23. Rex
The fucking sunshine burned my eyes, and I closed them against the harsh glare that was determined to blind me and make my headache worse. I had barely slept, the nighttime playing havoc with my senses. I had listened to every footfall and every step outside my door, concentrating on who walked past my door and who left—and entered—Kannon’s room opposite mine.
The ice-cold protein mix quenched my thirst after my morning workout, the liquid breakfast filling a hole temporarily until I could get some real food. But first, I had a meeting to get to.
The brothers walked in, in single file, somber and quiet as we dropped to our designated seats, our phones discarded in the lockbox by the door. There were no distractions in church this morning.
Threads looked haggard, the long run and lack of sleep causing the normally well-dressed man to appear far older than his 30 years. I had a good few years on him, but life had not been kind to my brother. His designer shirt and jeans had been replaced with cheaper off the rack items, and he twitched and pulled at the cheap material. Threads always looked good, his hair was trimmed and his beard was groomed. He didn’t care that we ribbed him for it, he didn’t care that all of his earnings went on expensive clothes and manicures because like fuck would he have rough hands—not him. But looking at Threads now was like looking at a different man, and I hated that this ride had taken a toll on him.
His shoulder was thinner under my hand. My chest clenched at the lack of care he’d had for himself and I squeezed it reassuringly. “Glad to have you back, Brother.”
Murmurs of greetings from everyone else around the table had his cheeks flaming, and he nodded, hating the attention that was focused solely on him.
The gavel sounded, and each brother fell silent, respecting the man at the helm. “Rex is right, it’s good to see your face,” Cal announced, before getting down to business. “Threads has already apprised me of everything, so I’ll give you all the rundown.” Cal placed the gavel down gently, then placed his hands flat on the table, and with a great sigh, he started. “Felix is dead, that’s why we haven’t heard from him. His nephew—Rio—has taken over the drug trade, and he’s been selling it to whoever wants a piece.”
Felix would be rolling in his grave if he knew that his kin was disregarding everything he stood by. He had been a drug dealer, but he had morals, and he only sold to certain people and never to kids.
“Rio has been cutting our product with caustic soda, among other things.” Shouts of outrage filled the room. I cracked my fingers, eager to get a piece of that scum bag and fill him with something that would burn his fucking insides too. “But he hasn’t just been selling it here, he’s been shipping it all over the fucking place, across the US, in Mexico and Canada. He’s upped his prices and making a killing, selling it to loser dealers to make some easy money.”
“So we take him out, cut out the middleman and then just—” Cal held his hand up, shutting down Gauge’s idea.
“We can’t take him out. Threads has it on good authority that the slimeball is paying the Sinaloa Cartel protection money, some of his profits are being paid to the largest fucking drug traffickers in Mexico, so no, we ain’t going anywhere near him. We’re tough, but we would be wiped out by the Sinaloa’s.” Cal heaved a heavy sigh. “It means that the run won’t happen.” He pinned Kannon with his dark gaze, a silent message to move the shipment to a secure longer term holding facility until we can find a new buyer. “It also means that funds will be a bit tight for a little while.” Grunts of misery came from the men, mostly from those who were not good with their money to begin with. Wheeler especially would feel the pinch while we only earn from our legitimate businesses. And the dead were profitable, only when there were dead to deal with.
“We need to put the feelers out, Prez, not only that we need a new buyer, but also we need to let people know that the product hasn’t come from us,” Sonic chimed in, his lean frame hunched over the table.
“I’m already looking for a new buyer, there’s a potential in New York that I’m feeling out. The Irish are looking for a new business venture, and have… made some enquiries,” Cal replied.
“What am I supposed to do until then, Prez? I got kids that need feeding.” Wheeler sulked from his position at the end of the table.
“Maybe if you stopped spending money on whores and started saving some of the green that we make, you wouldn’t be feeling as tight at the minute,” Sly grumbled from beside me. He had a real problem with Wheeler’s loose ways, and I didn’t blame him. The guy had whores popping his kids out all over fucking Ohio and probably across America, and he couldn’t fucking afford it.
“You mind your damned business,” Wheeler gritted, leaning across the wood to glare at Sly, his lined face pinned on the Tech officer.
“I’ll give you 10% of my earnings to go toward your kids.” The low words were greeted with silence and shock from the table, it was the first time Threads had spoken since the meeting started, nor was he someone who had loads to say. He came, he saw, he joined in when needed, but otherwise my brother was a dark horse, who was always around when needed. And this just proved that he was the better man, one of the best at the table, because no one else, not even the prez had offered up his own income to support another man’s numerous kids.
Wheeler watched him from beneath his lowered brows with confusion. “Why would you do that?”
Threads’ face hardened. “I wouldn’t let family suffer because business ain’t booming.” His nostrils flared at the slight, and Wheeler, looking more beat down with every second, lowered his eyes.
