“There’s nothing to eat here.” A cupboard door slams, followed by the bang of the fridge, tells me her mood hasn’t improved.
“Order pizza, or Chinese. Whatever you want.” I’m a bad, bad mom. I can’t even feed my daughter. “Tomorrow, we’ll go food shopping, maybe cook something together?”
“Count me out. And I want pizza.” The sounds of footsteps stomping down the hall to her bedroom, and another door slamming shut, signals this conversation is over.
I stand, head bowed, dreading the weekend ahead.
Chapter Seven
Grumbler
Church is church. Business is discussed and decided in under an hour.
“Just one bit of other business from me.” Lost taps his fingers on the table. “Drummer’s getting impatient. It’s been almost three months now, and there’s still no sign of Stormy.”
“What the fuck is Utah doing with all the computer power they’ve got? I thought they could ‘get into Fort Knox.’” Token looks disgusted.
“They’re not fuckin’ trying, or they know where he is,” I offer, thinking it highly likely.
“That’s Drummer’s thinking,” Prez agrees. He grimaces. “He’s worried Snatcher knows more than he’s letting on and has got Stormy out working alone again.”
The VP shakes his head. “Road’s a good man. He wouldn’t let that shit fly.”
“Maybe Pip and Snatcher are doing shit in secret without it being brought out into the open,” Salem proposes. “It wouldn’t be the first fuckin’ time.”
Growls go around. Our chapter understands the dangers of that only too well. Snake and my predecessor, Poke, had plotted secretly against the club, enlisting seven other brothers to help them. I wonder if Drummer thinks something like that’s going on in Utah.
“So what’s Drummer proposing?”
Lost’s lips press together. “He’s given Snatcher two more weeks to find him. After that, he’ll be enlisting the help of the Wretched Soulz and all friendly clubs to watch out for him.”
“The man must be somewhere.”
Reboot gets a slap around the back of his head from Deuce. “Kind of obvious.”
“He could be dead.” Niran frowns. “Man riding on his own is always at risk.”
“Unless he’s at the bottom of a ravine, there’d be reports of a death or hospitalisation.”
“He should be six feet under,” I grumble in my normal way. I’ll never forgive the man for taking the shot that killed Alder. A sideways glance at Lost shows me he feels the same way.
“Any particular reason you’re telling us this?” The VP looks to his right. “Apart from keeping our eyes open in the unlikely event he comes San Diego’s way?”
Salem snorts. “Yeah, like he’s going to turn up and ask us to do custom work on his bike. He’s more likely to be on the other end of the country or even overseas if the man’s got any sense.”
Lost isn’t the normal battle-scarred badass who runs an outlaw motorcycle club. He still has an aura of the businessman he previously was, but he shouldn’t be underestimated. When the chips are down and his family, whether brothers or his old lady, are threatened, he’s as hard as they come, and not afraid to get his hands dirty. His face darkens now.
“If Drummer’s suspicions are right and he makes good on his threat to disband the Utah chapter, they may not go down without a fight. We may be asked to cross states and be ready to ride at his side.”
“If it comes to that, we’ll be ready,” I assure him. Not that I’d like to take out any man who wears a Satan’s Devils’ patch, but if they’re setting themselves against the mother chapter, they’d better be prepared to take all chapters on as well.
Lost gives me a chin lift and notes the serious expressions all around. “I’m hoping that won’t be the outcome, but just wanted to give a heads-up in case. Right.” He lifts the gavel and bangs it. “Church is over for tonight.”
As brothers get up, snippets of conversation reach my ears. More than one comment is made about fuckin’ Stormy and what they’ll do if he comes into our hands. Pennywise and Salem are more focused on the possible parallels between Snake and Snatcher, if Drummer’s worst assumptions prove correct. For a moment, I sit, wondering about Satan’s Devils pitching themselves against other club members. I sincerely hope the matter resolves before it comes to that. I’d prefer to think Stormy’s disappearance is that he’s dead and his body just hasn’t been found as yet.
“You wanted to talk to me?” Token slips into the seat Scribe has just vacated.
“Yeah.” After that one word, I realise I still haven’t come up with an excuse of why I’m looking for a woman. As Token raises an eyebrow, I continue, “I want to find someone’s address.” I don’t have to give him a reason, do I?
“Sure. Who?” Token pulls his laptop to him.
“Mary Styles. I think that’s her name. She’s got a daughter, Alicia Styles.”
“Husband?”
I shake my head. “Not in the picture.”
“Hmm.” Token eyes me carefully. “You think she may have reverted to her maiden name?”
“No fuckin’ clue, Brother. The husband’s dead, so maybe unlikely.”
“But you’re certain of the daughter’s?”
I nod. “Yes.” Well I think I am. Do models use pseudonyms?
“Do you know how old she is?”
“Seventeen.” I remember Mary telling me.
“I’ll start with the daughter. She should be at high school unless she’s dropped out.”
It sounds a good plan. From what I remember of Mary, I doubt she’d let her daughter leave school without her diploma. Though I could be wrong, of course.
Token’s brow is creased. “I assume I’m looking in San Diego?”
“Start there.” She could live anywhere nearby, but the city is the place to start.
“Okay, leave it with me, Brother.” His head tilts to the side, and I wait for him to ask me the reason, but it seems he’s not curious enough to ask. Whatever question was on his lips remains unspoken.
As he gets up to leave, I realise all my worrying about an interrogation was for nothing. Token walks purposefully to the door with a wave of his hand, totally
