Sawyer
The sting of the air on my face was not as biting as the sting I had felt from Bess. She shut down fast after her ex made his appearance.
I rode back to the M.C. with the early morning air reminding me that Bess was not on the back of the bike. I liked having her there way too much. For the first time ever the ride was missing something. It was her.
When we got to her place last night, I pulled back. I realized she was tipsier than she intended. Hell, maybe that is what she needed - to let it rip with an outlaw and a little wine. I got that.
I didn’t take advantage of a woman who was not sure what she wanted. Both times we had been together her resolve failed. Both times, she had had cocktail or two.
Oh, she felt what I felt. I had no doubt of that now. I had no doubt I could talk to her for hours. We had done it. I also had no doubt I wanted to be in bed with her for hours. When it happened, it was going to happen with her fully present. With her fully committed.
When it happened with us, it was going to be explosive. I had a real feeling I would have a hard time stepping away.
So, I would wait.
She was scared now. I had taken Henry into the kitchen, we were old buds, thanks to Cassidy, and he happily plopped himself down in front of the food I had made.
It broke my heart to see his face when the fighting started. He tried to ignore it. It was a fact of his life. It scared me to think how much these three people were connected and how much they could destroy each other.
I had seen real love before and it gutted you. Or it could.
Maybe Bess turning on the ice was the best thing. I was sure she could grind my heart into tiny pieces. Maybe she was doing me a favor. I had enough to handle with the M.C. right now.
That, of course, was a lie I was telling myself.
I would let her grind anything of mine she damn well wanted. I could be patient to a point. I could wait. For a little.
Bess Geary had not scared me off. Not by a long shot.
I got back to the M.C. and it was time to get to business. No one was up, naturally. We ran a biker bar and that meant late nights and late morning at best.
I went over the books a little and caught up on the shit that was - swear to God - no different for the Prez of an M.C. and the president of a company.
You had to watch the money all the time or you would be screwed by someone somewhere along the line. There was a lot of money coming in now. The bar, the gym, and the protection we offered local businesses were all generating cash.
We used to shake ‘em down. It was the old story. We would cause the danger and then we would protect them from it. That was gone. We actually kept an eye out for about a dozen businesses that were useful to us.
Great Wolves Security was a real thing. We were testing out a real model that I would be sharing with Cali. All Great Wolves enterprises led back to Cali and Green Bluff. I was sure Great Wolves Security would fly at all the charters.
After I had enough of paperwork, it was time for office hours. We didn’t call it that. I imagined it was more like what a landowner had to deal with a couple of hundred years ago.
“That’s my sheep!” “Hey, you farmed one of my acres.” “My daughter is pregnant.” Would have been the issues I expect.
These days problems came to me, no sheep involved, yet. I didn’t rule it out though.
I had to decide shit I could never have predicted. I learned that, basically, people could fight about any damn thing. Guaranteed.
If I was not there, Hagen did it and if Hagen could not, then Larry did. The businesses we watched over, the people we protected, and the club members at large always had beefs, problems, and needs.
The Great Wolves M.C. was there to figure it out. Our decisions were usually fair and definitely final.
Larry and I sat at the back of the bar and Ryder was first in.
“What’s up?”
“So here’s my proposal.”
“I can’t wait.” I rubbed my temple. I had to pull myself out of thoughts of Bess and back into the business at hand.
“You okay Prez?” Ryder asked. The young blonde member had just graduated from probie to full-fledged voting rights. He also had plenty of ideas about making bank for the club. Usually, they were legit so I was happy to hear it. Today? I was just pre-occupied.
“Little headache.”
“Heavy is the leather of the man who wears the assless chaps,” Larry piped in. He was often my court jester as much as my confidant.
“You’re hilarious,” I said.
“So here’s the numbers, here’s the specs, here’s the plan.”
“We can do this?” I looked at several spreadsheets Ryder presented.
“I think so. We’ve got no less than four certified mechanics, one’s ex-military, and, at least, three old ladies willing to sign up for the front office shit.”
Ryder wanted to open a Great Wolves M.C. Auto Body Shop and Car Lot. It seemed ambitious, but he was not lying. We had the skill sets in the ranks of the Grand City Great Wolves M.C. to make a go of it.
“Here’s the thing most of newer businesses have to be scalable,” I explained to him.
“Like Shark Tank?”
“Yeah, I’m Mr. Wonderful. We gotta make money and we gotta look at whether your idea can be used at other charters.”
“I kind of think chicks are our market.”
“What?”
“We fix your ride! I want that to be the slogan. OR the Best Ride in Town.” Ryder’s face split wide open into a smile. The kid looked like Brad Pitt when he turned it on. He was for sure selling his idea with gusto.
“Oh, I see. And the dudes? They’re going to want us to fix their wives?”
“Well, most husbands make their wives do the mundane maintenance shit. And most wives like assless chaps.”
“I see. Let’s refine that slogan, 'kay? Here’s what I need. Find out how many charters have similar numbers when it comes to mechanics, logistics of their space, and the shit we have here. See if it’s even possible somewhere else. Then maybe.”
“Maybe we’ll try it?”
“Yeah, send whoever’s next in.”
“Gotcha. Thanks, Sawyer!” Ryder’s enthusiasm was contagious. Maybe it could be another legitimate money earner.
