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“Good. I would want nothing less.” I make a tight smirk, trying to force myself back into a happier mood. My closest allies know me best, which includes Phisher. He’s been running main surveys for me since I got the gig.
“Anything else?” Knuckles asks, putting the stupid files and stuff back together.
“I would like to keep this under wraps,” I announce, pushing back from my chair. A wave of irritation flows through me remembering my conversation with Tornado earlier. He thinks he can come into this club and start running me? I trust Prez, I really do. But I don’t trust Tornado. Not as far as I can fucking throw him. “If you’re part of this task force, you will be held to a higher standard of confidentiality: patch and blood. I catch any of you gossiping about this shit, your patch is mine. Understood?”
Murmurs of agreement roll through the doors as they head out into the main room.
One-percenter my ass. There’s no way this isn’t going to meet his ears. He’s nosey, hot as sin, wears his fucking jeans like they are glued onto him, and has a mouth like a fucking grump. I can’t stand the thought of him being around here, wrapping himself around my missions and just expecting me to go along with it.
His presence just brings bad fucking vibes with it. I can’t explain it, can’t define why I feel it. I just know that I don’t feel fucking safe, not even in my own club.
Chapter Twelve
Prez
Iwish I had a fucking flip phone so I could slam it shut. This has been the longest week in my life, I swear. CJNC has been going back and forth on contract negotiations, keeping us tied up to just save face. If they are going to fucking pick, they need to hurry up. You’d think working in the black market would be less strict, but no. Fucking hell, man. I’m fucking over it.
“Listen here, Tiny,” I grunt, leaning my forearm against the wall and putting my head in the bend of my elbow. “You act as if this contract will end us. It won’t. Be my fucking guest, but we’ll move on to another gang. This slot isn’t going to be open forever.”
“You act as if you hold the fucking cards, Prez.” Pushing off the wall, I shove a hand through my hair. “We’re in the middle of mediation right now. If you call me again outside of the lawyers, you’ll be forfeiting your spot on scene. Got it?” He hangs up without another word.
I grip the phone so tight it may as well snap in half. If it wasn’t such a good fucking deal, I would give in. Not only that, but it brings us right to the edge of Vancouver. Right where the Big D Raiders are alleged to be in hiding. They think a measly border will stop us? I scoff at the thought, tugging at the strands of my hair.
My biggest concern is smuggling goods across the border. Motorcyclists aren’t likely to be carrying, but we can get caught a hell of a lot easier than big rigs.
Which brings me to our plan. Heading down the stairs, I watch my sergeant at arms and my executioner eye fuck, or eye murder, each other from across the room.
Letting out an obnoxious whistle, I yell, “Tornado, round em’ up!” He jumps into action, going around the house to collect everyone. I swing back up the stairs, away from everything to finish collecting files.
The house is massive, something that was built for the club when it was born. The basement used to be a dusty ass bomb shelter, but we’ve redesigned it to be a BDSM club. Of course, the bomb shelter was just a bonus. If there was ever a nuclear attack, we could still have fun. The main level is the basic club area where members can drink, fuck, and have a blast. The conference room and a bunch of bedrooms are down here too, probably around ten or so. The guys have no problem sharing two or three guys in a room. Most of the time, they will fuck each other or share a jacket picker.
The upper level is for offices and bedrooms for those who are higher up on the food chain. I didn’t design it this way, but hierarchy in the clubs is extremely important.
“They are in church,” Tornado says, propping himself on the last step. “Leather sure is something else.” I scoff.
“She’s a snarky one, that’s for damn sure.” Grabbing my folders, I pile everything together.
“I will say. She will tell you what she thinks of you.” There’s a tinge in his voice that puts me slightly on edge, but I brush it off.
“Leather is a bit of an acquired taste, that’s for sure.” He hums, tilting his head back and forth in thought. Pausing in my path, I raise a brow for him to continue.
“I don’t know, I don’t think she likes me,” he mutters, tapping his fingers on the banister.
Rolling my eyes, I shut and lock the office door. “What makes you think that?”
“She told me.” If I had water, I would probably spit it out. Like I said, she’s a bold one. “She made it pretty clear what she thinks of me.”
“Did you tell her why you’re here?” I ask, brushing past him to go down the stairs. He freezes momentarily, face slightly pale before he exhales quickly. “Jesus, we don’t have any fucking ghosts around here.”
“No, no,” he says quickly, following me down the steps. “She knows I’m here to take the new sergeant position.”
“Is that all you're here for?” Stopping on the step, I turn to look at him. I’m not stupid. I catch body language easily, maybe not as good as my executioner teams, but I wouldn’t have been voted in if my club didn’t have faith.
“No, I mean yes.” He huffs a laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face. “The guys weren’t kidding, you can make a man shit his pants.”
“I asked you a pretty simple question.” Again, the guy looks like he’s about to break a fucking sweat. “Look, if you fuck over me or my club, I will end your life. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” he says, never breaking eye contact. I jerk a nod, going back down the stairs. I didn’t have any negative emotions about him, but the dude fucking stuttered. Only those with a guilty conscious act like that.
