Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
KING
Leaving the bakery, I shake my head, mainly because seeing her again did not make me want her any less. I’d hoped my cock would be a little less eager to get inside of her, that maybe I hadn’t remembered her correctly, but I had.
She’s hot as fuck.
She’s got to be at least ten years younger than me, maybe more, and I shouldn’t have the hard-on that I do for her, but the dick wants what the dick wants.
And my dick wants her.
I climb onto my bike, start the engine, and head the fuck out of downtown Pineville. Fuck me, but what a clusterfuck of a mess this downtown area is. It’s all boutiques, a bakery, and restaurants.
There are no more strip clubs and bars. I suppose it’s a good thing unless you’re a man like me. Then it’s just more bullshit.
As I ride toward the clubhouse, I shake thoughts of the cute baker out of my mind and start to think about the other night with Brew. He had me go with him to move his mother out of her house and to the assisted living home.
I snort. The guy acts like he’s a badass, and then he does that.
However, we did go and collect some money from someone who owed the club a hell of a lot.
Later, after the move, and his mother insisted, we ate pizza and drank beer at her new place.
It was a good night, one of the best I’ve had in a while.
His mother is hilarious, something I never had,
While I head back to the clubhouse, my phone rings in my pocket, so I pull over to answer. As if I willed the call, it’s Brew.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“We got problems,” he mutters.
When he doesn’t say anything else immediately, I decide to ask, “And those are?”
He lets out a heavy sigh, then clears his throat. “Those are the fact that the fuck we collected money from is dead.”
“What the fuck?” I hiss.
“Atomic wants a meeting right fucking now.”
Ending the call, I don’t ask him why. I already know it’s because this asshole we collected owed funds from is now fucking dead. Goddammit, our fingerprints and shit are all over that house of his. I’m surprised the police haven’t already hooked my ass up and taken me in.
I ride as fast as possible. I cannot believe this shit has happened. Of course, it fucking has, too. Because this week would not be complete without some kind of goddamn emergency.
It doesn’t take me long to arrive and even less time to walk into the conference room where we hold church. Sinking down in my chair, I try not to make eye contact with anyone, although I can feel all eyes on me.
Atomic clears his throat, slamming his gavel down once before he calls the meeting to order. We all snap our lips together and wait for what is coming.
“So it seems that last week’s collections did not go as planned,” he announces. Sucking in a breath, I hold it for a moment and wait to hear what he has to say. Atomic jerks his chin. “Police don’t think it has anything to do with us.”
“What happens now?” I ask.
He dips his chin, his gaze sliding across the room and landing on mine, holding it as he continues to speak.
“We have to remember that dead clients do not pay,” he says.
“They don’t,” I agree. “Which is why we didn’t kill him.”
“He was alive without a scratch on him when we left him,” Brew adds.
I’m not sure why Atomic thinks we did anything to this man. No way in fuck would we mess with or murder the hands that feed us. And as much as I wanted to beat the fuck out of him because he was a dumbass, I know my limitations and I have control over myself.
“How much did he owe us?” Atomic asks.
I could give an estimation, which is twenty grand, but I don’t know if that’s the exact number or not. I’m not usually someone who talks out of my ass and just throws shit out there. All I know is what Brew said when he asked me to help. And that was ballpark, twenty grand.
“Well, tell us exactly what the fuck he owed and what happened,” Piston grinds out.
I open my mouth to speak, but it’s Brew whose voice booms in the room. I’m thankful, mainly because I’m not quite sure what to say. I wasn’t there from the conception to know what this group was doing.
All I was asked to do was to be Brew’s backup and maybe rough this guy up a little if he needed it. He was already scared shitless with just me standing there. I didn’t even have to get my hands dirty.
“He owed the Dark Horse MC over twenty thousand dollars. He swore he could push the shit in the clubs, but he couldn’t. I think he used it all himself. A bad habit that tends to happen in this industry.”
“He’d be dead on that habit if he used it all himself,” Atomic snorts.
“Well…” I say.
His eyes find mine, and he shakes it once, trying to keep from laughing. It’s funny, if nothing else. We need to laugh about this shit. If we don’t laugh, we’ll be pissed that we just lost a fuckton of money.
“We aren’t on their radar as far as I know,” he says. “But we do need to be careful.”
“We were,” Brew says. “Very careful. We didn’t hurt him at all. We spoke to him, threatened him, and gave him a fucking timeline.”
“They suspect foul play?” I ask.
Atomic clears his throat. “They don’t, at least not yet, and probably won’t. It is clear that he had his own demons.”
