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“My exact thoughts, Dad. Lovely and the women really like her, and after seeing her brandish those sawn off shotguns to protect our crew I ain’t got no problem with her.”

I snort in response, because the image of her with her Winchesters is burned into my brain. Damn, it was hot. Shaking off that thought and telling my cock to settle down, I follow my boy into Church. We aren’t as strict as other MCs. Church is held in the old dining room of the farmhouse. The table is big enough to fit all the brothers and their Ol Ladies if they wish to attend. Usually Chewy and Remy do, but I know Rhodie is trying to discourage his woman now she’s nearing the end of her pregnancy.

I take my seat at the opposite end to Marx, getting comfortable and ignoring the grin on Pops’ face. For just once I wish he’d damn well act right.

“We waitin’ for anyone?” Marx asks, looking around the table. Chewy and Remy are perched on their Ol Men’s knees looking keen as mustard as usual.

Marx dips his chin and pounds his fist on the wall behind him. “Right, as you know Sage and The Keep managed to get rid of McDonald -” Cheers go around the table and boots thump on the wood floors. Tav looks fucking proud as punch. “So, that leaves us with one bad motherfucker and his time is about to come.”

“Matthew Thompson,” Fox murmurs.

It’s been months we’ve been trying to put this smuggling ring down. We’re slowly dismantling it but damn this one asshole has proved harder than we would like. For one, there’s levels to his business, including some shady characters at the local Sheriff’s Department.

“We still got dirty cops in town?” I ask, tempering the growl in my voice. I hate people who take advantage of their power and position.

“I’ll leave that up to Moss,” Marx says, indicating the big bastard standing behind me.

Damn, my head is definitely not in the game if I didn’t notice Moss entering the room. I’m gonna blame it on a sexy brunette. That I’m friends with. Moss’s heavy ass hand lands on my shoulder before he takes the seat beside me.

“Thanks, Marx.” He raises his chin. It’s a pity he hasn’t thought about joining the MC. He’d make a great brother. “Thanks to you we’ve managed to weed out some of the bad eggs, but there’s still shady assholes about.”

“And we’ve still got his mistress working the front desk,” Nitro growls.

“Thompson isn’t dumb enough to leave her unprotected.” Tank states.

Fox grunts his agreement. “We know. There’s two deputies that need looking into, but hell, we have no idea how deep this shit goes.”

“That’s why you’re still working for me.” Moss grins.

“Anything else we need to know?” Marx asks, laser focused on Moss.

The man in question purses his lips, looking out the window. “Things have been quiet. Too quiet if you get my drift. Word on the street has it that there's a new MC in Roxburgh kicking up shit, wanting to get into the transportation business.”

“Skin?” Judge asks, leaning forward.

“Unsure. At this point it’s all rumours, but I got new drugs flooding into town. Found a kid the other day with a pocket full of poorly cut meth and a handgun with the serial numbers filed off.”

“Thompson?”

Moss clicks his tongue. "That's my working theory but shit, that’s all it is ‘til I get proof.”

“How the hell does he recruit so many degenerates? The man must shit gold or something.” Tank mutters.

I agree. In my time as Prez not once did we have a thorn in our side that we couldn’t neutralize. This guy? It’s like playing Whack A Mole. Everytime he rears his ugly head instead of our hammer knocking him down we take out small fry scum bags. With Richard McDonald AKA Nathaniel Mercy taken care of, we have at least made a huge dent in his skin operation.

Wood creaks as Marx leans back in his chair, brows furrowed. “Got any intel on this MC over in Roxburgh?”

Moss shakes his head. “Nothing substantial. I’ve spoken to the sheriff there but they know as much as we do.”

Marx runs a hand down his beard, his eyes darting to Chewy who looks fit to burst. So does Remy who has been tapping away at her laptop this whole time, Wire’s chin resting on her shoulder.

Marx’s brows raise before he lets out a sigh. “Chewy, do you have anything to add?”

Chewy’s grin widens and her eyes light up like a kid on Christmas Day. “When don’t I?” She turns to Remy, dipping her chin.

Remy taps a key with a flourish and Matthew Thompson’s face fills the plain white wall behind Marx. The smarmy son of a bitch is dressed in a tux, grinning at the camera, not a care in the world.

“Did you know Matthew Thompson founded a charity?” Remy says, looking around the table.