Chapter Six
Dominic (Mace)
This office is not what you’d expect for the President of a one percenter MC. There are cases full of books and a whole Orangerie of plants over by the window. It’s bright and airy and clean as fuck, it smells like lemon and pine.
The safe in the corner is something out of an old Wild West movie. God knows what he keeps in there. More secrets, probably. King is good at those. But I’m coming to learn he’s a decent guy.
For years, I’d only ever known him as a rival.
Ranger, the only Prez I’d ever acknowledge at the Kingsmen, had a begrudging respect for King Curtis.
I followed his lead. It was only after Ranger was almost killed and run out of the club that I began to look at the Devil’s Chaos as true enemies of our club.
That was all fucked up, too. The enemy was within.
I’m antsy to get out of here, despite how well this conversation has gone. It’s been a while since our chapter was inaugurated, and we’ve spent the whole time on probation. To me, it’s time the training wheels came off, and that is why I’m here.
I’m sick of having my decisions second guessed. And with shit stirring with Zelda, bringing my ass here whenever King feels like calling me in is getting tiresome.
Since I first met him, when I was tied up and dragged into a garage to answer for what the Kingsmen did, I’ve worked hard to get respect from him. It could have gone the other way. God knows the Kingsmen saw it as a betrayal.
Saving King’s daughter had a lot to do with him being lenient and understanding. So, I came here tonight hoping he’d accept my proposal without me having to turn it into an argument. I’m playing the game to get what I want. King is aware, I’m sure, but I don’t care.
I slipped into the compound without much notice. There is a party going on, which is nothing new. This place is so big there is always something happening.
Those who did see me watched with varying expressions. Interest, disdain, lack of concern and one or two still have outright rage towards me. I ignored them all.
“You trust the buyer?” King asks, picking up his glass and draining the last few mouthfuls of whisky. He’d offered me one, but I’m leaving straight after. I don’t drink and ride.
“No more than you would working with someone new. Marshall seems solid though. He takes shit seriously and doesn’t mess with the cartel. Everything moves through Europe from the port. He has a contact at the international container terminal.”
King strokes a hand down his beard. I’m not going to tell him I’ve carried out sales like this enough times to know the risks involved. I was the fucking VP, it’s second nature to me.
“What do you know about the contact?”
“He’s solid. We’ve been watching him for the last three weeks. He’s sitting on a huge nest egg in an offshore bank account. We couldn’t break through his work firewalls though. Whoever they use for their online security, they’re damn good.”
King nods his head. “He exclusive with the buyer?”
“From what I’ve seen, no. He doesn’t work for anyone but himself. Brokers his own deals. As much as Marshall wants me to believe he’s theirs.”
“It would be good to have another contact at the port.”
My thoughts exactly. I don’t say that though. I’ve been working on this job for a few weeks now, but it’s not my ultimate goal. That is Bernard Singer and what he can do for Devil’s Chaos, not working with the middleman we’re providing protection for.
“Will there be any fall out if you make a move with the shipping guy?”
“We agreed to one job.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Though his tone hasn’t changed, I see the underlying concern. He’s right to be. These guys are paying us to protect their shipment from the Port to their warehouses across state lines. They may want the relationship to continue.
“They’re not big enough to take us on. He knows that. He’ll be glad to get this shipment through. I don’t see there being an issue when we decline any further runs.”
He thinks for a moment, weighing up whether it is worth stepping on any toes or securing ourselves a new pipeline. He nods, giving his approval and my gut clenches. Not out of appreciation and being grateful. I’m sick of this shit. I’m done prostrating.
“After this,” I clench my fist under the table where he can’t see. “How much longer am I gonna have to come here?”
“It’s not a case of me waiting to see how you do on this deal, Mace,” he says. “It’s about trust.”
“You have our loyalty.”
“I have yours. Can you say we have everyone at the club?”
My thoughts go to Chaos but I keep my expression neutral. “Believe me, no one is watching every person in my club with more scrutiny than I am.”
“You’re a man of your word, Mace. I’ve seen that about you. I don’t think you’re soft but will you have the stones to do what needs to be done?”
“No one will turn, I won’t let them. And,” I add begrudgingly. Even though it’s true. “I’ll put down anyone who does.”
