While the treasurer is dead and gone, killed by the president of the club, I’m getting really bad vibes from this place.
“Where’s Ace?” I ask, knowing he was supposed to wait for us before going in.
“I don’t know,” Arsenal says. He is always armed to the teeth. Whenever we drive by a gun shop, he goes in to see what he can find. That’s not to say that he doesn’t also dabble with arms dealers. While we don’t personally run guns, he does do business with them when they have something new to show him. I won’t judge him for it when he shares his new toys. “He’s not answering his phone.”
“I don’t want to propose going in with guns blazing, but it may be the best option,” Wilder murmurs.
“Let’s surround the place and make an entrance,” I decide. “Ready?”
“Wait,” Arsenal mutters, pulling out his phone. “Four of our guys are in town. Let me sound the alarm to get them here.”
“Code it,” I grunt, feeling uneasy. Anything can be intercepted these days. I have six of my guys with me, but I would feel better if there were more. “Arsenal, what do you have on you right now that you aren’t using?”
Finishing the text, he flips open the storage compartment of his bike.
“Several long barreled rifles, three grenades, a small flamethrower, and an axe,” he says. “I have a bunch of different handguns and ammo as well.”
“Damn,” Wilder mutters under his breath. “I’ll take some ammo. I don’t want anyone caught unawares. We go in expecting to be ambushed, yeah?”
“And we fucking find Ace,” I sigh. It may be overkill, but I sling one of the long barreled rifles over my head just in case. I have plenty of ammo in case we have to shoot our way out.
We don’t really take prospects anymore, and Ace is the last one we took. He became a full fledged member in three years.The guys enjoyed giving him hell while he clawed his way up to earn their respect.
The last of our men in town come flying up the road, their brows drawn low and worried as they pull off their helmets. We all keep our lower faces covered with our bandanas to make it more difficult to be targeted, though it’s hard not to pick me out in a crowd.
I’m a big fucker and move like the world fucking owes me something.
“Let’s go,” I murmur, using my hand behind my back to signal who goes where.
Leaving the bikes behind a huge dumpster near a construction site, my men scatter. As quiet as we were, I’m sure Chester is in there waiting for us. My goal is for him not to know how many of us there actually are.
The president of a club never travels alone. Ever.
“Through the front door?” Wilder asks, smirking as we walk.
“Of course,” I say, my gun in one hand and hunting knife in the other. I want to get to the bottom of this, but there’s a very small possibility that I’m blowing this out of proportion.
I don’t believe that I am, though. Shoving the door to the bay door open, I walk in nonchalantly.
“Hello!” I call out. Someone turns on the overhead lights, and the idiots scramble, making me chuckle under my breath. They’re like fucking cockroaches. “Chester, stop being an asshole and come out to talk about this like a man. You called me.”
Like a weasel, Chester walks hunched over toward me in the wide expanse of the empty room. There should be motorcycles and cars here.
“Is work that bad?” I ask. “Why are you ordering parts from me if you don’t have anything to work on?”
“I didn’t peg you all for cowards,” Wilder says, his glare moving over the room until people begin to join Chester. Theseare men from the club, alphas and betas who I’ve broken bread and worked with.
I pretty much grew up in this life. It’s bullshit that things are coming to this.
“You’re the one who came in armed,” Chester chuckles. I think he’s going daft in his old age, because everyone in this room has their weapons drawn. Sometimes, people have to convince themselves of a certain narrative in order to fuck someone over. “You have something we want. You’ve done really well for yourselves, and we had to get you here. The parts are perfect, as they always are. I sold them to be able to keep the roof of this place over my head. It went for four times what I paid for it, but it’s not enough.”
“Does Lyker know about this?” I ask. Have I completely misjudged their president?
“No,” he says, looking ashamed for a second. “I figure you can just give me the money and you won’t say shit either way. How this goes is entirely on you.”
“You know that’s not going to happen,” I say.
“Why not?” Chester asks. “Storm here can just transfer the money, can’t he?”