“I’ll second that,” Prez added. “I won’t have my men suffer… or their families. Threads is right,” Cal nodded at the quiet man, “family first, money second.”
Sly chuckled beside me. “Pussy third, right?”
The tension eased, my brothers joining in the laughter, and Sly winked at me, a sign of his intent. The man knew how to diffuse a bomb… and ignite one. But with his little quip, the fact that we’d be a broke motorcycle club for a while didn’t seem to faze them… or me.
We were a family first, and when others offered the same deal to help Wheeler keep roofs over his kids’ heads, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that they felt the same way.
Wheeler coughed into his fist and rubbed at his shining eyes which looked suspiciously like the older man did have feelings outside of his dick.
“Damn dusty in here, Prez,” he mumbled.
We turned to our prez, and left Wheeler to deal with his emotions with his pride intact. Ain’t no way a brother wanted us to witness his shame, and it was. Being a man—a Street King—was the ability to provide and protect. And Wheeler was struggling with that, neither did he like the fact that we all knew it.
“You know that I won’t make a new deal with anyone without bringing it to the table for a vote. When the Irish get back to me with a price, you’ll know,” Cal continued, as if the momentum hadn’t been paused by Threads’ generous offer. “And, there’s something else y’all need to know.” Cal tapped his fingers on the table, staring at the digits in concentration as if he was thinking how best to relay whatever it was he wanted us to know. “The Sinners are one of the bigger buyers of Felix’s.” Murmurs of dissent picked up, anger swept around the table. “And Jax has been seen around town.” I inhaled sharply at the news that one of those dipshits were hanging around here, which looked suspiciously like they were bringing the fucked up drugs back home.
Those pricks were a desperate attempt to be a real motorcycle club, but they failed at it terribly. Just because you rode a motorbike with a bunch of guys didn’t make an MC.
“What the fuck are those cunts doing here, they’re based in West Virginia, they shouldn’t be anywhere near our territory,” I growled, a red haze falling over my vision when I thought about those useless excuses for bikers being anywhere near my town.
“I know, Brother. And you’ll get your chance to question them… you and Sly are going to… have a chat.”
Sly turned to me, a manic grin spread across face. “Fuck yeah, Prez.”
“And when I say chat, I actually mean talk to them,” Cal rolled his eyes. “We don’t need to jump to conclusions. That doesn’t mean you can’t scare the living shit outta them and get them the fuck out of our town. They don’t need to be here.”
I shared Sly’s glee at the chance to get some vengeance. We couldn’t jump to conclusions, but I wasn’t a massive believer in coincidence. Neither was it the first time the Sinners had tried to take from us. Jax was a rat, spending his time trying to make a fast buck and it didn’t matter who he screwed over to do it. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been caught trying to sell roofie’s for a good time to some schmuck from out of state at our local bar—the dumb fuck, trying to sell a date rape drug in a Street King bar. I’d had to chase him out of town. I’d followed that fucker straight down the fucking interstate and made sure he’d left the whole fucking state behind.
“We’re gonna have such a good time.” Sly practically wriggled in his seat, his excitement palpable.
“On another note, we have guests.” The rest of my brothers groaned aloud. “That means everyone needs to be on their best behavior.”
“Aw, come on, Prez, why do we gotta behave in front of the princess? Rex just needs to dirty her up a bit and she’ll fit right in… umph.” My elbow landed in Sly’s rib, the man laughing at my display of violence. The man loved to rile everyone up.
“One day, Brother, you’re gonna get your head kicked in for opening your mouth,” I replied, murmurs of agreement reaching my ears and Sly slapped at his chest in mock offense.
“I’m hurt y’all think that, you assholes.” He grinned back.
“Gauge will speak to the little sister about a description of the suit and hopefully by the end of the day we’ll know who the fuck this guy is and what he has to do with us.” Prez picked up the gavel, slamming it down once to end the meeting. “Now get outta here, you’ve got shit to do.”
As I walked out, I grabbed my phone, slid it in my pocket, and caught up with Sly in the main hall. He stood with his back to me beside Sonic, his focus on something in front of him.
“What are you doing? We’re supposed to go…” my voice trailed off when I saw what they were staring at. Mia stood in the center of the room squaring off with Emma. The old whore was practically part of the furniture, and kept the other club sluts in line, but Mia wasn’t a club slut, and there was no way in hell Mia would tolerate the disrespect that Emma was trying to lay on her.
“Are you gonna step in?” Sonic muttered to me.
“Ah, no. If she’s going to stick around, she should put these bitches in their place so they know who they’re dealing with,” I replied quietly, determined not to interrupt the verbal beat down that Mia was currently dishing out. Mia wasn’t club pussy, she was here because I wanted her here, but I couldn”t step in and defend her, she needed to do that herself, otherwise the vultures would circle.
And maybe a small part of me was really interested to see what she would do.