She stands up too, pulling me in for a hug. “Love you, hijo. Ride safe.”
“Love you too, Mamá.”
Home Again
Bowie
Smoke whirls in the air and the familiar scent of weed reaches my nose as I walk into the clubhouse. The sun is barely up, and all the brothers are already having a hell of a time. Good to see nothing has changed, while I was gone. If it had, I might have thought someone gave a shit. That would’ve been a mistake.
I walk past the members, without bothering to acknowledge one of them. I can feel anger coursing through me as I walk behind the bar and grab a beer. As I pass a prospect holding a tray full of empties, he motions toward my bottle. “I could’ve got that for you.”
I glare at his ass, too pissed to respond, and make my way to an empty table. My ass has barely hit the seat, when I see Tin-Man walk through the door. He looks at me and relief flashes across his face. His eyes fly to our dickhead father, before coming back to me. I lift my chin, letting him know we need to have words.
He walks over and slaps me on the back. “Bet you’re glad to be home, Hermano. I know I’m glad to see your ass.”
“You don’t even know, Tin,” I mumble out, feeling the stress of the trip finally fading away.
“Did you get everything straightened out?” My brother asks as he takes the seat next to mine.
“What do you think?” I growl out, letting my anger show.
The two-week run to Alabama turned into nearly four long months on the road. What started out as a simple gun transport turned into a fuckin’ battle when the Crazy Sixes got involved. I spent endless hours trying to negotiate with them, but we’re no closer to any sort of peace than we were when we started.
“I think the entire club is a fucked up mess. What I want to know is did you get us out of it.” He’s more to the point this time.
“I don’t know. I think there’s still trouble heading our way. The Sixes want our supply route cut off. If guns are gonna be ran through their territory, they want to be the one doing it.”
He shrugs, placing his own beer on the table. “We’d feel the same way. Do you think Cash would be letting some other mother-fuckers come to our home and pull the shit he’s trying to pull on them?”
Just the mention of our father causes anger to rush through me. I look around the clubhouse, making sure no one is close enough to hear, then lean closer to my brother. “He didn’t give a shit that Rollo and me were stuck up there in enemy territory. I think the fucker used us as a diversion to bring the guns in through another route.”
“What the fuck?” Anger is easily heard in his voice. It’s the same anger that I heard when he called to say he wouldn’t be heading to Alabama to help me out. Not that there was much he could do to help me, but he wanted to be by my side.
Lowering my voice even more, I explain what happened. “We rode ahead of the truck, checking out the place just like always; we got to the drop off about an hour before they were supposed to be there. As soon as we pulled up to the warehouse, Kilo and his boys came out packing.”
We were beyond fuckin’ lucky the Sixes President didn’t want an all-out war. Kilo could have taken us out right then, but he decided to talk it out instead. Granted, some of the talking included fists but at least Rollo and I walked away breathing.
“Was it a set up?” He asks, thinking the same thing I did as soon as I saw the guns pointed at me and Rollo.
“I can’t be sure, but I think so.” I say, with a shake of my head. “The truck never showed up, but somehow the guns ended up in the right hands.”
“Toke was driving the truck.” He states, telling me something I already know.
“Yeah, and he’s so far up the old man’s ass that he couldn’t find his way out with a damn map.”
Tin-Man stares at me for second, before his eyes move across the room to where our father is sitting by his right hand man. “Did you ask Toke what the fuck happened?”
“He says they sent someone ahead, when they couldn’t get us to answer the phone. The lookout saw that shit wasn’t right, so they changed drop off points.” I hesitate, letting him know there is more.
He moves his eyes back to me, raising a brow. “But?”
“Red was in the truck with him.” I shoot him a look that tells him I would trust our friend over Toke any day. “He said the drop off spot changed nearly three hours before they lost contact with us.”
“Fuck, man.” He mutters, running a nervous hand over his nearly bald head. “You’re not only his VP; you’re his son. You could have been killed. Do you really think Cash would do that to you?”