Chapter 34 #2
“And you have?” Prez asks, deceptively calm.
Doc shifts awkwardly in his seat. “Look, I don’t care about the girl. You can do what you want with her. But I need to have my son.”
Saint sits forward. “So, we kidnap your daughter, get the info we want out of her, and make her disappear. Permanently, so there’s no fallback on us.” I tense, wishing I could wipe the smirk off his face as he continues, “I mean, that’s what a real MC would do, isn’t it?”
Doc doesn’t look at all disturbed at the notion, confirming our thoughts that he wanted her out of the picture all along.
Prez suddenly launches himself over the table, making Doc rear back. “You know what I think? You’re trying to sell us a load of bullshit. Now start telling us the real reason you want Trip back, or I assure you, you’ll find out what a real MC does.”
Pulling at his cuffs once again, in what I now interpret as a nervous gesture, Doc blusters. “My son has issues. He needs to be at home.”
“Not good enough.” Prez bangs his fist on the table. He accompanies his action with the glare he’s famous for, and like most people subjected to it, Doc looks like he’s going to shit his pants.
Suddenly, Doc sits forward, holding out his hands, palms up as if surrendering.
He spares a glance for each of us before starting.
“Look, we can speak man-to-man, can’t we?
” Prez nods his head. I stay still as a statue.
“It’s not only your club I provide services to.
” He looks around, as though wondering how that statement is going to go down.
It takes everything in me to not show any reaction.
“And what other club are you helping out?” Prez asks, his tone deceptively gentle. Truth is, the six-figure sum that comes out of our coffers, into his pocket, should be more than enough.
“Small club, up north. The Mojave Devils.”
Saint nods and gives a smile that, if offered toward me, would send shivers down my back. But Doc obviously isn’t able to interpret it. “You get the same deal as you get from us? Dollars in your pocket?”
“Not exactly,” Doc admits. “Look, we’re all men. And sometimes we don’t get what we want at home.”
Of course, he doesn’t. Not now, Bronwyn has aged out of his age range. Fuck, Prez was right to take my weapons away. I wonder if Freak could get to me before I could hit him.
“Mojave Devils have girls on tap,” he continues. “I treat their injuries, and they provide me with everything I need. Much like how you use your club whores.”
Nothing fucking like it. Our girls aren’t forced. They don’t want to service us? We’re happy for them to walk.
“They’re into trafficking,” Prez states.
“Yeah, those girls are going to get it anyway, so what does it matter if I get in first?”
Like hell it doesn’t matter. But a warning look from Prez keeps my mouth shut.
“So how does Trip come into it?”
Doc shrugs. “Boy’s got no future. Can’t speak, can’t understand anything. But he’s cute to look at, and would make someone a good pet. You can’t blame me for making a deal with the Mojave Devils. Only thing is, I haven’t got him, and they want to collect.”
I’m halfway across the room before Freak grabs hold of me and yanks me back. Tempest puts himself in front of me and growls, “Get a hold of yourself.” Leaning in, he whispers, “Trust Prez.”
Doc’s half reared up on his chair, his ass out of his seat, and he’s balancing on his hands.
His eyes are wild until he notices the enforcer and the sergeant-at-arms have me under control.
Sitting down again, he snarls at Bullseye, “What the fuck is he doing here anyhow? He’s not an officer, and that’s who I thought I was meeting with. ”
Lazily, Prez regards him for a moment. “Thought you were here to find your kid. And Short, here…” He jerks his head toward me. “Might just have some information about where he is.”
“Tell me.” Doc snaps, this time moving out of his chair with purpose and not fear. “If you don’t, I’ll never treat your self-imposed injuries again. I’ll leave you to bleed out—”
Prez slams his hands down on the table, making Doc flinch. The rest of us don’t startle, too used to Bullseye’s ways. “You threatening one of my brothers ain’t gonna get you shit,” he warns in the voice that we’d take as a strong suggestion not to push him.
Doc, though, too full of his own importance, just continues digging his own grave. “You better make him start talking, Bullseye, or it won’t be just him I’ll refuse to treat.”
Prez stands, shoots me a look full of promise coupled with a silent plea to do what Tempest had suggested and trust him, then barks out, “Short. Lead Doc to the back barn, show him what we’ve got there.”
“You’ve got Trip on the property?” Doc’s eyes light up as he rubs his hands in glee.
Bullseye shrugs. “Kid like that, useless and loud? You think we’d keep him in the clubhouse?”
Doc’s eyes narrow. “So, why didn’t you start with that? Why all the farce about you not knowing where he is?”
Unfazed, Prez replies, “We wanted to get to the bottom of what you were going to do with him.”
His argument seems weak to me, but Doc, overeager to get his hands on his son, seems keener to get to him than to wonder what games the officers have been playing.
I do hear him mutter, “Stupid bikers, stupid fucking club,” under his breath before turning his eyes to me and demanding, “Well, what are you waiting for? Take me to him.”
Scowling, because what else can I do but keep up the charade I’ve almost blown by losing my temper, I ask, “What are the Mojave Devils offering for him? Perhaps we can make a better offer.”
Doc snorts. “You got the hots for him yourself? Or are you the soft one, Short? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’ve shook on a deal, and the MDMC is going to get what they’re paying for.”
The Mojave Devils have something on him, of that I’m certain. And just what that is, well, we’re soon going to find out when we get to the secluded barn at the back of our property.