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He has talent. Wealth. Friends and family. There’s no reason why he’d want to join them.
Unless he needs to. He said something at the cemetery, but then stopped.
“Because of you, they have—”
“Could it be that the Reapers have threatened Adam?” I suggest, leaning forward in my seat to rest my forearms on the table in front of me. “We know they got to Brian that way. Threatening Brian’s family made him steal from us, so what’s stopping them from doing it again?”
“But why would they want the Miller girl? What’s so fucking special about her?” Munroe asks, a frown crinkling his bushy dark brows.
I look to Rocco for an answer, because the rest of the club are unaware of the trust fund deal we made with Brian. They think we have Zoe as a trade for her dad until we find him. Something that hasn’t been a priority lately.
Rocco shrugs, side eyeing me before he speaks. “We don’t know what they want with her, but the fact that they seem so fucking determined to get her is concerning. It must have something to do with her dad, who is still in the fucking wind, by the way.” He glares at Munroe, pointing to him as he takes a swig of his whiskey. When he places it back on the table, he tilts his head at Munroe. “I put you and Sully on the task of finding him. You were going to use Tido to search surveillance. Why haven’t we heard anything?”
Munroe shrinks back in his seat. Well, as much as a six and a half foot, two-hundred-and-sixty-pound biker can.
“Ahhh… Tido’s gone dark.”
“What?!” Rocco and I snap at the same time, and Rocco stands from his chair, slamming his fist on the table.
“Why the fuck wasn’t I told?!”
His roar is loud, and is interrupted by a tap on the door before Mama C pokes her head in.
“Apologies.” She looks to Rocco, not concerned by his thunderous expression. “Can I please borrow Gray for a few minutes?”
Frowning, I go to stand, watching as Mama’s head snaps to the side as she listens to someone talking to her, before returning her gaze to our Prez with a sigh.
“Actually. Gray can stay. Can I borrow Gunner instead, please?”
I’m halfway to standing when I shoot Rocco a look, who waves a dismissive hand in Gunner’s direction, so I sit back down again.
As soon as Gunner leaves the room, Rocco points an accusing finger at Munroe. “When the fuck did you find out that Tido couldn’t be reached?”
“It’s only been a few days.” Munroe shrugs, not looking as fucking scared as he should. “I thought maybe he’d gone on vacation, what with the Fourth of July holiday.”
“I spoke to him last week.” I interject, all eyes falling to me. “I had Tido checking surveillance for Zoe while I was tracking her down.”
“Did he mention going on vacation?” Rocco asks, and I shake my head, reaching for another smoke.
“Nope. Not that we tend to get into personal discussions.”
“Right.” Rocco mutters, shaking his head and sliding his lighter across the table to me. “So, sometime between last week and the Fourth of July, Tido vanished. I’ll reach out to Police Commissioner Johnson and see if he can look into Tido’s whereabouts. Hopefully, he’s on the fucking beach drooling over the girls in bikinis.”
My club brothers laugh, but as I light my smoke and take a deep drag, it does nothing to calm the knot in my gut.
“Ah, Prez?” Stretch sits forward in his seat toward the other end of the table. “I know it’s not the best time to bring this up, but Titch has been prospecting for us for nearly a year. He’s been loyal to a tee. Especially after gaining that intel about the Reapers who did the hit on Zoe’s family. We should probably start considering his final initiation.”
Rocco grunts. “You’re right. An emergency session isn’t the best fucking time to bring that up.”
Stretch nods. “I know, but I was thinking. This Adam guy that Zoe knows, who had the Reapers patch, he’s young, and so is Titch. We could send him and one of the younger Cunts to some local parties to see if they hear or see anything. He can leave his cut behind. Wear those pansy clothes he used to wear before joining us.”
Everyone snickers, remembering the well-polished boy, trembling with fear that walked up to our gate and asked to join. Rory Titchwell was raised by his grandma. A nasty old bitch that dressed the kid in slacks, collared shirts, and knitted fucking vests. The only thing she did right was sending him to the private school. It at least gave him the smarts to be whatever the fuck he wanted to be. But after years of sexual abuse, he snapped and killed her.
The moment Tex saw the blood on his hands, he pulled him in off the street, and the scared teenager told us the horrors he’d lived for most of the eighteen years of his life. He pledged that he would commit himself to our club and do whatever it takes to uphold our beliefs and honor our ways.
“I don’t know if those pansy clothes would get him into the parties.” I smirk, and they chuckle.
“It’s a good plan,” Rocco admits, “but not initiation worthy.”
