Property of Tacoma (Kings of Anarchy MC: Florida #1)

PROLOGUE

“That fat fucker is twenty minutes late,” Bash growls, drumming his fingers distractedly on the tabletop as he scans the crowd inside the strip club. “That’s disrespectful as fuck, Prez.”

It is, but that’s not really what’s got my SAA’s panties in a twist.

He’s been lashing out at everyone and everything since the news came out about Hattie Lynn being engaged to the Titans’ hotshot running back.

Hattie’s a big country music star now in Nashville. Left Odin a few years ago to chase her dreams. I’m pretty sure Bash had a lot to do with her leaving, but that’s not my story to tell.

Never the less, the news of his ex’s upcoming nuptials hasn’t gone over so well.

A lot like baptising a cat, if you know what I mean.

He needs to get laid and maybe that’d help get that girl out of his system.

However, that’s going to have to wait until after we figure out what the fuck Camden is up to.

“That weaselly fucker operates on his own schedule. He always has. It’s not anything new.” I take a sip of Jameson, savoring the burn of the amber liquid as it slides down my throat.

Damn that goes down smooth.

Gator finally looks away from the woman on stage that I’ve never seen before, and tunes into our conversation. “Schedule my ass,” he snorts. “That motherfucker’s probably out in his car, powdering his nose before coming in here to piss us all off.”

I chuckle, tapping the side of my nose.

He hit the nail right on the head.

The mayor has a thousand-dollar-a-week habit that the good people of Odin aren’t privy to.

“Who’s that?” I nod my head at the woman he’s been watching like a hawk since we got here.

She’s looks nothing like the other dancers.

Her hair is a wild shade of purple, and she’s covered in ink. Her body’s banging, but she’s going to have to lose the frown on her face if she wants to make the big money.

“New chick,” Bash answers. “Calls herself Lavender.”

My lips twitch. The name is definitely fitting with that mess of plum-colored hair hanging down her back.

I lean forward in the booth and crane my neck so I can see Bane better. “What’s her story?”

If there’s one thing I can count on about my little brother, it’s that he’s anal as fuck when it comes to the people living in our town.

He knows everything about everyone.

Especially if they’re on our payroll.

It’s why my Pop picked him to be my VP when my him and uncle Red stepped down and handed over the reins.

“Single mom. Her and her kid just moved back to Odin a couple weeks ago. She’s staying with her Pops.” Bane swivels on the bench seat to face me. “Remember old Fred?”

I quirk a brow, trying to place the name.

Old Fred? Old Fred? The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” he insists, sounding annoyed that I can’t remember who the guy is. “The old timer who worked the shrimp boats.”

Well, shit. Now I remember.

My lips turn up in a lazy smile. “Yeah, I remember now.”

Turning to Bash, who still looks confused, I explain, “He hung out at the marina when he wasn’t out on his boat, shrimping.

Crazy fucker had the hots for our Momma.

Anytime Fred would see her in town, he’d tell her to give him a call when she got shot of our old man.

” I laugh, remembering how it used to drive Pop apeshit.

Looking back at my brother, I ask, “What about him?” I’m not sure what he has to do with the purple-haired stripper.

“That’s her daddy.” Bane points to the “her” who’s currently twirling around the pole on stage. “Her old man’s got renal cancer,” he continues. “It ain’t looking good. Think that’s what brought her back to Odin.”

I look back at the stage where it’s raining singles on the stage.

Damn.

That’s fucking rough. Single mom and her pop’s dying.

That’s a tough row to hoe.

“Send Cyber a text to put a G in her account.”

Our tech man is a maestro with a computer.

There’s nothing he can’t do with a laptop and an internet connection.

Hacking into Odin Savings and Loan to help out a single mom trying to do right by her old man is child's play for him.

Picking up my glass, I take another sip of my drink and scan the strip club. Pretty Kitties is in full swing tonight.

My Pop and Red bought this place a little over ten years ago, right before I got locked up. It’s been a solid investment and the perfect way to clean our money.

“Story, what exactly did Camden say when he called?”

The club’s secretary shrugs his massive shoulders. “Just that he needed to meet. Had “pressing matters” to discuss.” He makes air quotes with his fingers as he rolls his eyes. “Something felt off, though. Like he was trying too hard to sound casual.”

I snort. “When doesn’t something feel off with that piece of shit?”

The thing about Mayor Camden is that he’s been in our pocket since he got elected six years ago.

