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7
~Dealer~
HE WEREN’T UP AT THE CLUBHOUSE.
I headed up there and was told by the VP, Grit, that their big, bad president was out at a lunch meeting with the outsider he brought in a couple of weeks ago.
Great fucking time to be bringing in outsiders.
It’s been a lot to wrap my head around ever since Ax told me he’s pulling Smiter from the SAA role and replacing him with his old friend, Tanner “Maverick” Jansen.
The territory attack a few months back screwed with everything and all the club members’ heads, leaving everybody reeling. Smiter didn’t want the pressure no more. Runner had to move, because his woman was scared to go back to their home after the enemy invaded. Ax nearly went off the deep-end. And that was when all my past deeds started coming back to haunt me.
Things are moving forward now, but that hell still hangs heavy over everybody.
Problem is, it won’t be the last time.
Black Thorns MC’s fate was locked in long ago. And no matter how hard Ax and the boys work to change its course, to go legit, and stay out of all that one-percenter stuff, it never will completely, because it was built on that world, and associations from that don’t just die, especially not the enemies. Ax and Roxana might’ve gotten rid of all Ax's personal enemies, but the club ain’t just him. Outside of the members and their enemies, there’s also those from the club’s former presidents, like Trig and me.
There’s always gonna be somebody, something coming at Thorns.
Shaking my head to myself, I push on through the door into The Cove.
It don’t take me long to spot Ax.
He’s over in a corner booth, him facing the door, and Maverick is on the other side, his back to me.
The restaurant ain’t that busy because it’s mid-morning. Good, I like privacy.
As I stride down the gangway, Ax spots me before I get up there.
I see him tense up, the question in his eyes there.
He knows by now that me showing up unannounced ain’t a good thing, not by a long shot. Usually means trouble’s coming his way, that I’ve heard something from my wide network of contacts, something that concerns Thorns in a bad way. Besides, I know he and my baby girl are real busy these days. Ax is holding the weight of the whole club on his shoulders as Prez now. Roxana has her interior design business, Roxana’s Interiors that’s doing well, meaning she’s got a lot on her plate with it. And they got their toddler, my cute little granddaughter, Ava, as well. So, with all of that, I make sure if I’m gonna come for a visit, I give them both a load of notice.
Except when something bad comes up.
Ax shakes off his initial surprise, then offers a smile and gets to his feet out of respect.
“Dealer,” he greets me as we slap-shake, then bump fists, our usual greeting.
“Ax.”
He smiles, trying hard to hide how unsettled he is. But I know him way better than that, that shit ain’t gonna get past me. Makes me feel like an asshole for bringing the bad with me today. Wish I had some better news, or no news, for that matter.
He slides in so I can take a seat next to him.
And that’s when I first take a good look at this outsider he’s brought in.
He weren’t up at my party the other day and I ain’t crossed paths with in the previous few weeks since he’s been up on Thorns territory either. Ax has kept him busy, learning and training and all that.
Maverick is a big guy, seems about Ax’s height, from what I can tell with him being seated right now. He’s all muscle, seriously jacked, more than Ax and even Smiter. That much is clear from the white tank he’s wearing that’s hardly holding it all back. There’s a gray hoodie folded all neatly on the seat beside him. He’s packing heat, a Desert Eagle sitting in a holster attached to his black tactical pants. Same gun as Ax’s. Speaking of guns, the scar on his left shoulder don’t escape my notice. I’ve seen enough of them in my life to know a gunshot wound when I see one. Looks like a real nasty one too. The fact he ain’t hiding it, or reacting in the slightest to me eyeing it, tells me he’s proud of whatever led to it. Might also mean he’s got some demons there, some darkness to put it out there without no worry. The other arm’s a full inked sleeve of black and white interwoven designs.
“Heard a lot about you,” he says, running a hand over his brown buzz-cut. I see a stud in his tongue gleaming against the light as he speaks.
“Yeah? Ain’t sure if that’s a good thing.”
I can’t see his eyes, because they’re hidden behind a pair of aviators. Don’t like that. It’s real hard to read people without seeing their eyes. Then again, given his history and all the private security work he’s been doing for the last couple of years, that’s his intention, not to be readable.
