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If Nadia thought she had a contentious relationship with her dad, she never saw me and my old man together. I hate to see him here, but I also understand why Paddy chose to ask for his help.
Rufus may be retired and drinking himself into a slow death these days, but he was once the president of the Blackthorn Riders MC. He’s one of the founders, and he has seen the club through some of its most difficult times. His leadership may not have been flawless, but it was ironclad. Kai, Drake, and I had something to inherit mainly because of my father’s work of diplomacy and occasional backstabbing.
But damn, he looks like shit. Late seventies, his own hairline running away from him. Sagging skin and brownish spots. He is a barely walking reminder of how much damage we do to ourselves with alcohol. I’ll try that New Year’s resolution again, provided we survive until then. I’ll go clean. Spotless. At the same time, he’s made it this far.
“He said I have sixty days to hand the club over,” I say, seated at the head of the oval mahogany table. This used to be his chair, and I can tell from the glimmer in his dark eyes that he still thinks he belongs in it. He doesn’t. “Otherwise, he’ll gradually carve his way into the territory and won’t stop until we’re all dead.”
Paddy takes a deep breath, fingers tapping nervously on the table. Its surface has been polished and lacquered, but it still holds a plethora of carvings—all courtesy of the original MC members. It’s mostly their names, titles, and motorcycle license plate numbers.
They carved precious moments into this table gradually over the years. Cassandra’s name is on there, along with Nadia’s and her date of birth. This table holds our entire history. I’d hate to see Colton fucking Harrow sitting here with his dirty boots on it, soiling it.
“He wants our trade routes,” Paddy says. “They’re the main ones in and out of Orange County, and he knows it.”
“Colton has done his homework, which is why he started hitting the smaller clubs first,” Dad says, scratching his white beard. I can almost imagine him barking orders at Quicksilver. Nadia’s dad was a young buck compared to my father and the other club founders. “Once he eliminated the smaller competition, he decided it was time to take you on, the big fish,” he adds, looking at me.
“We can’t tell him we’re trying to go legit, either,” Kai says, his lips twisted with anger. “That’ll render us even more vulnerable.”
“Of course,” Dad replies. “Colton will use it against you. He’ll drag you back in, one way or another. And right now, you can’t afford to lose the support of your suppliers. Chances are, he’s going to be sniffing around their doors next, especially if he thinks he’s got a shot at taking the club down.”
“He came up strong; I’ll give him that,” I say. It was supposed to rattle us, a show of force.”
Drake curses under his breath. “He’s already taunting us. He nearly drove Sky and Kerry off the road yesterday and a couple of prospects the week before. It’s systematic but increasingly more aggressive.”
“And your lack of reaction only emboldens him,” Dad says.
“What the fuck are we expected to do? Go to war?” I snap. “It’s what we’re trying to avoid here!”
Dad smiles broadly, making me feel stupid. He always does this, flashing this all-knowing smile that is meant to remind me of who the bigger, the smarter man is. I’m still the kid, the idiot who shadowed him for years before I decided to join the military instead.
“Son, Colton is challenging you in the open, before the other clubs and before your own brothers. Inaction implies weakness, and he will keep coming until you stop him.”
“The only way to stop him is to kill him,” Kai says, “but the fucker knows how to cover his back. He’s hard to catch when he’s alone.”
“On top of that, two of the MCs he’s hit have joined his side,” Drake adds.
“Out of fear and necessity, nothing else,” Dad says. “Remember, you were never friendly with those hog-riding pricks, anyway. The Black Wolves and the Sea Snakes, right? Tommy and Henner? They were presidents the last I heard.”
“You heard right. And they’re both dead,” I reply.
“But their boys are still in the club.”
“Tommy’s son, Lucius,” Paddy says, “and Cody, Henner’s VP.”
“Talk to them,” Dad replies. “Reach out to them in private.”
Kai shakes his head and pours himself a double whiskey. We brought a bottle in, knowing we’d absolutely need it for this conversation. I haven’t touched it yet. I don’t want another smirk on my old man’s face. He loves pointing out that the apple never falls too far from the tree.
“They’re scared, Knight,” Kai says, addressing my father by his nickname. “They’re too weak to fight against the Devils. Colton already has the northern supply lines. He’s after our southern ones.”
“There’s strength in numbers,” Dad says. “Just because Colton hit them first doesn’t mean the Wolves and the Snakes won’t be tempted to join you if you decide to rise. The Blackthorn Riders is the biggest club around. Your fathers and I made sure of it with our own blood, sweat, and tears.”
I get it now. From the passion and the anger in his voice, I get why he had to come here today and why he needs to make his voice heard. My old man founded the Blackthorn Riders MC with Orlando, Kai’s father, and John, Drake’s father, along with Paddy and Quicksilver, and others who have either retired or died violent deaths since. He’s not about to let some ginger psycho from out of state come in and piss all over his hard work. This is personal for Rufus. It’s personal for every single founder. I get it.
“As much as I hate to agree with you, it’s not the worst idea,” I say. “You’re right. There is strength in numbers, and if we can find something to entice Lucius and Cody with, they might feel emboldened enough to support us against Colton.”
“Your southern supply routes,” Dad says.
“Those were already on the table,” Drake replies. “We were negotiating with them before Colton came in strong.”
