Diesel snorts. “And what did they tell you?”
“That some punk in Briar Fork wore a fake Kings patch to rob a convenience store and got killed,” Bishop replies, his voice grim.
“What the fuck?” my VP asks, echoing my thoughts. “And the truth never got to you? You expect us to believe that?”
“Believe what you want, Diesel,” Rook says, sounding exasperated. “He wasn’t one of ours, we’re whole.”
It’s my turn to exchange looks with my VP. I can all but hear what’s written on his face—do we believe them?
When I turn back to look at Bishop, I see a man who’s just realized that hindsight is indeed a bitch.
“Looks like half your club is keeping things from you, brother,” I comment. I’m not trying to rub it in—just stating a fact.
“Sure fucking looks that way,” he says, his mouth set in hard lines. “Starting with my SAA. What the fuck is he hoping to achieve? A war between our clubs?”
“He very nearly fucking got it,” I mutter. “Twelve years ago? I’d have gone after you on your own territory the day after Viking died. It’s only because of what happened to Savannah that I waited to gather intel. But have no doubt, brother. We were gonna come for you. Soon.”
“We’re not letting Vike’s death slide,” Diesel adds. “Or them putting hands on our Prez’s old lady. We want blood.”
“And you’ll get it,” Bishop grunts. “But first, I need to find out how deep this runs. If Switch isn’t above putting fake patches on random thugs, then he can’t have as much manpower as he wants from the club.”
“What do you suggest?” I ask, running a hand through my hair. “We knock on his door and ask him nicely to tell us who helped him kill our old Prez?”
Bishop snorts, the sound too grim to be amusement. “We may have to be more persuasive than that.”
“Need a hand?” Diesel asks casually. “We have half our club waiting at a pitstop a couple of miles down the road.”
Rook chuckles. “Of course you do.”
“You could be leading us into a trap,” my VP adds, a cocky grin on his face. I think he’s waited long enough to break some bones and get justice for our fallen brother. He doesn’t seem to care whose bones they are anymore.
“Wecould be heading into a trap,” Bishop snarls, though it doesn’t seem like the anger is directed at Diesel. “That fucker knows we went to a meet with you. Tried talking us out of it.”
“That’s not good,” Diesel says, looking at me. “Might be targeting our clubhouse thinking it’s weak.”
“Well, it’s not,” I growl. “But call them to be on the lookout for anything suspicious.”
Diesel nods, already pulling his phone out. When he turns his back, I focus on the two Forsaken.
“What’s the plan here? You shouldn’t go without us. Not just because we have an axe to grind with that old man. You don’t even know who you can trust.”
Bishop sighs, suddenly looking older, even though he’s closer to Diesel’s age than mine.
“I know a few who are solid,” he says after a moment. “Besides Rook, my road captain, Jinx. A few others. I’m sure a few more will end up being just as blindsided by this as we are.”
Rook nods at his president’s words, his eyes narrowed in thought.
“Call Jinx and ask where Switch is at,” Bishop commands his VP. “If he’s at the clubhouse, we can’t roll up with a bunch of Sinners in tow. No offense, Havoc.”
“None taken.”
We’d be the same if the tables were turned. You don’t bring another club in to handle your business.
“But if he’s at his shitty fucking cabin,” Rook picks up, nodding grimly. “Hiding there like a motherfucking pussy...”
“Then he’s free game,” I finish.
Diesel walks back to our group, nodding at me once. It’s done—the members in the clubhouse know to watch out for fringe Forsaken activity.
