Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
“I got it. You need to get off your feet, Shelbers. Go home and rest. I feel bad you had a full shift at the hospital and then had to come here to cover for me. I just didn’t know who else could fill my shoes, besides you. I know that my customers will be taken care of, and my diner won’t burn down under your watch.”
“Such high standards there, Grandma Billie.” I laugh. “Besides, I enjoy spending time with you, even if it is working.” I kiss her cheek as I dodge around her, making my way to take the customer’s order.
Chapter 3
King
Getting back to the club, I walk straight into Ford’s office. I need to talk to him. I don’t even stop to knock. As the club enforcer I have a bit more leeway. A prospect would get his ass kicked for doing the same thing. I see Ford sitting behind his desk and in the chair across from him is Grunt, the club’s VP.
“Where the hell have you been?” Ford asks, leaning back in his old office chair. It creaks as he throws his legs upon his desk. I pull out the chair beside Grunt and drop into it, feeling old and worn out.
“I had to clear my head,” I admit. “I’ve been spending too much time at the hospital and around Thomas’s old man.”
Ford and I share a look. He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t either. Grunt is a good man and I love him like a brother, but some secrets aren’t meant to be shared. I wouldn’t have told Ford, except I felt he needed to know before he took my sorry ass on as a member.
“Do we have a plan to strike on BMR’s yet?” I respond instead. Besides, that’s the most important topic, currently. They tried to kill Ford, and almost took out Thomas—the club’s newest fully patched member and road captain.
BMR—although some call them the BMRR—stands for the Blue Mountain Ridge Runners and they’re a rival MC whose territory butts up against ours. Their club is run by a bunch of assholes, most notably their new President, Apex and his right-hand man, Mongrel.
“We’ve been thinking about it. I don’t believe attacking outright is the best way to go,” Ford responds, running his hand over his beard. The man could win a damn poker tournament easily as long as one of us weren’t against him. The men closest to him knows that any time he gets stressed, he starts messing with his beard.
“War when there’s so much shit going on inside our own MC doesn’t seem smart. Besides, from what I’m hearing, it’s only this particular chapter causing shit. They want to capture our territory to move up the ladder in their own club,” Grunt adds, crossing his thick arms over his chest.
“If you don’t wage a war then, Thomas’s daddy likely will,” I warn.
“Dragon wants blood. That’s true,” Ford allows. “He’ll be satisfied with getting the man who took the shot that hurt his son delivered to him.”
“You know that for a fact?” I personally have my doubts on that. I don’t want to deal with the man or his club though, so whatever route helps me skirt that particular issue.
“I don’t really give a fuck. He told me he wanted in on it when we attacked.”
“You agree to that? I bark. “Fuck, this has nothing to do with him. You’re the one they were trying to kill.”
I do not want to fucking deal with Dragon. I don’t like the idea that he’s trying to deal with people that fucked my club either. That’s our job. If it gets out that Dragon took care of assholes who tried to take down our club. It will hurt our credibility to maintain our own shit. That’s the last thing we need. In this world, you’re judged by your power. You can’t afford to appear weak in any way.
“I may have agreed to give the man to the Savage crew—”
“Damn it, Ford,” I growl.
“But that doesn’t mean Dragon will get him while he’s breathing,” Ford adds.
“That’s not going to go over well.” I laugh, liking the plan. “That’s going to piss the old fucker off.”
“Liable to happen a lot. He needs to get used to it,” Ford reasons.
“So, what is the plan?” I prod. I’m tired of talking about this shit. We need something solid organized and right now we got jack shit for ideas.
“That’s what we’re discussing,” Ford hedges.
“We need to get someone on the inside so we can see what’s really going on and find out who called that strike. If we can get that, we can find out what they’re really planning,” I suggest.
“That’s easier said than done,” Grunt grumbles. “The best we could hope for is to get a prosect involved, but it’s not like they’d see a lot. They sure as hell wouldn’t get close enough to the Prez to find out what’s going on.”