6. Rex
I hated the truck. The walls caged me in, there was no freedom to move, no easy way to maneuver such a cumbersome vehicle. Now, if I was on two wheels, these motherfucking slow drivers would be eating my goddamn smoke.
The hospital appeared up ahead, a place I didn’t think I’d be going back to any time soon, but fate had other ideas.
Jenna hopped out the cab with a wave and a reminder to get one of the brothers to pick her up in a couple of hours. Burning rubber, I turned the heap of junk around and headed back to the diner to get my bike, because I wouldn’t stay cooped up in this thing for longer than necessary.
But Jenna was a good woman, and the moment princess had walked out, I’d asked her for a favor and that was that.
Dropping her at St John’s wasn’t just a way of helping Mia, Mia – the name rolled off my tongue, whispering it to myself in the solitude of the truck. Every time I’d been around her, my brain turned to other activities. It was as if the savage part of me that I kept locked away tried to break free the minute our stares locked, she opened her mouth and that sexy as fuck accent came out.
That woman could call me an ‘arsehole’ all day and I’d probably beg her to say it again tomorrow because, clearly I was a fucking pussy.
Tossing the truck keys to the prospect that was made to hang around and wait for me at the diner, I threw my leg over my Fat Boy, and with a flick of my wrist, my only love sprung to life beneath me with a roar.
The custom matte-black Harley was my pride and joy, it’d cost me a pretty penny to have it tailored to my specifications. The only color on it was the club’s insignia on the rear tank. The white logo was a stark contrast to the deep black and stood out from the darkness. The barbed wire encircled a crowned skull. There was no writing, just the image.
It was enough to tell people who this bike belonged to.
The fucking Street Kings ruled these roads, and I wore their badge with pride every minute of every day; there wasn’t a day I regretted ever getting that brand—and I never would.
I veered toward the center of town where our clubhouse resided, a large plot sitting center stage. No other shops or venues were directly attached to us, not that it mattered if there was. The prez owned all the shops either side of us and was fixing to buy more, but Mayor fucking Whitmore had his fingers in just as many pies as we did, and those purchases had been halted for the foreseeable future—prick.
I hated when someone fucked with our business. It made me… itchy.
I wasn’t the sergeant at arms for nothing. But this… I couldn’t do much… yet. When the prez gave the go-ahead, I would be ready.
The funeral home sat front and center, ‘Kings Funeral Home’ embossed across the front in bold silver font. But that wasn’t where I was heading. The alley to the side of the low building stretched far behind the business, a football field length stood between the funeral home and the clubhouse behind.
Shuffling bodies around was our legitimate business, we had cash coming in from the burials, the cleanup and selling our handmade bespoke coffins to order. Gauge was a master woodworker among other things.
The squat red-brick building was completely detached, no bushes or trees surrounded the lone clubhouse, no prying eyes except for the ones we put there personally.
CCTV littered the grounds, front and back. We had all our bases covered… just in case.
Beside the door, our brand was painted in bright white, the skull menacing with the shadows dancing across the brick.
Pulling into my space at the front, my Fat Boy parked on one side of my presidents, the vice pres on the other. Sonic had beat me here then.
He’d been busy lately, rocking up late to meetings and forgetting things—it wasn’t like him.
But he was a grown-ass man and could deal with his own shit. I trusted him to do what needed to be done, that was all that mattered… and if he really needed us, well he knew where to find us.
The door slammed against the wall as I made my entrance, my brothers lounged around the semi-circle of sofas that faced the 70-inch TV that prez had insisted on installing because apparently you can’t watch the boxing on anything less.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Sly muttered, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“I just saw you a fucking hour ago, fucker.” I dropped beside him, waving the smoke from my face. “That shit stinks.”
The little cancer stick was quickly snuffed out in the tray beside him. “I thought you’d spend a bit more time with the ice queen.” The last dregs of gray smoke whisper through his lips.
Ice queen?
“That woman is hotter than the Sahara.” I pulled a cold soda from the box at Sly’s feet, the crush of ice freezing against my fingers. “And I’ll bet as fiery as Texas in summer.” I couldn’t believe for even a second that a woman who looked at me with such heat in her eyes could ever be considered frigid—what a fucking waste that would be.
The icy fizz slid down my throat, quenching the thirst I didn’t know I was feeling until the liquid hit me.
“When are you gonna drink a real fucking drink, Sarge?” Wheeler shouted from his perch at the bar.
It was almost 11 a.m. and he was well on his way to being drunk already. “You know I don’t drink, Brother.” I patted the abs that were years in the making. “My body is a temple. You should try it some time.”
His bottle slammed on the countertop, the condensation leaving rings on the bar that Jenna would be pissed about. She always nagged at the boys to keep this place clean. A real old lady, that one. “My body is a temple too, that’s why all the club pussy love worshiping me.” His laugh was loud and echoed in the large room.
“That’s also why you’ve got so many fucking kids. If they worshiped your dick less, you’d have more money and less child support,” Sly responded. I smirked at the man at the bar, knowing he’d been eyeballing my ride since I purchased her, and also knowing that he didn”t have a chance in hell of buying one with the amount he had to pay out to his baby-mamas each month.
“I can’t help it that I”m so virile.” He grabbed his junk, laughing again as he squeezed the denim in his hand.
“Do you even know what virile means?” My jab hit low, and he released his dick to pick up his bottle again, before finishing the dregs and letting out a burp that was loud enough to summon Lucifer himself.
The door at the back of the room opened to reveal the devil himself—Callahan Morgan—our prez.
His eyes zeroed in on me and his brows raised in a silent question. With just a chin lift, I let him know his woman was safe at the hospital, delivered by yours truly. That was what happened when you worked side by side with someone for so long, you just got each other where no words were needed.
