“Okay, that’s the right attitude.” Cherry laughed. “The other day, you said you’d seen me at the club downtown.”
“And I never said a word. I couldn’t, not without telling on myself. Besides, every man needs to set their own course. Daddy said a few members had chapped asses about Po’Boy and his throuple, but since his patching over to the CoBos not only didn’t hurt our club, but the connection also enhanced it, he didn’t have a single bad thing to say about them. His counsel was ‘Live and let live’.”
“Good motto.”
“So you wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to say anything? Is that what this is?”
“No, asshole. This is me wanting to get to know you better. Gord didn’t bring family around often enough. I remember a kid, must be your younger brother, but I don’t remember you.” Cherry blew a soft raspberry. “I hate that, but I was still in the military when you would have been coming up.”
“You know everyone’s family?”
“Pretty much, yeah. I wasn’t kidding when I called the club ‘found family.’ Our bonds are much closer than blood. I trust my brothers like I trusted my men. I believe down to the soles of my boots that every man in the club will have my back. No matter what.” He flexed one fist. “As Enforcer, my role is to protect and police, both within the club and environs closely managed by the club.”
“Do you like the position?”
“Oh, hell yeah. It’s a great fit. There’s no bigger high than finding a problem and solving it to the benefit to the club.”
Marcus pulled in a breath. “Have you guys heard from LaBlanc? My family?”
“Yeah, Ruger went out and talked to your mother. He also threw out that useless squatter LaBlanc from the house. It’s your mom and brother there now, and we’re keeping an eye on things. Scuttlebutt is that LaBlanc is trying hard to keep his numbers up, but without your information, he’s failing pretty spectacularly. And before you ask, we’ve dealt with Caine on your behalf. He’s out of the picture entirely. I wanna say he’s headed to Guatemala, in a hull without a window.”
“You took him out?”
“Not dead, although that might come back to bite me in the ass. No, we just sent him on a long siesta, on a slow boat. He had been junking up our town too long as it was. We’ve been focused on our own shit, and hadn’t caught the bullshit he was bringing in.”
“What will fill the vacuum? Isn’t that the saying?”
“We’ll be watching out for someone trying to slide in. I’m thinking of making that your first assignment.”
“Y’all are patching me, then? This wasn’t just for show?”
Cherry rolled his neck, groaning when it popped two or three times. “God, that feels good.” Looking at Marcus, he shook his head. “Patch is yours if you want it. We wouldn’t make you do shit. But if you want it, if you want to take this life on, we’ll have you. Gladly.”
“Cherry.” A shout from the main room had them both running for the door.
“The fuck is the fire,” he asked as he cleared the opening. Two men wrangled a third towards the door leading to the far back room of the clubhouse. He wasn’t moving, his form sagging between the men as the toes of his boots dragged across the floor. “Who?”
“ASMC on the vest on his goddamned motherfucking back.” Busk held up the confiscated colors of their biggest regional rival. “Name’s Racer, which don’t mean shit to me. From the colored threads on the vest, it’s had a few nameplates.”
“Unknown to me. Where’d you pick him up?”
“Back of the house. He brought the bike in on a cow path, stowed it about a mile away. He’d been slogging through the bayou for a while. Man’s eat up with mosquito bites, too, which doesn’t scream local to me.”
Cherry nodded, his gaze fixed on the door, now closed, leading to the part of the clubhouse used for physical interrogation. “You call Ruger?”
“Up to you, Enforcer. Wanna bother the Prez with this?” Busk’s voice didn’t reflect any emotion, which had Cherry looking at him. “What?”
“What the fuck is between you and our Prez is yours to tell. But it shouldn’t come into play during club business.”
“Fuck!” Busk kicked out at a chair, the metal twisting as it hit the wall. “You’re right, Enforcer. Thank you for calling me on my shit.” He sighed. “But could you call him? I doubt he’d pick up if it was me.”
“Then that’s more shit of yours that needs sorted.” Cherry yanked his phone out of his pocket and as he dialed Ruger’s number, he caught sight of Marcus still nearby, flattened against the wall.
Shit.
The president answered with a growled, “What?”
“Ruger, we’ve got a tourist in our most lavish accommodations. Might want to idle this way when you can.”
