Chapter Twenty-Two
Rags slipped into the meeting room and grabbed a seat in the back. He timed it so he wouldn’t have to talk to his brothers before church started. He kept his attention on Banger and Hawk at the front of the room, ignoring the side looks and smirks tossed his way.
“The Devil’s Reign bastards are still wearing the Colorado rocker,” Wheelie said. “I saw a couple of them walking down Main Street, flaunting it. I would’ve bashed their skulls in, but I was with my ol’ lady and our kids.” He punched his fist into his palm.
“They’re poking the bear,” Puck gritted.
“They’ve been disrespecting our colors for too fuckin’ long,” Shadow added.
“We gave those pussies a chance to make it right when we beat their asses.” Tank pushed up from his chair. “Now it’s time to stomp them out for good.”
Murmurs of agreement spread, growing louder, until Hawk raised a hand. The room went silent.
“Their club days are over. Per the by-laws, we gotta take a vote, but I already know it’s gonna be unanimous. We wipe them out once and for all.”
A roar of approval bounced off the walls. Fists shot into the air, the brothers’ eyes hungry for a fight.
“Hawk’s gonna go over the plan of attack. We need to get through this quick, so keep the outbursts to a minimum,” Banger said before taking his seat.
Hawk stepped forward, a bottle of Coors in his hand.
After taking a long pull, he set it on the table and rocked back on his boot heels.
“The plan is to hit hard and fast. Teach these assholes a lesson. Destroy their clubhouse. If they resist, they’re history.
What we don’t want is any kids or women getting hurt.
Blade, Helm, and Diesel have been there the past hour scouting the place.
They’re gonna hang and give us an exact headcount. ”
“Are we striking tonight?” Shadow asked.
“Yeah. Tonight’s a new moon. It’s the perfect time to get lost in the dark,” Hawk said.
“What’s the goal? We killing the motherfuckers?” Rock asked.
“We’re gonna teach ’em respect,” Hawk said, scanning the room. “If some or all don’t wanna learn, then they’re history.”
Low rumblings rolled around the room.
“The key is to move in, get it done, and move out. Quick and clean. Rags, Throttle, Puck, Tank, Smokey, Rock, Wheelie, Animal, and Jerry will stay behind and make sure everything’s cleaned up. No evidence… no problem… life goes on.” Hawk took another a pull from the bottle. “Any questions?”
“We using grenades and shit?” Bones asked.
“Nah. The asshole’s clubhouse is in the Peaks warehouse district, so a bit too close to town. We don’t want the attention of the fuckin’ badges, so knives are the weapons of choice, along with kill-lights, and our favorite. The padlock.” Hawk smiled.
Rags had several bandanas tied to large padlocks in his room.
The padlock was one of his go-to weapons.
Swung right, it hit like a blackjack and could knock the hell out of anyone.
And the damn badges couldn’t do shit if they found one on him during a frisk.
It was just a padlock for a storage unit. Simple. Legal. Deadly as hell.
“No guns?” Puck asked.
Hawk ran a hand through his hair. “If needed, use ’em, but make sure you take silencers.”
“What time do we roll?” Gopher said.
“Eight o’clock. Besides the brothers I named who’ll be staying to clean things up, I need eight more.”
Every member raised an arm. Banger pushed to his feet, pride radiating off him. Hawk nodded, then cleared his throat. “Good to see the support, everyone’s support, but we gotta keep some brothers here to make sure all’s good on our turf.”
The Insurgents never left their clubhouse unmanned, no matter what was going down.
“Banger and I will decide who’s riding out with us tonight. Just know that we appreciate your asses, okay?”
Chuckles and guffaws ricocheted around the room.
“Moving on to another pain in the ass, we got some dirtbags moving in on our loan servicing business. They’re undercutting our interest rate and hitting up our existing customers with cut-rate or no interest to reel ’em in.
A couple of customers bit, only to come crawling back, asking for help ’cause the fuckers jacked the rates sky-high and threatened their families. ”
“We know they’re damn pussies pulling that kind of shit,” Puck said. “It’s one thing to teach a lesson to a man, but going after his ol’ lady and kids? Fuck that.”
“Exactly. They’re also getting the badges interested in the whole process, which means they’re sniffing around us. We don’t like that,” Hawk said.
“Any idea who these idiots are?” Rags asked.
“Not really, but I’ve got a feeling the Devil’s Reign aren’t involved with this.
They’ve taken a few of our customers away, but what’s going on with the drop in our revenue points to a bigger scheme, a bigger outfit.
At this point, I’m not even sure if it’s one guy in charge or a few.
I know there’s more than one hassling our customers.
