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“Yeah.”
“How’s she doing anyway?”
“Who?”
“Betty.”
“Good, I guess.” I shrugged. My mind was still lingering on the conversation I had just had with Liddy.
“She still married?” Deke took another drag on his smoke and kept his tone casual, but just the fact that he had asked said a lot.
“Far as I know,” I answered. Then I asked the question I had wondered about for a long time. “That door ever opened again, you’d walk through it?”
“Nah.” My father shook his head in denial. Then he paused for a moment and gave me a self-deprecating grin. “Yeah.”
I laughed out loud in commiseration and understanding because if there were ever any two women who could get under a man’s skin it was Betty Owens and Lydia Rose Hall. I still didn’t know where this thing with Liddy would end up. I just knew that I missed her. And I couldn’t wait for all this club shit to be over with so we could be together long enough to figure this thing out. Or maybe I should just marry her and figure it out as we went. I was surprised to find that the thought didn’t seem as absurd as perhaps it should have.
But for now, I had to keep my head in the game because if I was ever going to be in a place that saw me ready to put a ring on it, I had a job to finish first.
“Hey Kid, you gonna get us all those pencil protectors to wear over our pockets?”
“How about those laser pointers? I want one of those fine point fuckers.”
“Where the hell you going, Griff?” One of the boys called out as Griff Stevens stood up to leave the room.
“Gonna get the suit and silk tie my woman made me wear to her uncle’s funeral last week. I don’t think I’ve dressed appropriately for this here business meeting.”
I was standing in front of the brothers in the clubhouse getting massively pissed off. It was like these fuckers had never seen a PowerPoint Presentation before. I had worked my ass off trying to bring technology to these morons and was secretly damn proud that I had pulled it off. I was just about to pull my gun out and kill the bastards when a shout was heard above all the damn hooting and hollering.
“Shut the hell up, you stupid fucks.” Crix yelled out because that brother always had my back. “’bout time someone brought this club into the twenty-first century. Go ahead, brother, ignore the inbreds.”
But by the time I had finished presenting my plans and maps and photo inserts, nobody was laughing. They were checking the clips in their nine millimeters, they were taking shots of the good whiskey that sat in the center of the table, and they were inhaling deep on their smokes while giving each otherwhat the fucklooks.
But nobody was laughing.
Small stirrings began throughout the room. Feet shifted, muscles flexed, jaws tightened and the air grew tight with musings. A man named Cross was the first to speak. Cross got his road name because he had patched over two years ago from one of our smaller clubs in the Bible belt. He was a brave fucker and a cool guy. I liked him a lot. Cross wore a hearing aid and a prosthetic eye due to injuries he sustained in the military. His courage had earned him a Bronze Star.
Respect.
Cross pushed his drink aside and leaned forward with his elbows resting on the table. “I can see the end game here. I understand the need for change, and I agree this could be a worthwhile mission. But taking the cartel head-on? I’ve got to wonder if that’s where we want to take our boys. We’re talking war here. Bound to be a lot of collateral damage especially down along the border towns where neither the Sinners nor the Saints have a strong presence.”
There were murmurs of agreement around the table and several sidebar conversations. Deke waited for a while before he spoke next.
“The Saints sent a three-man delegation team to parlay with the Jetsom Riffs last week.” Deke explained. “Jet reached out early this morning. It took some negotiation, but the Riffs are willing to align with the 47s, the Bounty Street Boys, and the D- Kings to help with those border towns that will be impacted.”
“Law enforcement gonna be a problem?” Wager asked.
“Yes and no.” I replied but said no more because there were still some things that needed to be ironed out.
“That covered on the next slide?” Frankie called out and some of the tension in the room eased among small guffaws of laughter.
For the next two hours, Deke I and continued to go over plans for the takeover of the three most important American divisions of the Colombian Cartel. It would be the culmination of a concerted effort that my dad, Jet, and other various heads of the three most influential MCs had been working on for months. The personal risk factor was high, and the plan was an intricate one. The success of the operation relied heavily on coordinated execution, intel, and ability. The guys at the table were the best the Silver Sinners had to offer, all of them seasoned MC soldiers with an impressive history in the military. These men would top the list if the outlaw nation had an elite corp. The other organizations involved in the coordinated strike would send men of the same caliber.
“We move in four days. That gives you three to get your affairs in order. It is strongly recommended that you bring your families to the compound. If you decide not to bring them to us, then put them on a plane and get them somewhere safe and out of the way. We’re going radio silent here, boys.”
“How long we talking?”
“Who asked that?”
