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“You’re both wrong!”
I fight a groan when a voice comes from my left, and I don’t have to look to see Reaper’s stoic face boring holes into the side of my head. My enforcer has been an otherwise silent observer to the squabble between my VP and the prospect, so I’m confused why he would even want to join in and add to the headache.
“Comfort is key for a Harley,” he says. “A well-padded seat and handlebars can make those long rides a breeze. It’s all about finding that sweet spot between style, power, and comfort. What do you think, Prez?
Kill me, is what I am think.
“I think I should have come on this stakeout alone tonight,” I say roughly, digging my hand into my jacket and coming out with a pack of cigarettes. I grab one and slip it between my lips before lighting it and taking a long drag of nicotine.
“I thought you quit smoking,” Knight says, his eyes narrowed on me.
“I did,” I deadpan, taking another long pull of the cigarette. The truth is that I tried to quit the nasty habit, and no, it’s not because I am thinking of my health and all that crap. I am not delusional enough to think I am going to live long enough to worry about the long-term effects of smoking.
Not in this business, I won’t.
Between the trigger-happy cops and our careless rival MCs in the area, it’ll be a miracle if I make it to fifty without a bullet in my head or a lifetime sentence to my name like my old man.
The reason I’ve tried to quit my nasty smoking habit is because that’s all it is, a habit. I am not fond of being a slave to my habits. I’ve seen enough people go bat shit crazy from substance abuse to know I need my head screwed on straight. I can’t afford any compulsions, and my smoking is exactly that. I’ve managed to stay off anything that controls my head and even gone for months without smoking, and yet . . .
And yet, I can’t quit because of these meatheads.
“I see just how hard you’re trying to quit,” Knight says, sarcasm dripping off him like honey, and he’s lucky he’s my best friend, or he would be on the ground bleeding right now. He must read the dangerous glint in my eyes because he quickly changes the topic. “What are we doing here anyway? We should—”
His words are cut off when we all catch the sound of a distant truck. Everyone goes alert and checks their weapons as the truck gets closer.
“Fucking finally!” I hiss, blowing out smoke before dropping the cigarette to the ground and putting it out with the heel of my boot.
We’ve been waiting for this truck all night. A few days ago, when a prospect reported spotting trucks traveling through a secluded part of our territory, I immediately knew who it belonged to. Only the Black Chains MC would be brave enough to transport drugs through our territory. The only other route into the city is by the highway, but they risk getting caught by the State Highway Patrol that way. We’ve been hanging out for the past two nights waiting for them to show up again, and they just did.
Tonight, I intend to remind these fuckers why the authorities are the safer choice in comparison to us.
“How hard do we go on them?” Reaper asks quietly at my side, and I watch as my enforcer pulls out a silencer. I can practically see him drooling at the thought of the violence that is about to ensue.
“As hard as you need to,” I say, taking out my own gun. “We will teach them a lesson tonight!”
I nod at Knight, who will ride after Reaper and me with the prospect. The plan is for those two to attack from the back in case there are men hiding there, and for Reaper and me to deal with the men at the front.
We break off as previously discussed to ambush the truck, and everything happens in a flash. My gun is already drawn as I ride my Harley to the front of the truck, momentary distracting the driver from Reaper, who shoots the tire, forcing it to a stop.
Then bullets start flying.
The Black Chains were clearly underprepared for this ambush, and we quickly subdue them, dragging three bleeding men from the truck who plead with us not to kill them. Despite my words to Reaper earlier, I don’t plan on killing them. At least not all three of them. I still need someone to take a message back to the Black Chains.
I am not as bloodthirsty as some of my crew members. Someone has to be sane enough to lead this pack of animals, and unfortunately, that’s me. Even so, I need to teach these fuckers a lesson about what it means to cross the president of the Steal Order MC.
I point my gun at the man closest to me, ready to pull the trigger, when Knight’s voice stops me.
“Hey, Priest, you need to see this!” His voice is rough and cold, but that’s not what stops me. Knight and the rest of the members rarely call me by name unless it’s serious. I am always Prez to them, the cold man with a permanent scowl and a dead heart.
“Shoot if anyone moves a muscle.” I nod to Reaper before walking around the truck to the back. I expect to find tons of cocaine loaded in the back, or perhaps weapons, but what I am met with has my blood chilling in my veins. “What the fuck is this!”
“I knew the Black Chains were the scummiest of the scum, but this is downright disgusting!”
A whimpering noise from inside the truck sets my jaw in a tight grind as I stare at the girls huddled together in the corner. Knight flashes a light over the small spaces, and I mentally count the number of the people in the truck to ten girls, most of whom don’t even look old enough to drive.
“W-what are we going to do?” the prospect asks shakily, his eyes wide with horror as it slowly dawns on him that we’ve stopped human trafficking.
“Call in a tip to our contact that the sheriff’s office,” I tell him. “Inform him that he needs to get out here ASAP with his friends from social services.”
