Satan’s eyes went wide at Lane’s request. A second later, two more bikers showed up. One was Butch. The other…
I hadn’t seen him before. He looked a little older, maybe Satan’s age, though he had shorter hair and a more pointed look to him.
“The fuck is this?” Satan said.
“Mason, my sergeant-at-arms,” Brock said.
“I thought Tats was your sergeant.”
“I never said that.”
Satan looked very close to committing a murder. And frankly, I was all for it. This was some bullshit bait-and-switch. And there was a lie somewhere in all of this madness.
Perhaps it was just as simple as we were fucking morons. Maybe we’d just made the assumption Connor was the sergeant-at-arms and that had been our fault.
Or, perhaps, after what Brock had realized about me being a former Bandit, he’d decided to bring Mason here to intimidate me.
But to this point, Mason wasn’t showing any reaction to me. I was just another officer here he needed to take note of. If he was playing a bit of a long game to set me up for later, he was doing well so far.
“I’m not turning our meetings into a goddamn all-hands-on-deck,” Satan growled. “You two—” He pointed to Lane and Brock, “can come in. I’m bringing in Sonny so we have even numbers. The rest of you, since you’re here, you can play security or not.”
“They’re part of the club—”
“You want my fucking help or not?” Satan said. “Don’t think I’m above striking a deal with King. Push me enough and I’ll be happy to utilize any and all leverage against you that I have.”
Now that was the Satan I knew well. Not one who got fed up and manipulated by others who got under his skin. But the goddamn fucking boss who knew how to push buttons.
Lane and Brock shared a look that seemed to suggest to each other they chill out.
“OK,” Lane said.
Satan called Sonny, and when the younger VP showed up, the four of them headed inside of church.
“Drove all the way here to hang out in a lounge,” Mason said with a snort. “I could be getting laid right now, and instead, I’m waiting for my brother to finish in the middle of Phoenix.”
I chuckled at that, mostly because I figured it was better than starting some shit by acting distant and cold.
“You’re the sergeant-at-arms here?”
I nodded.
“Mason.”
“Spawn.”
We had a distance between us that we didn’t close, but I suppose that this did better than having a frosty relationship.
“You use your real name?”
Mason shrugged.
“We were the Bernard Boys long before we were the Black Reapers. In our town, everyone knew everyone. Wasn’t like it would have done much good to use a name like Roadster or Destroyer.”
“Makes sense.”
A silence fell. Mason looked like he was trying to figure out if he knew me. He wasn’t gawking at me, but I knew I was in his peripheral vision as he checked his phone. I was doing the same—I had to be ready if he suddenly lunged forward in an attack or something.
He finished sending a text to someone, closed his phone, and let out a sigh.
