Chapter Three
Skip
“Everything’s set and ready to go,” I inform Spike, the Iron Shadows’ president. “We’re now the official owners of The Rusty Wrench.”
“We’re changing that name, right?” Tank asks, one brow lifted.
“Hey, since I’m the one who’s gonna run the place,” Knuckles cuts in, leaning forward with a grin, “I should get to name it.”
I snort. “Do you have staff in mind? I’m only asking because I told that idiot Patrick I wanted to keep one of his employees on our payroll.”
Knuckles shrugs. “Wouldn’t mind a solid mechanic to handle most of the grunt work while I focus on building custom bikes.”
Chuckling, I drop down onto one of the couches in Spike’s office, the leather creaking under me.
“He’s not a mechanic,” I admit. “Doesn’t really fit the garage scene either. But I had a feeling he needed the job.”
“He was cute, wasn’t he?” Riley asks, smirking from her spot beside Spike. She’s tucked into his side like she belongs there…which she does. Our Riley’s a miracle worker. Managed to tame the beast that runs this club.
“His level of attractiveness has nothing to do with me keeping him on,” I say, mock glaring at her before my grin breaks loose. “But yeah… he was. Soft-spoken, sweet, a little shy.”
“The male version of Sunny,” Tank says with a grin, and Riley laughs under her breath.
“Hey… rude,” Sunny says softly from her spot on Bones’ lap, shooting Tank a mock glare. Then she smiles, eyes sparkling. “But… accurate.”
Bones just chuckles, his arms tightening around her waist like he’s daring anyone to argue.
Another miracle worker, that one. Sunny’s the polar opposite of Bones…light where he’s dark, gentle where he’s rough around the edges. She’s all laughter and warmth, and he’s… well, Bones. Brooding. Silent. Allergic to people.
But lately, I’ve caught him smiling more than I ever thought possible.
“I think a male Sunny would be fun to be around,” Lila says, her smile soft but teasing.
Max, her ol’ man, grunts his agreement.
Lila didn’t have to work quite as hard to tame Max as Sunny and Riley did with Bones and Spike, but since meeting her and her kids, he’s been different. Calmer. Grounded. Finally back to the man I remember from years ago.
“Well, if he’s not a mechanic, then what good is he to the garage?” Knuckles snaps. “We already have several clients waiting for the okay to bring in their bikes or to have one built from the ground up. I need people who know their shit so I can focus on mine. Stop thinking with your dick, man.”
Knuckles has been pushing my buttons a lot these past few months. There’s only so much patience a guy like me has.
“Just do me a solid and keep him on, brother,” I say. “He handled the transaction side today when I was there. And, someone’s gotta work the numbers. We both know how you are with math.”
I laugh as he chucks a pen at my head, moving quickly to dodge it.
Yeah, he’s been walking the line with me lately, but this is how I get back…I push back. One of these days, he’s going to push me past the fun of it, though, and then I’ll get pissed for real. It’s only a matter of time.
“Fine, but he’s got one month to prove he’s not a liability,” Knuckles says, pushing back from the table. “After that, we’ll reassess.”
“Just don’t work him too hard,” I warn, meeting his eyes. “Pretty sure he’s got some health issues. He fainted while I was there and didn’t even look surprised by it.”
Knuckles’ jaw ticks. “One month,” he repeats, voice flat.
“Before anyone heads out,” Spike says, stopping him mid-stand, “something’s come up we need to discuss.”
“That’s our cue to leave,” Riley says as she stands, motioning for Sunny, Lila, and Abby to follow. “We’re gonna run to Marv’s and grab burgers to grill tonight.”
“Take two prospects with you,” Max tells them, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll text them to meet you at the front gate.”
They don’t argue. No point in it. Around here, safety isn’t negotiable. It’s priority number one.
“Do you think two prospects are enough, considering we still don’t know where Cortéz is?” I ask.
