“Yeah… the best kind, though. Eagle will explain more. But I know you have some mad hack skills—at least that’s what your old club bragged about the most.”
“That’s where I hung my cut,” I clarify, “but I wouldn’t call it my old club.”
“Goddamn nomads,” Shorty says as he shakes his head. “Your resume is impressive.”
“I do what I need to.” A girl with a tray passes by and I drop my empty longneck on it. She stops and stares at me, then smiles and winks.
“Want another drink?”
“Nope. Just take the empty away.”
She looks me up and down for another long second, then shrugs. “I’m Kitty.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, then turn my attention back to Shorty.
“Where’s the IT room?”
“There’s a small one on the back side of the house. The club headquarters is located southeast of the main property, a brilliant plan to keep the house and club-related assets separate—in case there’s a legal issue. Anything pertaining to club business is done there. You can use the internet in the house for personal reasons.”
“Eagle subdivided the property?”
“Yeah. Louisiana has a nasty reputation for policing for profit.”
“I’m familiar with it,” I say. “Civil forfeiture laws are a fucking abuse of power.”
“Yeah—police and prosecutors can seize property without charging the owners with a crime. Completely different from criminal asset forfeiture. We get that, play with fire you’re gonna get burned. Two years ago, a smaller MC lost everything to the New Orleans PD. It was a wakeup call for us.”
I chuckle, knowing now what the targeted appropriation of assets is used for. “Let me guess, our targets include prominent members of the government—maybe their family members and some locals who make trouble for the club.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, brother.” Shorty winks.
I graduated high school early, and by the age of fifteen, I was already taking online college courses in IT. Some of my teachers labeled me as a computer genius. If anything, I got a first-class education in bullshit from my father, which opened my eyes to what the world really had to offer—pain. A side I kept hidden from the scholarly types who tried to convince me to apply to college. Eventually, they lost interest and I moved on to the next military base my father was assigned to.
That resume Shorty is referring to earned my way into the Iron Norsemen. I only prospected for six months. It didn’t take long to realize I didn’t like staying in one place too long. After receiving my patch, I spent eight months with my first club and then requested the honor of qualifying for a nomad patch. Not an easy accomplishment. It required four kills and various other challenges that demonstrated I was a cold-blooded bastard incapable of taking orders. Not to mention a unanimous vote to leave my charter.
“Ready to meet the prez?”
Shorty escorts me back inside to a room down the hallway from the master suite. He knocks on the door and someone calls, “Come in.”
The door opens and I guess who’s standing in front of me. “Are you Eagle Laramie?” I ask. I’m a couple inches taller than him, but he looks capable—young enough to fight, but old enough to know when to hold back.
“Yeah,” he says, offering his hand. “Who wants to know?”
“Brick.” We shake hands.
“My new enforcer? You’re four weeks late showing up. Where ya been?”
“Took the scenic route down from the east coast.”
“There’s a lot to see in this part of the country. And a lot you don’t want to see. We can catch you up on logistics later. In case you didn’t notice, there’s a party going on out there. How do you want to be introduced?”
“As Brick.”
“Not Austin Anderson?”
“That’s on an as-need-to-know basis.”
“Understood,” Eagles says. “Let’s grab a drink.”
