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While Ace speaks, my mind races with the possibilities of who the mole could be. Nobody outside the club knows shit about what’s inside those shipping containers. Nobody.
“Wait.”
Ace frowns at me, and I hold up both hands in apology. “You got something to say, Coop?”
I nod. “Yeah. We might not have a mole.”
Shades snorts and shakes his head.
“Get the pussy out of your ears, man. You’re the one who came to us with the intel.”
I nod because he’s right, and I flip him off for suggesting my mind is full of anything right now but club business.
“Yeah, but Satellite was clear with what he heard. Guns. Just guns. Guns are not a hard fucking guess since most of our green comes from guns, but if Hector knows there are drugs in that container, he’ll open it up, steal ’em, and then blow it to pieces. He doesn’t know what’s in there.”
I hope I’m not wrong, but I’d been replaying Satellite’s intel in my mind over the past hour, waiting for the rest of the guys to get to the clubhouse.
“There’s no fucking mole.” It’s not exactly great news, but if we can still trust our men, Iron Kings are our only problem.
Ace nods. “You may be right, but still, nothing leaves this room. Period.”
His dark gaze lands on each of us once again, waiting for the double-fisted smack on the table to seal our word. Our bond.
“All right. Even if we don’t have a mole, we have to get to that shipment early and make Hector regret he ever had the fucking thought of messing with us.”
“Damn straight,” Shades adds, co-signing on his Prez and his best friend’s word.
“We need to keep eyes on the Port at all times for the next forty-eight hours,” Preacher offers, black brows knitted into a fearsome scowl.
“Right,” Ace agrees. “Nova, grab the probies.”
Moments later, the four prospects, Lucky, Joaquin, Jordi, and Devon, file inside with eager expressions.
“You need us for something, boss?” Joaquin, the unofficial spokesman for the prospects, stands tall with his shoulders square and chest puffed out, ready to do whatever needs to be done, and I just had one thought.
He’s gonna be Prez someday.
Ace nods. “Get to the Port. Now. We need twenty-four-hour observation and protection until I tell you otherwise. Make sure you’re all strapped. Legally.”
“Got it, boss.”
“And if you see even one fucking Iron King sniffing around our shit, shoot ’em.”
“Really?” Lucky’s hazel eyes widen in surprise and excitement.
“Hell yeah,” Ace says in response. “This is serious. It’s also your chance, each one of you, to prove you can follow orders. That you can be trusted.”
Each prospect gives a solemn nod, standing stock still until Ace dismisses them.
When they’re gone, Ace smiles. “That shit never gets old.”
We all laugh, and for a brief moment, the tension dissipates in the room. This is nothing new for any of us. We’ve all been here. On the brink of war. Immersed deep in a violent war. Preparing for war. It’s part of our way of life, and we all signed up for it. Hell, some of us, like me and Shades, welcome the chaos of war.
“All right, now, how the fuck are we gonna make Hector and his MC pay? All ideas on the table, now,” Ace says, looking around the table at all of us.
For the next hour, we discuss every possible way to retaliate against Hector for even having the dream, the thought, that he could do some shit like this to us.
“I say a little bit of arson is called for.”
Nova shakes his head in my direction. “Fucking pyro,” he mutters, but I don’t miss the way his lips quirk into a smile.
I laugh and shrug it off. “They say you’re supposed to fight fire with fire, right? I just want to make it hurt. A fuck of a lot.”
“A-fucking-men, brother.” Shades is on board as I knew he would be because that fucker is the only member of this MC crazier than me.
“We could just take out Hector,” Preacher offers up. “This isn’t the time for turning the other cheek.” Even Preacher knows how serious this is if he’s suggesting we do the one sin he knows he can’t come back from. Again.
“Agreed.” Ace nods and turns to Shades and then me. “Get me a location, soon, so I can come up with a workable plan.”
Shades and I are on our feet in a flash. I smile at Ace. “Jordi is a sharp-shooter,” I offer with a shrug. “Just sayin’.”
Shades flashes a wide shit-eating grin. “Hell yeah, he can pick off who we leave bleeding and thrashing on the ground.” He smacks his hands together and nods slowly. “I have just the spot. Let’s go, Coop.”
We leave Church side-by-side, both of us walking with wide, deliberate steps. We are two men on a mission.
