Jupiter 20.
Merc stands next to me in the hallway to the clubroom. We watch Chase hold Steve’s hand and lead him to the bar. The prospect, Johnny, smiles at both men and grabs two clean glasses, filling them with some type of cranberry juice. I chuckle to myself at the turn of events in the last few days. That amusement quickly dies when I think of the four wounded civilians from the gala.
“I’m usually quick on the uptake, I gotta say, I did NOT see that.” Merc points to Steve. “That man is a fucking multimillionaire, the CEO of a powerful and successful conglomerate, sole heir to a prestigious family, sucks cock like a champ and has an ass tighter than a vise.”
I tsk, shaking my head, “The need to escape reality, let everything go, and just exist with no expectations…there isn’t a single person on this earth that can’t relate to that desire. Ulysses Wainwright is just like everyone else; except he had the balls to do something about it.”
“They’re going to be pissed we kept this from them,” Merc says what I’m thinking. I shrug, knowing I would make the same decision again if given the choice.
“They’ll deal. Steve Valjean is our Hospitality Specialist and friend; the life of Ulysses Wainwright is irrelevant to the club.”
“Until it comes knocking down our doors.”
I eye Mercury, “You think the second shooter is after Steve?”
Merc thinks about his words, his head moving back and forth, “More Steve’s connection to us.”
I sigh, “Me too.” Dammit. Like I don’t have enough to deal with, it never fucking ends. We fix one problem, and I barely have time to take a full breath before another one pops up. “You sent the info on Gundy to Lukens?”
Mercury nods, “Yeah, last night before we left for the Rook .”
“SYNAGOGUE!” I holler, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Dude! Some fucking warning. I’m fond of my hearing.” Mercury sticks his finger into his left ear and wiggles it theatrically.
“Dude. That was mean.” Noodles uses the back of his hand to smack Mercury’s crotch as he walks past him. I bark a laugh, grateful for their banter. It’s normal. It’s comforting. It’s desperately needed right now.
I look around the room at each of the men and women. Camo or leather, I’ve served in some way with every one of them. I know the caliber of their character, the capacity of their hearts, the strength of their will. I’m so damn proud to be here with them, I’m damn proud of what we’ve accomplished since touching down in Morgantown, and I’m proud of how they have handled whatever adversity has been thrown their way.
I push the door to our meeting room shut, but it’s stopped by a dainty, slightly swollen foot. My ol’ lady stares at me and she sees me. She sees everything, even what I try to shield her from. Gripping my t-shirt under my kutte , Dru pulls me closer until our lips nearly touch.
“Don’t tell Judah…but you’re the best club president to ever president. I don’t know the details, and I don’t need to. I know who you are and that alone tells me you’ve got this handled. But those golems at your back…ain’t no power in the verse strong enough to put them down.” She closes the scant distance between us and savagely takes my mouth. Her tongue dueling with mine briefly, before she’s stepping back with a smirk, her hand cupping my twitching cock. “Love you.”
“Love you too, woman.” I close the door, and spin around to face my club. At the head of the table, I take my seat, the others looking at me expectantly. We just had synagogue before breakfast, but I don’t want to sit on this anymore since the situation is escalating.
“There is reason to believe the second shooter from last night is after Steve for his involvement with the club.” The room erupts in questions, and I slam my fist into the table to quiet them. Taking a deep breath, buoyed by my ol’ lady’s words, I continue, “Steve Valjean has been with the GGMC for over a year now.”
“He’s family,” Ceres states vehemently. “Why would someone come after him?”
“He is family. And I want you to remember that. An email was sent shortly before the shooting last night to Chase Davidson.” I glance down at the paper in front of me and read, “ ‘His money can’t save them. He doesn’t deserve them. I’ll make them wish they never met him.’”
Kevlar leans forward in his chair, “Who? Whose money?” I watch the thoughts cross his expression. He is the son of the previous Pakhan and the brother of the current one for The Krov. Mafia dynasties tend to come with hefty bank accounts, but this has nothing to do with him and I don’t want him carrying around unnecessary guilt.
“Ulysses Steven Valjean Wainwright.”
“Gesundheit,” Nessy replies automatically, earning a strained chuckle from our brothers.
“Steve VAJEEN , drag queen-in-training, stain remover extraordinaire, and the Mayor of Poundtown…is the heir to the Wainwright fortune?” Pluto is as flabbergasted as the rest of them.
“How?”
“Why?”
“When?”
“You knew.” Mars speaks low and lethal as he glares at me. I nod, meeting his glare with one of my own. Question me, go ahead. “You kept it from us.”
“I knew first.” Mercury stupidly raises his hand, as if a predator is not prowling for food at our table.
I ignore Merc. “I did. I respect the privacy of each and every one of you and anyone else that comes through those doors, so long as it doesn’t endanger the club and its people. Merc and I spoke with Steve after Mercury’s background check. He understood that his true identity would be shared with patched members, but I…that boy needed a chance to breathe. Somewhere the constrictions of his name had no bearing. In the beginning I promised a haven, a safe place to land for those leaving the military…but over the years we’ve been here, the GGMC has become so much more, it has become a beacon for those around us.”
“Jupiter,” Mars growls. “None of us are questioning your decision.”
“Uh…yes, you are. You did.” Neptune points at Mars, then bounces his finger in the air. “Like 3 minutes ago.”
“I didn’t. I was stating facts.”
Neptune snorts, “Well, try being less…Mars-like in your delivery.”
“Do you miss eating through a straw?”
Neptune scowls but sits back in his chair and drops his hand to his lap. “No need for violence.”
Mars barks a laugh, “There is ALWAYS need for violence.”
Vesta taps her fingers on the table. “Pres, I don’t give a fuck what his name is or how much money he’s got. He is an excellent cook, and he salvaged my favorite t-shirt.”
Nessy nods, staring at his woman, “Strawberries, chocolate, marshmallow.” He snaps his fingers, “Oh, and cum! Lots and lots of cum.”
“How is sweet Sibyl part of your twisted world?” Rufio asks and I chuckle at the question.
“You don’t know the real Sibyl. She’s a freak in the sheets,” Nessy states proudly of his other woman.
“And the car, garage, kitchen, Jupiter’s office—”
“I fucking knew it!” I yell, but Nessy and Vesta aren’t fazed in the least. I glare at the duo but need to get us back on track. “The email suggests that we are the target, and they are using Steve to get to us. The question is who?”
“And why?”
“I care less about the why at this point. We need to figure out who it is before anyone else gets hurt.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Terminus shouts, his phone in his hand, his fingers flying over the screen. He looks up, a maniacal glint in his eyes, scanning the room. His mouth stretches into an approximation of a smile but it’s creepy and I’m not alone, as a few brothers slide their chairs away from him. “Ulysses Wainwright is like stupid rich, orphaned, has an alter-ego, and a loyal assistant.” He starts laughing and I don’t think I’m the only one with a puckered asshole. “He’s Batman…but drag! Dragman! No, that’s no good. Give me a minute, I’ll think of a better one.”