Chapter Nine
Cass
Ihammer the throttle, flying down the dimly lit highway.
The only sign of light comes from the other motorcycles behind me.
Thoughts of my headstrong girl back home dance in my mind.
I’m trying to focus on what is to come but instead, all I can think about is Lilly getting herself into the middle of some dumb shit that’s about to go down.
I’m headed toward the clubhouse where my brothers wait for me with Micah and the rest of the Sinners and Saints behind me.
I’m not worried about winning this war because we have an ace in the hole that will help.
We have Ghost. Ghost is the best hitman on the damn continent, hence his name.
He can walk in anywhere, get the job done, and get out without ever being seen.
It doesn’t matter where it is, he’s never seen nor heard.
He’s the key to beating these fuckers once and for all.
Not only do we have Ghost in our corner, but there are members from multiple Hounds charters throughout the south.
Linc and another prospect are at the house along with Digger, two Sinners, two Saints, and Brock.
Brock doesn’t care to get his hands dirty anymore, says he did enough of that back when he was part of the cleanup crew in Oklahoma City.
It doesn’t bother me that he doesn’t want to be involved, if anyone understands, it’s me.
I’ve witnessed Brock back in his day since I grew up around him.
Hell, I called him Uncle up until I started prospecting.
Clayton will be ready at the clubhouse with the rest of the Hounds and as usual, he will take charge.
But I’m not sure I can hand the gavel over for this one.
This shit is personal. This is my charter.
My family. They targeted my ol’ lady and killed one of my brothers.
I’ve put an ear to the ground and got wind that the Moccasins have been recruiting hard.
They have more dealers under them now than they ever have, and the dealers have recruited these junkies to do their dirty work.
I haven’t heard anything on Asher, but that isn’t surprising.
He’s probably laying low. Fucking pussy.
Cowering like a little bitch at what he’d done.
My blood boils at the thought. He has Lilly convinced that he’s actually worth a fuck when he pretended to fucking be kind to her and that isn’t sitting well with me.
I don’t need her to have a soft spot for him thinking he’s a good guy when he’s in charge of the goons that are trying to kill any Hound or prospect they can get near.
While my mind was wondering, we cover a lot of ground and are nearing the clubhouse.
Rows upon rows of bikes are lined in front and along the side of the clubhouse, filling my heart with pride.
These men make me proud to call them brothers.
I park alongside the rest of the bikes, with Micah and the rest of the guys in tow.
Shit is about to get real. It’s showtime.
I enter the clubhouse with my head held high, ready to lead my club into the middle of chaos, but that is the shit they thrive on.
Inside, the clubhouse is filled with cuts from Oklahoma to North Carolina.
Hounds from all around are mingling, some getting to know the newer members while others are old friends chatting and catching up.
I walk to the center of the room and the noise and talk cease as each Hound, Sinner, and Saint give me their undivided attention.
“Thank you all for being here. Snapper has addresses and coordinates in our office and he will plan accordingly for each and every one of you. We will be sending some of you to look after the ol’ ladies and the rest will be hitting different compounds.”
I scan the room, gauging everyone’s reactions. They all seem okay with the terms. I sigh internally, grateful that they’re on board. A few of the guys make their way into the office to see what Snapper has planned for them while the rest remain at the bar and continue their conversations.
“Cass!” Micah calls after me.
I turn to see Micah approaching.
“Hey, do you want me to send the guys in there with Snapper too? I didn’t know if it was just a Hound thing or…” he trails off.
“Yeah, man. Hell yeah. Y’all are family and that’s why you showed up, isn’t it?”
“Fucking right that’s why we’re here. I’ll send them in.
” Micah grins and immediately returns to his guys.
They were all so willing to come stand behind my club because of him.
Not because of our name or the fact that we are well respected, but because I’ve built a relationship with the Sinners and they are standup fucking men, as well as brothers.
Once Micah and the Sinners are out of sight, I make my rounds, greeting everyone that showed up here on our behalf.
I’m seeing members that I’ve never met, and only heard of.
