Cupcake whispered into my earbud, “Damn. That’s new intel. I should have known about it. Sorry, Shining. On the other hand, I did give McQuestion info about the other clubs.”
“Uh-huh,” I said to both of them.
Jagger shifted on his bike. “He wants to open negotiations with Little Girl early and explain to her what her future position will be in the organization.” His tone told me how McQuestion expected this to go. He expected me to comply.
Once an OMW, always an OMW. Yeah. I knew the rules. I even lived by them. Mostly.
“Let’s start out on the right foot here, Asshole. I won that property inpersonalcombat and battle withmyteam against the Mara Salvatrucha Angels. MygifttoMcQuestionwas to hand it over to a friendly, to keep that territory from falling back into the hands of the MSA. If McQuestion is smarter than your comments indicate so far, and takes advantage of my opening moves, he can initiate negotiations between Marconi and the national prez of the Hells Angels to stop the MSA for good. Or use the info to drive a wedge between the two. His choice.Igave him that opportunity with a small gift ofmyproperty, in the hopes that together we could stop the MSA from taking more territory and eventually moving on the OMW.”
A hard expression claimed my face. “Only an idiot would think the MSA isn’t going to go after the other clubs, the Boozefighters and the Black Sabbath too. McQuestion isn’t—usually—an idiot. And the OMW received info from me. Intel about the MSA and the local HA chapter, and info that some of the OMW members were working behind his back with the Gov. and the military. Speaking of which, has he rooted them out yet?”
Jagger’s expression said he hadn’t.
I snorted in derision. “Idid that for the OMW. The proper response from McQuestion is, ‘Thank you, Little Girl. Well done.’ Not whatever the bloody damn hell this shakedown is.”
Jagger frowned, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “Marconi leveraged the fortress into a position of power. Power imbalances always fall under the operational purview of McQuestion.”
I grunted and rubbed my lower face, whispering to Cupcake, “He’s right. I didn’t think about that. Ihatepolitics.” Dropping my hand, I said, “Marconi is smart enough. Proved that by not going to war against his own prez. You trying to tell me McQuestion thinks the Old Man is smarter than him?”
Jagger’s grin went wider, exposing a crooked tooth on the bottom row. I had insulted McQuestion, then hinted at another insult, and then insulted some more. It wasn’t quite a challenge to his position, but I was getting awfully close.
Jagger said, “OMW wants something of equal value to the fortress, in return for agreeing to attend the negotiations. He has suggestions.”
“I’ll bet he does. Tell him to talk to Cupcake, and if what she offers doesn’t make him happy, he can”—I hesitated, mentally apologizing to Pops for not being political enough, and to Cupcake for probably making her job harder—“he can bloody well piss off.”
Jagger laughed. “Spoken like the daughter of Bill Smith.”
I just stared. I was offering nothing that might tip the balance of power toward Marconi, Whip, or McQuestion. Not until the parley when I could gauge the reactions of the men.
“McQuestion, Whip, and Marconi are in communication,” he said, “and have agreed to the upcoming negotiations, which might actually come to something positive, as each has had the other’s kid as diplomatic hostages for the last few weeks—Marconi’s son, McQuestion’s daughter—and nobody’s died. Yet. Whip finds the hostage exchange amusing in a mediaeval structure sort of way.”
I nodded. I had sorta facilitated that arrangement, but few knew that. “I’m still listening, Asshole.”
“McQuestion wants Little Girl back in his organization.”
Expecting that demand didn’t stop my heart from falling.
If I complied, I’d eventually become the de facto leader, the McQuestion of the OMW, because I’d almost certainly make a mistake and infect the leaders of the OMW with my nanobots. I’d then have to live and breathe politics and war.Ain’t no way.No emotion in my tone, I said, “After we cement all the negotiations and deal with the additional problems I’m bringing to the table, I’ll discuss this with McQuestion. Not before.”
“He wants the Simba.”
“Everybody wants the Simba. They can try to take it. I’ll feed their protein to the cats.”
Spy let out a vicious sound I had heard before, a soft growl that meanthunt and kill. It was followed by a chorus of“Kkkkk.”
Jagger’s lips twitched, and then his eyes made a shift through emotions too fast to see and too fast for the nanobot connection between us to follow. He actually hesitated, as if he didn’t want to say the next bit, and at the same time wanted to desperately. “He says to sweeten the deal you can have any available made-man you want in the organization.”
Something low in my belly turned over. I went hot and liquid in all the right places. For all intents and purposes, McQuestion had just offered me Jagger. For my own. Just like women had been offered to made-men in the past. My nanobots began turning cartwheels.Bloody sodding damn.
“Clearly you are going deaf,” I said. “Afterthe negotiations, and what might come after that, in a time of peace and security, McQuestion and I can sit down and chat. Not until then. And I donotaccept slaves. But as a gesture of goodwill, I’ll tell you this for McQuestion: Whip and Marconi don’t know it, but the Sabbath and Booze presidents are interested in attending the negotiations. I’ve extended an invitation to them too. Now go away.”
Jagger’s face fell as he computed the presence of other motorcycle-club presidents at a parley—the likelihood of ambush, fighting, death, and all-out war. To give him credit, his face eased into a smile and he laughed. Touched his bike on with a biomarker starter and did a tight U-turn. He puttered away.
I thought about that laugh—carefree, without rancor or sarcasm, truly amused. Thought about McQuestion’s offer of a man to my taste, just as he offered a woman to a man. I grinned, wondering what would have happened if I’d wanted a woman of my own? Homosexuality was forbidden in the club, unless it was girl-on-girl stuff for an all-male audience. What if I’d gone against that proscription and flaunted it? Or, what if I’d just agreed and taken Jagger on the spot?
The heat in my belly rose another notch as the bike’s muters faded into the distance. The cats turned and sauntered away.
“Assholes. Both of them.” I swiveled around to see Cupcake and Amos standing in the shade of the office overhang.
