I slid off Rubi’s bike and let some of the pent-up frustration burning in my chest show on my face. It wasn’t like Embry to be dramatic and I could’ve done without it. “Church in an hour. I need a piss and a fucking drink before we deal with this shit.”
“Okay.”
Embry stepped back, letting me go, and I blew past him with thunder in every stride, shouldering my way through the clubhouse and into the chapel, letting the doors bang shut behind me.
The building was old and filled with MC memorabilia. In days gone by, there’d been a bar at the back of the main room, keeping the table supplied with whisky and rum, but I’d taken it out five years ago, replacing it with a kitchen that kept my boys fed and watered when business consumed every hour of the day.
Mind blank, I opened the fridge and dug out enough chicken to feed an army of hungry men. Then, because perhaps I was the motherfucking hen, I loaded up the pan with every vegetable I could find.
Yeah, that’s right. I cooked them dinner. Not because I was nice, but because I knew from experience that no good came from discussions fuelled by hangry men. My brothers were like wolves. I kept them well fed enough to stop them turning on me, but hungry enough that they could kill in the blink of an eye. A shite analogy, but it worked for us, and it was why the yard had a fire pit, an outdoor kitchen, and an unfinished pizza oven that had been on my list to get done since the summer.
The scent of cooking food brought my boys to the table. One by one, they trucked in, Rubi first, then Nash, Embry, Cracker, and Mateo.
Saint was last, his expression sinister enough to send a chill down my spine. I didn’t need to ask to know he’d been stewing over the cut brake lines on my bike and that he was ready for revenge. Some people thought he was dead inside, but I knew different. The rage he carried came from the heart, and a fragment of that heart belonged to me.
I left Nash to dish up the meal I’d cooked and led my brother outside, unsurprised that Mateo followed. Night had fallen while I’d cooked, swallowing up the short winter day. It was cold too, but I didn’t feel the frigid breeze as it hit the bare skin of my arms. I didn’t feel much at all. “Hit me with it,” I said to Mateo. “Who do you think is behind this?”
My enforcer ran his savage gaze over me, one eye twisted by a macabre scar that ran the entire length of his face. “We got a couple of possibilities.”
“Always nice to have a choice of mortal enemy.”
Mateo chuckled, but it faded fast. “The Sambinis are top of my list. They’re behind the coke shipments, and us pulling out of the bridge contracts fucks them up. If we’re not in line to take the fall when the fucking things come tumbling down, it’s a problem for them.”
I growled. Aside from the darker shadows haunting us, this bullshit was the reason I’d never wanted the club involved in corrupt construction projects. Corruption meant no one gave a fuck about anything except lining their own pockets. Rules got broken. Corners got cut. And then motorway bridges collapsed onto traffic, killing innocent people on their way to the beach. I didn’t have many morals, but I couldn’t live with that shit. And Mateo and Saint couldn’t live with it either. They wouldn’t be here if they could. They’d be riding for another club, fighting for a president who didn’t care how bloody his hands were when he went to bed at night.
Which led me to another suspect. “What about the Crows? They’ve been after our territory for years. You think Sambini paid them to come after us? Let the rest of the world think it’s a biker war?”
Saint cleared his throat.
I waited for him to speak.
He didn’t. And Mateo didn’t have the answers either, only a vow that made my skin prickle. “If Frank Crow is stupid enough to start a real war with us, we’ll end him and his fucking scumbag crew. Sambini money won’t be any good to him then.”
“We need to find out for sure.” I pulled out a smoke and lit up. “I don’t want to waste time Crow beating if there’s a fucking eagle about to land on my back.”
“Sambini isn’t an eagle.”
I tossed a glance at Saint.
He glared back at me, not even trying to explain himself, and I suppressed a heavy sigh, swallowing down the smoke in my lungs. One day it would kill me, but then, maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe every other bullshit thing in my life would finish me first.
“Look.” I scowled at them both. “We need to find out who we’re fighting on this. It’s one thing for Sambini to come at us on the building sites, and they expect us to hit their coke runs from time to time—it’s part of the deal for letting them use our roads—but if they’re trying to kill me for whatever fucked-up reason, that’s personal and we’re gonna need a battle plan.”And a battle chest.Wars cost money. Weapons. Soldiers. Intelligence. We weren’t fucking NATO, and none of that shit came cheap.
Mateo nodded. “I’ll grab some boys and head out after dinner. I’ve got some people I can shake down for information. If it’s the Crows, I’ll know about it by morning.”
“I’m staying with you,” Saint said to me, his green gaze unyielding. “At least until we know who we’re fighting.”
I battled the urge to roll my eyes. It was standard procedure to have a brother guard me. Saint had watched my back more times over the years than I could count, but... I wasn’t in the damn mood for the heartache that came with it. The urge to escape was deep-rooted and strong. Suffocating. I almost didn’t care if a rival gang ran me down and picked a fight at the side of the road. Mood I was in, it would take a fucking army to put me down.
Maybe you’re the hangry one. Mateo certainly was. I rarely saw Saint eat.
I waved him inside anyway. I needed the space.
Finally alone, another cigarette found its way to my lips, and I belatedly remembered the messages that had buzzed through to my phone while I’d waited on my boys.
I pulled out my phone and opened them up. One was from the government welcoming me back to my online tax account. A bemused laugh bubbled out of me.What the actual fuck?I deleted the message and opened the next. It was from my sister.
Orla:Your friend left. He took our books. Hope he’s not a fucking fed...
