I frown. “Something similar? How?”
“I won’t share the details, but I can tell you some of it. Not sure how much you know about motorcycle clubs, but some, like the Bushrangers, have a single chapter. Others have multiple. The Demon Dawgs have chapters in several cities. Their mainchapter is in San Diego. But they also have chapters in Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Boston, Seattle, and here in Chicago. Their newest chapter is in New Orleans.”
“Wow, so they’re bigger than the club in Adelaide?”
“Much bigger. Now each chapter has a President, and the President runs their club; however, they have allegiance to the President of the San Diego Chapter. His name is Dante. He’s been President for about ten years. His father was the President before him. His father, Dale, was nothing like Dante.”
“I don’t understand what that means,” I admit.
“Let’s just say Dale would have felt at home with the Bushrangers.”
“Ah. Got it. He wasn’t picky about how the club made its money.”
“Exactly. He did some pretty bad stuff. Worse than the Bushrangers. Dale convinced other Presidents to follow his lead.”
“So, what you’re saying is that ten years ago the Demon Dawgs weren’t the good guys?”
He chuckles. “That’s a good way to put it. No, they weren’t the good guys.”
“What happened?” I ask, suddenly worried that I made a mistake agreeing to stay here.
“Someone murdered Dale. Executed him in an abandoned gas station. The other Presidents voted Dante in to take Dale’s place. Dante discovered what his father had been doing and lost it. He tore through his club and the others, making sure the shit Dale was doing stopped. We’re not saints by any definition, but under Dante’s leadership, we don’t hurt innocent people, either.”
I reach over and touch the 1% patch on his kutte. “You still have this patch. I know what it means.”
He nods. “As I said, we aren’t saints. We have legal businesses. That’s how we make most of our money; however, we don’t have a problem breaking the law when necessary.”
“When necessary?” I ask with a smirk.
“Let’s just say if we see someone getting hurt, we don’t call the police.”
“You handle it yourself?”
He nods.
I chew on my bottom lip as I consider what he is and isn’t saying. No, I never saw Bush as a saint, but he had been my guardian angel back in Adelaide. Should I trust someone who isn’t afraid to admit they’ll break the law? Could I trust them? The truth is, I already trust Bush. I trusted him when he was Whip. He was the first person I thought of when I saw Menace at the hotel.
“I’m glad I saw you when I was on my way to the hotel. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d seen Menace and didn’t know you were nearby.”
“Me, too. Don’t worry, we’ll figure out what he wants. If he’s here for me, we’ll take care of it.”
I didn’t have to ask what that meant, and to be honest, I didn’t care. There are people in this world who make things worse. Menace was one of those people. You just knew when you looked at him that his heart and soul were black.
When Bush’s phone rings, he pulls it out and checks the display. “It’s Chrome. I have to take this. Goodnight, Zara. Sleep well. I’ll come by and get you in the morning for breakfast, and we’ll take you to your appointments.”
“Thank you,” I say as he turns and leaves the room. I hear him answer his phone as he closes the door.
I unzip my suitcase and carry my toiletry bag into the bathroom. I’m surprised at how nice the bathroom is, considering we’re in a biker’s clubhouse. It’s clean and looks asif it was updated recently. I wash my face and brush my teeth before returning to the bedroom to change into sleep shorts and a tank. Crawling into bed, I stare up at the ceiling and wonder about how I’ve wound up in a biker clubhouse when I expected to be sleeping in a hotel. This trip has been nothing like I expected. I don’t expect to fall asleep easily, but I drop off quickly.
CHAPTER 7: BUSH
“What’s up?” I ask as I answer the call from Chrome.
“We’re at the hotel. There are three bikes parked out front. I’m guessing that means they’re still here. I thought you might like to hear the conversation,” Chrome replies.
“I do. Good thinking. Want me to record it?”
“Ice has it under control.”
