Chapter 6
Chapter Six
If his not showing up wouldn’t have gotten him shit from the brothers, Vicious wouldn’t be at the party. One of the support clubs was hosting it, making a big show of being affiliated with the Royal Bastards. Vicious firmly believed you had to earn your cred, and cred wasn’t earned by hosting parties. It was earned by backing the club on the streets. He barely tolerated shit like this.
As usual, Player and Joker sat down at his table, flanking him. That was another thing getting on his nerves. Since he’d been promoted to VP, the two men hadn’t left him alone. Both had been moved into new positions. Player went from enforcer to Tail Gunner, and Joker went from enforcer to Road Captain. Evidently, they hadn’t gotten the memo.
When that shift happened, Jagger and Cage had been put in as their replacements as enforcers for the chapter. No one saw it coming when Teller arrived with Blackjack and Havelock, the chapter’s other new enforcers. They had never had four enforcers before, and as VP, Vicious didn’t see the need for four now, but it wasn’t his call.
With all the changes, Vicious was impressed there hadn’t been any fallings out. At least no more than what could be settled with a couple punches and a bottle of whisky. The only two who couldn’t get on the same page were him and the new President. Thinking about the new man in charge, Vicious glanced around the area.
He spotted Teller talking to the support club’s President. He was flanked by Double Tap and Road Rage, the chapter’s two Sergeants at Arms. Blackjack and Havelock lingered off to the side, keeping eyes on Teller. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds to warm the day. The area was quiet for a Saturday, making it easier to keep things lowkey.
Vicious took his responsibility seriously and stayed vigilant when the club was out on runs and at parties. From the hangarounds all the way to Teller, he made sure things went smoothly. Seeing Aries, Tank, and Stretch standing by the bikes, he thought the trio would make solid club members.
As prospects, their jobs were to watch the bikes, run errands, and all around be there when called. With so many different types of riders there, they put all three men on parking lot duty. They could come to the celebration, but they couldn’t partake.
Vicious sat listening to the conversation between Player and Joker as they gave one another hell over beer, broads, and bikes. The three Bs, on most days, were the root of all evil, especially when they came between brothers .
The patch on their backs kept people away from them. He didn’t mind the looks. It was always the same, judged by their colours and clothes. Were they outlaws? Yes. But in between the illegal shit they did, they also did good things. They helped reboot an old medical clinic in the area, keeping the doctor and his staff employed. Razor was part of that deal, bringing in another level of care for the patients. The club also owned a strip club, pool hall, and a cabaret. Those had been collateral for loans, and when the owners couldn’t pay their debt, the club took ownership of the businesses.
The chapter had helped rebuild an older neighbourhood for the elderly. They donated to widows’ and orphans’ organizations. That was a big one for Vicious. Being orphaned as a child, he had a soft spot for kids like him, though he kept that information locked down. Jameson told him more than once to keep anything about himself to himself. Information is a weakness, and people will use what they learn against you. That was always his point of view.
Vicious, did you hear me?” Joker asked, annoyed the brother was ignoring the conversation.
“Nah, man, sorry. What’s up?” Vicious scanned the area for anything suspicious.
“Did you call Zombie about keeping an eye out for those cars?” Joker picked up his beer, taking a pull on the cold brew.
Vicious glanced over at his Road Captain. “Yeah, I ran it by him. He’s puttin’ Croon on it. Told them we’re looking for a ‘65 Satellite or a ‘69 Road Runner. ”
Joker nodded. He appreciated the hell out of his VP calling another chapter on his behalf. “I’m hoping they can get me a lead on one or the other.”
“What do you need with an older model Plymouth, Joker?” It didn’t matter, but Vicious was curious.
“I love rebuilding old cars. My old man had a Road Runner, and that car could run. I always wanted one like his. I’m in a good place right now, so I figured it’s time.”
“Well, if anyone can find you one, it’ll be the brothers in Provo,” Vicious told Joker.
