Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SHORT
We find Trixie flicking through books with Trip when we enter my room.
When the club girl leaves, after I profusely thank her for all the help she’s given me today, I steal an appropriate-in-front-of-our-son kiss from Bron, before telling her I’ll be back as soon as I can.
I’d already had the prospect set up a cot for Trip beside my bed, which will do him for now.
I’m happy to have my family together, even if it’s going to cramp my style with him sleeping beside us.
I return to the clubroom, certain Bullseye’s going to fill me in on the part of Doc’s confession I’d missed when I was outside the barn making phone calls. I’m right. He’s obviously been watching out for me, as he makes a beeline in my direction as soon as I appear.
“My office,” he tells me. Then, as we pass Saint, he shoots him a chin lift, which gets his VP following us.
Once inside, Bullseye reaches into the cupboard behind the desk and pulls out his whisky and three shot glasses. He proceeds to fill them all, then neglects to return the bottle to its home.
“I take it Doc had more to say?” I reach for my glass, taking an appreciative sip of the spirit, which is not the usual shit the bar serves, rolling the flavour around my mouth to savour the taste before swallowing.
Saint raises his shot toward me. “You missed the best fuckin’ part.”
I’m not even annoyed. I had far more important shit to do, like making sure my family was safe. I only breathed easy once they were back here, on the compound.
Bullseye sits forward, elbows on the table, and his hands clasped tightly.
“Freak got Doc spilling all about the Mojave Devils.” He looks up to meet my eyes.
“Short, it’s not good. The fuckers have been on a recruiting drive.
Their club has tripled in size since they sent those assholes to ambush you. ”
Christ, that ambush seems a lifetime ago now.
So much has happened since I was knocked off my bike.
It’s perverse to think that had they not injured me, I wouldn’t have had that tete-a-tete with Bronwyn, and she wouldn’t have come running to me when she needed help.
Frowning, I realise, had I not been in need of a nurse at that time, I might never have learned about Bron’s abuse, or maybe even the existence of her son.
Though I’d never go so far as to thank the MDMC for everything that had ensued, it’s a sobering thought.
Bullseye’s brow is raised as if my silence means I’m going to come up with some weighty comment. Instead, all I can think of is to ask, “Why?” Then I embellish it with another question. “Have they patched over another club to swell their ranks, or just taken on a fuckload of prospects?”
“The latter,” the VP replies, draining his glass and helping himself to the bottle to top his whisky off.
Bullseye gives a slow, deliberate nod. “They’re dragging men off the street.” He grimaces. “The kind of men we turn down. You know the sort, vets with PTSD who can’t get work due to rage issues, and assholes who think they’re owed the world.”
I bristle as he mentions veterans, who should be revered and honoured for all the shit they put up with in the name of serving this great country.
Instead, it drew them in, showed them shit no man should ever see, then churned them out with little or no support.
Men come back from wars changed and unrecognisable, and the worst thing?
Some of them don’t realise they need help.
Angry at the world that turned them into killing monsters, they just want an outlet for the skills in which they were trained.
Yeah, some of them would like to call an MC home.
We’ve certainly seen more than a few of them.
Some can be given purpose and turned around.
Some are just a lost cause. And of course, there’s the homegrown bully boys, who think they’re owed more than they’ve earned.
I, too, top off my whisky. The bottle knocks against the table as I replace it. “Fuck,” I breathe out, seeing by their nods both the prez and VP are already agreeing with what’s on my mind. “We’ve got loose cannons coming for us. If they’re vets, a lot of these men will be trained.”
“Or have street smarts from running with gangs. The worst of the worst.” Bullseye grimaces. “Only thing we’ve got going for us is they’ve not had a chance to learn each other’s skills and strengths.” He refills his glass once again.
“Unless we’re faced with men from the same unit.” Saint shrugs as we both turn to him. “We’ve got to be prepared for anything.”
“We…” Prez indicates himself and Saint. “Have already gone over this with Tempest and Freak. Thought we’d update you before bringing it to the table, as you were in on the bulk of Doc’s interrogation.”
