Chapter 12
Mad Dog
My leg jiggles as I sit in my seat, waiting for Marx to open Church. We’re still waiting on Rhodie, which is new. Usually it's Fox and Nitro we have to worry about. Chewy’s voice bounces off the walls of the hall before she steps through the door, looking a lot fucking fresher than most new moms.
“Holy shit, what happened to him?” Savage mutters, gaze locked over Chewy’s shoulder.
My son steps into the room and now I understand why Chewy looks so fresh. “It’s like she ate his soul,” Gus whispers, not quiet enough.
“It’s not my fault that Rhodes is a hands-on father,” Chewy says, plopping her little ass into her seat, flipping open her laptop.
“Jesus brother, are you OK?” Tank asks, eyes wide.
“Yeah, Miles is a bit of a night owl. We’re good.” Rhodie says around a yawn. His large hand rests on Miles’ tiny back in the sling he has strapped to his chest.
“Right. Let’s get shit rolling.” Marx lifts his fist to hit the wall behind him then freezes when Rhodie hisses at him, deciding to knock politely instead.
“Thanks, Prez,” Rhodie says around another yawn.
“Yeah, yeah. Hiss at me one more time, I fucking dare you.”
Chewy grins before patting Rhodie on the head. “So, let’s begin before these mommy milkers explode.”
“Ugh, can you not call them that?” Gus says, looking horrified.
“It’s what I am and what they are, Gus.” Chewy says, tapping away at her keyboard.
“Nat used to call them that when Rosie was little.” Savage adds wistfully. “I kinda miss them.”
Jules jabs a finger in Savage’s direction. “We don’t need more kids.”
“He’s right. There’s already like 600 of them. And bobcats,” Pops adds as he swings in his seat.
“Can we just get on with shit?” Marx bitches and everyone settles down.
“So, for those of us who missed the ride to Roxburgh, can someone get us up to speed?”
“It’s still a shithole.” Savage snorts, “But, ain't no one living there. They’re using the warehouse though.”
“Like a depot?” Gus asks.
“Pretty much.”
I knock the table with my knuckles, “Willa’s ex -”
“The reason I’ve been in my house with fucking binoculars?” Switch whines.
“Stop being dramatic.” I roll my eyes. Since Willa agreed to letting the brothers keep an eye on her it’s been me and Niko watching out for her the past three days.
“Anyway, Willa’s ex is Quarter Mile MC, but guess what he did in his last MC?
” Everyone looks blank. “Logistics. Specifically picking up product, and dropping it off.”
“So,” Chewy begins, her brow furrowed, “Quarter Mile MC are using the old Death Riders compound to store stuff before it gets moved on.” She twirls her fake moustache. “What type of stuff?”
“Random stuff. Nothing of any value except the drugs.” I answer.
“They cooking it themselves?” Marx asks, leaning back in his chair.
I look to my brothers. “No cooking on site. No nothing on site except what’s in the warehouse.”
Gus raises his hand, “Hold up, last time you went there you saw members,” pointing to me and Rider.
“We saw five bikes parked, two rode in escorting a truck and we had an altercation with four of them.” Rider fills in.
“Lemme get this straight. You two personally saw six men, is that right?” Rhodie asks.
Rider and I look at each other before turning and nodding. “Yeah.”
“What are the chances,” Chewy starts off slowly, “that the Quarter Mile MC only have eight members?”
Eight?
Chewy looks around the room, bright eyed, waiting for the penny to drop and all us big, dumb men to figure it out. Which we don't.
Chewy rolls her eyes and huffs. “They’re a fairly new MC.
You said yourselves their set up is amateur.
The clubhouse is unused and you have only really seen a handful of them with your own eyes.
The fact they’re only using the warehouse makes me think they’re doing their own runs to either drop off product or pick it up. ”
“Yeah, but eight?”
“Two prospects, the two riders you saw with the truck, the other two patched members that come to rescue the big guy Rider had an altercation with and Diesel.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Tank grumbles.
“I know.” Chewy says, leaning over to press a kiss to Miles’ fuzzy head.
“OK. Well, this whole thing is a problem,” Marx rasps out. “We got Quarter Mile bringing shit into our town and we don’t know where the shit is coming from, where the shit is going to, and who the hell they work with.”
“Thompson,” Nitro says.
“Probably not,” Chewy replies.
All heads turn toward her and she shrugs. “We’ve been trying to find a connection between Thompson and Quarter Mile since they turned up, and we’ve got nothing.”
