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I logged into the accounting program and wired him the money, knowing I’d receive another bill, minus the cash deposit we’d given him, which would be reflected as “discount” on the next invoice.
After that was done, I was getting ready to reply to my mother’s text I’d ignored yesterday about when I was going to come visit her in Minnesota when there was a knock on the door.
I set the phone down. “Come in.”
Trigger walked in holding an electronic tablet.
“What is it?” I asked at the grave look on his face.
“Reapers are asking for an audience,” he replied, referring to a human MC in the area, the Devil’s Reapers. His jaw ticked with annoyance. Trigger was in charge of our digital communications, along with Wizard, when he wasn’t busy with our more complicated tech stuff. I figured Trigger could handle our general email box and rare public relations issues.
“Audience for what?”
“Doesn’t say,” he replied, piercing me with his blue eyes before looking down at the tablet and running his finger along it.
“Reply and ask them what the fuck they want,” I grunted.
He did, right there standing in front of me. He looked up and said, “Done.”
“Is there anything else?” I asked.
Trigger shook his head. “Nah, I’ll let you know if they reply.”
I said nothing as he turned to leave. But then his tablet chimed. He stopped and slid his finger over the screen.
He looked up at me. “They replied. Says they have a lead on some girls who’ve gone missing. One showed up at their clubhouse. They want our help.”
My heart pounded and I felt the fire in my blood. You didn’t fuck with women or children and we would do whatever it took to help these girls or young women. “Tell them we’re on our way.”
He nodded and typed away on the device while I stood from my desk and grabbed my phone, shoving it into my pocket. “Get the guys. Let’s ride.”
Chapter 3
Devil’s Reapers
We made our way out to the designated spot for our bikes in front of the clubhouse I’d had paved and painted. Bikes were only to be parked there or in front of individual homes. We had two cagers and a grocery getter we also parked there, along with two smaller, older cars. There was a golf cart we kept to ride around the compound in that sat nearby, plugged in and charging. What could I say? I ran a tight ship and liked things just so.
My guys knew it and I’d like to think, respected it.
Trigger, Menace, Strife, Cutter, and I hopped on our Harleys and made our way down the path toward the gate. After it opened, we rumbled along the long dirt road that led out to the main roads in LaPlace.
It only took about twenty minutes to reach the Reapers’ clubhouse. It sat on a large corner of a somewhat residential area in an older part of town, but outside of the Quarter and tourist areas of New Orleans. There were four Reapers standing outside, arms folded across their cuts, waiting for us.
As far as they knew, we were just another MC, of course having no idea that we were all angry werewolves who were about to literally transform into beasts tonight. We killed our engines and made our way up to the front entrance. I resisted an eyeroll when we were patted down for weapons. I had my piece in my bike pouch, but we had super strength so if any knives or anything came out, we would be able to hold our own.
We were ushered inside. I’d never been in their clubhouse before, as we rarely had any reason to deal with the Reapers except for the occasional trade or word about illegal dealings. Some we did on the down-low, others we helped them with. Like today.
The entrance was a large, dark room with a few pieces of furniture. Through that door opened up to a bar with a few club whores hanging around and a tired-looking bartender behind the bar. I nodded to him as we were led further into the back, to another large room with a desk in the corner. The club’s president sat there.
“Psycho,” he said, standing and greeting me with a strong handshake.
I pumped his hand up and down once and nodded. “Hawk.”
“I’ll get right to the point,” he said, addressing the five of us while his four guys stood off to the side, listening. “To make a long story short, one of my guys has a cousin who was friends with one of the victims. She managed to get away and her cousin told her to go straight to us. We picked her up at the Greyhound station last night.” He shook his head. “The girl’s obviously fucked up. Starved, dirty, you get the picture.”
I stared at him, waiting for him to continue. “Okay? Did she give you any info on who the fuckers are?”
“Yeah, she gave us vague descriptions, and we’re going to track them down.”