He knows damn well that the Kings of Anarchy MC moves product for the Mexican cartel through our trucking company.

We pay him a generous monthly stipend to ensure Odin remains a safe passage for our shipments.

It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement that’s worked well for us all.

Until now, apparently.

“How’re the kids doing with the new custody arrangement?” Gator asks, changing the subject as he signals a passing waitress for another round.

I exhale, thinking about Jagger and Saylor. “Good as can be expected. Jagger’s pissed at his mother, as usual. Got his permit last week, though. Kid’s already begging me to teach him to ride.”

“Following in his old man’s footsteps,” Bash grins. “Before you know it, he’ll be prospecting.”

The thought sends a complicated mix of pride and worry through me.

I want my son to choose his own path, but there’s no denying the pull of club life once it’s in your blood.

“He’s got a few more years before we cross that bridge.

And his grandmother would have my nuts if I let him prospect before he graduates. ”

Bane laughs, the sound deep and genuine. “Momma would do more than that, brother. Remember when Dad tried to get me to prospect at seventeen? Thought she was gonna burn the clubhouse down with all that sage she was waving around.”

The corner of my lip tips up.

Our mother—with her wild auburn hair and hippy crystals—is a force of nature. She knows that what we do is far from legal, but that’s never stopped her from trying to save our souls. It’s a lost cause of course. We’ve done far too much to ever make it through the pearly gates.

“What about Saylor? How’s she adjusting?” Bash asks, genuine concern etched across his face. “Still got those dogs trailing behind her everywhere she goes?”

A small smile tugs at my lips despite myself. “Red took them back. He trained those damn Dobermans to be protection dogs, and she had them wearing pink bedazzled collars and tutus. When he saw what she’d done, he decided maybe she wasn’t ready for a dog yet.”

The table erupts in laughter. My daughter has managed to wrap everyone around her little finger, including a compound full of hardened bikers.

The day Saylor was born, I was still locked up. Broke my heart that I missed her coming into the world.

The sleeping monster inside me rattles its cage, a constant reminder that it’s still there.

A curvy waitress with dark hair and a tiny outfit approaches our table, her tray balanced on one hand. “Your refills, gentlemen.” She places fresh drinks in front of each of us.

“Thanks, darlin’,” Bash says, his eyes tracking her movements appreciatively. “You new here? Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

She smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Started last week. I’m Lydia.”

“Well, Lydia,” Bash leans forward slightly, “when do you get off tonight?”

“Depends,” she counters, batting her lashes. “You offering something worth staying up for?”

I exchange an amused glance with Bane. Bash never quits, and the women in this town never seem to learn that he’s not the settling type.

“Sweetheart, I’m offering the ride of your life,” Bash winks.

“Hmm.” She taps a manicured finger against her lips, considering. “I get off at two. Better bring your A-game, honey.”

Gator snorts. “He loves a challenge.”

She laughs, a mischievous glint in her eye. “We’ll see.”

With that, she turns and walks away.

Gator’s eyes shift to the bar and his lips turn down. “He’s here.”

The mood at our table shifts instantly. I straighten up, squaring my shoulders as I glance over at the bar.

“Look at this motherfucker,” Bane mutters under his breath.

Camden is perched on a barstool, chatting it up with one of our female bartenders. He winks at her then mops his forehead with a handkerchief.

“Looks like he’s high as a fucking kite,” I add, noting his rapid blinking and fidgety movements. “Bash, go bring our esteemed public servant over. Let’s get this shit done.”

Bash slides out of the booth, his face settling into the hard expression that’s earned him his position as Sergeant at Arms. When he reaches Camden, I watch the mayor’s ruddy face pale slightly before he plasters on a politician’s smile and follows Bash to our table.

“Gentlemen!” Camden booms as he approaches. I don’t miss the way he eyes us like we’re scum beneath his penny loafers.

Well fuck him.

He doesn’t ever have a problem taking our money.

The rat fucking bastard.

“Appreciate you meeting me on such short notice.” He might regret the expedience if I don’t like the reason for this little meeting. He’s pushing his luck. Has been for months. If he doesn’t play his cards right, this night just might end with him staring down the barrel of my forty-five.

“Sit down, Tom,” I say coolly, not bothering to stand or shake the weaselly fucker’s hand.

He slides into the booth, his breathing labored from the walk across the club. The smell of garlic and sweat wafts across the table as he settles his bulk into the seat. Up close, I can see the beads of sweat dotting his forehead and the telltale redness around his nostrils. Fucking coke head.