” He slowly pulled in smoke and let it go, stalling, or trying to get me to hang myself by talking too much. What was it Meghan said once? Right, “Always say less than necessary.” The biggest problem with that approach is the assumptions made. If I wanted to be a good second in this club, I needed open communication with Jackson. That was something severely lacking between him and Kush. The show was all Jackson’s and no one else’s. I aimed to fix that because we were weak if he played island. This brotherhood worked best when all the men moved in the same direction.
Herding cats was easier, if I had to be honest about it.
Just the transition from last year to this year was a bitch. Long ass story in short form, we’d been done dirty by the mayor. She saw the error of her ways and put us in her will. To the tune of millions in property. Good honest, money-making businesses. More than enough to keep each and every Destroyer in Skilletsville rolling in steady dough for a lifetime. Maybe longer.
She had a sharp mind, that bitch. Cut us right off. Doing all of the illegal shit wasn’t as much fun now that our men had houses and three squares. Sprout saw it first. A way out of running drugs and sticking our necks out. He was set up for the long haul with Danielle. Building up the town, making money hand over fist with new houses and businesses, keeping low, and making bank. Getting every single Destroyer a piece of it, if they worked.
Then Nationals caught wind of it. That’s why the sudden interest in Kush’s retirement. The subtle nudge to throw a big biker bash to celebrate.
We were stuck. Jackson more than everyone else. Our accounts were good, but there was much more to being a Destroyer than paying your monthly dues. Things moved. Like ghastly, hungry sharks in murky water. Drugs, guns, and yes, sometimes people. Jackson knew where we’d land if our men got too soft. I knew it, too. This life we’d chosen could disappear because of the simple crime of outshining the wrong people.
Christ.
Tits and Missile stepped right into the fucking middle of it. Tahoe and Buffalo, right in our back yard, and both presidents salivating over my girl like fucking dogs. And both with more power than our entire club at the snap of the fingers. “One of us needs to go hold court with those fuckers.”
“Nope. Both of us need to hold court.”
“Shit.” He was right.
“Well.,” he slapped his thighs, “let’s get back. Your girl gave you head while I fucked her ass, understand?”
“Jack, lies got a way of fucking you over. Best say you jacked off while watching us fuck. That’s closer to the truth.”
“Ain’t no way I’d jack off watching your pasty ass.”
“Lies, man. This ain’t exactly private.” I nodded at the shadowed figures of people milling around the edges of the party. We had port-a-potties set up, beer on tap, the girls in the club, and food on the grills. It wasn’t a stretch to believe more than just Jackson saw Tits and I go at it. Hell, Sprout probably got an eyeful as he walked past to meet Missile at the gate.
Wouldn’t be the first time someone caught us fucking, and it wouldn’t be the last. When Tits got me revved up, nothing stopped us.
“Fine, I cussed you out for letting your gash in the gate.”
“She’s not gash.”
He blew me off and started back to the fire. I followed, because it was what I had to do. There were two ways to live this life. I could be like Sprout and play stupid and harmless, and let everyone tell me what to do, or I could step up. Get into a position where I told people what to do. I saw my path early, real early.
As soon as I got my cut, I stepped up. And kept stepping up until Jackson noticed.
He finally had. And with Kush stepping down, I was going to get one more rung higher.
One day, Jackson would screw up. He’d get caught, gain too much attention, or piss someone off above him. I’d be there when that happened. I didn’t mind being second, but first wasn’t out of the equation either. It was part of the game.
And I loved games.
We settled in our respective places. Jackson wedging himself right between Crete and Nonno. I set up a lawn chair slightly to the right, two bodies down from Nonno, picking my spot nearer to the real leader rather than the poser. Sure, Crete was a dangerous man to piss off, but I knew who called the shots. And it wasn’t him. I signaled to the speck running beers to bring three. I handed one to Jackson, then offered one to the man on his right. Probably did that out of order, but even that was calculated.
It showed that I valued my president, took care of his needs, and I wasn’t afraid to piss off the shot-caller to do it.
Jackson smiled and said something that got the men next to him laughing. Nonno turned and motioned for his guy to move so I could sit beside him. “Whatever came of that girl I sold you?”
