My fist hit his scratched up desk. “Yeah? Where's the fucking punchline?”
“We can't do any of that if we've got a loose cannon in our ranks. Son, for the good of this club, this mission, and your woman, I'm asking you to stay behind and help the prospects hold down SeaTac. We need someone here to protect our assets and make sure the Chinese don't hit us behind the lines while we go for the throat.”
No way. No cocksucking, motherfucking way.
By some miracle, I just sat there like a stone, holding in the rocket fuel billowing up inside me, making me feel like I was about to shoot through the goddamned roof.
Blackjack's words washed over me. I saw Roman outta the corner of my eye, studying me, ready to knock me flat if my anger caused me to do something really stupid.
They had to keep order. So did I.
“You understand, don't you, Asphalt? This move's the last one I want to make when I know how hungry you are to tear a piece out of those sonsofbitches, but my first priority is keeping anyone from getting killed. Your odds are a lot higher than the rest of us when you're so pissed off, you're reckless. The Dragons won't claim one more brother, or any of the women who are family in this club. Do your duty here, and we'll bring her home. Got it?”
Blackjack looked me dead in the eye and extended his hand. I took it without hesitation and gave him a shake, resisting the urge to tear his damned arm off.
When I pulled my hand away, the Prez and Roman shared a bewildered look for just a split second.
Too easy – what the fuck just happened?
If I made them believe it, all the better.
“I'm gonna get the hell outta here and work on the bikes. Need them tuned up in case we've got any surprises to deal with in our territory here.” I stood, slowly shaking my head. “Can't wait for this shit to be over, Prez, so we can go home to Redding without these fucking worries..”
“You and all the brothers, son. You've got my thanks for understanding.”
I held my rage as Roman stepped aside and cleared the door for me. Didn't show any emotion 'til I was out, and then I headed for the garage, just like I said.
I watched my brothers come out with guns, ammo, and a few first aid kits for their saddlebags a couple minutes later. Blackjack and Brass rode out ahead of everybody, leading the big war party out through the gates when everything was ready. Rabid looked at me and gave me a stern nod on his way out.
The respect in his eyes almost made me feel bad about the game I was playing. Almost.
No, fuck that. With Elle on the line, nothing – and I mean nothing – meant more than keeping her safe.
The boys would ride slow, probably take the long route through to avoid the lingering storms rolling through the Pacific Northwest. I could cut around them, beat them to Portland, and kill half the fuckstains who had my girl before they even rolled into town.
I waited 'til it was just me and a couple prospects who'd come up from Redding. Fished out every fucking drink I could find at the bar to keep them distracted and seal their yaps. A quick call had the hottest pussy in town on the way to the clubhouse, three escorts with virgin looks and fake tits that would keep those fucks hammered all night.
Then, when they were laughing like drunken fools with their dicks straining in their pants, waiting for the girls to show up, I stepped out into the garage one more time. The whores grinned at me when they pulled up and made their way in. I waved 'em through without a second look, not even bothering to glance at their asses bobbing in those heels.
I had better waiting for me when I got my girl home.
Nobody saw the shit I took outta the vault – the only new toy the crew left behind because nobody knew how to work it. The Devils dropped it off in trade last week coming from Montana, a peace offering from Blaze to Blackjack since he'd managed to calm shit down with the rogues in Tacoma.
They said they'd send instructions later about how to use the high powered sniper rifle. I turned it over in my hands, marveling how it was just like the one I'd used at the range last month.
It was supposed to be Roman's job to figure this shit out and keep it for dirty jobs in the club's arsenal. She was supposed to be in that vault, sleeping like an angel of death, ready whenever we called her to service.
Too fucking bad I had to interrupt her sleep early.
I packed her carefully on my bike in the long case, covering it with an extra tarp in case I passed any nosy cops on the road.
I'd put that big, killer bitch to work for me at dawn tomorrow, and she'd help me get my baby girl home alive.
I rode without stopping for anything but gas on my way down. Took more than four long hours after leaving at midnight, and I approached the Portland outskirts in the same slow, brutal rain that slowed time itself to a trickle.