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Under the table, I bump Teller with my leg, hoping he’ll shut the fuck up.
“Your National board doesn’t have anyone else they want to send up here to keep your territory?” I can’t help asking the question. This seems way too simple. Not that it’s unheard of.
“Not enough bodies. Bulk of our clubs’ out west. Montana, Idaho, Oregon. None of them want to come this far east.”
“That where you’re headed? Not exactly sunny skies all year round.”
“I’ll be retiring in good standing. Headed to San Diego to be near my daughter and her kids.”
Teller and I share a look.
“All right.” I face Whisper again. “I need to take it to the table, obviously, but I don’t see an issue with your request. Anyone asks, we’ll make it clear you closed voluntarily. Not sure we can do much more than that.”
“Appreciate it, son.”
If this motherfucker calls me ‘son’ one more time… “To be clear, this can’t be a situation where your club changes its mind a few years from now and rides back into town thinking we’re handing Slater back.”
Whisper stares at me for a few seconds without speaking. Yeah, that was probably a dick comment, but it needed to be said.
“Understood.”
“What are you doing with your drive-in theater?” Teller asks.
Whisper’s eyes widen. “Why, you want to buy it?”
“Maybe.”
“Been looking for a buyer. On ‘paper’ it doesn’t sound all that profitable.” Whisper lets out a chuckle. The possibility of a truckload of cash coming his way outweighs his annoyance with Teller’s mouth. “We did the digital upgrade a couple years ago, so it won’t be cheap.”
Teller jots something down on a piece of paper and passes it to Whisper. “Send me the details.”
“You got it.” He stares at both of us for a few beats. “Never thought I’d sell the place. I’d feel better knowing it was in your hands.”
He leaves for the men’s room, and I shoot a questioning look Teller’s way. “Since when do you want to run a movie theater?”
“Why not? We loved that place when we were kids.” He glances over at Heidi and Charlotte. “Nice summer job for all our kids when they get older.”
“Who’s running it until then?”
“I’ll find someone.”
“Thought you were busy starting up your wannabe chicken farm empire?”
He chuckles. “Diversify.”
“Oh, Alexa wants a peacock by the way.”
He laughs even harder. “Random.”
“Could you try not to antagonize him?”
“I thought we were playing ‘good biker, bad biker’?” He fakes an innocent expression.
“Stop trying to piss him off.”
He leans in. “Holy fuck. Did you ever think Wolf Knights would give up their territory?”
“Fuck no.” Priest and the rest of the National Board will be thrilled. They’ve been pushing for us to take over more territory for a while. Now, Slater county and the surrounding areas Wolf Knights control is being handed to us on a silver platter.
Unfortunately, we still haven’t gotten control of Ironworks. So, this means our club will be taking over more territory with unknown issues.
“Things must be worse than we thought,” Teller echoes my inner conflict.
Great, can’t wait to inherit more problems.
Twenty-Seven
Murphy
As Whisper returns to our table, shouts from the bar grab our attention. Two guys are in each other’s’ faces. A third one nearby is furiously tapping on his phone.
I catch Charlotte’s eye. She motions that she and Heidi are headed to the ladies’ room, away from trouble.
Teller elbows me, and I shake my head. Not our place to get involved, yet.
“Barely out of diapers and running his mouth.” Whisper shakes his head. “This is what outlaws are turning into.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call any of them outlaws.”
Remy attempts to cool down the argument. Guess they’re not receptive to the intervention. One of the guys pops off and slams a right hook into Remy’s jaw.
“Fuck.” Looks like we’ll be getting involved now.
Remy’s head snaps back. Teller and I jump out of our seats and rush to the guy. While we hold him back, he keeps shouting insults at Remy. Something about overcharging for beer. Cranky old fucker or not, maybe Whisper has a point. What the fuck kind of bullshit did we stumble into here?
Remy shakes off the punch and motions for us to let the guy go. As soon as we release him, Remy pummels the kid in the face and chest, dropping him to the ground.
Griff and two others jump in to finish the punishment.