“Those being us?” Piston asks.
I wink, unsure of what else to say. The asshole owed us twenty thousand bucks for a bunch of coke and speed. He swore he could push that shit, but he couldn’t do dick, mainly because he likely used all the product his fucking self.
“Those being his fucking self,” Atomic murmurs. “Nobody forced him to do what he did. All we did was demand payment and give him a timeline. Now we aren’t getting a fucking dime from his ass, which benefits us… zilch.”
He’s not wrong. “What do we do now?” I ask.
Piston stands, placing his palms on the warm wood of the conference table. “We go on, business as usual, and we try to figure out a way to make it back—and fast.”
“What we need is a new way to funnel funds. Just the keg delivery alone isn’t enough. We need something that uses a lot of cash,” I say.
“Strip club,” Brew shouts, and a couple guys clap.
“Bar?” I ask, knowing that I would rather die than help run any bar in the whole world again.
Atomic stands, slamming his gavel down again. “Let’s forget about it until the next meeting. We can make a decision then. I want everyone to think of some ways to diversify the club. King is right. It’s what we need to do. We can’t rely on kegs and drugs. We need more.”
And with that, the meeting is adjourned. They never last long, mainly because we’re a group of men who want to fuck and drink, not sit in meetings. So that is exactly what we all do. Fuck and drink. We’ll worry about the rest of the bullshit tomorrow.
SHAWN
I count the cupcake boxes again. I want this to be perfect. I need it to be perfect. I can’t help thinking that I’m missing something, so I count the boxes and the cupcakes again, for the third time.
Each time, I count three hundred and forty-eight. I added an extra couple dozen cupcakes just in case, all fluffily delicious and ready to be consumed. I’m shaking. I can’t believe that this order is real, that this really happened.
Taking my phone out of my pocket, I glance down at the time. I need to leave here in fifteen minutes, and my ride hasn’t arrived yet. My brother thankfully offered to help me, though I’m not really sure why. I think it’s mostly because I’m going to this place.
Once he heard the address, he was more than happy to join me. I’m not sure why, but I didn’t ask either. Honestly, I’m just ecstatic to have a ride and not have to figure out a bus schedule to carry three hundred and forty-eight cupcakes across town.
A horn honks twice, and I turn my head, looking behind my shoulder to see my brother’s pickup truck pull up to the curb.
A van would be a better vehicle, but my bakery isn’t really a custom order-and-delivery type business…
yet. I suppose if I’m going to do more than this, I’ll need my license and a van.
I open the door to the shop, stick my arm out, and wave as my brother slams his pickup door and makes his way toward me. I have fifteen boxes of cupcakes ready for delivery.
“Do you think these will fit in the back seat?” I ask as he walks into the shop.
He looks around, taking it all in. He’s never been inside of the bakery before. He doesn’t speak or answer me immediately. Instead, he observes, then his gaze flicks to mine and he smirks.
“This is a cute place,” he murmurs.
“Thank you.”
He clears his throat, then reaches for a box. “Back seat, hopefully they won’t fall.”
“Maybe I should sit in the middle and hold them?”
Instead of verbally answering me, he jerks his chin, then turns toward the door and carries a box out to his pickup truck. I grab a box and follow him. It doesn’t take us long to load everything up, but I do need to sit between them because one quick brake check, and they’re going to go flying.
“Do you know where we’re going?” I ask.
He hums as he turns the truck engine and shifts it into Reverse. “You gave me the address,” he says, although he sounds a little pissed off, but I’m not sure if he’s mad or just impatient.
When he speeds down the street, I realize it’s impatience. I start to ask him why he’s driving so erratically but decide against it. If I say something, he’ll snap at me. I know him, so I don’t say a word.
Stetson moves through town, out of town, and then takes a couple of county roads on what appears to be someone’s driveway, but they aren’t. I’ve never been this far out of town in my life. The pine trees that surround us make for creepy-as-hell shadows as the sun begins to set.
The truck comes to a stop. I’m so turned around I have no idea where we even are.
I couldn’t find my way home at this point, even if I wanted to.
Stetson lowers his window, and I watch as a man dressed much like King walks up to it.
He doesn’t say anything immediately, then his gaze slides to mine in the back, and for whatever reason, his lips curve up into a grin.
“You the bakery girl?” he asks.
“I am. Here to deliver cupcakes,” I quip, giving him a big smile.
His grin turns into a smile, and he jerks his chin. “Straight ahead. Brick building. Knock on the door. Do not go anywhere else,” he says, his last sentence hard and harsh.