Both men stood. “I’m here all afternoon, Prez. Shout if you need me,” Jig said.
“Thanks. Keep this shit about the meth quiet for now but let the guys know we got church tonight at eight.” So much for his night of hanging with Rusty. Maybe they could grab a few cold ones after the meeting.
“You got it, Prez.” Zach knocked his knuckles against the desk then the two men disappeared leaving Copper to his thoughts.
Sometimes, the heavy weight of running the club grew burdensome. For Copper, falling into the position of president after Sarge’s murder was natural. He’d always been a leader. Always in control, running the show, giving the orders. But that also meant bearing the responsibility of his and his men’s actions.
Some of the guys might not agree with him, but he felt everything the club did was ultimately his responsibility. He felt the elation of each triumph and the stabbing pain of each failure. And this year, there’d been one too many failures.
The biggest being letting the scum of the earth, Lefty, survive. Just a few short months ago, Copper had sat across the table from Lefty in an attempt at a truce. He hadn’t wanted to drag his club through a messy war that would potentially cost lives.
His greatest regret was letting Lefty live that day. How easy would it have been to plug the asshole between the eyes? Too easy. And now, the club was still paying for that poor decision.
Teenage girls had been kidnapped and raped. Another young woman had been raped and beaten severely. Stephanie was almost kidnapped. Izzy was attacked. And now meth was circulating his fucking town. All things that could have been avoided had he lodged some lead in Lefty’s cranium.
It stops today.
Every resource at the club’s disposal would go toward finding and eliminating Lefty.
Right after he cut the head off the snake in his own house.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“MOM? WE’RE HERE.” Shell held her wriggling daughter on one hip while pushing the door open.
“Put me down,” Beth whined as she practically dove from Shell’s arms.
“Whoa, girl, careful. Don’t want to drop you. You are seriously heavy.”
Beth giggled and shot off toward her grandmother as Cindy’s small frame appeared in the short hallway leading to the master bedroom. “Gramma!” Sometimes Shell was amazed at how young her mother still looked, but then she recalled her mom was actually young. She’d had Shell at nineteen so she was only in her early forties. Shell’s pops had been a decade older.
“Hey, Mom,” Shell said as she set down her suitcase-sized purse. “Brought some dessert.”
“How’s my Bethy-girl?” Cindy said, scooping Beth up and peppering her little face with kisses.
Beth squealed in delight and returned the affection.
As she waited to be acknowledged, Shell pulled the box of donuts she’d purchased from a local bakery out of her purse. After another thirty seconds of being ignored, she rolled her eyes and said, “Want these in the kitchen?”
Once again, not even so much as a glance from her mother. Shell was used to it. Cindy hated the MC with a fiery passion. Blamed them for her husband’s death. What she’d never come to realize, or never been willing to admit, was that her husband’s own actions were the reason for his death. He’d been coloring too far outside the lines and without the knowledge or backing of the club. Not that his death was justified or deserved in any way shape or form, but it wasn’t the fault of the club. Even if it had been, her mother had known what she was signing on for when she married Sarge. Hell, her mom grew up in an MC in California. One that was much bloodier and grittier than the Handlers.
But after Sarge was killed, her mom cut off all ties with the MC. Refused any financial help, got pissy and huffy anytime they were mentioned and rode Shell hard for continuing her association with them. Especially after Beth was born. Her mom was convinced Beth was Copper’s daughter. The product of some drunken night of passion Shell wouldn’t ’fess up to. Made her hate the MC even more.
If she only knew…
Thing of it was, even if Shell hadn’t been in love with the club’s president since she was a kid, she’d still want to be involved with the club. They were her family. The only family she knew, and not only did she want them in her life, she needed them. The whole rough, tough, gruff gang of ’em. That had become obvious when she’d lived out of state and was miserable for five years.
Shell frowned as her mom turned and walked into the kitchen with Beth in her arms. Usually, she wasn’t this standoffish. Sure, she and Shell were far from besties, but she wasn’t completely ignored in her mother’s house. “Mom?” Shell asked following them. “Everything all right?”