Teller and I take a step back and let Remy regain control of the situation. This isn’t our fight. The guys are almost done putting the boots to the instigator. If they’re going to form a support club, we have to let them handle minor scuffles like this on their own turf without interference.
“Break it up,” Remy commands, holding out his arms for the others to back off.
The kid on the floor picks up his head and holds out his hand to signal his surrender.
Over as soon as it started.
Cool air breezes in, and I turn my attention toward the door. Some asshole in a black leather jacket with red and white stripes down the sleeves struts into the bar. He’s wearing a helmet, so no way to tell who it is. The way he isn’t eager to take off the helmet indoors, combined with his stance, pings my danger meter.
I press my arm into Teller’s chest, backing him up a few steps. “Move,” I say just loud enough for him to hear.
His gaze narrows on the guy in the helmet. “Who the—”
Stripe-jacket pulls a gun and squeezes off a few rounds into the center of the bar.
“Get down!” I shove Teller to my left, away from the shooter. Together, we haul ass to our corner.
“You know, I’m getting really tired of having bullets flung at me,” Teller growls as we duck behind the table.
“You shittin’ me?” Whisper bitches, already out of breath as he hoists his ass out of his seat.
Teller and I press our palms under the table, flipping it on its side. Glassware, dishes, and utensils go flying. The table’s big enough for the three of us to take cover behind. At least I hope the wood is thick enough to slow down a bullet or ten.
Whisper huffs and puffs his way down to the floor with us.
Teller pulls his Glock out of its holster, and we both peek over the table. We’re too low, and there are too many people in the way to return fire. Right now, I’m more worried about Heidi and Charlotte walking out into this clusterfuck than anything else.
“Get down.” I yank Teller to the floor with me while I wrestle my phone out of my pocket.
Me: Stay put. Get behind something solid.
“You ordering a pizza?” Teller glances over at my phone.
“No, dick.” I finish and press send. “I told Heidi to stay put.” I send two more texts before stuffing my phone back in my pocket. “Sent Jake a text, too, he’s probably close by.”
“Hudson’s outside,” Whisper says.
“Why the fuck didn’t you have him come in?” Teller asks.
I poke my head out to eyeball the shooter again. What if he already shot Hudson on his way inside? Even worse, what if Hudson decides to play cowboy and open fire in here?
“He’s the one who wanted to step up and keep the club open,” Whisper explains.
“He okay?” I ask.
Whisper shows me his texts. “Says he didn’t recognize the guy. I told him to stay outside.”
Hudson must be desperate to prove himself because not ten seconds later, he flies through the front door and tackles the shooter, yanking off his helmet in the process. But the shooter isn’t going down easy. He takes aim and blows a hole in his attacker’s shoulder.
“And that’s why we didn’t try a flying tackle
,” I mutter.
Teller snorts and elbows me.
Before either of us can move out of our spot, the shooter jumps up. Without the helmet, his pale, pockmarked face is visible. Still don’t recognize him.
The friend of the kid who punched Remy earlier keeps screaming, “Stop!” The shooter ignores him and slaps another magazine into his gun.
He fires at the bar. Glass and liquor explode off the shelf. Remy ducks and must be moving behind the length of the bar because the shooter keeps popping off shots like he’s tracking a half-wounded deer.
Teller grunts and pokes his head out. “If some of these fuckers would get out of the way, I could get off a shot.”
Together, we crawl out, taking cover by some overturned chairs.
“We gotta get the girls out of here,” Teller says. “Then take care of this fuck.”
The last word has barely left his mouth when Heidi catches my eye at the end of the hallway.
In slow-mo horror, I watch her tiptoe up behind the shooter.
Torn between wanting to scream at her to stop and not wanting to alert the shooter that she’s there, I pull my gun and stand.
By being this bold, I’m risking a bullet to the chest or head, but I don’t care as long as he’s distracted from looking anywhere near Heidi’s direction.
The shooter notices me.
His gun hand starts a slow swing my way.
Without fear or hesitation, Heidi lifts her hand high in the air. My eyes zero in on the green and purple handle of the small hammer I gave her as a joke.
But this is no joke.
