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“I know. That’s why we’re havin’ this conversation. Because my actions weren’t speaking loud enough for you, though I thought they were pretty fuckin’ loud.” I gave her a pointed look.
She looked embarrassed. Contrite. A little sad.
“No, G, I get it. You’ve been dicked around and you’re jaded because of it. But now you’ve had the words. Words that are legit, not a line to get into your pants. And I hear you. Got no inferiority complex, baby. I know who I am, know what I bring to the table. So don’t fret about the past or what people yap about. Some folks’ve always gotta be talkin’ shit. Don’t matter. Worry about me n’ you and what we think about us. All right?”
“Easier said than done, but I’ll try.”
“Try hard.”
“I’ll try hard, Jesse.”
“Good girl. Back soon. Kiss your man, Gigi. ”
She got up on her tiptoes, smiling so big she couldn’t even pucker those gorgeous lips, so I did my best to lay one on her anyway, and then I left.
10
I got outside in time to clap backs and bump fists with guys departing. There were a fair few staying the night. The roar of motorcycle pipes would be heard from miles around. Convoys rolled out in multiple directions, including the brothers going back to Aberdeen.
Church tonight wasn’t just two Dominion Brotherhood chapters. Every chapter was represented either in person or by dialing in. We also had members from a few ally clubs as guests.
Edge had already brought me up to speed on what I’d missed the night before, including the fact Chris Forker was in Aberdeen with Deke for last night’s church sesh with another Jackal on call for part of it – a man who wanted out of the Jackals and was thinkin’ the Dominion Brotherhood was more his speed.
He didn’t identify himself, used a voice disguiser, but also said he had a prospect interested in comin’ with him to join us and was about to start workin’ on recruiting another brother who he was sure would be on board. Deke assured if those men helped take them down, they’d have an opportunity to see if the Dominion Brotherhood was a good fit for them. And vice versa. But it’d be put up for a vote, Deke wouldn’t make promises. And if it was decided they didn’t fit, the club would help them set themselves up elsewhere so they could avoid blowback if any Jackals remained.
The Jackal on the phone agreed that was the way of a real brotherhood, unlike the joke he’d been stuck in for years.
Fork was persona non grata on account of the efforts to rescue Deacon’s woman, also Fork’s cousin. Not only did Fork injure his old man, he also put bullets in a couple Jackals, so there was a price on his head. He’d been layin’ low and keepin’ in touch with that brother on the inside and despite laying low, he was making things happen. He was about to make more moves and had other inside information that’d put us in a good position to take them out.
With the presence of other clubs tonight, some with tight relationships, some just cordial, none of the brotherhood members disclosed that we were working with insiders, only that we had a plan, we wanted allies who were likeminded, and the Jackals’ days were numbered. Just about every MC in a six-state radius was sick and tired of their bullshit. They gave bikers a bad name. Even the bikers that were hard core one percenters didn’t like ‘em. Drugs, guns, prostitution, and gambling were one thing. Human trafficking another thing altogether. Breaking peace treaties for bullshit reasons was a punishable crime to them. More than just us wanted them exterminated. So, we were all looking forward to making moves that would eliminate the Jackals from our lives, our towns, from being thorns in all our cocks.
I’d met Fork not long after the chapter opened, what with all that went down with Bronto getting shot in the ass, with Deacon’s woman Ella getting taken, and I had two or three other occasions to deal with him since then and the guy had seen and been hauled into some shit that’d make most men feel like their souls had not just been stained, but had gone coal black. Fork was a surly fucker and his eyes told anyone who dared look at him head on that he’d been to hell and back. I knew from conversations with Deacon and Rider in the garage that he had no choice but to join it, wanted no part of it.
Their name alone told the tale of what sort of club they were. Opportunistic. Out for themselves. Any man who joined a club like that was making a statement about who he was by wearing that patch. Unless he’d been forced into it like Forker.
