Chapter 37 #2
“Doc was a fuckin’ traitor. Seems no one could trust him.
He not only told them about us, but also us about them.
” Prez pauses a beat to look around the table.
“They’re planning an all-out attack on us.
They want to take over our compound and start up another chapter so they can run their trafficking closer to the border.
Brothers, they’re not just coming to cause us damage.
They’re coming to annihilate everyone and anything in the club. ”
There’s uproar around the table. When it calms down, Piston looks up from the notes he’d been taking. “We’ll be ready for them. They’ve not got more manpower than us.”
Freak jumps in without giving Prez the chance to address the secretary’s comment.
“They’ve been growing their ranks. Taking on anyone and anybody who might want to join their club with the promise that when they take us out, they’ll be patched in without prospecting. And when I say anybody, I mean it.”
For a moment, there’s stunned silence, then Stalker blurts out, “Then they won’t be a match for us. They won’t be a cohesive unit.”
“Some of them will be vets with an axe to grind,” Saint tells us. “Probably too kooky to be considered as Kings, but the MDMC doesn’t care who they take on. And some of their latent skills can’t be fuckin’ underestimated.”
“When’s this attack coming?” Words asks in his level, measured tone.
“Doc didn’t know when. But from what he was saying, my guess is it could be imminent.” After Prez’s comment, the room goes quiet.
“Fuck,” Paint exclaims. “I suppose we don’t know exact numbers?”
Tempest shakes his head. “What we’ve got to start thinking about is our weak points, where they could hit us, and make sure our defences are firm.”
Paint raises his hand, and this time he doesn’t look like he’s on firm ground. “We’ve called everyone in. My sister and niece are here. Wouldn’t they have been better kept away from the compound?”
“Griz know about them?”
“Fuck.” This time, the word is hissed out through Paint’s gritted teeth. “He was with me when I dropped in one day.”
I decide it’s time for me to speak up. “Mojave Devils have got an interest in my boy, and we know they’ve been charged with taking out Bronwyn. My take is they’re safer here on the compound, where we’ll fuckin’ die to keep both them and everyone’s families safe.”
Prez raises his chin in my direction. “I stand with Short. I need all brothers and prospects here, not spread around protecting houses off the compound.” His steely gaze moves around the table, encapsulating everyone. “United we stand, divided we fall.”
“Understand but don’t fuckin’ like it, Prez,” Paint states. Words jerks his chin, as he’s also brought family in.
I share their concern, but I’d rather have Bronwyn and Trip with me, where I can protect them.
Especially if Doc was right, and one or more of our enemies is already in town.
Our house could already be compromised. Yes, they’re better off here.
Suddenly, memories of last night come to my mind.
It’s hard to forget Bronwyn being so soft and trusting as we consummated our relationship.
I want more time to explore her, to feel her under me again, and to begin this life we’re starting together.
I’ll be fucked if I let the MDMC take that away from us.
“Can we call in reinforcements from other chapters?” Stalker asks.
Prez nods. “I’ve already got calls out to them, but we’ve got to work on the premise that the Mojave Devils might already be on their way to us.
Bigfoot has agreed to offer help.” As he mentions the New Mexico prez, he brushes his hair back from his face.
“He’s already had his own brush with the MDMC’s new recruits.
The scum of the fuckin’ earth is what he called them. ”
“But they won?” Rattler asks.
“Was there any fuckin’ doubt?” Prez roars. “And I’m not thinking we’re going to lose either, but we need to be prepared. One casualty is more than I want to end up with. So, we’re here to plan.”
Tempest sits up straight and launches into a report. “All brothers have their sidearms, but I want rifles issued to everyone. Woody, you’ll have your sniper rifle—”
“Rattler’s not bad at long-range shots,” Woody reminds us.
Said brother preens, and everyone ignores him.
“Hey,” Winchester speaks for the first time. “I run the fuckin’ shooting range. Don’t underestimate my accuracy.”
Tempest raises his chin toward him, while Piston scribbles that down. All the while, Bullseye sits, listening with a smirk. There’s a reason he earned that road name, and it’s not because he can’t hit a target. But as we all take it for granted, nobody points it out.
“Hopefully, we can avoid close combat, but we’ve all got to have knives at hand. Especially you, Stalk.” Tempest remarks.
Stalker salutes the sergeant-at-arms. He demonstrates his throwing skills as party tricks, and his accuracy is pretty impressive.
Tempest continues, “We’ve got grenades, enough to take quite a few of the attackers out. And, the enforcer here can make up some booby traps if he’s got time.”
“I can run trip wires at any weak spots in our boundaries,” Freak states. “Already been talking to Genie about areas where we are blind.”
The brothers are all in, and suggestions and offers of services abound.
Me? I’m handy enough with a shotgun, automatic rifle, or almost any weapon handed to me.
I won’t hesitate to take any of these fuckers down.
And if any get close enough to me, I’m big enough and skilled in street fighting to relish the thought of using my fists.
We discuss lookouts and where we should all be positioned.
Paint, who’s obviously been thinking about his sister and niece, wonders aloud whether the non-combatants should be housed in the bunkhouse, but his idea is quickly shot down.
Although it might be a pain to rebuild it, protecting the bunkhouse as well as the clubhouse would spread us too thin. It’s lives that matter, not buildings.
So, it’s decided, starting tonight, everyone stays in the main building, which is going to be one hell of a squeeze. And won’t be without its complaints.
Piston takes point, jotting down ideas of who’s going to be bunking with who, seeing as it’s only the top officers and me who have rooms in the clubhouse.
Saint leads the charge in making sacrifices, offering to let Paint’s sister and niece stay in their room with Pippa and him.
With his sacrifice, others offer to share too.
There’s a brief spurt of laughter when Tempest suggests he’ll share his bed with Trixie and the rest of the club girls, too.
There follows the obvious comment, he’ll have no energy left to fight if they take him up on his offer, oh, and more than a few nudges and winks too.
Ace will obviously share with Freak, but when that comes up, Freak seems undecided. “I’m thinking of having Ace go stay with his grandmother. He lives with her most of the time anyway.”
“Surprised you haven’t brought her in,” Words comments.
Freak barks. “You wouldn’t be if you met her.
Her house is sealed tight like Fort Knox.
She sleeps with a shotgun beside her. And if the cops ever raided her house, they’d find enough hidden guns to supply an arsenal.
” He considers for a moment, then shrugs.
“Kid’s here, so that’s where he’ll stay tonight.
Tomorrow, I’ll take him to stay with my mom. ”
After that, it’s decided that the rest of the brothers exiled from the bunkhouse and the prospects will bunk down in the clubroom, unless they’re on surveillance. A rota for that soon gets sorted out as well.
“What about the girls?” Tempest asks. “Seeing as you don’t want them to stay with me.”
“You can have my old ma,” Words puts forward with a grin.
Fuck, we forgot about her. Tempest sighs deeply. “Alright, it’s not like I haven’t slept rough before. I’ll grab a sleeping bag and stay in the clubhouse. Words’ ma and Paint’s girls can take over my room.”
Once everyone knows where they’ll be sleeping, and we’ve got the solid basis of a plan sorted out and agreed, Prez brings church to an end by banging the gavel. Then, after looking earnestly around, he states loudly, “Nobody fucks with the Kings.”
It’s a sentiment and battle cry that erupts around the room.