It had been months since we burnt the Razor Hogs MC and said goodbye to the problems they created. Like many others, they had seen our chapter, our club as an infestation and tried to take back the city, thinking that we wouldn’t fit. But the thing was, their sins racked up between pinning us for overdoses, taking our “side business”, and then kidnapping Melody, it was game over and the end of the rivalry that spanned for years. A simple strike of a match did that, and we had reached our end.
“The rumors don’t help the case either,” B.B. said.
“Rumors could have easily died,” Otis acknowledged.
“How when we don’t know who or what was starting these rumors,” Fender commented.
We would go round and round with who started it and what we were going to do; honestly, it felt like a fucking vent session not strategic planning or who’s blood was going to shed. My legs started to bounce harder, attempting to bite my tongue before I said anything that would get my ass kicked.
The brothers kept commenting that they were frustrated, B.B. tried to charm his way and offer to take a deeper dive, more boots on the ground. Hound Dog shook his head, arguing that we didn’t have all the information, or a lead. No one wanted to speak up. Otis attempted to offer a plan of talking to Greene about what they were saying on the streets. Fender reminded him that Greene was being useless.
“How about we just address what’s been seen or heard?” I muttered.
After a moment, Otis snickered. “I’m sorry, couldn’t hear you through the beard.”
“Got something else to share there, Shooter?” Hound Dog quipped; a serious tone filled the air.
I felt the heat of all the eyes on me. For once, I probably should have stayed quiet. They waited for me to spill whatever was brewing in my head. Maybe I was antsy and just wanted to get back to Amelia or maybe I just had other things that needed to get done like burying a soon to be ex-husband and have my girl forever.
With a sigh, I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my forehead, “How about we just go over what's been told, or what’s been seen.”
“Someone is a bit impatient,” B.B. chirped.
“Maybe I’m just the one with common sense, knowing that there’s a problem, how about we just track what we do know,” I said, choosing to remain quiet.
“Go for it then” Hound Dog commanded.
I debated on just staying there and allowing everyone else to say what they needed to say. But I took matters into my own hands. “As long as I don’t get bitch slapped for shooting off at the mouth.”
“Then don’t,” Hound Dog warned.
I leaned on the table, crossing my arms, all brothers watching intently. “Listen, from the last fight night, things were off. I wasn’t the only one that felt it. There were too many suits in the audience, and their eyes were pinned to the matches, especially when it was Dillon’s fight.” I paused for a moment. The flash of seeing Dillon in the ring, his stance slacked, his ambition draining during the first round. He wasn’t the fighter that I had seen before. He kept looking back, seeing if someone was watching.
I was watching, I saw him frightened, debating on whether to make a choice or not. His words sparked an epiphany. “I’m just making sure I made the right choice”, that’s what he said, his eyes drifting away. I replayed it, he was watching the suits, the ones that barely took their eyes off the ring. Something was going on in the background, and it was being well hidden.
“Between a new bookie that later Hank said he didn’t remember and an audience with more suits than my liking, I mean the kid was thrown off,” I said.
“Still haven’t heard from him, have you?” Hank asked.
I shook my head. I tried to call him. “I’ll have Blaze or Waylan do a check in.” I was concerned about him too.
I tried to wrap my head. Rarely did we get everyday businessmen coming through the fights. The crowd we drew was a hodge-podge of people. The shootout with someone moving in on our businesses, it was too much of a coincidence.
“Don’t forget about the rumors of a mafia family moving in,” B.B. pointed out.
There were rumbles of agreement before Hound Dog raised an eyebrow, “Mafia? Really? Since when does the mafia decide to travel to the midst of the south and decide to camp out here?”
“It’s not one of Melody’s books.” B.B. snickered, wiggling his eyebrows.
“The fact that you know what type of books she reads is concerning,” Hound grumbles.
“Who do you think runs the book club?” B.B. winked.
Hound Dog groaned, “And I keep wondering why we made you V.P. Jesus, what else do we know then?”
Fender wiggled in his seat. “Ms. Raven’s shop and the letter that she had. There wasn’t a signature. It wasn’t an empty threat though.”
“And yet, we still got shot at and possibly threatened my livelihood,” I added.
