I violated a direct order from my president. If King wants to be a prick about it, he can kick me out. Maybe demote me and take away my SAA patch. I’m hoping he’ll do neither and realize he has no say in where I put my dick.
But even as I think it, I know why he made it an order. There’re issues between the club and Cillian’s organization. Even though we now know they weren’t as clean as they first tried to appear. What happened in the past was a setup for Cue Ball and Cillian’s brother. One went to prison and was later killed for his role. The other died that night.
All over a load of weapons they didn’t want to pay full price for. Dirty fuckers.
I get why Clutch was quiet for a while after his dad was killed in prison, but Cue Ball had it coming.
In the grand scheme of things, it looks like I’ve fallen for the enemy. But that’s literally all I’ve done against the club. I haven’t killed anyone, stolen a weapons shipment, gotten anyone arrested. Given their dads were involved with both, they can cool their fucking heels when it comes to me and my choices.
Two vehicles come to a halt on the other side of the road and then turn into a shipping container firm just down from the port’s entrance.
The first vehicle is the black truck King and I spotted. A van follows it.
“You see that?” I ask Saint.
“Saw it.” He hands me the envelope of cash. “Pay the man. I’m going looking.”
“Bad strategy, Saint. We gotta pay off this guy before tomorrow, but you going off alone is a recipe for a chest full of lead as you fall into the Hudson.”
“It’s a risk I gotta take,” he says, and sets off at a sprint. But as I move to run after him, Jasper Haven pulls into the lot.
The scheduler offers me the data stick, and I quickly throw him the envelope so I can chase Saint. Don’t want my brother off alone where I can’t protect him.
“Stay away from the docks tonight,” Jasper warns, and I halt my steps.
“Why?” I ask, gazing toward the shipping firm and seeing Saint disappear behind the building.
“Additional overnight inspection going on. You don’t want to be caught messing around.”
I look at the kid. Barely twenty-three. Can’t even grow a full mustache. And he’s telling us not to get caught messing around.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say, then run after Saint. I’m gaining on him, until a scream pierces the air. Saint stops dead, listening, like I do.
“Where’d that come from?” I whisper as I reach him.
He shakes his head. “Motherfuckers. I don’t see shit.”
We scramble along the brush at the side of the property to try and get a better look, and the truck comes into view.
Five guys climb out. Two were the ones hitting on Iris when she was at the diner. I don’t recognize the others. They meet four other men; all of them are heavily armed.
One of them is the guy who got away in the Pines and my worst fears are confirmed. The Russians and the Brotherhood are working together to take our turf.
Saint pulls his gun and makes a move to step forward, and I yank that fucker back against the wall. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
“They have women in that van.” There’s anguish on his face.
“Yeah, and they have bullets in those nine semiautomatics they’re carrying. Lots of them. It’s a suicide mission. Can’t let you go in, brother.”
Saint sucks in breaths of air, his face furious. I can see the internal battle, and I increase the pressure of my arm against his chest.
“If we die today, it helps no one. We need to start getting names to these faces. See what their ties and allegiances are,” I whisper.
Saint nods and shrugs me off. “Where’s the fucking van?”
We peer back around the building. The doors slam on a large shipping container. And I point. “I’m guessing in there.”
“Motherfuckers. What if there are women in there too?” he asks. “We can’t just let them be taken. We need to fight.”
As if they hear us, two of them look in our direction. “Move,” I say, shoving Saint, as I hear their raised voices and the sound of footsteps.
He stands his ground, torn by the right thing to do, so I shove him again. “Don’t make me fucking carry you. Run.”
And we do, racing until we climb onto our bikes and pull out of the lot. I don’t look back to see if they followed. When we arrive in Asbury Park, I lose Saint. Hope the fucker doesn’t turn around, although it’s fifty minutes since we left the docks and I’ll bet that shipment is long gone.
With the knowledge they are trading something through our turf, I race back to the clubhouse. Thoughts of any other kind of conversation come second to that fact.
After slamming my bike into its spot, I leap from it and hurry inside.
“Where’s King?” I ask a prospect.
He points to King’s office. I stride over and push open the door. Clutch is leaning against the wall, and Vex is showing King something on his laptop.
“I just got a bead on those neo-Nazis. They shifted a van into a shipping container. We heard a scream. They’re shipping women. And I saw the fucker who escaped from the Pines that night. Stepped out of a van with—”
“Sit down, Spark,” King says. His voice is measured, my first clue that he’s fucking pissed about something.
“What? We paid the guy. Happened right in front of us. We didn’t go looking for trouble,” I say.
“Yes, you did. You want to tell me why you’re fucking the Irish chick?” King says.
His words hit me like a blow. “I was coming here to tell you about her today.”
Clutch huffs. “Sure you were.”
I stand to my full height and front him. “You calling me a liar?” I hate the insinuation.
“He’s not, but I am,” King says. “I asked you whether you were fucking the Irish chick. I was pretty explicit with the question. You said no.”
I glance over at him, pissed that I have to explain. “Again. I did not lie. You asked if I was fucking Iris. At the time, I wasn’t. That changed forty-eight hours ago. And now I’m here to tell you about it.”
King tips his chin at the chair. “Sit the fuck down.”
I do as I’m told and realize that military life ensured I still take orders, even when I really don’t want to. I know a shit ton about de-escalating, been trained by the government to do it when deployed, but suddenly I can’t bring a single tactic to mind. “Not that who I’m fucking is any of your goddamn business, but I didn’t intend to fall for Iris.”
Clutch huffs again. “Could have seen it coming from the day you met her on that stoop. You looked poleaxed.”
“Like you did the night you carried Gwen out of this office to Prez’s room and then into your own. You looked pretty poleaxed then too,” I say.
“Fuck you,” Clutch says. “Me and Gwen are different. Plus, Gwen didn’t put the club at risk.”
“You didn’t know that at first,” I say. “You even kept her locked up because you thought she might be a WITSEC plant. And, like you and Gwen, I didn’t want to feel anything for Iris, beyond wanting to take care of someone we put in harm’s way. I’d do it in a heartbeat for anyone.”