“Stay down!” I growled out as he attempted to get back up.
Dom and Casa flanked me, their guns out too. Max sat on his bike looking like he was about to piss himself and completely unsure what the hell he was supposed to do.
I kicked Pipes in the ribs and he groaned and curled up in a ball. I slammed my foot into his side three more times and then stopped. He slowly uncurled from his ball and looked up at me, hate and rage burning through his gaze.
With my gun still aimed at his head, I spoke clearly and calmly. “I’m the motherfuckin’ enforcer of the Devil’s Highwaymen. What I say goes, you hear me, brother?”
Pipes nodded and I sneered down at him.
“You ever fuckin question my authority again and I’ll put a bullet in your brain. You feel me?”
“Yeah,” he groaned, the anger finally retreating from his face.
I reached down, my hand outstretched to him, and he gripped it and allowed me to pull him back up to his feet. I pulled him in and patted him on his back before pulling away. One hand reached around his waist to cradle his bruised ribs. I’d kicked him hard, but not enough to break anything—just enough to teach him a lesson.
“This shit is bigger than what we thought,” I said, looking across at my brothers. “Anyone else spot the sniper in the building?”
“A sniper? You serious?” Casa asked, pulling out his cigarettes and lighting one.
Dom let out a heavy breath and shook his head. “You think that fucker the Reverend is in bed with the heat?”
I shrugged. “Not sure, but I know I wasn’t getting us all killed without knowing exactly who was shooting us in the back. That shit won’t do the club any good.” I pulled out the piece of paper that Anthony had given me and unfolded it. I read it twice and then handed it to Dom.
“Who the fuck are the Razorbacks?” he said, handing the paper to Casa.
“The Razorbacks will be expecting a thirty percent cut of all Highwaymen profits delivered to—” Casa looked up at me. “What the hell is this bullshit?”
“The start of a war, brother,” I replied. I turned away and pulled my cell out and called Hardy. Because he needed to know right then what the hell was going down. His cell rang seven times before it went to voicemail and I hung up.
When I turned back around my brothers were standing by their bikes and watching me expectantly. But I had no idea what to tell them. Hardy would be pissed that we’d walked away, but he’d be even more pissed at the idea that someone was giving out orders to us.
“What now?” Pipes asked, his arm still around his ribs.
I used my cell to call Beefcake, the president of the West Side Bangers. He picked up on the second ring.
“Jesse fuckin’ James, as I live and breathe. What can I do for you, brother?” he drawled down the phone.
Beefcake was a sound enough man, and he ran his club like a well-oiled machine. If something was going down in his area, he’d know what. I’d only ever met him once, but he’d treated me with respect, and clearly he had a good memory.
“Me and a couple of brothers are in town. Needing some hospitality for the night, if that’s good with you?” I asked.
“Got a party going down tonight. Brothers just got out of DOC after a dime, but you and your boys are more than welcome to come and join in the celebrations, as long as you aren’t bringing trouble to my door. Not tonight.” I listened to Beefcake walking, the crunch of gravel underfoot and the music fading as he walked outside.
“No trouble, but I do need to discuss business with you. Some shit is going down in your area that I think you should know about.” I turned back to my brothers and nodded to them and they all climbed on their bikes.
“All right, we’ll discuss it when you get here, then we’ll party,” Beefcake replied, his voice serious.
“We’ll be there soon,” I replied and hung up. I climbed on my bike and started it up. “The West Side Bangers are sharing their hospitality for the night while we deal with whatever shit this is. Brother of theirs just got out after a ten-year stretch, so it’s a celebration. Bit of an awkward time, but I’ll discuss it with Beefcake when we get there.”
My brothers nodded and we pulled away, heading toward the clubhouse of the West Side Bangers. I wasn’t happy about leaving there without getting into the meet, but at least we knew the name of this other club. Now we just needed to know what their fucking play was going to be, because cutting us out of business and demanding a percentage of our taking wasn’t going to go down well. For them, or for us.