“Player, what’s up with you?” The man had a sour look on his face. His focus seemed to be on Joker. There was no telling what Joker had done to put Player in a mood. Still, there was an undertone that was simmering below the surface like an unerupted volcano buying its time.
“I’m good. Just lost in thought,” Player replied. When Joker looked at him from beneath hooded eyes, Player adverted his stare.
Vicious took a pull from his beer bottle, leaving Player to figure his shit out, when the sound of glass breaking caught his attention. Across the courtyard sat a table full of wannabe badasses wearing their riding club’s cuts. They looked like fools with their brand-new leather vests and designer jeans. From their perfect yuppie haircuts to their fashionable designer boots, they were nothing but weekend warriors.
One of the wannabes pulled a girl into his lap, causing another glass to topple over. The waitress looked pissed and ready to throw them out. Vicious smirked, wondering which one of the assholes would show his ass first .
Why they had the party at a local bar and not a clubhouse, he had no idea.
They’d had trouble the night before with the Bloody Scorpions. Vicious had his suspicions on the guys who had been the problem, but the trio didn’t appear to be the norm for the Bloody Scorpions. Screeching tires brought his attention to the street, and his hand went straight to his gun at his back.
Vicious watched as a truck door flew open, and one pissed-off female hopped out. Even in the non-descript clothing, he could see her curves. Great rack, nice hips, and talk about an ass. Damn! Even with him appreciating her shape, he kept his eyes on her as his hand slid over his Glock. You didn’t roll up to a party like this one if you weren’t looking for trouble. It didn’t take more than a minute for everyone to be on alert.
Watching the female move across the open courtyard, he saw when she spotted her target and beelined toward a hangaround for the support club. Vicious saw a flash of brass as her hand dropped to her side. The hangaround was a guy named Jerome Michel. When he turned and saw the female in front of him, the look on the guy’s face said it all. He deserved whatever was about to befall him. The first swing knocked him sideways as blood spewed from his mouth from the brass knuckles slamming into his face.
Vicious watched as she kicked him. No one moved to help the guy. Shoving back his chair, Vicious got up and headed for the female as she stomped his ass with the heel of her boot. Jerome knocked her foot away as he tried getting to his feet .
“I know you caused my brother’s death, Jerome. You should’ve been the one in that fucking hospital room fighting for your damn life, not him.” Sway spit in the guy’s face. “You should be dead, not Tesh.” Stepping back, she looked around, almost daring anyone to come at her.
“I want to know who killed my brother!” she yelled at him.
“The way I heard it, you unplugged him.” Jerome laughed as he spit blood on the ground.
Rearing her fist back, she was ready to pound on him. Sway didn’t get to hit him again before strong hands yanked her back. Spinning around, she looked into eyes the colour of green moss. Green like the fake stuff you bought at the craft store, not the grey, dried shit that hung in trees. He was a tall man, which said a lot because she was tall herself. Five-ten, to be exact. He had to be six-two, six-three. Next to him, she felt short. His short, dark-blonde hair was contrasting to his olive complexion. He looked to be in his late thirties. Nothing wrong with an older man.
Scanning his face, Sway let her eyes rake over his body. Leather covered his long, thick legs. The dark blue, long-sleeved Henley showed off a set of wide shoulders and a broad chest. Her eyes darted back to his face. She knew him. He was the man that helped her at the hospital.
Searching his face for any recognition on his part, she scanned the leather vest he wore. It had patches in various places. The one on the left chest read ‘Vicious’. She wondered if that was his name or his disposition. Gold and silver rings caught her attention as he clenched his fists. She saw the gun tucked in his waistband. This wasn’t the saviour she thought he was. She should’ve been scared, but she wasn’t. And even if she were, this asshole would never know. Tightening her fingers around the brass knuckles, Sway slid one foot back, ready for a fight.
“This has nothing to do with you,” she told him as her heart rapidly beat in her chest and her stomach tightened into knots. Coming there had been an impetuous act. No doubt, one that was about to bite her in her big ass.
