Siege nodded. “Yeah. I can make that happen.”
Celt mused out loud. “If Viper did torch Vulture’s clubhouse and is settin’ us up to take the blame, we need to this sorted right feckin’ now.”
Thunder cut in, steady. “We gotta be smart though. If we jump in all guns blazin’, then we’re gonna play into his hands and look like the bad guys.”
We all froze when Storm’s phone pinged.
“Speak of the devil,” he muttered. As he read the message, a shocked, angry expression jumped onto his face. Then he set it down in the middle of the table so we could all see the text from Viper.
Viper: The regional council is carving newly available territory. Vulture died last night. I want the Slayers’ vote in my favor. I’ll let you know when and where. You owe me. Don’t make me repeat myself.
“He’s calling in the second favor,” Thunder announced.
After a long silence I spoke up. “If Vulture’s dead, why isn’t his club voting on a replacement? Where’s his VP in all this? I thought the regional council mostly settled disputes. Why are they decidin’ who gets Vulture’s Pride territory?”
Siege explained, “Fucking sharks, I’ve seen it before. There’s a feedin’ frenzy when a club president dies unexpectedly, especially if the club isn’t well established. That means their territory is up for grabs. It’s one of the darker sides of one percent club life.”
I mumbled, “That’s fucked up.” I didn’t know why this shocked me so much, but it did.
Storm looked at the text again. “I’m not gonna respond right away. Let’s let him stew for a while.”
Celt gave his cousin a mild warning. “He’s expecting compliance.”
Storm shot back, “We need to keep him off balance and worrying if we’ll come through for him.”
Siege nodded slowly. “A delayed response frustrates him and buys us time.”
Tank kept his eyes on Storm. “Or it might make him escalate.”
Storm stared at the message on his phone. “If he escalates, we might figure out a way to turn that to our advantage too.”
I took a slow breath and threw in my two cents’ worth. “Viper ain’t doin’ this to get rich. He’s doin’ it because he wants respect and ultimately unchecked power. He wants people afraid to say no to him. If he gets our vote, he gets to tell everyone that the Slayers are backing his rise. If we don’t, he gets to tell them we’re threatened by it. The fucker has us in a no win situation.”
Storm spoke up. “No, he doesn’t. It just means we have to outsmart him. We gather intel to refute any claims he makes against us. And why we’re pulling Sons of Rage in. If they have a man inside one of Viper’s patched-over clubs, we might be able to find out what he’s really building. At this point, that’s about all we can do.”
Siege nodded and came to his feet. “Agreed. I’ll call Sons of Rage tonight and set up a meeting for as soon as possible. We’ll make it happen as fast as we can.”
Storm nodded. “Sounds good. We cool?”
“Yeah. I didn’t think you’d be involved in something shady like torching the clubhouse, but I needed to hear it from you before we got involved.”
By the time we all filed out of the meeting, I was starting to feel like we were finally getting control of this situation once and for all.
Chapter 9
Winter
Today was my therapy appointment. I couldn’t say I was looking forward to it, but I was resigned to make the most of this opportunity Fuse made for me. Sure, I freaked when he first told me about it yesterday. I think that I was just scared to talk about this stuff with strangers.
I made quick work of stocking the bar and wiped down all the tables. The prospects who closed the bar last night did the floors, so I didn’t need to worry about that. Everything looked nice, which was important because the Dark Slayers were having their weekly meeting and they were hosting another club who had come to talk to them about the situation with Viper.
I stood with my back to the counter staring at the door leading to the meeting room. They were as quiet as mice back there. If it weren’t for me, the Slayers would be happily living their lives instead of dealing with Viper and Vulture. I felt a little guilty about that.
The bell on the front door jingled, alerting me that someone had walked into the clubhouse. By the time I turned around a handsome biker was standing on the other side of the bar.
“Well, damn,” a voice said lightly. “Didn’t know the Slayers hired angels to run their bar.”
I was smiling before I realized it. This hot biker thought he was clever. He wasn’t a Dark Slayer. His cut said Savage Legion MC Prospect. He wasn’t hard around the edges the way most of the other men were. There was something open, playful and a bit reckless about the way he smiled at me.