After a tense moment of silence and a stare off to end all stare offs, King leans back and his lip twitches. “How hard was this?”
My eyes narrow. I’m supposed to be telling him what he wants to hear to get what I want. Should have known King would see right through me. He laughs, or what would pass for a laugh from him. It’s not meant to piss me off.
“Imagine how it would feel for you and triple it,” I say.
He nods. “Fucking hard then.” After another beat, he leans forward. “I’ll look forward to hearing how it goes.”
It’s hard to thank him, but I have to.
“I’m not your boss,” King says, getting to his feet, cutting off anything I was going to say. “What you bring in from this belongs to your chapter. All I ask is you tell me if it’s worth putting this guy on the payroll, and I’ll take your word for it.”
I nod. That is a sure sign King is putting his trust in me. I’ve already said I won’t stick around for the party. I have shit to sort out, and a meeting mid-morning that is going to take some time to get to from Stroudsburg.
A knock at the door interrupts us. King frowns when it opens without them waiting, but his face relaxes when he sees it’s his son.
War and I also have a complicated relationship. The few times I dealt with him before the shit storm that blew up our clubs, we were cordial. He’s less intense than his father.
“What?” King asks his son.
“Slight issue out front.”
“Handle it,” King answers, his impatience clear.
“It’s being handled.” I can’t read his expression. It’s oddly serious, but there is also a look of amusement. “But you might want to step outside.”
“What’s it got to do with me?” I ask.
“Rip had an accident.”
“Who the fuck is Rip?”
“He’s a new Prospect. And a pain in the ass,” War smirks. “It involves your bike.”
Fuck. I go to storm past but pause and look at King. He’s frowning at War, but he waves a hand, dismissing me to go see whatever the fuck is happening to my bike. If it’s damaged, I’m gonna fucking tear off this guy Rip’s head.
War is behind me as I walk through the bar area to the front of the clubhouse. Most of the men are outside. A few of them watch as I push through them.
The line of bikes where I parked mine is now all piled up on top of one another, as if they’ve been knocked over like dominoes.
My bike is at the bottom of the fucking pile. There are six men staring at the mess as if they’ve come across a dead relative. Their bikes are in there too.
Handlebar is standing a little away from everyone else. He has hold of a kid, propping him up. He looks fucked up and as I glare, he bends over and pukes all over the floor. Handlebar steps back, so it doesn’t splash on him, but keeps him from face-planting into his own vomit.
“Christ,” I groan and walk over to where everyone is trying to figure out how to separate the bikes.
The weight of all the other bikes has come down on mine and the pedal is bent. There are scratch marks and dents on the paint work. Fuck knows what the side on the ground looks like.
“Rip, get your ass inside!” War shouts. “Unless you’re gonna puke again, do that shit out here.”
“Sorry, man. I didn’t mean it… Sorry,” he whines.
“Just get the fuck inside.”
Jamming my hands on my hips, I watch as Handlebar steadies the little fucker then lets him go. His worried gaze turns to the bikes. If there is one thing I know about this guy, it’s that his love of machinery far outweighs… well, everything.
He moves toward us to help figure this out. As much as I don’t like it, he heads straight to where I’m standing. He doesn’t look at me, but at my bike. I’m surprised by the look on his face. I figured he was going to gloat. Instead, he looks thoroughly pissed off.
“How the fuck do we even begin to fix this?” I mutter.
“Very carefully.”
I’m surprised Handlebar even answers me. I don’t look at him though, I’m too fixated on the bikes. Out of the corner of my eye I see his head shake, but he gets to work organizing everyone.
I step in and help out and we’re two bikes away from rescuing mine when I hear feminine laughter.
Club whores don’t interest me but without having to turn around I know who it is the minute she speaks.
“I have the name of a good therapist.”
“Not funny!” Handlebar calls over his shoulder.
There is more than one woman laughing It’s the hot blonde with the huge rack.
I’m not sure who she is, but I’ve seen her around. She’s hard to miss, looking like the porno version of Marilyn Monroe. And she’s distracted more than a few of the brothers already. In fact Casper, the guy who likes to blow shit up, is sidling up to her already with a lascivious grin on his face.
