Chapter Twelve: Devil Riders
Bones
I was in my garage working on changing the oil in my motorcycle when my cell phone rang. It was the early afternoon and Maverick had been at the casino, keeping an eye on things, for about two hours. When I saw his name on the screen, a sense of dread filled me. “Hey, what’s up?” I answered the phone, not wasting any time.
“We’ve had another incident,” he said.
I stood from my crouched position beside the bike. I had drained the oil and was ready to replace the filter. “What happened?”
“Another coke deal, but this time it was a familiar face doing it.”
“Who?”
“Grenade.”
Maverick was right, that was a very familiar face. Grenade had been a member of Rebel Saints until about a month ago when he’d joined forces with Snake, the man led a walk-out over my changes to the club’s goals and direction.
Anger flared to life inside of me. If Grenade was the one dealing coke in Red Stone Casino, then he must have been doing it on behalf of the rival club they had formed. Devil Riders had committed the ultimate act of disrespect by coming into Rebel Saints territory to push their drugs, knowing we didn’t want them here. Wars between clubs had been started over this kind of thing.
I’d been moving the club in a completely nonviolent direction, so that wasn’t going to happen, but it didn’t mean I would let them get away with this.
I thought about Hawk’s findings at the high school and it made sense. Snake had been pushing me to keep working with the cartel, insisting the money that could be made would be too good to walk away from. But I’d been insistent about not dealing drugs anymore. When he started his own club, he must have gone into business with them himself. I didn’t understand why he thought he could get away with pushing that shit here in Holbeck, other than narcissistic arrogance.
“Where’s Grenade now?” I asked.
“Your girl called the cops and they’re going to take him away when they’re done taking statements from everyone.”
I tried not to think of Harper as ‘my girl,’ but I also didn’t correct Maverick when he said it. “Good. Stay there and keep an eye out for more trouble, especially known members of Devil Riders.”
I hung up the phone without waiting for a reply, so mad that I could hear my blood rushing in my ears. Hurriedly, I finished up the oil change, adding a clean filter and fresh oil to the bike before wiping my hands on an old red rag I had tucked into my back pocket. Not wasting any more time, I hopped on the vehicle.
It was impulsive, but I was heading to Glenam. It was Devil Riders territory, and I had my Rebel Saints colors on, so it was a big no-no, but I was too pissed off to care. They’d crossed a line, and I intended to let them know that.
I knew where their base of operations was located because I’d originally considered purchasing the building myself and expanding Rebel Saints’ territory. I’d decided against it and Snake took the opportunity to buy the old bike repair shop himself, using money he’d stolen from the club, not that I could prove it. If I could, he’d never get away with it. All I had was circumstantial evidence and that wasn’t enough. In addition to that, some of the funds missing had been illegally made money from before my new rules, and I didn’t want to prove that fact.
Little traffic traveled on the road today, so I made it there in record time. One of the bay doors of the repair shop was lifted up, so I rolled right inside. There were five Devil Riders club members there, some working on bikes while others lounged with beers in hand on some old couches pushed up against a wall. I took dark pleasure in seeing our setup at my bar was far superior to this makeshift ‘clubhouse.’
As I came to a stop in the middle of the concrete floor, beside an older model Triumph which looked like it needed new tires, my eyes met Snake’s. The former sergeant-at-arms for Rebel Saints was now the president of Devil Riders.
He stood directly in front of me, ten feet away. He stared at me coolly as I dismounted, pulling off my helmet. His men stood up, their eyes trained on me. I recognized three of them as former Rebel Saints, but there were two faces I’d never seen before. They were adding to their numbers.
“I think you must be in the wrong place,” Snake said, folding his arms across his chest. “This is Devil Riders territory. Your presence here is an insult.”
My eyes landed on the Glock at his hip. “I know,” I said, walking toward him. I stopped directly in front of him, close enough to hit the man, should my temper get away from me. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. The tension was thick in the air between us. “But I figure I owed you one, considering that you’ve been sending men into Holbeck to do your business.”
Snake’s face gave nothing away, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the men I didn’t know tense up. I was hyper-aware of my surroundings and recognized I was in a dangerous situation. I was sure all these men were carrying guns, but I was unarmed. I’d never been a fan of being armed, but I used to carry a pistol when I helped with Rebel Saints criminal activities. Since all that ended, I had locked the thing away in a gun cabinet in my closet.
I wasn’t going to back down.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Snake said.
“Really?” I seethed. “Then, I guess that Grenade hasn’t been allowed his phone call yet?”
That got a reaction, but not much of one. Snake’s eyes narrowed as his hands clenched into fists for a few seconds before relaxing. “He’s been arrested?”
“Yes. That’s what happens when the law is broken, as I warned you.”
My mind went back to the day that Snake and the others had left the club, discarding their cuts like the patch meant nothing and walking out of the bar for good. The sting of the betrayal was still fresh, and the undercurrent of hurt that flowed beneath my anger heightened my emotions.