Rogue shook his head. “It’s all yours, buddy. Just you and the board.”
“Probably about the fucker that attacked me, huh?” I thanked Josh for the drink with a smile and took a big slug of it. The alcohol did a better job at waking me than the coffee had this morning, but even ten was early for me.
“Who’d you piss off?” Rogue raised his blond eyebrows at me. He hadn’t been there yesterday because he was working, but my brothers were like a bunch of gossiping teenagers. Someone would have told him about what went down.
Josh walked away to the other end of the bar, leaving me and Rogue to talk.
“No idea, bro. I did fucking nothing to the Reyes Cartel.”
“Didn’t sleep with his guy, did you?” Rogue asked. “I wouldn’t put it past you to sleep with someone who already has a partner, and I heard some of those Reyes Cartel boys are into cock, too. Rumors are the top dog, Thiago Reyes, has a boy toy he’s gonna make his husband.” He glanced in Josh’s direction and winced. “Heard some of the Reyes’ boys might have visited the Courtesan.”
“Wait.” I held up my palm to him. “Are you saying there were Reyes boys there?”
He shrugged with a frown. “Rumors. That’s all.”
That was a fucking lie. Josh was friends with the whores and whatever he heard through dangerousgossip, went straight back to Rogue. “Did you tell King that?” I finished the rest of my drink and slammed the glass on the bar, which earned me a glare from Josh. He treated the piece of wood like it was made of gold, and he wastryingto teach us to respect it. I didn’t think the lesson would ever penetrate our alcohol-soaked brains. Josh came back with a refill before he left again.
“King knows,” Rogue said. “Not that it matters.” He spun his stool toward me, leaning on the bar with his elbow, a glass in his hand. “You know what the Harlots are like with the Courtesan. What the Madam is like. The reason people go there is because it’s a safe zone. Protected by the Madam and her guard dogs.”
“She’s one scary lady. She makes my nuts shrivel up and want to hide in my body.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Rogue laughed and held up his beer to me.
I raised my glass and clinked it against his bottle. Standing, I said my goodbyes before I walked across the main barroom toward the board room where King usually held church. I knocked and the door opened, Jester appearing on the other side. He nodded sharply and held out his hand.
Reaching into my jacket, I yanked my gun from my holster and passed it to him. He walked it over to the heavy box at the side of the room as I stepped into the smoky atmosphere. Undertaker, King, and a few of the other men in charge were already here, but we were obviously waiting for more, like Reaper, who was absent. King was puffing on a cigar, a bottle of beer in his hand. I nodded at the bottle when I got closer, and he shook his head.
“Don’t fucking tell Grant or Dallas. I’m trying here.”
I shrugged. “None of my business, pres.”
Undertaker smiled and it fucking creeped me out. He was one of those dudes who scared even the most dangerous men, and if he wasn’t on my side, I might have pissed my pants every time I saw him. He gestured to a seat on the other side of the thick wooden table where they conducted business, and I strode around and sat down, Jester beside me.
The guys chatted between themselves until the rest of the group turned up. While they took their time handing over their guns, I stared around the room, taking in the décor and the photo behind King’s chair of the original members, Scar included. I hadn’t been in this room often—it was mostly for board members holding church, and other than that, there was never a reason to be in here. Occasionally King called a club-wide meeting, but it didn’t happen often.
The table was a thick cherrywood with our insignia carved into the middle, and the chairs spread out around it were black leather. All the furniture in here was probably the nicest in the entire clubhouse, not including King’s bedroom. The lime walls were surprisingly brighter than any other paint in this place and it had these fancy built in lights that lit the entire space.
King slammed his hardwood gavel on the sound block and everyone shut the hell up and turned their attention on him.
“Let it be noted that this meeting has officially begun,” he said, giving Micah a specific stare. As secretary, it was his job to keep track of the notes and lock them somewhere safe afterward, where no cops would find them—if they ever grew some balls. Micah was a quiet kind of guy who mostly kept to himself. He was nearly as quiet as Jester. Formerly from an Amish community, he didn’t grow up in the world like the rest of us.
King grabbed his cigar and took another puff, blowing smoke out into the air before he took a sip of his beer. “We all know why we’re here.”
A few nods and voiced acknowledgements sounded through the room. I’d only been to meetings where the whole club had to come to a decision together, so being in here with just the board members was strange.
“Barber’s attack. What do we know?”
Undertaker tapped his fingers on the table, and I glanced curiously at him. “Reyes Cartel tattoo. Little Benito was a long way from home. I burned his body to cinders and bone shards, but I don’t think he was here alone.”
“Why do you say that?” Reaper asked. He sat on Undertaker’s other side, arms crossed over his massive chest. The skull tattoo on his neck was vibrant against the paleness of his skin. He was another scary motherfucker. He didn’t just kill guys like I did, he beat the living daylights out of them with the heel of his boot until their faces were unrecognizable.
“Someone’s been calling his phone and leaving text messages. They’re in Spanish, but my cousin’s learning it in college. He said they asked why he didn’t meet them at the spot. I’m assuming they mean somewhere in New Gothenburg,” Undertaker said.
“Fuck.” King squeezed the bridge of his nose. “All right. So we probably have other fucking cartel guys to deal with.”
“I think Undertaker’s right,” Jester said in his deep voice, surprising me. The guy was as silent as a grave most days, and after a while I forgot what he sounded like. “B-B-Bliss told me that there’s been a few Spanish cartel members sleeping at the Courtesan.”
I frowned at his stutter. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, his words were slow and calculated.
