Page 4 of Loki's Flame

“Here you go,” I said louder than I needed to and placed the two drafts down on the table.

The new guy who’d just sat down looked at me like I was an alien, but I don’t think he was really seeing me. The heavier one said, “I saw some guys with the Valhalla Heathen cuts in the neighborhood asking questions. We gotta get out of town, brah.”

I cleared my throat, “can I get you anything else?”

“No bitch, get lost,” the new guy’s gruff voice said.

“No need to be an asshole,” I said as I turned to go, but I felt a bruising hand on my elbow.

“What the fuck did you just say?” New guy glared at me, towering over me.

“Take your hand off me,” I glared right back, my voice tense.

The guy who hadn’t talked yet was on my other side, throwing $20 on my tray. “We need to get out of here now, Dev.”

The asshole finally let go, but before he left, he said, “you best be glad I don’t have time to deal with you, cunt.”

I know my mouth was hanging open in surprise for a few seconds, but the utter meanness in his tone was enough to shock me as I stood watching as the three hurried out the door. The brief scene had garnered some attention from nearby tables, but I just went back to the bar without acknowledging the onlookers.

“Crystal, who are the Valhalla Heathens?”

She stared at me for a few long seconds before answering, “it’s a motorcycle club who owns an establishment on Bourbon Street. Why?”

“The guys who just left mentioned it and they were acting shady so I wanted to know,” I said.

“Best to stay away from them. If the rumors are true; they’re into some bad shit,” Crystal frowned at me.

What kind of bad shit? I wondered as I looked at the door.

Chapter 4

Loki

The old antebellum plantation in St Bernard Parish had been in my family for three generations. My ancestors were probably turning over in their graves knowing I’d opened this place up to my club. The property had 20 acres, but our shipments never touched this soil. A row of cypress trees lined the long drive where the Greek Revival house stood with its white pillars and veranda. When I pulled up on my bike, I heard Shinedown blasting from the speakers.

I kicked my stand down and headed up the front steps to the front door. The outside of my house may look like a bygone time, but the inside had every modern convenience. We could afford it with our gun trade.

“Yo Prez,” Taz said from the couch. He had Gina on his lap.

“Church in ten,” I called out and headed to the back of the house to the kitchen. I went out the back door and crossed the yard to one of the outbuildings. We’d outfitted the space with a conference space for Church, and had a security room so we could monitor the property. The club on Bourbon Street was also online, so we could easily communicate with the security staff there.

“What’s up?” I asked, opening the door to the room. It had wall to wall monitors and a control board.

“All’s quiet, Prez,” Kane said, nodding toward the security feeds.

“Bones tell you about the Rogue Boys?”

“Yes, not to worry. I’ve got everyone on alert,” he said.

“Good.” I shut the door behind me and went into the conference room, taking the chair at the head of the table.

Within five minutes, my brothers were sitting around the large oval-shaped table we’d had hand made from a guy in Shreveport who did custom work.

“What happened in the 7th Ward?” I asked after I called the meeting.

Taz cleared his throat, “there ain’t nothin’ but ashes where their house used to be.”

“Survivors?” I asked.

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