The Hounds out of Nashville are all older, around Clayton’s age, while the ones that came from Tampa Bay are barely in their mid-twenties.
There’s such a variety in age, yet everyone came together for their brothers.
Evidently, we all have one thing in common: Nobody fucks with a Hound.
I shake the hand of every single patch personally. In the midst of saying hello and thanking everyone, my sponsor from when I prospected catches my attention.
“Bear? Man, it’s good to see you,” I say, shaking his hand while half hugging him.
Bear stands tall, well over six feet, with a brown and grey beard that he keeps trimmed short. His dark blue eyes carry years of being a patched member in them and his voice is deep, but not just any deep, a Sam Elliott deep.
“You too, Caine. It’s been a long time. I see you ain’t done too bad down here, after all.” His booming voice is proud and the smile on his face mirrored that.
Bear hadn’t thought that me coming down to Louisiana was a good idea, so his approval, whether it’d been years since we’d seen one another or not, was important to me in a way.
When my mother passed, I lost a piece of who I was.
She was like the glue that held me together and when she was gone, it didn’t matter who I had in Oklahoma City.
I had lost that spark I’d always had. Didn’t have that fire burning behind my eyes anymore, the same fire I got straight from her.
Bear had even told me once that Mom took my fire with her when she went. Sometimes I think he’s right.
About a year after I left, Bear did too.
He went to the nationals and petitioned to be a Nomad.
Roaming without a charter. The only family he had was the Oklahoma City Hounds and he had grown tired of the constant headache of being around anyone after he spent the better half of twenty years with them.
Rumors flew around that Bear had been in love with my mom, but I’m not sure I believe that.
Bear was always respectful of Clayton and Adelaide’s relationship.
All of the men were. At least from what I had seen.
I’d heard stories of how Bear had disapproved at first and he and Mom didn’t get along well when she first came around after Uncle Wyatt’s death.
“Yeah, well. I had a great sponsor to teach me how to be a good brother, and an even better president.”
“I don’t know if I did much right when I was president, but from what I can see, son, you’re doing a damn good fucking job.”
“Thanks, Bear.”
I hug him one more time before I continue to make my way through the slowly dwindling crowd of patches.
I get the same basic response from the majority of those that are here.
They’re all here to support a brother because they hope, had it been them in my shoes, everyone would show up for them also.
When I’m done talking and thanking everyone, I grab a drink at the bar.
Shorty hands me whatever beer is closest to him which ends up being a Budweiser, my new favorite conveniently.
The cool beer quenches my thirst with ease, as it always does, and I take a moment to sit down and breathe.
I haven’t stopped all night, and this is just the beginning. We have a long fucking way to go.
Downing the rest of my beer, I set the can on the bar and head upstairs to my room while everyone is occupied downstairs. I have a few things tucked away inside my closet that we’ll need tonight, especially if Scott comes through with the information I need.
I lock the door and step into the closet.
Below the shelves and hanging racks near the floor, is a cut-out in the wall that can’t be seen if you don’t know what you’re looking for.
Behind that piece of sheetrock is a safe planted into the wall.
I press my code into it and it chimes, happily unlocking for me and revealing its contents.
A First Wave MIA is broken down inside, my most prized sniper rifle, also known as my other woman, Suzie.
One that I don’t let on that I still have.
As far as anyone knows, she’s been gone for years.
I could never part with her though and she’s a handy little thing to have access to.
Double-checking to make sure all of the pieces were still inside, I shut the safe. I’ll grab it later when I’m ready for it. For now, though, there are other things to handle. I unlock my phone and dial Linc’s number, putting him on speaker, and pacing around the room while I wait for an answer.
He doesn’t pick up, sending a panic coursing through my veins. I dial him again with no luck. I search through my contacts for Digger’s number and dial him next. It rings twice before he answers.
“Hey, what’s up man?” Digger asks.
“I tried calling Linc and he didn’t answer. I was just checking in. Everything cool on y’all’s end? How are the ladies?”