Vicious saw she was ready to defend herself if he made a threatening move. Damn if he didn’t find that sexy. Problem was, she didn’t have the look that said she could back it up. Then it hit him—he recognized her and knew she recognized him. The young woman from the hospital parking lot. What the hell was she doing there attacking someone? Did she have a fucking death wish?
“Do you know who I am? What I am?” he asked her flatly.
“I don’t give a shit who or what you are.” Sway decided a fight with this man wasn’t what she came for. Her business was finished . . . for now. Stepping to the side, she went to walk past him, but his hand snaked out, grabbing her arm. Glancing down at the offending hand, she’d hate to hit him in the face. She liked older men, and the fact he had helped her once had her wishing they’d met under different circumstances.
“You stepped into a Royal Bastards party, sweetheart.”
Sway knew who they were as her brother had been friends with them. Still, she didn’t care. For all she knew, they had something to do with Tesh’s death.
Light, fluffy snowflakes dusted across her field of vision. Normally, she loved snow, but not this season. All it reminded her of was that dreadful night two weeks back. It had taken her a week to settle things at the shop and find where Jerome slithered. In two days, she was burying her brother. Sway thought she had gotten past the idea Jerome set Tesh up until the funeral home had called. They’d informed her the weather was warm enough to have the service, and everything had slammed into her and all she could think about was making someone pay. Jerome had used Tesh, and he needed to pay. “Let go of me.”
“Or what?”
“You’ll end up like your friend.” Her words were laced with venom as she stared at the man.
Damn, he loved a feisty female. “He’s not my friend.” Vicious looked over at the hangaround dragging his ass off the floor. “What did he do to you?” If he raped her, Vicious would make him pay. There were too many willing women to rape one.
“None of your business.” Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw the asshole getting up. She went to turn back toward him when she was stopped. Staring at mister handsome, she waited for him to speak. When he didn’t, she yanked her arm free, surprised he let go of her.
“You need to leave. And do not come back here,” Vicious told the female. He hated sending her away, but if she stayed, there would be a hell of a lot of trouble. Just looking at her was trouble for him. She was gorgeous, feisty as hell, and way too young for him. She stared at him with anger and hurt swimming in her eyes. They were that deep grey, the colour of a winter sky when the sun disappeared behind the clouds. He could see whisps of raven-coloured hair as it slipped from beneath the beanie she wore .
Her lips were full and pouty. He loved the flush of pink in her cheeks and her pursed lips. He wondered if her nipples matched the colour of those taunting lips.
Cocking a look at her, he slid his card into her hand and waited to see if she’d keep it or throw it back at him. “If he bothers you, call me.”
“I don’t need you to have my back. I got that covered.” But she didn’t. Her parents were long gone, and now, Tesh was dead. She had one friend, and there was no way she’d drag Lottie into this shitshow. At least no more than she already had.
“Maybe it’s not your back I’m interested in covering.” Vicious cut her a smile as he dropped her arm. She didn’t give an inch. Instead, she turned, and with one last look at Jerome Michel, she walked away.
Watching her move quickly toward the truck, he appreciated the way her long legs rose up to meet her full hips and tight, heart-shaped ass. Damn if she wasn’t a female he could get lost in for a day or two.
As she pulled out of the parking lot, Vicious turned back around. He saw a few independent riders helping the guy up. The asshole just pushed them away as he dusted himself off. To the side, Vicious saw Dawson Franks and a couple of his fighters step out of the bar. Dawson nodded at the guy, then turned and walked back inside.
Something told Vicious there was more to the story. Heading for the guy, he was grabbed by Player. “It’s not your deal, brother. Leave it alone,” Player said.
Player was right—he didn’t need any extra drama in his life. Heading back to the table, he rejoined Player and Joker. To his surprise, Teller had taken up residence at the table as well, no doubt watching the play-by-play.
