“You a parrot now?”
“My bad, I’ll ask the desk clerk,” he says sincerely and begins to walk off.
“Spidey, get your ass back here.”
Halting, he turns back looking like someone kicked his fucking cat.
“Look, brother; shit always goes down on runs. You’re just too new to know that. Brush it the fuck off and if anyone gives you shit, just tell ‘em to fuck off. Don’t show yourself to everyone or they’ll end up running your life. And don’t start smoking, for the love of Christ; we’ve all been trying to stop since we started. Chew a piece of gum.”
He nods, silently thinking it over.
“You still have your Smith and Wesson?” On our first run together we were transporting weapons, and Spider pretty much jizzed his pants when he saw a small, flat black gun we had in one of the containers. That was one business deal that went through flawlessly.
“Yeah, I’ve been getting familiar with it. The different design is sick, but I’ve also been looking into other models.”
Exterminator rushes out of his room, beelining for mine. What the hell is going on with people today and coming to me?
“Ex?”
“We gotta talk—now!” He slams against my door, shoving it open swiftly. “You too, Spider,” he orders and we shuffle in quickly. “You speak to your Ol’ Lady?”
Meeting his stressed-out gaze, I shrug. “Not yet, my phone was off for the run, why?”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters, his fingertips squeezing his forehead.
Grabbing my phone off the table, I power it on immediately.
“It’s not good, Vike. You’re gonna lose it, brother. You need to stay calm so we can figure out what the hell to do,” he finishes as six missed calls from Princess pop up.
One voice message.
Clicking the message icon, I hear whispering at first, and then sobbing. My eyes fly to Ex’s, just as she starts sobbing and pleading, “Please no, don’t take it, nooo.” Then the screaming sets in, “Viking help me! Please, they’re gonna rap--” And then it cuts off.
I’m going to filet whoever did this.
Exterminator positions himself in front of the door with his palms out. “Calm down, brother. I just spoke to Scot. He heard from the Prez over here. Nancy, the bartender, called him asking for help too.”
“Get the fuck outta my way!” Roaring, I charge toward him.
“Vike! Wait, man, we’ll get her!”
Halting directly in front of him, I send him a dark glare. “Move.” His eyes shine with sympathy which has me almost ballistic. “You wanna fuckin’ die? Get the fuck out of my way, or so help me, I’ll take your motherfuckin’ life, Oath Keeper.”
“It’s the Widows.”
The little bit of spit in my mouth damn near chokes me at that name. That’s no regular MC; that’s myfather’sclub.
“We’ll figure this out, what would they want with your woman?”
“He doesn’t want Princess. It was my birthday yesterday; he’s come for me.”
“This isn’t the way to get you a fuckin’ cake.” He shakes his head, trying to figure out what to say.
“Jekyll doesn’t want to celebrate; he wants to give me the gavel. I’ll get her back; if not, they’ll kill her. She’ll fucking hate me for what I’m going to have to do, but at least I’ll know she’s still breathing.”
Spider interrupts, “What the hell, this isn’t old England; you’re not born into shit, you vote, especially on patches.”
“True, but in the Widow Makers, you have to be a son to be the President, and if you live long enough for your first born to reach a certain age, then you inherit the gavel and the previous gets to hang his leathers, just ride free the rest of his days.”