Possession(Sons of Odin MC)(45)

The rumble of engines sounded. Vincent gazed across the beach. A paved parking area was about forty yards from the gazebo. That’s where the Sons of Odin motorcycles were parked. However, his truck was on the beach—ready to go if he needed to evacuate Saline. Six Harleys rolled into the lot, all chrome and black paint with the Man-o-Wars insignia on their tanks. Even at a fair distance, Vincent recognized the orange and black lettering and the Greek warrior holding a pike.

“They have an extra man along,” J.T. commented.

“So do we,” Vincent said.

“What they don’t know might kill them.” Dog Tag frowned in their direction.

Vincent gripped his shoulder. “Do I need to remind you of protocol?”

“No.”

“Then take your seat. Don’t touch Saline—fuck, avoid looking at her if you can help it.” Best to minimize the friction. Their parading around as a happy couple would only piss off Crash. And Vincent didn’t want to have to shoot the motherfucker, a promise he’d made the last time they’d tangled at Valhalla.

Chez Castile headed the group of men as they approached the gazebo. Dressed in black leathers and his cut, he made a formidable rival. Vincent had never met him in person, only seen him around.

“Vincent Ramos?” Chez extended his hand. “I’m the president of the Man-o-Wars.”

The idea of ever shaking hands with his enemy had never crossed his mind until now. For the sake of peace and respect, Vincent gripped his hand. “We should have met under better circumstances.”

“Agreed,” Chez said, his gaze darting around. “Do you know my history?”

Vincent shook his head. No, but he’d take the time to hear the man out, alone. “Walk with me?” He knew Saline would be safe under J.T.’s careful supervision.

Chez turned to his sergeant-at-arms standing behind him. “Eat and drink. If you start a fight, I’ll take your fucking patch.”

Vincent silently approved. Castile seemed to have control over his Brothers. In turn, he pulled J.T. aside and gave similar instructions, loud enough for Chez to overhear. Then the two walked down the beach together.

“The Man-o-Wars have been around since 1978,” Chez started. “Not as old as the Sons of Odin, but as dedicated to The Life as any club. I patched out ten years ago, rose through the ranks, and finally got voted in as treasurer four years ago.”

His story sounded like most. Many charters were established after the war; founding fathers usually were made up of veterans and outcasts in need of purpose and family.

“I’ve watched this club sink too low and finally decided to do something about it.”

“Dobson Craig died two years ago in a car accident.”

“That’s what the papers reported,” Chez said. “Motherfucker nearly divided our club. Six of our Brothers went to prison for it.”

Again, Vincent knew the feeling. Lang Anderson had purged the Sons of Odin of rogue members before he retired his patch last year. A united club meant cleaning house sometimes. There was no room for disloyalty.

“I put a bullet through Craig’s temple,” Chez added nonchalantly. “Two weeks later I was voted in as president.”

Their gazes locked both in challenge and understanding. How many people had he confessed to? Zero, Vincent thought. The point? Castile would go to any length to protect his charter. So would Vincent. Nothing mattered more. That’s the oath he took, and the life he’d chosen. Live hard. Die hard. Everybody’s days were numbered. Each Brother accepted the fact that he was expendable.

“What reparations are you prepared to make for breaking the oldest rule?” Chez’s demeanor remained calm.

“Atonement is for fucking sinners,” Vincent answered. “Crash tortured Saline. As far as I’m concerned, Dog Tag is a saint for rescuing her.” What Vincent really wanted was vengeance for Saline. “Women should be cherished, not branded by cigarette butts.”

“I agree,” Chez said. “But Crash denies ever touching her.”

“Have you seen her back?”

“Are you familiar with her history?”

“Her mother was a junkie and her father died in a bar fight fifteen years ago, stabbed in the neck. We’ve talked extensively. She accepts responsibility for her part in this, and is prepared to apologize for disrespecting you. Make no mistake, the Sons of Odin stand by her,” Vincent said.

Chez went quiet and stared at the water as waves rolled over the sand. “Stealing a man’s old lady is like cutting off his arm. There’s no justification. If she’d come to me, the situation would have been handled privately. But when Dog Tag picked her up in Robstown, he disrespected my club. You expect me to turn the other cheek and walk away?”