I rolled my eyes at her and blew at the steam rising from the blue cup before taking a sip. “I’m caffeinated. Now, tell me.”
“Fuck it.” He set his cup down and linked his fingers, forcing them against one another until a couple of them popped. “My civilian name is Augustus Flynn Ortiz. August for short. I enjoy long rides on my bike and fucking until the sun comes up.” A loud laugh floated out of his body. “What was next?” He took another drink of his black coffee. “Ah, yes. Women. They’re whores, but you didn’t hear that from me.” He winked.
“What about my sister?” I impatiently demanded.
“Snoop got a lead. He suspects our rival MC, Steel Widowmakers, is behind her disappearance.”
“Let’s go get her!” I yelled, standing up from my chair.
“We have to be sure. We can’t just storm into their clubhouse without knowing the facts. It would start a fucking bloodbath of a war.”
“Oh,” I barely said, trying to hide my disappointment and failing horribly.
“We’re going to find her. Okay? Just trust me.”
“I do. August,” I sincerely admitted, feeling a little more at ease knowing behind the façade of bike riding and fucking until morning, there was a faint line of compassion.
289
Loco
Most of my brothers all had their vices. I never really found mine, other than knocking somebody else around with my fists. Tyson and I still jumped into fights for money every now and then, but it wasn’t something all of the brothers did. Some ran our drugs to keep the cash flowing into our clubhouse and others.
A lot of our other chapters across the United States trafficked women, so it actually worked to our advantage. Snoop was able to get a good deal of intel on Trista’s sister through our brothers. All signs pointed to our rival MC the Steel Windowmakers; we tabled the subject until Snoop got more info, but hoped to be able to vote on how we would handle them at our next church, although we all pretty much knew what was going to happen. Exactly what I told Trista. A fucking bloodbath of a war. It didn’t really matter, because we weren’t looking to be their compadres.
Tonight, however, church was more run of the mill subjects: money, women, if any of the hang-arounds deserved to be upgraded to denim. No one had any real concerns to go over.
“Just got in a premium shipment of the good shit. For you youngsters, that means fucking drugs.” Ivan chuckled and shook his finger in the direction of Buzz and Griller.
“Think we probably know more about running meth than you do, old-timer.”
“Shit.” Ivan clapped his hands together and leaned his weight back against the chair. “Before you go running your mouth, maybe you should learn some history. Tyson, who the fuck trained these dipshits?”
All eyes were on Jackson because he had done a fair amount of Buzz and Griller’s training. “I did,” Jackson went ahead and claimed the shit because there was no arguing that fact.
“Of course, the panther did.” Ivan shook his head. “That explains it.” His voice was gruff and filled with disapproval, but we knew he was blowing smoke up our asses faster than a steam-engine going full speed. “Alright, so meth and motorcycle gangs got in bed together sometime in the eighties over on the West Coast, I think. Then some of Loco’s people saw it was a good idea and did the same.”
“I’m still not Mexican, Ivan.”
“And I’m not Russian,” he countered, not fazed by me even a little bit. “When any of us who know a little bit of history and don’t have our face fucking glued to technology hear meth, we think bikers. Not whatever in the hell fuck one and fuck two over there had to say.”
“Fuck. Sorry, Ivan.” Buzz held his hands up and then grinned. “Next time, I’ll get your old Russian ass some vodka before church,” he fired back, shocking all the brothers, myself included.
The room was tense, and all of our attention was on Ivan. He wasn’t the Prez or even the vice, but he was the only original member of the club who was still on two wheels with us. At first, his face was unreadable, and before I could predict what would happen next, his belly shook with silent laughter, and he was shaking his head. “Jackson, maybe you aren’t as much of a fuck up as I thought.”
“And maybe you aren’t that terrible, Ivan,” Jackson retorted.
“Watch your fucking mouth. A few of those whores in Chaotic might get the wrong idea about me. Don’t want any of them to think I’ve gone soft,” he guffawed.
“Any other business to discuss, Jackson?”
“Nope, that’s all we have for tonight, Boss.”
“Alright. Then let’s get to the booze and partying.”
“Don’t you mean get to Arianna, fucker?” I called Tyson on his shit. His whole demeanor had changed the moment she was hired as a bartender.
“Shut your trap before I do it for you, Loco.”
“Let’s dance, old man.”
“Wouldn’t want to beat your ass for you before you go home to your ol’ lady.”
“Really, brother?” I thought but chose not to argue anymore. Trista wasn’t my old lady, not officially. Hell, we hadn’t even kissed, much less fucked. Tyson was aware of all of this; therefore, I fucked with him first. This was how we did each other. I wouldn’t expect less from him.
“Did he stutter? Yes, really,” Jackson jabbed in a serious tone, answering my question. I glared at him but didn’t verbally reply.
“Did I say that out loud?” Using our pack link of telepathy, I let the rest of the guys weigh in on the subject. Also, I wanted to see if Jackson said anything again.
“Nope,” every concerned voice of our brothers in attendance answered, all except Jackson. I wasn’t sure if everyone was fucking with me, or I was fucking losing it. Either way. Something was up.
“Gato. Puta de mierda. Coño tonto gatito,” I rattled
