Chapter Four #2
Someone is messing in Blackhawk Disciples business. For now, it’s nothing too serious, but it has the potential to go bad. I need to stop it before it does. So far, we’ve struggled to figure out who is undermining us.
They’re starting out small, but they’ve approached one of our business partners to offer them a better deal.
What my buyer doesn’t realize is, the cut in prices is for a reason. It will eventually bite them in the ass. Either with subpar product, or bad protection. Rather than try to convince them I’m right, I’m going after the assholes trying to take business from me.
Closing my eyes I take a few moments to center myself.
Stryker is the club’s Reaper. He will have been the one to run Dutton up to the Farm last night. He’s quiet, keeps to himself, doesn’t ask many questions. Fuck knows what he wants.
I check my phone and go to the chat with Phoenix. He’s still left me on read. Fuck, that has got to change, and soon.
A text comes in before I can put the phone away. It’s Jesse, letting me know his car has been fixed and is in the parking lot at the clinic.
Jesse:
If you want to keep your identity a secret you better not send someone in a cut
Nero:
Don’t be a little bitch, it doesn’t suit you
Jesse:
Just following the rules
Nero:
How is he?
Jesse:
Changing the subject. Now who’s the bitch…
Jesse:
He’s fine
He won’t say anything more. Even though our phones are encrypted, thanks to Blaze my tech guy, we never discuss Oscar by name. I don’t know what I would do without him helping me out right now.
Part of me wants to text back telling him we need a serious talk. I mean, he’s the CEO of an international finance company, and he’s hanging out with a two-year-old.
Whether he wants to hear it or not, I’m still worried about this latest visit to the diabetes clinic.
One thing is for sure, he’s right about not showing up there with a huge identifier as to who we are.
I can send a Prospect. It’s what I should do…
Nero:
I’ll sort it
From the buzzing I know he’s replied and sent another two texts for good measure. I ignore them all and head downstairs. Stryker is leaning against the wall in the rec area next to the TV that is almost as large as the wall it’s hanging on.
I don’t know how Blaze got it, and I don’t want to know but it entertains the guys and keeps things quiet here. They want to get rowdy, they go to the bar next door. I lift my chin at Stryker and head for the door. He follows me without a word, or even a microscopic change in his facial structure.
Rebel is leaning over his sister talking quietly. He spots me heading out, but I wave it off. Raven gives me a look that makes her brother bitch at her until she looks away. I’d never go there. Raven is beautiful, with her dark hair and eyes, but she is trouble I can do without.
Hell, the one and only time I messed around with one of the guy’s sisters, I got her pregnant.
She said it was a faulty condom. It wasn’t a way to control me or get something from me. It was a genuine mistake on both our parts, one with lifelong repercussions forcing us to remain attached.
Sheridan doesn’t want anything from me. She only wants what Oscar is rightfully owed, a dad, and financial support.
“We need a cage,” I tell Stryker. “I’ve got to do a pickup.”
Stryker nods. He’s a quiet guy, keeps to himself mostly.
Except when he’s fighting. He’s been making his way up the ranks in an underground statewide cage fighting circuit.
He’s good enough to go professional and is a star attraction when he does fight, but he will never do it.
To him, the fighting is a release, a way to pass time and get out all the rage bottled up inside of him.
I’m not worried he’s going to leave the club anytime soon. Stryker is as loyal as they come. I’m only mildly concerned he wants to talk. He disappears back inside to find the keys to one of the cars we keep around when taking the bikes isn’t possible.
When he comes back, we head to the warehouse next to the bar and get into a black soft top jeep that officially belongs to Beast. We share all the cages, the name we give cars amongst the MC, because that is exactly what it feels like when you’re riding around in one, instead of on a bike.
The clinic isn’t too far from my house in Fairmount, but it takes about twenty minutes to get there from the clubhouse. Plenty of time for Stryker to tell me why he needed to talk. I let him get to it in his own time, my mind occupied with my own thoughts.
What exactly am I doing? Taylor isn’t going to be thrilled to see me.
That kind of makes me feel better about doing this.
