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“Malone, I’m gonna be honest here.” I lean against the counter and pull out my hunting knife. “I’ve got better things to do and I don’t want to visit you again, so how about you go crack open that safe in the back room—”
He opens his mouth to protest and I reach over, poking him in the chest with my knife. Not enough to dig into his skin, but enough to catch the material of his shirt and slice a neat little hole. “Don’t fucking lie to me. I’m not in the mood.” I jerk my head at Murphy. “He already ain’t a fan of yours. I wouldn’t push him much more tonight.”
“I need that money—”
“Not my problem.”
“Let’s go,” Murphy urges.
In the back office, Malone makes a few more noises of protest, which we ignore. I’m busy studying the messy space, searching for a security monitor. There’s one sad-looking old TV connected to a VCR that’s surprisingly still working. I pop out the tape and tuck it under my arm. “You got any more?”
“That’s the only one.”
I’ll still do a quick sweep before we leave, but right now I’m more concerned about the money.
“I’m not gonna be able to pay my—”
“Again, not my problem.”
Murphy pokes him in the side with the shotgun. “You got a hearing problem? Move it.”
Finally, we’re close to the amount I came to collect. Thank fuck.
“Come on, Malone. Think. Where else you got some cash?”
“Out front.”
We follow him closely to the front register. I don’t let him go behind it again—in case he has another gun stashed—but he tells me how to open the register and I pull out the few scraggly bills inside, stuffing them into the bag Murphy threw onto the counter.
I make him wait while I search for any other surveillance equipment that might be lurking.
“How do I know you’re really gonna pay DeLova with my money?”
“My brother still has a gun on you and that’s your concern?”
“You need to prioritize,” Murphy adds.
I throw a smirk at him.
“You’re welcomed to give him a call, but I don’t think you want to risk him stopping by any time soon. He’s not too happy with you right now.”
Before leaving, we tie Malone to the chair in his office. Not too tight. If he’s diligent enough, he should be free by midnight.
Murphy carries the shotgun outside with us and ejects the shells before leaving it on the hood of Malone’s car.
“Nice touch.”
“Well, I don’t want to dump it and have some kid get a hold of it.”
“So civic-minded.”
He flips me off and we get the hell out of there.
Rock attends my morning meeting with DeLova where I hand him his cash.
“Very efficient, Z.” He nods his approval while one of his men counts the money we collected at Malone’s.
“Asshole pulled a shotgun on us.”
“Yes, but obviously you handled it well.” He dismisses my complaint with a flick of his wrist. “And the other?”
I pull a tightly-wrapped plastic bag from my bag and hold it just out of reach of DeLova’s greedy hand. “No more loans to Volkov.”
He raises an eyebrow.
Rock moves up, brushing his shoulder against mine, forming a wall of don’t-fuck-with-us.
DeLova’s guy snaps his head up and narrows his eyes at the change in tone.
Chaser glances up from his phone and frowns. “What’s up, Z?”
“Just what I said. No more loans to this one. He’s out.”
“You performing charity work now, son?” DeLova asks.
“I ain’t your son and no.”
“Ah.” He nods knowingly. “Someone you know?”
“That’s not important.”
DeLova glances over his shoulder at Chaser who gives his father-in-law a subtle head shake. I interpret as Chaser’s on our side, but who knows what DeLova will do.
Finally, he shrugs. “Not a problem.” He motions to the man counting the money and he hands me an envelope with our take of the job.
Not nearly enough to cover my irritation with this whole operation and I gotta split it with Sway’s club.
Definitely not worth it.
This sure as fuck better be my last interaction with DeLova for a long-ass time.
Thirty-Four
Z
Our morning meeting with DeLova unfortunately doesn’t go unnoticed by Priest, who’s at Sway’s clubhouse waiting for us.
“Was hoping for a sit-down this morning and no one’s here.”
“Had some business to handle for Sway,” I answer, stepping inside the chapel to put the money I brought back in the safe.
Priest and Rock follow me inside.
“Anything I need to be aware of?” Priest asks.
I barely restrain myself from rolling my eyes. “No, Prez. Just something that couldn’t wait.”
“Well, I appreciate that. But maybe it’s time to talk about recruitment again.”
I don’t bother pointing out that recruiting new members wouldn’t have done anything to improve my morning because Priest isn’t looking for me to answer. He just wants to start this conversation.
Again.
“We’re working on it, Priest,” Rock says with about all the respect I think he can muster right now. “I got a new guy we’re planning to give a prospect rocker to real soon. Wrath’s recruited two more hang-arounds we’ll consider bringing on as prospects next year.”
Priest nods but doesn’t seem satisfied. He turns to me. “Three prospects are a good start. Rock’s been stubborn on this point, but you need to start thinking about more active recruitment down here too.”
Rock’s jaw tightens and I think my best friend’s endless patience is about to run out.
I couldn’t disagree with Priest more. Rock’s stubborn for a reason. Not many men are fit to wear an MC patch. Even fewer are fit to be a Lost King.
You can’t rise to Priest’s level without having a significant body count under your belt, that’s just a fact. But I refuse to allow anyone to push me into doing something stupid that will ultimately hurt my brothers in the long run. I didn’t make it to where I am by kissing ass or being a yes man.
“Priest,” I say carefully, respectfully, “you know as well as I do that if we run around offering LOKI patches to every biker who wants one, instead of making them earn it, the whole organization will suffer. We’ve seen it over and over. With bigger clubs—”
“We’re at a place where we can grow, but we need more bodies to make that happen,” Priest insists.
“To what end?” Rock asks.
Priest glares in response.
“We all want what’s best for the club,” I continue. “All of us.” I glance at Rock. We’ve both worked damn hard to keep our club from going under after our last president almost tore us apart. Having Priest question our commitment isn’t sitting well with either of us right now.
“Growth can be dangerous if we don’t go about it right,” I say. “You’ve always been hands-off and let us run the charters the way they need to be run.”
“You think I don’t know what it takes to run a club anymore?” he asks.
“I think you have access to the bigger picture none of us understand as well as you do,” I say with a humble shrug. “But you’re not as in touch with the daily reality. That disconnect could be dangerous.”
Now, a lesser man would probably piss their pants after saying that to their national president. Hell, I don’t think there are many who’d even have the balls to say it out loud, but I don’t back down, apologize, or break eye-contact.
Priest should respect that.
Or shoot me.
One or the other.
“I trust you, Z. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have asked you to step in for Sway.”
Meaning, he won’t gut me for talking out of turn. What a relief.
“Maybe your club has m
ade it look too easy for too long.” Priest smirks. “And I should pay more attention. Learn your secrets.”
Nope. Don’t need him paying any more attention to us.
“It’s hard work. Years of loyalty built on trust and respect,” I say. “Just like any successful club. We’ve all known each other a long time. I trust every single one of my brothers without question.”
There’s a twitch at his mouth. Almost a sneer and I decide it’s time to sink the blade of truth into whatever soft spots Priest has left.
“Who’s the most important person in your life?” I ask.
He glowers at me. “What’s your point?”