Snow started falling a little heavier. Looking out over the area, Vicious noticed the clouds were dark grey and appeared heavy, no doubt with more of the white fluffy stuff. The roads would be turning to shit within the hour. For him, the party was over.
Teller pointed to the empty chair.
“I was about to head out,” Vicious told the three men as he pulled the chair out and sat down. Teller stayed quiet as he took a sip of his drink. Vicious glanced around, catching sight of the hangaround who had gotten his ass beat by a girl. He was headed across the parking lot on his phone.
Vicious listened to Player and Joker bickering like some old married couple. Maybe the new positions were too much for them. He’d mull that over and get back around to it in the next few days.
Kicking back in his chair, he tapped his fingers against his thigh, his mind on the hellcat who had handed out that ass whipping. “Teller, you got something on your mind?”
“The Bloody Scorpions. They’re hitting us, but not hard. I think it’s time we explained things to them.” Teller looked up as the waitress set a round of drinks on the table. “Thanks, but we didn’t order these,” Teller told her. Across the way, the President of the support club lifted his glass at him. Giving the man a nod, Teller waved the waitress off.
He watched as the girl walked away. “I’m thinking they’re testing us, seeing how many of us will show at a location.” The Bloody Scorpions were a street gang. An organized group of thugs and vandals. They had their hands in a lot of pots. Small pots, but still, they were in them. It was all about territory for the street gangs. But Montreal was under the control of the Royal Bastards, and soon, they would have to send a very serious message to the Scorpions. If they wanted to exist in the area, they would have to understand they weren’t in charge.
“You think they’re trying to spread us thin so they can break us?” Player asked.
That was exactly what Teller was thinking. If he was leading the charge trying to take out a club, that would be his strategy. Hit them at different locations and sit back and watch. Track who’s where and which ones were the weak links. Like in the jungle, only the predators survived. If the Royal Bastards wanted to keep Montreal, they needed to make sure they were at the top of the food chain.
“Last night, the attack on the strip club was weak shit,” Teller said as Vicious stared into the amber liquor in his glass.
Vicious would agree with that. If you were gonna hit a place hard, you didn’t send low-ranking members. You sent enforcers, heavy hitters. They had hassled the customers and knocked around some of the girls, but they had run at the first sight of him and Player coming in from the back. Two against four, the odds had been in their favour. So, why run?
“If any of you think I’m off the mark, say so,” Teller stated.
Vicious dropped his chair back down. Looking around, he made sure who was around before speaking. “No, something doesn’t add up about it.” Picking up his beer, Vicious tipped it back. As he did so, he saw Dawson talking to the guy who had been attacked. “I’m gonna throw something out that might seem off the mark. Just hear me out before you shut it down.”
Teller looked at Vicious. The brother had been with the Royal Bastards a long time, and Jameson had told him that Vicious was one he could trust with his life. Teller couldn’t say that about many people, but if Jameson said it was so, he’d trust the brother’s word until he couldn’t. “I’m listening.”
“What if . . .” Vicious held up a hand when Joker tried interjecting. “What if it’s not the Scorpions attacking us? Let’s say it’s someone else behind the strikes and they want us to think it’s the Scorpions.” He watched as Teller and the others mulled it over.
“You said it yourself, Teller. The attack on the strip club was weak. It was just enough to stir us up, but not enough for an all-out battle. Each time they hit us, it’s small and awkward. Almost like the ones doing the strike aren’t sure about what they’re doing.”
“You could be on to something. The question is, who would want to stir shit up?” Teller took a swig of his beer as the others thought the question over.
“Someone who wants to run Montreal,” Joker interjected.
“That doesn’t narrow it down, Joker.” Vicious waited for Teller to weigh in.
Teller tipped his beer toward Joker. “No, but it gives us food for thought. ”
Yes, it did , Vicious thought. They’d have to give that idea some thought. What was the likelihood a third party was stirring the pot between them and the Bloody Scorpions?