She’s a firecracker for sure. Not even my most menacing glare or my shitty behavior stopped her from speaking her mind and calling me out.
It was in defense of Jesse, so I can let it pass. Maybe.
We’re halfway there when Stryker finally speaks.
“At my fight last night, got talking to one of the other fighters. He was pissed because he found out his opponent threw the match for some guy betting on the fight.”
“That’s fucked up,” I shake my head.
Not because I don’t believe him, but because throwing a fight is a bullshit move. Stryker takes it seriously and cheating doesn’t sit right with him. From the sound of it, the other guy didn’t appreciate it either, even though he won because of it.
“This what you need to talk to me about, you want to do something about the betting situation?”
“No, I’ve got that shit handled. It’s what he overheard about who wanted him to take the deal. And who came to him and made it.”
We come to a set of lights and Stryker slows to a stop.
“It took everything I had not to go find him and rip his head off. It’s not my place to make that choice without your say so.”
The clinic is across the intersection. Jesse’s car is sitting in the lot waiting for me to pick it up. He looks over toward the clinic too, I had to tell him the destination given he was driving.
This isn’t the place to hear what Stryker has to say. I need to hear it, regardless.
“Who?” I ask, my jaw clenched as I stare through the windshield.
“Chains.”
For half a second, I consider putting a fist through the glove compartment, but I reign myself in and don’t take my eyes off Jesse’s clinic.
“And the person he is working for?”
“Storm.”
For a man of so few words, everything he said is pretty fucking impactful. Storm is an ex-Disciple who was stripped of his patch. There is a whole lot of history there but he’s remained quiet this long, I figured there was no animosity.
Now it’s all starting to make sense. And I didn’t even need Ray Dutton to get me there.
“What do you want me to do?” Stryker asks. The light turns green.
“Pull into the lot,” I say, jaw tight. “You told anyone else?”
Stryker shakes his head as he turns into the lot as I asked.
“Keep it that way. For now.”
He nods, not happy, but he’ll do as he’s told. There are many reasons why this pisses him off and I’m glad to see he feels that way, and has brought this to me. His loyalty is to the patch, not blood.
“And my cousin?” He turns to me as he pulls the car to a stop. His eyes are flashing dangerously. It’s the way he looks right before he enters the ring. Like he’s ready to tear his opponent apart.
“I’ll figure that out.”
Stryker nods. He’s done with talking. Fuck. One of our own is working with an ex-member. And I’m not sure how deep it runs.
I get out of the car but keep the door open as I slip off my cut. Stryker’s eyes widen. That is more animated than he was during his confession his family member may be a rat. He watches me fold it and set it on the seat.
“Take that to my house, leave it with Jesse.”
Another head nod, his Adam apple bobs as he swallows.
It should be funny, that me taking off my cut affects him so badly.
But I see something else in the way he’s looking at me.
Honor. That I’m trusting him with this. Stryker knows having a family member screw over the club could see his standing tarnished.
Me doing this, gives him validation of his place.
It’s all so fucking messed up. I feel naked as hell without it as Stryker drives away to carry out my order. I fire a text to Jesse letting him know something is being dropped off, then look up at the clinic.
My eyes are immediately drawn to the woman standing by the entrance.
She is sweeping her hair away from her neck, her face momentarily tipped towards the sunlight.
No longer in her scrubs, she’s changed into a pair of tight, high-waisted jeans and a blue short-sleeved shirt which is tucked in at the waist.
Fuck me.
Yeah, that is probably not what she is going to want to hear coming out of my mouth. Which is watering as I take her in. The scrubs hid a lot. Damn, those tits would look so much better with my inked hands wrapped around them.
She starts walking, tossing a large bag over her shoulder but her steps falter when she sees me. Her lips part slightly and even though we’re standing far apart from one another, I sense the intake of breath as she comes to a stop.
We stare at each other, and I fight the urge to smirk. She has no such compunction. Her face morphs into an angry scowl, her lips are full and the color of ripe, juicy cherries. Wonder if that is what she tastes like too?
Yeah, despite the shit storm brewing within the Disciples, that scowl on her gorgeous face is all I can fucking see right now.