Page 55 of Flyboy's Nightingale
Steel turns, looking at Pretty Boy. “You’re not from Texas, correct?”
Pretty Boy looks over at the screen, his eyes go wide before narrowing. “No, I’m not. There’s no way.”
“That picture is a few years old. Is there any way that it could’ve been taken here, and she had been working with them all along?” Duck inquires.
“If she had, Razor would’ve found something on her. We had him do a deep dive on her a second time after she was hurt. Are you telling me that Razor missed something in two fucking in-depth dives?” Pretty Boy bites back.
“Fuck you, man. I’m damn good at my fucking job. I ran every check on the web and even dug into the dark web with her connection to the cartel. There is no motherfucking way that I missed her spending time in Texas, much less with those fucking asswipes!” Razor roars, getting pissed at being accused of dropping the ball.
“I mean, you’ve been slacking since—” Pretty Boy pushes intentionally, trying to get a rise out of Razor.
“You might want to be fucking careful about what you say next. I will not physically kill you.” Razor’s lip turns up into a smile that reminds us why we call him Razor to start with. “Though, I would like to see you get anything done when you’re dead on paper.”
“You’re a fucking asshole. How about I remind you what it’s like to go head to head with me again?” Pretty Boy snaps, standing from his seat.
“Pretty Boy, sit your fucking ass down. Razor, let’s move on. The girl is dead and gone, so no matter what or why she was here, it no longer matters,” Steel snaps, over the pissing contest going on.
Razor starts clicking through the information again. Though the glare he’s directing at his laptop should have it combusting into flames.
“While he does that, I’m going to let you boys in on a phone call I had earlier today.” Steel looks all of us in the face, one at a time, holding my stare just a touch longer.
“We’re not going to like this, are we?” Duck sighs, rubbing his temples.
“Not even a little.” Steel groans, leaning on his elbows that are situated on the table. “Her father, and the so called president of the Dazed Monkey MC finally fucking called me back to tell me that he has no knowledge of his son or VP being here. That, and I quote,‘They took off when we refused to come after my dear, lost daughter.’I wanted to punch myself in the face after that bullshit.” Steel’s eyes narrow, showing how unhappy he is about the call.
I sit up straight, disdain pouring out of me with every word I speak. “What the fuck does that asshole mean that his son and VP have gone rogue? I don’t fucking trust a fucking thing he said.”
“That’s exactly how I felt about it. I not so nicely said the same thing. What has my head fucking spinning, is the fact that he thinks I’m stupid enough that I believed him. He said that we could deal with the issues in my territory as we see fit with no blowback from his club,” Steel continues explaining.
We all explode with our own version of, “That’s fucking bullshit” because there is no way that any club is going to just turn over the president's son and his VP to another club with no questions asked. I know without a doubt that if it was one of us, Prez would rain fire down on anyone that came after a brother, Ol’ Lady, or one of the children. For this president to just be like,“It doesn’t matter,”is beyond fucked up. Unease slithers down my spine, letting me know that he is full of shit. We’ll be looking over our shoulders as long as this man, and that club, is allowed to keep breathing.
“I call bullshit. Even if those two did go rogue, there is no fucking way he would let us take them out with no consequences,” I assure them.
“I don’t buy it for a fucking second. What’s the fucking catch, Prez?” Torch inquires, unease rolling off him like the stench of a dead body.
Prez leans back in his chair with a shrug. “I don’t believe a fucking word that man had to say. I can reassure you of that. What I do suggest, is that once we deal with our current pest problem, we take a trip out west and visit our new acquaintances.”
“I think that might be the best decision you’ve ever made.” Wesson smiles, the tension in his wide shoulders not relaxing, betraying his easy going attitude. “The thing I want to know, is where exactly the current pest problem is, and why haven’t we been able to locate them yet.”
Razor’s fingers never stop their movements as he lifts his eyes with a look of pure hatred blazing inside of them. “I’vefigured out why I can’t find them, and have it narrowed down to two separate locations. I can’t confirm that they are there due to the fact that they are both on the outer edges of our territory. Both of these locations have no cameras because of the shit that goes down in those towns. We’ll have to go there in person and do some recon.”
“I’m ready to ride when you boys are,” Wesson throws out with a round of, “Hell yeahs,” accompanying his declaration.
“And what happens if weallroll out and leave our women and club unprotected?” Smith glares over at his brother.
“Fuck!” he snaps, slamming his hand onto the table. “Prez, what the fuck are we supposed to do? We can’t stay here on lockdown forever, just waiting. It’s not the way of Hell’s Sacrifice.”
Prez stands, leaning on his hands on the table. “I’m fucking aware that’s not our way. What I’ve got to think about is that in the last year, I’ve had boys kidnapped and nearly dying. I’ve had Ol’ Ladies beaten until we couldn’t recognize them. Just fucking yesterday, we nearly lost over half our mother fucking officers.” Prez slams his fist onto the table. “We’ve got to be fucking smart, because eventually, our luck is going to run out.”
He and Wesson stare each other down. We take a minute and let his words sink in. I look at him, seeing the toll that everything has taken on him. The man before me has aged in a way that rocks me to my core. Looking around the table taking in my brothers, it hits me how hard the last year or so has ravaged all of us, turning us from young men wet behind the ears, to men with blackened souls and hard hearts.
Wesson drops his eyes with a stiff nod. “Sitting on my hands is making me crazy. I need to act, to move, to get back on the streets.”
“I know, son, and we’ll get you back on the move. For now, I need you here. As soon as this shit is dealt with, you’ll be good to go,” Prez promises him.
Smith and Wesson are twins who happen to share the same personality traits. The biggest difference between the two, is that Smith likes to stay close and help take care of their mom and little brother. Wesson on the other hand, likes to be on the move, always hopping from one club to the next. He’s become the unofficial club ambassador. Going from ally to ally, keeping relations good and us in the know.
“For now, we keep doing what we do. Pretty Boy is going to stay at the hospital with Coin. When Flyboy has his surgery, Duck you’re going with him. Flyboy, you said that Avery has agreed to let Riley do your physical therapy here at the club once the pins are out?”
