Lucifer is a scary motherfucker and not a man I would want to go up against, but he’s not exactly of the computer generation. He’s kind of like Battle in that way. Analog.
You gotta love that about the old timers around here.
Considering he’s a grandfather now and his son, Prodigal, is old enough to take over the club, I’m just waiting for the phonecall about the transfer of power in New Orleans. Not that I would expect Lucifer to put up his bike.
Far from it.
Battle still rides with us and participates in club business. He also spends a lot more time at home with Mom and Arch. Without the stress of leading the rough and tumble men we call brothers, he’s almost a new man. Still dangerous as fuck, but lighter. I won’t lie; there are days when I wish he would have held onto the power for a little while longer.
But those are the hard days.
When it’s good? There’s nothing quite like leading my brothers and enjoying the rewards that come with the hard work we put in. What’s the point of working hard if you can’t party hard?
And we do work fucking hard. The club owns quite a few businesses in town including Devil’s Brew, a coffee shop, Devil’s Note, a jazz club, and Saint’s Shield, our security company. There are a few other businesses the club owns and more we invest in, silently.
Not only have we helped our local economy, but our bank accounts aren’t hurting, that’s for damn sure. And then there is the less than legal business we do. The jobs we take off the books, the ones we do in the shadows, are even more lucrative.
Being who we are means the rewards areplentiful. I’m good with the free, easy pussy the club brings my way. I’ve had more than a few women think they’ll be able to sink their claws into me.
It’s not going to happen. I’m not interested in having an Old Lady. Why would I give up the way I live my life? I’m not seeing a benefit.
Scythe looked damn happy with Tallulah in his arms.
I shake off the thought because I can’t even imagine the woman who would be able to handle me and this life. The target on my back is bigger than the ones my brothers are sporting. Someone is always going to look at taking out the head of the snake.
Right now, it’s me.
“I’ll make sure Anchor is aware of the situation and is ready to dig. I do want to find out if this,” my lip curls and I sneer, “officer followed her or is looking into who she is. I’m sure there are cameras. If he’s the murderer, he’ll want to cover his tracks. He must already be doing it if he hasn’t run yet.”
“There’s no ‘if’ about it,” Scythe assures me. “Addyson says he did it and I believe her.”
“I’m not doubting her,” my voice is laced with exasperation as I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You know, you’re very fucking concerned about your Old Lady’s best friend. Anything I should know?”
“Fuck you, Mayhem,” Scythe seethes and I almost bark out a laugh because I was starting to think he was going soft on me.
He did just have a baby girl, after all.
Rampage is grinning from ear to ear while making some very lewd and fucking hilarious finger motions. I smirk and shake my head at him in admonishment. It doesn’t stop him.
“She’s like a sister to me. The first time I met her, she threatened me in the name of my woman and didn’t give a single fuck about me being the club’s enforcer. She’s the kind of person you want at your back because her loyalty is hard wired.”
His words have my curiosity growing, but I’ll meet this woman soon enough. It’s not like she’s a fucking unicorn. She’s still just a chick.
One who has become my problem.
“We’ll keep her safe and figure out what comes next,” I promise the men. This is on me; they’re just a little too far away to do any good, considering the circumstances.
I guess it’s a damn good thing there are other chapters of the Devil’s Saints Motorcycle Club.
Happy to help and all that shit.
We exchange a few more words before hanging up. I look over at Rampage who looks excited about the possibility of shit going down. The fucking psychopath.
“It looks like things have been quiet around here for too long,” I muse and lean back in my chair.
The leather creaks as I rest my head back and close my eyes, just for a moment. Just a moment.
A cop who murdered his wife, allegedly, is probably dirty. Unless he just snapped.