Could be working for the head bastard,” Hawk said.
“Once we’re done with the Devil’s Reign, we’ll focus on figuring out who’s muscling into Insurgents’ turf. Might be smart to grab one of the officers from this wannabe one-percenter club tonight. Bring him back here and persuade him to talk,” Banger said.
“If they’re involved,” Hawk said. “I’ll know tonight. And if the Devil’s Reign are tied in, we’re snagging their president and treasurer.”
Banger handed a stack of paper to Hubcap, the treasurer. “What’s being passed around is the diagram of the Devil’s Reign’s clubhouse. Hawk put this together, so he can talk you through it.”
Rags glanced at the target template, recognizing the points of entry from when he’d been on reconnaissance.
Hawk set an enlarged copy of the diagram on an easel. “This is nothing new to you. The tactical sketch shows avenues of approach, points of entry, and where some of you will be positioned for backup.”
Since the vice president was a former Marine reconnaissance operator, it came as no surprise to Rags, or any of them, that the plan to stomp out the Devil’s Reign came with strategy and precision.
Hawk’s discipline and training made the Insurgents a formidable force.
They never executed a mission haphazardly and were rarely caught off guard.
His plans started long before the first punch was thrown.
After the details were covered and questions answered, Banger brought the gavel down, signaling church was over. The brothers would head to the main room, talk shit, knock back a couple of shots, but their minds were already on the coming strike.
Chairs scraped and boots thudded across the linoleum floor as the men filed out.
“You pumped about tonight?” Rock asked, falling in step with Rags.
“Yeah. It’s been building. Either these assholes got a death wish or they’re stupid as hell,” Rags said.
“They’re dumb as fuck,” Throttle muttered behind them.
“They don’t get what a one-percenter club means,” Puck said, shaking his head. “They think it’s just a bottom rocker and some patches. Stupid fucks.”
“Rags.”
He slowed down and glanced over his shoulder. Hawk was approaching. “Yeah?”
“I’ll meet you in my office.”
“Okay.”
“What’s that about?” Throttle asked. “I thought we covered everything.”
Rags shrugged. “See you in a few.”
He headed down the hallway, stepped into Hawk’s office, and dropped into the leather chair.
His eyes landed on the framed photo of Cara, Hawk’s ol’ lady, on the corner of the desk.
More pictures showed Hawk’s children and their dogs, a Golden Retriever and an apricot cockapoo.
Rags smirked, remembering the fit Hawk had thrown when his family brought home that teddy bear-like bundle of fluff; he didn’t know what to do with it.
Then Casey’s warm laugh and soft eyes slid into his head.
Out of nowhere, he pictured a house. A yard.
A damn puppy, but not a cockapoo, a German shepherd.
Her in the kitchen cooking a steak. Maybe a kid or two.
What the hell? The thought hit him like a punch to the chest. It had to be the mission.
Even the best plans could go sideways: brothers got hurt and died.
That was all it was. Rags reached over and turned the photo away from him.
“Hey,” Hawk said, entering the room. “I got the info you wanted on your woman.”
“Friend,” Rags said.
“Right.” A crooked grin tugged at Hawk’s mouth. He pulled a folder from the cabinet and tossed it on the desk.
“Is that the report?” Rags asked.
“Yeah. She’s got about twenty-two grand in debt between two cards.”
Rags let out a low whistle.
“But it’s tied to a joint account with a Jared Trevor Walsh. Does the name ring a bell?”
“No. Can you find anything out about him?”
“I’ll try, but with just a name it’ll take time. Or you could ask her.”
“I could.” Is that the biker?
“Anyway”—Hawk slid the folder closer—“it’s all in there.”
Nodding, Rags picked it up. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
“You want me to take my SUV tonight?”
“Yeah. Throttle, Puck, Wheelie, and Animal can ride with you. Smokey’s taking his. I’ll sort the rest once Banger and me finalize the teams.”
“Is Banger going?”
“Nah. He’s staying back.”
“Got it. Later.”
Closing the door behind him, Rags stepped into the hallway. Voices, clinking glasses, and the steady bass of an old-school rock song blended together as he climbed the stairs to his room.
He stood by the window. Two mule deer moved through the evergreens, browsing on wild shrubs and juniper tips in the shadows. The folder stayed tight in his hand.
Since their steak dinner at Mountain Ember, he’d known Casey was holding things back.
He figured she didn’t want to dig up painful memories in her past, but after she rode like a pro on the back of his Harley, he knew there was a lot more she was keeping from him.
And when he’d asked her about it, she back pedaled, changed the course of the conversation, and revealed nothing.