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Izzy threw her head back and let out a throaty laugh that had his dick thickening once again. “Please,” she said with a wave of her hand. “The boy’s cute and a fun dance partner, but I’m not looking for a child,” she said. Then she winked and played with the tail end of her braid. The combination of the buzzed sides, tight braid, and smooth exposed neck made his mouth water. “I’d eat that boy alive.”
Perfect comment. Jig had no desire to be consumed by a man-eater. If anyone was going to do the eating, it was him.
“See you tomorrow night,” he said, giving her a two-fingered salute.
CHAPTER NINE
JIG LEANED BACK in his chair and propped his right ankle on his left knee as he waited for Copper to speak. A black cloud had followed the prez into the chapel, and every man in the room was eerily quiet. Whatever news Copper had, it wasn’t going to be good. Calling church for nine am after an epic party when ninety percent of the guys were hungover and over-fucked? That never happened.
Until it did.
Copper tracked to the head of the table and planted his giant hands flat on the smooth surface, allowing his head to drop between his shoulders. “Sorry about the early hour,” he said without looking up. “Guess you all figured out I wouldn’t have called you here this early if it wasn’t serious.” He raised his head and studied his men, mouth flat, eyes troubled.
Dread slithered through Jig’s gut. Images of his wife, broken and bleeding on their kitchen floor came at him in a barrage of misery. She hadn’t been raped, but the violence against women in their little slice of the world was bringing back all kinds of horrific memories.
As it often did when shit was about to go down, the scar on his face burned as though a fresh slice. It had become a sort of barometer for bad news. Resisting the urge to rub away the phantom pain, Jig bit the inside of his lower lip, transferring the discomfort elsewhere.
“We had prospects rotating through a watch of the clubhouse’s perimeter all night. About halfway through the party, Rocket went outside the gate and did a wider border search. Caught two of Lefty’s guys in the woods. He took one down and dragged him back. We got him down in The Box. The other ran off, probably straight to his boss.”
“Fuck,” Jig spit out. That must have been right before Rocket spoke with him last night. No wonder his brother seemed off.
“Yeah, fuck’s a good word for it,” Rocket said, all business. “The one that got away had a sniper rifle, and the guy I tagged had a hand grenade. I think we’da spotted him before he got too close, but he still could have done some damage. Tossed a grenade in one of the towers or taken out a section of fencing.”
“So Lefty isn’t rolling over,” Mav said. He had a particular hatred for Lefty since he’d sent some of his goons after Stephanie a few weeks ago.
“No,” Copper said. “He’s actively looking to take us down.”
Zach slapped his hand on the table. “Doesn’t make any fucking sense. He doesn’t have the manpower to take us out. Is he just stupid?”
“I think his ego’s just bigger than his brain.” Copper leaned back in his chair. His green eyes were flat with dark smudges circling under them. He probably hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep the night before. Like the heavy weight of running the club was pressing down too hard on his massive shoulders. He might be a big man, but everyone had their limit, and the club had been under immense strain for the past few months. Copper took every damn thing that happened to his club personally and made it his mission to remedy it.
“I want the women covered,” he said. “At all times. I don’t think we need to be on lockdown just yet, but I want your ol’ ladies guarded. Screw, you get with Zach and work on schedules and assignments for protection as well as getting more eyes on Lefty.”
“You got it, prez,” Screw said. He sat a little taller in his chair. It was reassuring to see the kid taking his first official duty as a patched brother so seriously.
“No parties for a while. Don’t want the Honeys around here either. If you think any of the regulars need to be shadowed, let Screw know. We’re not taking any chances with lives here. Lastly, I think we should close the bar to the public as well.” He turned to Jig. “How’re we with cash?”
For the past three years, Jig had been serving as treasurer. He had a way with numbers, and the club had been thriving since he’d taken over the books. “We’re good, Cop. More than good, actually. Loan business is bringing in a ton of green these days. Closing the bar for a stretch shouldn’t impact our bottom line. Fuck, we give out so much free booze, that bar is not our moneymaker.”
