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My hands are shaking. “We were—we are,” I correct myself, rubbing my eyes to clear my vision. I need to get home. Being there is the only place this doesn’t happen. I need to sort myself out. This shit isn’t fucking normal. “Be in in a sec,” I tell him.
He nods, turns to the door, then pauses with it open. “Beer? Something stronger?”
This kid. Trying to make sure I’m alright. I don’t really want either. “Something stronger.” I step forward taking in some oxygen, my legs seeming to work. That’s good.
“I’ll bring it up,” he says.
Dragging myself inside, I make my way back into the room.
Legs walks in a few minutes later, a whiskey in his hand. He places it on the table as I finish explaining to Len why we need the Saviours on board. “I know I allowed this to come to the table,” I look up trying to gauge all their expressions, “but I never thought it would get us wrapped up in anything like this. I only wanted peace. For our club, for my family.”
“We know, brother,” Captain says, trying to reassure me.
“If we can find out where the next shipment is going from, then maybe we can intercept it, change it, I don’t know. But we need to end it, and that won’t come without risk.”
“The risk is what makes it fun.”
I look at Beats, giving him a half, knowing smile. “Let me talk to Vincent, get Jack to show him what he knows.” If I’m lucky, this could be the start of peace between both clubs, not just here but across the other side of the world. Our charters find out we pulled this off together, peace could follow for everyone, even Ronnie. “Meet back here tomorrow morning.” I nod at Travis then bang the gavel.
The men filter out, but Legs remains stood in place. Travis waits, seeing him hovering. “You good, Legs?” he asks.
Legs steps closer to me still sat in my seat. “What business are we shutting down?”
I look at Travis before moving my gaze back to his. He wasn’t sat at the table. “The one with Costa.”
“It’s not what we thought,” Travis adds, leaning against the door.
Legs moves to sit opposite me, and I watch him, wondering what appears to be troubling him. “The panic attack you had.” I feel Travis’ eyes boring into my head immediately. I refuse to look up. Panic attack? Why the fuck did Legs say that. “I used to suffer with them too.”
I look at him, held hostage by the fact this kid was put through the mill before he found the club, but wanting to strangle him for exposing my recent shortcoming. “Legs, spit it out, whatever you’re trying to say.” Because I need to get the hell out of Travis’ path.
“I’m guessing it has something to do with the transporting?”
I frown, leaning in. “How do you know?”
Travis steps closer.
“The crates they moved; Skitz was whinging about how heavy they were when he got back, right? Said he almost put his back out.”
Travis huffs to himself. “That’s right, he did whinge.”
“Travis got shot, then with everything going on, us waiting for the next shipment, you not being here, it just didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up…” Legs bites his nail, thinking.
“Go on,” Travis tells him.
“It’s probably nothing, but Skitz also mentioned a stamp on the boxes… Parkway Shipping, I think?” He waves his arm at Travis.
“Fuck, that’s right. That was the company name.”
“Well, the place I crash at, that’s close to the Parkway site he mentioned. Had no reason to think much of it, but I figured if we need a way in, we could go there, see who’s picking them up and where they’re headed?”
The way Travis and I look at one another, you can tell he’s thinking the same as me. We’ve been thrown a lifeline. A starting point. “That’s fucking brilliant, Legs.”
Travis looks at me. “We can track the delivery, find out where they’ll load the next cargo. Good work, boy.” Travis slaps his back.
“One of us can scope it out later,” I say to Travis as Legs stands to leave the room.
“You won’t get close.” His words stop me. “Only the desperate hang around there. You show up, you’ll raise suspicion.”
