And I hate Pistol. He’s a sorry motherfucker, but I tolerate him. He challenged me when I first took over, replacing my tío. I beat him down and enjoyed every fucking moment of it. That was six years ago—a lifetime in the club world. Lately, he’s been making waves again. I don’t know what makes him think he can overtake me, but that shit isn’t about to happen. I beat his ass down once, and it appears I’m going to have to revisit that crap.
“No one,” answers Torch, “but I figured after three fucking hours, it was okay to give up the ghost and call her a no-show.”
Jesus. Three hours? I’ve been here drinking that long? I look at the still half-full bottle in front of me. I guess not. I apparently have just been staring at my drink and mooning over a fucking woman like a damn pussy.
“It’s about time we talk about club business instead of having our president sniffing after a piece of ass and ignoring shit that needs to be done,” Pistol barks.
Yeah, it’s time I visit that shit again. He’s asking for it. Not today though. Today, I’ve had more than enough, so I just give him a warning. It’s a warning I hope he heeds, but I’m not holding my damned breath.
“Sostenga la lengua or te la vas encontrar cortada,” I growl at him, using words only he and I will get the full effect of. I basically tell him to hold his tongue or else he’ll find it no longer there. He gives me a look filled with hatred, then walks off. I motion to Latch who just came in with Sabre. Latch nods and, after a few minutes, follows behind Pistol.
Pistol has a brother who is the leader of our Florida chapter. I may hate Pistol, but I do have respect for his brother, so I’m trying to contain this. Still, I’d be stupid to let Pistol out of my sight. A fight is coming, but if the motherfucker is trying to cut my neck or shoot me in the back before then, I want to know.
“You’re gonna have to handle that soon,” Torch echoes my thoughts. I don’t comment. We both know that he is right. Instead, I give him a look of impatience and that is completely on the up and up. I don’t want to deal with business. I want to sit here and nurse my drink while remembering how soft Beth’s sweet lips were. Jesus Christ, I feel like I’m missing a hit from my favorite drug just thinking about her.
“Visor and a few others from the Chrome Saints have been in our town,” Sabre says when it becomes clear I’m not going to talk about the issues with Pistol.
This new piece of news does nothing to improve my mood. I’m going to have to blow that motherfucker off the face of the Earth. I would have already done it, but Visor’s a distant cousin to the Irish faction in the area—Matthew and Colin Donahue. In that fucking group, family is family. I have no wish to piss them off. The Donahues are not a group I want in my business. I’ve had to have a few dealings with them when their pipeline got too close to my territory. Since then, there has been a tentative truce with me overlooking the fact that they run their wares in the county over. I don’t want to get in a pissing match with them. I have big guns at my disposal, but so do they. Sometimes, the smartest thing to do is back away and keep an eye on the situation. So, Visor lives… for motherfucking now.
“Did they leave?” I ask.
“They’re held up in a ratty motel on the outskirts of town, the one beside the Flamingo.”
“We need to load up,” I growl. “I’m getting too old for this fucking shit.”
“Already ahead of you, Boss. I had some of the prospects fill our bikes up. We’re ready to head out anytime,” Torch says.
“I must be getting old if you already know what I’m going to do,” I grumble, getting up and walking towards the garage. I won’t be yanking my cock to the memory of Beth today. Damn it all to hell!
“Just being prepared, Boss, just being prepared,” says Torch, and I flip him the finger as we head out to our bikes. Maybe I’m wrong and this shit won’t take long.
We pull into the Flamingo an hour later. We went to the hotel first and found it deserted, so I decided to try the bar. There’s not a bike in the parking lot, so it’s probably worthless at this point. The roar of our bikes can be heard easily. We’re not trying to hide our presence. The bar is not club owned, but the owner and I have an understanding. Therefore, the fact the owner didn’t call and tell me the Chrome Saints were in town is something I need to address. I lead the way with Sabre on my right, and on my left is Beast. They’re two of the scariest motherfuckers on this side of the Mason-Dixon Line. Behind them is Torch, Briar, and K-Rex. It’s not all my firepower, but enough to show we’re not about to be fucked with.