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Race tossed his cell phone onto his desk and sat back in his chair. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and wondered when he’d catch a break. He’d hoped that by steering his club into a direction that didn’t involve running guns for a Mexican cartel, all his problems would be solved. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d known differently. The text he’d just read proved he’d been a fool to think much of anything would change.
Chance, the president of the Black Horsemen MC and a support club to the Sons of Redemption, had reached out to tell him that a shipment, a legal shipment of their finest cannabis products had been ambushed by the Phantom Furies. They were a MC that had stepped up to fill the void when the Sons had gotten out of business with the cartel. Now, at the direction of the cartel, they were pushing into Redemption with hard core drugs and guns. It would seem they’d put the Black Horsemen on their list to try to fuck with, too.
A knock at his door almost had him pretending he wasn’t there. He didn’t feel like dealing with anymore shit and he was more than ready to go home for a while. He hadn’t been home in a couple of days and as much as it pained him, he was going to have to break down and do some laundry.
“Come in.” He leaned back in his chair and eyeballed the stack of mail accumulating on his desk and debated swiping off into the trash can next to it. There was also a report from Jackson regarding the books he kept on all the businesses the Sons were involved in as well as a report from Dillon, their resident plant geneticist, no doubt informing him of the success he’d been having with a new strain of marijuana. It was all a bunch of Greek to him and he didn’t understand half of what Dillon said, but he did appreciate the end results.
Dagger stuck his head around the door. “You busy?”
“Yeah, but come on in. Please. I need a distraction.”
Dagger chuckled and took a seat in front of the desk. He leaned forward and dropped today’s mail on the already large pile.
“Well, shit. Thanks, man. Nothing like kicking a man while he’s down.” Race rubbed a hand across his face.
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not.” Race could see the smile he was pretending to hide.
“You’re right. I’m not.” He surveyed the surface of Race’s desk and shook his head. “Been telling you for a year now that you need to get someone in here to keep up with this shit.” Dagger leaned back to get comfortable and crossed an ankle over his knee.
“What? Like a secretary?” Race picked up a stack of mail and started to absently shuffle through it.
“Sure. Why not?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t want any outsider having access to my office and getting into club business.”
Shit. Most of the mail was business flyers and bullshit waste of paper. Advertisement from a car lot, coupons for different restaurants, a flyer from a funeral home. Geez. He chucked that one in the trash right away. He didn’t want to think about the need for a funeral plan.
Hearing Dagger chuckling, Race’s gaze lifted to see a shit-eating grin on his VP’s face. He shook his head. The bastard was always fucking with him. He was lucky Race liked him so much or he might find himself laughing from his position of lying on the floor on his back.
“We still on for the vote to patch in Chris and Darren?” Dagger wisely turned the conversation.
“Yep,” he replied automatically. The two prospects had more than earned their place at their sides. It was past time that they were brought into the fold permanently. A small white envelope about the size of a birthday card fell out of the pile and into his lap. Setting the other mail aside, he picked it up, broke the seal and slipped a folded piece of paper out from the envelope. With his thumb, he flipped the paper open and frowned.
“Tick tock.”
“What the fuck is this?” He flipped the paper over, not finding a signature or any identifying marks on it. He picked up the envelope and checked for a return address. Nothing. The address of the Sons of Redemption MC clubhouse wasn’t even on it. Just his name. Race.
“Whatcha got there?” Dagger dropped his leg to the floor and leaned forward, accepting the note and giving it a quick once over. “What the hell is this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tick tock? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dagger scratched at his scruff and laid the note back on Race’s desk.
“I have no idea. Probably just someone thinking they’re being cute and we won’t kick their ass for fucking with us.” Race shook his head and tossed it in his top drawer. From time to time the club received some lame ass attempt by someone trying to get noticed. Usually it didn’t come in the mail. This was a first.
“What are you going to do?” Dagger jerked his chin toward his desk.
“Nothing to do. It’s probably someone thinking it’s funny to poke the bear. Until something else happens or comes in the mail, I’m not going to worry about it.” He pushed his chair back from his desk and added, “For now, I’m going home. I have to do a load of laundry.”
Dagger laughed. “Why don’t you wait until the weekend? Liza will do it.” He got to his feet as Race stood.
“Because I won’t have any socks to wear before then. I’ve got my last clean pair on as it is. And another reason is I don’t want Liza taking care of me. When she comes over I want to spend time with her, not have her do my laundry and clean my house. She’s my daughter, not my maid.”
“You could always bring it here and let one of the sweet butts do it for you.”