Waverley catches my eye and hers widen in surprise seeing me here. It’s obvious when she figures out my bike is among the mess when her hand goes over her mouth.
Waverley is the only woman who has ever ridden on the back of my Harley. Hustle is still sore about that shit. He only lets it go because the only way to make sure Waverley was safe, was on the back of that bike.
“Holy shit.” She stops short of the right side of Handlebar, away from me. “You can save it right?” She worriedly bites her lip.
Handlebar looks up at me and grimaces. “You’re gonna have to leave it with me again.”
“You gonna keep it another week?”
“You’re welcome to take it elsewhere.”
“That isn’t going to happen.”
Waverley’s eyes ping back and forth between us. We both stop and look at her grin. “Let me help.”
“No!”
She laughs at us speaking at the same time. Handlebar carefully takes her arm and guides her back a few steps telling her to be careful. The blonde is now thoroughly preoccupied by Casper.
We turn back to the horrific task at hand and together with the help of a couple of other guys, we get all the bikes set right.
Handlebar shakes his head when he sees the damage the hard gravel floor has done to the underside of my bike. I can’t help the litany of curses that fall from my lips. I’ve barely had it back a week. This is why I hate coming here, this shit wouldn’t happen at my clubhouse.
“That kid is more trouble than he’s fucking worth.”
“Why are you letting these little assholes get away with this shit?”
“What are you saying exactly?” Handlebar straightens his back.
“I thought that was obvious. He was at my clubhouse he’d have been kicked out already. I’m guessing this isn’t his first fuck up.”
His eyes harden but he doesn’t answer, which tells me everything.
“I thought your chapter ran tighter than this.”
“Mace,” Waverley hisses.
I don’t give a shit. I said it and I meant it. It doesn’t even bother me when I see King standing on the steps behind me. Turning, I give him a look that says I’m not taking it back. He doesn’t scare me.
The problem is, more people than Waverley and Handlebar heard me saying it. That is the only thing that has me grimacing. Fuck. Nothing shows on my face as I stare at the President.
The patch on my chest is my only saving grace. As much as people here despise me, that gives me some authority and speaking to another Prez in this way shouldn’t be of anyone else’s concern.
Our situation is different, but I don’t give a shit when faced with the disaster of my bike being fucked.
“Party is over,” King says, not taking his eyes off me. “Any bikes that need repairs leave them here, they’ll be moved to the garage. Everyone else, go home. Everyone.”
That emphasis was all for me. People begin to disperse and a lot of looks are cast my way.
“Jesus, Mace,” Waverley says under her breath.
“You think I’m gonna apologize? Or that King even expects me to.”
“You’re probably right,” she smirks.
Out of all the women I’ve come across in this life, Waverley is one of the very few who straddles the line of knowing when to fight and when to keep her mouth shut.
Rosa gets out of a car I didn’t hear pulling up. I’m about to turn away and figure out whether the bike is ridable when the driver gets out.
Fuck she looks sexy as sin. She’s more casual than I’ve ever seen her. In the skintight skirts and sexy blouses she wears for work, she’s a solid twelve. In workout pants and a baggy t-shirt, tied at her midriff, she looks like she just got out of bed, after a seriously good time.
Beside me, Handlebar lets out a groan. We have something in common when it comes to Cassie Beillo. I’ve played up to it in the past, tried to get a rise out of him but it’s never going to be an actual competition. I’m not looking for an old lady.
Something tells me Cassie would never fit that mold.
She’s smart, stubborn, opinionated and has a sarcastic mouth on her.
Her disdain for the lifestyle is disguised for the most part.
Which intrigues me, because she is the club lawyer.
You can’t get more dubiously and intricately involved in an MC than defending the oftentimes shady actions that go on.
Family loyalty. I wonder how much it plays on her mind that her hands are as dirty as everyone else here.
Shit, I drag my eyes away and put a hand on the seat of my bike and crouch down. The fucking gear shift in front of the pedal is bent to hell and pointing in the wrong direction.
There is no way I’m riding this out of here tonight, even if Handlebar would be amenable to fixing it right now.
The last thing I want to do is spend another hour here, let alone the night.