“You can’t. Birdie or back downstairs. Which is it?”
“I can tell by your tone that this wouldn’t be a good time to make a joke about Ashley being downstairs, so I’ll skip it and go upstairs with Birdie.”
“Thank you.”
Whisker called the meeting to order as soon as I sat down since I was the last one to arrive.
“We don’t have time for suggestions and discussions. We’ve got a woman in the basement with an injury that will soon be lethal without surgical intervention, and we’ve got a medicated child upstairs who will be waking up any time now. We need to get them the fuck out of here as soon as possible. Which means we need to contact Brock Mitchell and get him here. Beaver’s going to text Brock from Ashley’s phone. She’s in Kahakai with Hannah and her car won’t start. She needs him to come get them. We’ll give him directions to Charli’s Place and pick him up at the gate. We’ll find out what he knows and go from there. Objections?”
“Uh, yeah,” Bunch said. “Did I miss something? Why the fuck are we doing this for the bitch who stabbed Sugar?”
“That bitch is my Old Lady now,” I announced proudly.
The room fell silent for several beats before the brothers erupted in cheers, followed by several odd but appropriate congratulations.
“Better you than me.”
“You must like living on the edge.”
But my personal favorites were, “What did sleep ever do to you?” and “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Whisker banged the torque wrench to bring the meeting back to order. “Let me try this again. Objections?”
Not one.
“All right. Beaver, do your thing. Everyone else, stay at the clubhouse. We’ll reconvene when Brock gets here.”
Brock arrived a few hours later,thinking he was going to find his wife and child waiting for him in the lobby of Charli’s Place.So he was completely caught off guard when he found himself surrounded by five bikers and complied easily.
Once we were all seated around the table, Brock spoke first. “I don’t know what my cunt of a wife has done, but I’ll do whatever you want. Just please don’t hurt my daughter. I have money. Do you want money?”
“I guess that answers that,” I mumbled.
“How much?” he asked, looking at me. “Give me a number.”
I pointed to Whisker. “He’s the president. Talk to him.”
“But what did you say? Was it about Hannah? Please! Where is she? Can I see her?”
“Take a breath, man,” Cookie said. “Your kid’s fine, and she’ll stay that way while we’re talking.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Does the name Trenton Pritchard mean anything to you?” Whisker asked.
Brock stiffened in his seat. “Yes. Why?”
“How do you know Trenton?”
“He’s a silent investor in my company. Again, why?”
Whisker ignored him and continued with his questions. “Who is Matthew Heinz to you?”
Disgust washed over Brock’s face. “He’s my soon-to-be ex-wife’s brother.”
“You’re getting divorced?”
Brock shifted in his seat. “She doesn’t know. The papers are supposed to be served next week.”