“That doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” Wire points out.
“No. But it doesn't mean there is one.” Dammit I hate when Chewy makes sense. “You know we could just ask Thompson tomorrow at the fundraiser.”
Shit. I was so caught up in Willa’s ex I totally forgot about the gala.The one Thompson supposedly attends every year.
“We agreed we aren't going, Babe,” Rhodie rasps, eyes on Miles and not on Chewy’s eye roll.
“Yes, yes but we can still help out with surveillance.” He gives her a look. “From the comfort of our own home. Maybe.”
“Chewy!”
Chewy opens her mouth but Marx raises a hand, stopping her. “Miles is five days old, you just look after your son, Chewy. We got this. We got Rose Grove’s finest looking out for us.”
Fox and Nitro nod. “Moss is coming along for surveillance and protection. We’re keeping the rest of the department out of the loop until we know who the hell we can trust.”
“Makes sense,” Tank mutters.
“Remember, this is a public event. There will be a shit ton of fancy fuckers there. We need to blend in enough that we can get as much information as we can. So,” Marx looks around the table, “I’m only going to say this once.
Not fucking fighting, no fucking scenes, and there will be no blood spilt. None.”
Marx stares at Pops across the table and the old coot has the gall to point to himself, with an innocent look on his face.
“Yes, you.”
“No need to tell me twice. Me and Debs will be on our best behaviour.” Pops crosses his heart before smiling innocently.
“And that goes for all of you and your Ol Ladies. I mean it. We ain’t a 1% club. We’re law abiding, upstanding citizens.”
“Whatever you say Prez,” Tav says, lips tipping up.
Marx gives us all the stink eye, before raising his fist, ready to beat the wall behind him but stopping when Miles squeaks.
“Dammit, kid,” he mutters, before tipping his chin and muttering, “Church dismissed.”
I slap his shoulder, giving it a squeeze before heading out. I got a woman to ask to the ball.
Willa
I stare at Mad Dog like he has lost his fool mind.
Maybe he has. The man knocked on my door at 9pm.
Who the hell makes a social call that late?
Only people with a death wish do things like that.
I’m in my pajamas, my feet are marinating in thick moisturiser and pedicure socks, and I have under eye stickies and pimple patches on.
He’s damned lucky I opened the door to be honest. Although, we are friends now, which means he gets to see this version of Willa, and not the primped and primed version he had before.
“So, lemme get this straight, that rich dick that sent all those damned mercenaries to Joy’s house is attending a fundraising gala for some charity called ‘Better Lives’ and the DRMC have somehow gotten tickets and you’re asking me to go as your date so you can scope out the place, all undercover like. Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Pretty much,” he says, dark eyes on mine. His gaze searches my face, hovering on all the shit stuck to it, and I expect him to laugh, not give me a soft smile.
“Doesn’t that count as a date? Which is weird given that we-” I my finger points between the two of us, “are friends.”
“Yes -” Mad Dog’s finger mimics what mine just did, “we are friends. And in our short friendship I have learned that you like good food, and even better if it’s free.
So, as my friend, would you like to accompany me to what will be a boring, schmoozy evening with insufferable rich people with free booze and food?
It’s for a good cause.” He raises that brow and I know that I’m going to cave.
Because he’s right. I love free fancy food.
Rolling my eyes I cross my arms over my chest. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m doing self care tonight.”
“Babe, you’d be the most beautiful woman there if you wore a garbage bag.”
“You’re too damn charming for your own good, Mad Dog.”
He winks at me, “But alas, not charming enough huh?” He turns on his heel, yelling over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow, babe.”
“Aye aye, captain!” I give him a lame salute and slowly close my front door only stopping when Mad Dog turns and stares up at me.
He stills for a beat, before a smile graces his handsome face. “I like the little star thing,” he indicates my pimple patch. “makes you look cute.” Then he turns and leaves as if what he said didn’t devastate me to my soul.
All my life I’ve been beautiful, sexy, hot, and numerous other words that mean nothing when a man says one thing but treats you like shit.
Somehow Mad Dog’s words hit me deep in my chest in a way I never expected.
The man looked at me when I’m feeling my least attractive, with shit all over my face, my lame ass pedi socks and cheeto stained pajamas and called me “cute”.
He looked past all the shit and saw…me. And now I don’t know what to do with that except try to shake off the feelings he’s stirred up.
Maybe I’ll try waxing my vag. Nothing gets your mind off a man more than a little pain.