Damian Cortéz is the insanely young man in charge of the biggest and most feared Mexican Cartel, Los Fantasmas. We’ve had issues with them in the past when their last leader was in charge. You know…before we killed him. Now, with this kid fully taking over, things have gotten worse.
“Fuck no,” Bones says. “Soon as they roll out, I’ll be tailing ’em.”
I chuckle, not the least bit surprised. That’s Bones…loyal, deadly, and always two steps ahead when it comes to protecting our own.
“So what is it you needed to tell us?” I ask, glancing at Spike. “This about Cortéz or Los Fantasmas?”
“Not directly,” Spike says, dragging a hand down his face. “Got word someone’s making a move on Los Fantasmas.”
“Who?” Maverick asks from his usual post near the door. The Shadow’s outlaw never sits with the group. He’s always positioned where he’s got eyes on every exit, every man in the room. Like he’s expecting trouble.
Then again… we usually are.
“The Moretti clan,” he says, shocking us all.
The Moretti family’s a localized crime syndicate that rests in their own secluded section of Palm Springs.
They’re smaller than a cartel but mean enough to make a name for themselves.
They deal in guns, gambling, and intimidation, mostly keeping to their own territory.
Years back, the Iron Shadows and the Moretti family came to a deal.
They can set up roots here in Palm Springs, but they can’t conduct their business in our territory.
They agreed, claiming they only wanted a safe haven to set up for their families.
For the most part, you don’t hear anything about them.
The fact that they’re making moves on Los Fantasmas means one thing. Someone’s trying to shift the balance of power.
“Since when do the Italians give a damn about border wars?” Knuckles asks, brow furrowed.
“The crime Lord, Moretti…”
“Which we’ve never met,” I interrupt. “Actually, I don’t know anyone who has ever actually seen him. Also, he’s referred to as a Don. That’s the equivalent to the Russian Pakhan.”
“Yes, well, it seems this Don is stepping out of the shadows,” Spike finishes.
“What is it with these damn gang leaders sticking to the shadows?” Tank asks. “First Cortéz, now Moretti. What? Too afraid to show their faces?”
“I think it’s more along the lines that they can walk around undetected,” I say. “Plus, if no one knows what they look like, then they can’t become a target. It’s a rather genius move.”
“Maybe we should reach out?” Maverick suggests. “I mean, if they’re making plans to go after Los Fantasmas, then maybe they would agree to align forces.”
“He’s right,” I say. “We don’t know much about the Moretti Mafia. We have no idea how far their reach goes or if they’re simply an Italian family trying to step away from the life of organized crime. Either way, we should become friends.”
“I think it’s time we find out who this Crime Boss really is,” Spike says. “I’ll reach out and see what I can set up. Dismissed.”
“The girls are gone,” Max tells Bones as he stands. “Already got a prospect warming up your hog. You’re good to go.”
“Thanks, brother,” he says before heading out.
Once the room empties, I close the door and turn back to Spike. The quiet hum of the clubhouse feels heavier now, like the walls themselves are listening.
“I’m real close to putting a bullet between Knuckles’ eyes,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. “He’s been an ass lately. Pushing buttons, picking fights… It’s like he doesn’t give a damn about anyone anymore.”
Spike leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You think something’s going on with him?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “He used to be the guy who’d drop everything for his brothers. Now? He’s just angry. Always looking for the worst in everyone…even the ones who’ve never given him a reason to doubt them.”
Spike exhales slowly, nodding. “He’s been different, I’ve noticed it too. But don’t do anything stupid, Skip. We don’t need blood on the clubhouse floor.”
“I’m not gonna shoot him,” I mutter, though the thought has crossed my mind more than once. “But if he keeps it up, I’m gonna make damn sure he remembers who he’s talking to.”
Spike’s lips twitch…half warning, half understanding. “Handle it how you need to, just don’t let it break the club.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Still, as I head for the door, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s already cracking beneath the surface and Knuckles might just be the one holding the match.