Mighty fucking useful when we were on runs.
“Don’t just sit around staring at me, get your asses in here.” The big man lumbered into the church, taking his seat at the head of the table. The large wooden 16-seater took up most of the room, the bespoke behemoth handcrafted by Gauge. It had taken him two years to complete, the depiction of skeletons climbing each table leg was a sight to behold. It was a work of beauty, the club logo etched perfectly in the center.
The mismatched chairs held the presence of each member—each one a brother that had earned his patch in his own way. I sat at Cal’s left, Sonic as the VP was his right-hand man. Prez picked up the gavel, slamming it against the wooden panel, a scarred patch of dark wood that depicted every meeting. And with a crack of wood, church commenced.
“We have a problem, Brothers.”
Tension permeated the air. We all knew what it was about. Another body.
“Just a kid. Fifteen fucking years old this time.” Cal’s fist clenched the gavel, his knuckles white around the handle. “I’m sick and fucking tired of these bodies turning up in my town.”
“Is it the same MO?” I couldn’t understand how the fuck these kids were getting their hands on our drugs. And not only were they ours but they were tampered with, enough to be causing multiple ODs.
Bodies were turning up in the morgue, mostly the homeless and junkies, but some had been high school and college kids looking for a quick bit of entertainment.
We were making a killing (no pun intended) on the funerals, but our reputation as honest dealers—if there was such a thing—was taking a hit. Someone was fucking with our product and putting it back on our own streets, something we as a brotherhood never did.
Our drugs were clean, and shipped straight to Mexico, then it was their problem.
But now, it was becoming our problem. And we didn”t like problems.
Sly slid a folder down the table toward us, the contents spilling out onto the dark wood. Image after image faced upwards, faces of pale skin and dead eyes, bloody noses and blackened septa.
Whatever the fuck was being added to our coke was burning the users from the inside.
“I wanna know how the fucking hell it’s getting on our streets, who’s dealing?” the prez gritted out. “Sly, what else have you found out?”
The normally jovial man had concern written all over his face, his shoulders hunched over as he rested his elbows on the table. Lines crossed his forehead as he stared into the grains of hardwood as if they were telling him a story. “I’ve got nothing, Prez.” He sighed. “I’ve checked every CCTV camera, I’ve questioned every family member of the deceased, and we have no idea how the drugs are getting in.”
Threads adjusted his collar, fidgeting in his seat and catching my eye. I frowned as he tapped his fingers in a rhythm, a clear sign his thoughts were twisting and turning trying to come up with something just beyond his reach. The man really did love puzzles.
“What about Felix?” he quizzed. Our Mexican counterpart had been reliable for almost a decade, he’d never screwed us over yet.
Cal shook his head. “I’ve been calling, it’s radio silence on his end.”
“Fuck,” I muttered. “That’s not like him.”
“No, it isn’t.” Cal leaned back in his chair, the only one handmade just like the table. It was a throne fit for a king… or the president of an MC. When he leaned back, you couldn’t see the skull etched onto the back, only the engraved crown was visible. If you glimpsed from the corner of your eye, it almost looked like the crown sat upon his head.
It’s probably why he always looked so worried lately, because it’s true what they say, ‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown’. And my president took everything on his broad shoulders—every problem, every issue became his to fix.
And this… this wasn’t just a problem, it was a colossal fuck up.
“Someone’s bringing our own coke back over the border and selling it right under our fuckin’ noses in my own goddamn town… kids…” Cal pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed to the images of the dead youths before him. “I want… no, I need to know how the fuck this is happening.” His arm dropped to the table and picking up one of the pictures, he held it before him. “This kid, his mom packs my old ladies groceries at the mini-mart. Her only son. Fuck. Threads, you’re gonna take a little road trip, it’ll be quicker and easier if you’re in and out as soon as possible. I know you’re sneaky when you want to be—work the finer details out with Kannon.”
Threads sat up straighter, his eyes glinting with the thrill of the chase. “Anything you need, Prez.”
“I need you to find out what’s happened to Felix. Head across the border and do some recon, no colors though, I don’t want anyone knowing you’re there… just in case, ya know.”
Threads’ head nodded at each point, his eyes glazing over as he ran the plan over in his head. Kannon’s shrewd gaze already planning to re-arrange those of us who are here. As our road captain, it was his job to sort out the runs, and with one coming up next week, he’d need to make sure everyone was accounted for and there were enough of us to see our newest shipment almost 2,000 miles to the Mexican border, to our drop-off point. We’d be gone just under a week. Three days of driving there with rest breaks, we’ll make the return journey home in two.
“I’ll visit Nag before we leave, he might know something new.” The old man lived on the outskirts of town, bordering on living in the woods. If it wasn’t for the fact that he liked a cold beer and had no electricity in his little shack he called a cabin, we wouldn’t even see him. But his visits to the local bar were frequent, and he kept to himself, sitting in the corner ignoring everyone. But what they didn’t know is that he heard everything. I couldn’t even remember the amount of times I’d got information from the ancient man who clung to the shadows. He had been more scarce than usual recently, but he was my first stop as soon as church ended.
“Get in touch with your contacts,” Cap growled. “I want this business handled, and when you find out who’s been selling the drugs,” he cracked his knuckles, “I want him alive.”
“It’s been a while since we’ve been under,” I muttered. “Drains been running clear too long. It’s about time it runs red.”
Fists slammed on the table in unison, grunts of approval at the threat to the unknown dealer followed grins of malice.
“Let’s show these motherfuckers who they’ve crossed,” Wheeler called out, whooping at the imminent violence.
Cal’s eyes narrowed on the brothers… on me. And with a nod, we kicked back and stood, with Threads the first one out the door to get ready for his trip.
I held back, letting the others leave before me and closing the door softly behind my brothers.