Ace slid onto a barstool, ordering a whiskey he wouldn’t touch.Jock took a barstool by the wall, close enough to catch fragments of their conversation.The more wiry of the two SSMC members, a scar splitting his eyebrow, was mid-sentence.“...fights are still on.Calder’s out, but the cash keeps flowing.Dogs too.Pits, mean ones.Big money in those pit bulls.”
Jock’s stomach churned.He’d seen strays on the docks, ribs jutting, eyes hollow.The idea of them torn apart for bets made his blood simmer.Stay sharp, stay steady,he thought, gripping the table’s edge to keep from charging over.
The bigger of the two, neck like a tree trunk, nodded.“Boss says we expand.IMC’s distracted, licking their wounds.We move now.”
Ace’s fingers tightened on his glass, but Jock shot him a look—hold.They needed more.Names, places, proof the SSMC were filling Calder’s shoes.But the air shifted, a prickle of tension rising as Scarface’s eyes flicked towards Jock.Recognition sparked.“Shit, IMC,” he hissed, nudging his buddy.
The big guy stood, cracking his knuckles.“You lost, boys?”he called, loud enough to turn heads.
Jock leaned back, casual but coiled.“Just having a drink,” he said, voice low, steady.Stay sharp, stay steady.His pulse thrummed, but he kept it locked down, meeting the SSMC’s glare.
Ace rose, his six-foot frame casting a shadow.“No trouble here,” he said, hand hovering near the knife in his belt.
The bar went quiet, the jukebox clicking to a mournful guitar riff, like a countdown.
Scarface sneered, stepping closer.“You big dog pricks think you run this town.Not for long.”
Jock’s mantra looped, holding the red haze at bay.“Walk away,” he said, not asking.
The idiot laughed, a nervous edge to it.
The bartender, a grizzled old man with a missing tooth, slammed a bottle down.“Outside, or I call the cops.Nobody wants that.”
The standoff held, and then Scarface muttered something to his buddy.They backed off, but he pointed at Jock.“This ain’t over.”
As they slipped out, Jock caught the glint of a keychain one dropped—a metal dog tag, etched with a steampunk coiled snake.A lead.Ace tossed cash on the bar, and he picked it up as they headed out, the night air cold against their skin.
Back at the bikes, Ace lit a cigarette, exhaling hard.“Dogs.Fighting rings.That’s the SSMC game?”
Jock shook his head, straddling his bike, the engine’s rumble steadying him.“I don’t think so.Calder was just a piece.The rings are a front.Money’s moving.Likely big money.”
Ace flicked ash into the dirt.“We need the who and the where.”
Jock revved his bike, the sound drowning out the city’s drone.“Follow the dogs, we find the money.Find the money, we find the SSMC’s real play.”
As they rode towards the IMC clubhouse, the manufacturing complex sprawling dark beside them, Jock couldn’t shake the image of those dogs—caged, bleeding, fighting for survival.The SSMC weren’t just rivals; they were a disease, and Calder’s arrest hadn’t stopped them.Something bigger loomed, a shadow beneath the surface, and Jock knew they’d have to face it head-on.
But not tonight.“Going home to Silly,” he whispered into the wind, and gunned the throttle.
***
“Can you explain tome why I got a call tonight?”Twisted’s voice on the line was suspiciously pleasant.
“Because Ace and I were hunting down leads out at the Bent Anchor?”He immediately knew he shouldn’t have given an answer.
“Because Ace.”Twisted sighed.“Let me get this right.Your national president gave you a courtesy call to tell you—specifically you—to not go out.And a man from a different club just showed up and forced you to go out?That’s gotta be what happened because you wouldn’t have gone out otherwise.Right?Ace forced you.”Twisted sighed again.“Right?”
I fucked up.
Jock let the silence build before asking, “Am I allowed to speak, President?”
“Fucking hell, yes.Explain to me why the bartender I’m paying for information had to run you out of his bar tonight, on the heels of two SSMC pieces of shit.Talk like I’m an idiot because that’s gotta be how you roll, right?Like an idiot?”
Jock rolled his shoulders.“I didn’t know that.”
“Of course you didn’t know that.This fucking fixation of yours is reasonable, given how you’ve bonded with that goddamned fucking dog, but brother, believe me when I say that it’s also goddamned inconvenient at the moment.”There was a woman’s voice in the background, but Jock couldn’t make out what she said.“No, Penny—fucking no.The man left his home after receiving a direct order from me.He’s lucky I don’t bust him back to a probation period again.”
“I’m...sorry isn’t the right word.I’m embarrassed that you’ve got to school me like I’m a wet-behind-the-ears prospect.I hold full responsibility, President.”Jock found himself standing at attention.
