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Dad nods. “All right. Let’s call church. Now, tonight.”
We send out the notice and move to the meeting house. I glance around. It’s nothing special, just a large square room with a table large enough to seat all ranking members of the club. Several smaller tables are scattered about, and there’s a large refrigerator in one corner. A long counter holds a coffee pot and not much else. There are two bathrooms off of the main room and a storage room that holds some weapons and ammo. And that’s it. That’s all we do here: hold church and hammer out club business.
The men file in, in various states of undress, and take their seats. Once we’re all gathered, church is started, and Dad brings up the first order of business.
“The business with Tyler has been handled. Once we got there, we also discovered that the fucker was skimming product and money off the club.” Hisses sound at this revelation, but Dad keeps going. “It’s handled,” he repeats. “The shit-eating bastard is dead. But now Red is on us about the product.”
There’s more grumbling, and Cracker asks, “How much are we missing?”
Dad looks at Glacier, who tersely replies, “I’m gonna estimate around one hundred and fifty thousand. I know how much product I delivered for him to sell at the last drop-off. I had an entire van full of product. Based on what we brought back, I’m going to say that’s a pretty good estimate.”
I let out a low whistle. Goddamn. I knew it was bad, but this is worse than I thought. We’re possibly out a hundred and fifty thousand? And to Red? Holy fuck, heads are going to roll. Too bad Tyler is dead already, or I’d kill him now. I run a hand through my hair. Will there ever be an end to the fuckery Tyler has caused the Reapers Rejects? That he’s caused Mindi and me? I growl low in my throat and flex my hands.
Dad turns to Ringer and Ghost. “Count the cash we’ve brought back and see how much is there. That’ll give us a good idea of how much we’re really missing.”
“Sure thing, Prez,” Ringer says. “We’ll start first thing in the morning.”
“No. You’re going to start right now.” His voice leaves no room for argument. Ringer and Ghost both nod.
Dad looks around. “Is there any other club business that needs to be brought up tonight?”
“No, sir,” is the unanimous answer.
“In that case, church is dismissed.” Dad bangs the gavel down, and I move to the coffee pot as most of the others leave.
I start a pot of coffee for Ringer and Ghost while the bags containing the money are brought in. Cracker goes to find a couple of calculators and some pen and paper for them and comes back with everything a few minutes later. He’s even carrying a plate of sandwiches.
My stomach rumbles just looking at them. “Where did you get those?”
He puts them on the table. “Mindi helped me find the calculators,” he tells me. “When she asked what I needed them for, I told her Ringer and Ghost would be working on club business out here for a while. She offered to make up some chicken salad and tuna salad sandwiches for them, and I agreed. I figured they’d appreciate it.”
“We do, too,” Ghost confirms as he snatches a tuna sandwich off the plate. “Thank your ol’ lady for me, Fist, and I’ll be sure to tell her myself when I see her.”
I smile and nod. “I sure will. You and Ringer best get started. Let me know if you run into any problems, and let me know as soon as you’re done.”
He nods, stuffs the other half of the sandwich in his mouth, and turns to pull out a chair. Cracker and I leave them to the business of counting and walk out into the darkness. I see Mindi sitting out on the clubhouse porch with Trixie and hesitate.
Cracker nudges my shoulder with his. “Best take care of your woman,” he says quietly before heading off. I feel the tension come back to my shoulders with a vengeance as I head for the clubhouse.
14
Mindi
I’m sitting on the steps to the clubhouse porch, my knees drawn up to my chest. Trixie’s sprawled beside me. We watch as the men exit the meeting house.
“They all look tense and worried,” I murmur.
“Yeah.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I wonder what’s going on.”
Fist comes stomping over to the porch. His eyes are shadowed with fatigue, and he’s rubbing the back of his neck. My heart goes out to him.
“Fist, what’s wrong?” I venture quietly.
He gives me a hot, fulminating stare as his mouth twists into a sneer. “Your stupid ass ex stole from the club. That’s what’s wrong.” His voice is harsh and hard. I’m sure he doesn’t mean the way he’s speaking to me, but it’s a bit fucked.
I recoil at the venom I hear. “Why are you saying it to me like that? It’s not my fault that Tyler’s a shit person. That’s on him.”
Fist shrugs. “He’s your ex.”
