“Not Charlie,” Day said.
“He’s not married or not married to a guy from that company?”
“Elite,” Wyatt reminded him. “Charlie’s my BFF, and she’s not married to anybody…yet. Though, we keep trying. But she’s our designated fruit fly and we love her.”
Memphis was almost positive he was having a stroke. “Fruit fly?”
Wyatt nodded. “It’s like a hag but without being gender specific. She has a way with all the gay.”
“I feel like that’s offensive somehow,” Memphis said.
“Probably, but when you meet her, you’ll realize she’s not exactly politically correct,” Day promised.
When Memphis met her. He dropped his gaze back to the now empty sink, realizing he no longer had anything to focus on but the two men in the kitchen. Who were these people? What was happening? Why did these two talk to him as if his membership in some club he’d never applied to was already a foregone conclusion? Why did they talk like he’d known them for years? Why did he want to tell them everything? Fuck.
When he looked up again, both of them once more had those angelic smiles on their faces. “So, start dishing.”
And he did.
Something was wrong. Preacher had suspected it from the moment he’d watched them all unload from the SUV. He’d only expected Jackson and Day, and maybe Nicky because of the puppy. Seeing Linc and Cy, as well as Wyatt and Dayton, was unexpected. He really only knew Jackson and Lincoln through inspections on the house’s renovations. They were stand up guys, but not knowing what had brought them all there left a hollow feeling in his stomach.
Still, he brought the group around to the back of the house to show them the progress—or lack thereof—on the deck. He’d managed the demo just fine and had even gotten the framework set up, but then he’d gone to help Cy break up the dog fighting ring and inherited a twelve year old and his sexy and frustrating older brother.
When they were safely out of sight from the house, Preacher turned on the group, looking to Cy. “What’s up? Really? What’s with the welcome wagon?”
“We should have called and let you know we were coming, but the information came in late last night, so the plan came together at the last minute,” Nicky supplied, moving closer to Cy as if Preacher was a danger.
“What info?” Preacher growled, voice low.
“We’ve got a problem,” Jackson said.
“Who’s we?” Preacher asked. “What kind of problem?”
Cy stepped forward. “All of us. You’re my family, which means you’re one of us. You’ve got a problem, we all have a problem.”
Preacher didn’t have time for this Kumbaya shit. “Okay, so who wants to clue me in on ‘our’ problem?”
Jackson spoke up from where he stood next to Linc, arms folded, mirrored sunglasses reflecting Preacher’s scowling face back at him. “Nicky’s been putting out feelers, trying to see just how deep into the underworld the Devil’s Crew is. Is it just dog fighting and small time drug deals, or are they trafficking guns or girls? We can’t bring them down without details, and, somehow, they were flying under the radar until Tennessee was picked up in Phoenix. I was making a slight bit of progress when I hit a roadblock.”
“A roadblock?” Preacher echoed, brow raised. He didn’t like the anxious look on Nicky’s face. He wasn’t one to let a little thing like the law get in his way.
“More like a wall. A big blue wall. The feds are investigating the Devil’s Crew.”
Preacher huffed out a breath. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
Preacher was no fan of the cops, especially the feds, but if they were investigating the club then that meant they might be close to finding something they could use to take down the entire crew, including Nash and Tennessee. That meant problem solved for Knox and Memphis.
“Well, yeah. The FBI investigating the MC isn’t the problem,” Nicky said. “Linc called a friend at the bureau and asked what’s up with the lock on their files. Linc?”
Preacher looked to Linc. “Yeah, I filled my friend in on what’s been happening here with Memphis and Knox. In exchange, he gave me some information they’d just received two days ago. The feds have an undercover guy on the inside at the prison where Tennessee is being held. He’s been working him for months. He’s managed to convince the guy he’s one of them. The other day he was bragging about putting out a hit on one of his own children.”
Rage flared in Preacher’s veins. “Knox.”
Linc shook his head. “No. Memphis.”
The words hit him like a punch to his solar plexus. “Memphis? Why Memphis?”
Linc grunted, rubbing a hand over his beard. “My guess would be they think Nash scared Knox into keeping his mouth shut, while Memphis has information that could only hurt them.”
