Slider didn't even have to think about it. Because it was a brother asking. Because maintaining the equipment they used to prepare the dirt surface of the track that was the club's financial lifeblood was right in his wheelhouse. And because it felt damn good to be useful. "Consider it done."
Dare nodded, approval and appreciation clear in his dark eyes. "Okay, next. Grant Slater's death has made tracking down the people responsible for the dumping hard as fuck. All signs point to him having hired a crew to do it, and the PI we hired finally thinks he's got a lead. Get this, he got it by tailing Curt Davis."
The name of the sheriff who they all knew had been on Slater's payroll elicited groans from everyone there.
Maverick sat forward. "Davis was the one who responded to the so-called anonymous tip about the dumping." Coincidentally, Slider had been present the day of Jagger's arrest because he'd been dropping the boys off at the clubhouse for Cora to watch. It still boiled his blood to think about that asshole Davis being the one to arrest Jagger-and Dare, too, though he'd been released. Some of his brothers had a higher tolerance for club business that crossed any lines, but Jagger was one of the most law-abiding of all of them because he wanted to keep his nose clean for the track. "So Davis was in on this from the beginning. Looks like he might still be getting some kind of a cut from the estate, too, because he's been in and out of the company headquarters these past weeks."
"Which is what led our guy to start tailing him. The PI was in Slater Enterprises posing as a photocopier repairman when he overheard Davis and some suit arguing about covering Slater's tracks."
"Well, that sounds ominous as hell," Slider said.
"Fucking A it does," Mav said. "Who the hell knows all the dirty pots he had his hands in."
"Is someone following the suit, too?" Caine asked, his ice-blue gaze slicing across the table. Their sergeant-at-arms was the club's enforcer and someone Slider had never managed to get to know, because the younger man said little and socialized even less.
"Our man's doing what he can, but this investigation has tentacles for days precisely because Slater was so dirty. He's stretched thin," Dare said.
With jet-black hair and gauges in his ears, Caine put off an intimidating air on a good day. But then his eyes narrowed, and his look was downright lethal. "I'm on it."
Dare nodded and surveyed the room. "We all need to expect some shit when we get to the bottom of this. This is your heads-up."
Slider's gut tightened. He was one of the few men here who had kids, and so he'd always kept some distance from club business that might turn violent because he never wanted to abandon the boys-by choice or by circumstance. But when an enemy came at you with the clear intent to do you harm, you had to assume he wasn't going to stop until one of you was in the ground. That was just the hard reality. And, clearly, if Slater hired the dumping out to some associates, he wasn't their only enemy.
After that, Dare moved through a few other topics. He and Maverick briefed them on the relocation they'd just undertaken for one of their protective clients, and Phoenix shared a few new clients they were considering taking on. Slider's father had ghosted on the family before Slider turned ten-Sam's age, it killed him to realize-and his mom had been a drunk and a recreational drug user ever after. Even with all their failures, his parents had never taken a hand to him. But Slider had still been drawn to the club's protective mission from the very start. It felt good to create a little hope in the midst of devastation.
Annnd he was thinking of Cora again. Wasn't she doing that for him and his boys? Damn. Damn. His chest went tight at the thought.
Slider tuned back in from his thoughts just as Dare called a vote to make one of their two prospects, a young guy named Blake Green, a fully patched member. After his best friend, Jeb, had died defending the clubhouse a few months before, Blake had thrown himself into club business like a man on a mission-or, more likely, like a man trying to outrun his grief. Slider recognized that shit from a mile away, because pot, meet kettle. Either way, it was time for the club to reward Blake's loyalty and commitment. And they did with a unanimous vote of support.
"Anything else?" Dare asked.
Slider sat forward. "Not club business, but I've got a question. Cora's volunteering at the county animal shelter, and they've been having a problem with abused dogs being dumped off in the area. These animals are in bad shape, and the vet thinks the injuries are evidence of dogfighting."
"Fuck," Caine bit out. "If it's who I think it is, she needs to steer clear."
Slider's gut did a slow plummet, because a warning like that from Caine's mouth was like a siren in the night. "Who do you think it is?"
A few looks got traded around the table, and then Caine nailed him with a stare. "The 301 Crew."
"Aw, hell. Fucking miscreant lowlifes," Dare said.
Ice snaked down Slider's spine. The 301 Crew operated forty minutes away in the far northeast of the county, a homegrown gang with white supremacist leanings that got its start decades ago as muscle for one of the East Coast's most notorious crime syndicates, now largely out of business after a series of federal stings and arrests. Years ago, they'd proposed a business partnership with the Ravens around race betting and Doc had said hell no. Not just because the club ran its own under-the-table betting, but because the Crew was the lowest of the low, referring to themselves as Dead Men because the number of kills each member had determined their status and rank in the organization.
Given that they were into a little bit of everything, dogfighting sure wasn't any stretch. "You got definitive intel that it's them?" Slider asked, his gut a stew of dread. "Because I've never heard of them being into this before." Frankly, it seemed almost too tame for the Crew.
"There's been some rumbling the past few months," Caine said. "Want me to dig?"
Slider nodded, and his voice was much more even-handed than he felt. "I'd appreciate it." He needed Cora safe, and he wanted the peace of mind that she was.
Church broke up not long after that. Slider didn't know what to think of this Crew bullshit, but his brothers helped chase some of his worry away by coming up to him one by one, some of them just saying hello, some wanting him to know they were glad he was back, some offering condolences for all he'd been through that were still hard to hear.
Dare hung back and waited until they were alone. "You being here tonight-really being here-was just about the only good thing in my whole fucking day."
The two of them clasped hands. "I'm here. And I'm sorry as hell about Jagger," Slider said. As the club's president, Dare carried the responsibility for every single member like a weight on his shoulders, and the guilt and grief he felt for Jagger was apparent in the dark circles under the man's eyes. "How did he seem? Did you get a chance to talk to him?"
"He's tough," Dare said. "Was more worried about how his sister was doing and how things were going at the track than about himself."
"That's Jagger for ya," Slider said.
"Truer words." Dare let out a troubled sigh. "You hanging around for a while?"
"I wish." Slider said the words almost reflexively, but there was some truth behind them, and that surprised him. It'd been a long time since he'd wanted company or craved friendship. He almost didn't know what to do with those feelings. "But I'm in the middle of a shift."
Dare nodded, though the look he gave him was suddenly challenging. "When you gonna do more than run that emergency towing service? Jeff Allen's been ready to retire and sell that shop for about a million years. It should be yours by now."
Well, hell. Slider hadn't been expecting that, had he? He managed a chuckle. "Why don't you tell me how you really feel?"
Smirking, Dare shook his head. "Just calling it how I see it. I get that you've gone through some shit, but don't forget that I've known you for close to twenty fucking years. I know who you are and what you're capable of. And you, Sam Evans, were never one to coast through life. Hell, most of us aren't married and aren't fathers, but you wanted those things and you went after them. That's who you are."
Slider swallowed hard, his friend's words poking at things that Slider had almost forgotten. "What if that was the Sam I was, and not the man I am?"