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“What’s going on?” Rock asks me when I reach him.
I jerk my chin toward an empty corner of the room.
Ice and his SAA, Pants, follow us over.
“What’d Steer say?” Rock lifts his eyebrows. My president has only so much patience for all this secretive bullshit. I get to the point fast.
“There’s no memorial service now. Dashport Center yanked the permits. LEO isn’t cooperating with Priest anymore, either.”
“Fuuuuuck,” Pants breathes out.
“You fuckin’ serious?” Wrath’s eyes are about to bug out of his skull.
“He couldn’t be bothered to let us know?” Rock asks.
“Z and Grinder expressed the same sentiment.” I shrug. “Steer didn’t seem to give a fuck. Told us Priest wants to have a meeting anyway.”
“No shit,” Ice says. “We all knew he’d want to have a sit-down. Someone still coulda fuckin’ mentioned it.”
“What’s wrong, Prez?” Pants elbows Ice. “You mad you packed a suit for the service now?”
“Fuck off,” Ice laughs.
“Everyone!” Feedback from a microphone or something screeches through the air.
I swivel my head, searching the large, crowded space for who’s speaking and finally spot Squiggy and Priest in the center of the room. Squiggy’s holding a microphone, waving his hand for everyone to shut up.
Ice crosses his arms over his chest and sneers, “Look at that fuckin’ pissant gettin’ pats on the head from daddy.”
Pants chuckles. “He does love swinging from Priest’s nutsack.”
What’s with all the ball obsession from my brothers lately?
Rock slants a look at me and smirks, like he’s having the same thought.
After more shouting, the room finally quiets.
“Thank you everyone for coming here to celebrate Digger’s life,” Squiggy starts. “I know many of our brothers rode a lotta miles to be here and Digger would’ve been happy to see each of your faces.”
“If you say so,” Ice mutters.
Man, he really hates Squiggy.
I don’t know what their history is. Don’t wanna know either.
“Deadbranch is grateful for all the support Priest’s given us during this sad time. And now he’d like to share some information with you.” Squiggy passes the microphone so fast, he fumbles it into Priest’s hands. Another ear-splitting screech jars my nervous system.
“Thanks to everyone for being here,” Priest says, ignoring Squiggy’s bumbling fingers. “Unfortunately, I have a bit of bad news. Our memorial service at the Dashport Center has been canceled.”
Stunned murmurs fill the room.
“Quiet down,” Priest shouts. “They were under pressure from local law.”
A wave of jeers echoes through the room.
“I know,” Priest says. “Pigs did us dirty. Some of you might have heard about the shoot-outs in Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. Club beefs are gettin’ out of control. Civilians were caught in the crossfire. Cops have concerns about the same happening in Tennessee, even though Lost Kings had nothing to do with any of them.”
“Fuck that!” someone screams.
“Another reason they should’ve given us a heads-up,” Wrath growls low enough for only us to hear.
“This is why,” Priest raises his voice, ignoring the screamer, “I keep reminding everyone, these petty beefs hurt all of us. We are not just our brothers’ keepers anymore. We need to protect the whole scene before every MC gets wiped out.”
“I ain’t responsible for what some peckerwood in Texas does!” the same voice shouts.
Well, fuck.
In private, my club’s questioned some of Priest’s decisions lately. To openly disrespect him in front of the entire brotherhood, though? Whoever’s running his mouth must have a death wish.
Movement to the left catches my attention. Priest’s enforcer, Blink, circulating through the crowd. Cold, hard eyes sweeping through the room, probably looking for the mouthy motherfucker heckling Priest.
“Feel free to bring that up tomorrow morning,” Priest says, smoothly moving past the interruption. “I realize everyone is disappointed. Our brothers from New York and Washington, we recognize you all rode a long way to be here. Let’s use this time to honor Digger’s memory and catch up with our brothers.” He glances around until he spots Blink, who nods to him. “Presidents from New York, Virginia, and Washington, meet me in the chapel in five.”
Priest shoves the microphone at Squiggy’s chest and walks away.
I lift an eyebrow at Rock. His jaw’s set tight and he releases a slow, irritated breath. Without another word, he and Ice head for the chapel with Wrath and Pants following close behind. They meet up with Z and Grinder. The six of them move like a brick wall through the crowd.
Murphy slides up to my left side. “The fuuuuck is going on?”
I keep my eyes on the three presidents I rode here with. They go into the chapel one by one, while Wrath, Grinder, and Pants station themselves along the wall outside of Deadbranch’s chapel.
I glance at Murphy and answer his question. “Nothing good, brother.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Dex
An hour later, everyone leaves the chapel. My eyes feel like I rubbed them with sandpaper. I just want some fucking sleep.
“All right,” Wrath says as he approaches the corner of the room New York and Virginia have taken over. “Listen up.”