Leaning my head back, thinking, I start speaking my thoughts aloud. “Worst-case scenario, they’ll likely have explosives experts, snipers, even. Definitely sharpshooters, and men versed in hand-to-hand combat.”
Saint takes over. “And even those not ex-military will have earned their stripes on the streets.”
Sitting forward again, I ask, “Surely they know it would be suicide to go up against the Kings?”
Prez shakes his head. “Apparently not.” He places his forearms on the table.
“We know the type of men who become prospects. They’re desperate for the patch.
Take ours. They cleaned up after Doc’s killing and delivered his body to Words.
Knight’s been spending days just sitting on his bike, watching for anyone suspicious to turn up at Bronwyn’s work.
” I nod, yeah, of course. “They do anything asked of them.” He pauses, then gets around to his point.
“What if we told them getting full membership was dependent on their attacking another club, and killing off all the members?”
My brow furrows, and I shake my head. “That’s what they’re promised? A patch?” Then I give my answer to his question. “Knight and Heathen would need to have a very good reason to launch an attack. We also want prospects who can think for themselves.”
Bullseye nods. “According to Doc, these ‘prospects’”… he waggles his fingers, showing he’s mentally put the words in inverted commas. “If they take us down, those who survive will be made full members without having to serve full prospecting time. Reason enough to agree to a suicide mission?”
I brush my hand back over my bandana. “Fuck, it could be.” I think over what he said. “Does that mean their fully patched members are staying out of the fighting? Hiding away in their ivory tower, watching shit go down? Fuckin’ coward bastards.” I spit on the ground.
Bullseye starts to respond, but is interrupted by a knock at the door. After being given permission, Freak pokes his head in. “Everyone’s in church,” he informs us.
Prez stands, and Saint and I flank him as he leads the way to our meeting room. He takes his seat at the head of the table, noticing everyone’s in their chairs, well, if you count Saint and me, who are in the process of sitting down.
He bangs the gavel, and all eyes shoot to him. As I watch his eyes harden, he says, “Brothers, you know I’ve called for a lockdown. Some of you know why, some are short on the details, but here’s where you’re going to get all the answers you need.”
I notice he’s carefully picking his words as he didn’t say the ones they want. No one’s going to be happy to hear we’re heading into a war.
“Doc’s dead,” he announces. I study the reactions.
Freak and Tempest know, of course, as does Words, who disposed of the body.
No one else seems surprised. From their reactions to Bron in the clubroom, the word’s spread like wildfire.
“It’s common knowledge what he did to Bronwyn, so no need to rehash that.
It seems, though, that the Mojave Devils approached him after finding out from Griz the services he provided to us.
They lured him in, but not with money. No, they did it with a steady supply of young girls, provided courtesy of their trafficking business.
They also persuaded him to spy on our club and provide all the details he knew to them. ”
Rattler kicks back his chair, places a foot on the table, and folds his arms. He looks unworried. “Couldn’t be much more than Griz had already told them.”
“No?” Prez’s eyes zoom in on him. “You want to think about that for a moment, Rat? You want to consider all the upgrades we’ve done to fix the holes in our security that Griz knew about? All our new cameras? The new security system Genie installed?”
“With Pippa’s help.” Genie glances at Saint and is rewarded by a chin lift as the VP appreciates credit being given where it’s due.
Rattler shakes his head. “Doc wouldn’t know shit about that.”
“You want to bet your life on it?” Prez hasn’t flinched in his gaze, which is still firmly fixed on Rattler. “Doc was an uptight asshole, but he came here numerous times. Who knows what he picked up when brothers were talking around him? Or what he could see with his own eyes?”
“We’ve got new protocols,” Woody points out.
Prez shifts his attention to him and gives him a nod. “That we have, but park that for a moment. We’ve also not expanded our ranks and are still down to just two prospects.”
“Because we’ve been too fuckin’ suspicious after Griz infiltrated our club.” Rattler rolls his eyes.
“I can’t see how Doc could have made our position much worse. Griz must have told the Mojave Devils everything about us they’d want to know.” Paint leans back in his chair. “So, what’s the reason for the lockdown?”