“So you’re willing to go with an auto body shop but not my legal pot?” Larry and I went back twenty-two odd years. We met as probies in the Green Bluff chapter. He was good with numbers and over the years gotten and actual CPA. Larry, the Biker Accountant, is what Cassidy Parker had called him. She was right, except for the part where he had done his fair share of punishing enemies of the club back in his day. Larry the Accountant would break a neck if I asked him to.
Or torch a dirty business.
He was the only one in the place that looked older than I did and the one I could guarantee would be on my side at the table on just about any issue.
We were still the new members of this charter, even though we had been sent here to run it.
Larry could not help running the numbers on legal marijuana growing and distribution.
“The government isn’t up your ass when you change the oil on mini-vans. They are most certainly up your ass when you grow legal pot.”
“I’m telling you it’s a gold mine we’re missing.”
“Seems like a step back, let’s make sure Ryder has the cash to start up the mechanic thing.”
“Fine.” Larry looked at the door and Otto Terry walked in. Otto owned one of the businesses we protected, a jewelry shop.
“Hey, Otto. What can we do for you?”
“A brick through my front window, my display case cleaned out, all of it happened last night.”
“Shit man. We were downtown as usual last night,” I asked Larry.
“Yeah, Great Wolves Security did three passes, eleven, two, and uh, five a.m.”
“Happened at 5:30 a.m.,” Otto said.
“Someone knew when to do it,” I said. That was disturbing.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“You’re insured right,” Larry asked.
“Yes, but you needed to know, and the brick, I thought you’d like to see it.”
He pulled a standard cement brick out from behind his back and placed it firmly on the table.
The words Bratva were spray painted on it.
Bratva, dammit, they were sending a message.
“What’s it mean,” Larry asked.
“No idea,” I said, lying. I did not need Otto to start worrying.
“What are you going to do?”
“We’re going to have someone there all night for the next few nights.”
“Good, thank you.”
“Thank you.” No one was going to mess with Otto again. He walked out and Larry looked at me.
“You know what it means don’t you.”
“Bratva means The Brotherhood.”
“The Russian Mob.”
“Yes, it’s a little retaliation for our bonfire I think.”
“Well if that’s all they got...pfft.”
“I suspect that is not all they got. Let’s get more Wolves out there on the street. We need to be more visible.”
“Got it Prez.”
We were lucky no one was hurt. This was going to get worse before it got better
Worse came fast. Fast as the next man through the door.
Stone came in, his dark brows were furrowed, and his feet were moving fast.
“Warehouse just called. Trouble. Happening right now.”
Stone was quiet and scary as hell; he was a man of few words. He was tight with Ryder and the two could not be more different. Dark and light. Extrovert and introvert.
If Stone talked, it was for a reason.
“What?”
“Just got a call from Shorty...an SOS.”
“Okay, let’s roll, fast, Larry, finish the meetings.”
“Take a decent crew with you,” Larry called after us.
“Yep.” I joined Stone and headed out to The Wolf Den to see who could move quickly with me.
“Ryder, you’re coming with Stone and me.” Ryder left his seat at the bar quickly.
“Dusty who’s around?” She was always working on something to make The Wolf Den happen.
“Hagen, Steel, and Ridge all pulling up now. Supposed to help me unload a truck but the truck is late.”
“From the warehouse? Yeah, we’re going to check it out. Thanks.”
I met the guys at the door. Six. That would work. Right before we started to roll Victor pulled up in the pickup truck I had him drive for the M.C.
“Follow us, Victor.”
Best-case scenario, we load up whatever was supposed to be delivered to The Wolf Den. Worst case scenario? I didn’t know what that would be. I did know that a pickup truck was a good idea for almost any scenario so Victor was coming along.
Our warehouse was full of stuff for the bar, for the gym, and for the bikes. We roared toward it in double file.
We were not subtle in our approach. Six Harleys and an F-150 do not sneak up on a damn thing.
Black smoke was starting to rise and so was my level of dread. We had one guy, Marty Shaw, who lived on site. Marty had shit figured out, he didn’t like people, and keeping to himself at the warehouse was just his speed. If he called, it was bad. Black smoke bad.
“Victor, Ridge...grab the hose that’s around back and start that water on it.” Hagen issued the orders. He cut his engine and moved fast. His orders were exactly right. He knew the layout way better than I did.
“If that liquor catches it’s going to blow,” Ryder said.
“Hagen, go with them,” I said. I didn’t want to chance it that they would miss the target. The three peeled around back to try to douse whatever they could.
“The rest of you are with me.” Stone stepped in front of me. I gave him a look, whatever this was, I didn’t want any one of my guys to take a bullet, but Stone was going to go first no matter if I wanted him to or not.
“Fuck off, you’re behind me,” he said. Steel and Ridge flanked him and I was, much to my disgust, the last one in.
The air was toxic. The smoke had filled the room before it had spilled out the back. Steel lost his footing a bit and I almost did too.
The crates of liquor that we had been storing were knocked over, spilled out, with glass and whiskey everywhere. This place could explode. I didn’t see flames, and that was what would do it.
The next step I made landed on a Marty Shaw.
Fuck, he was not moving. He was either dead or close to it.
He coughed, thank Christ.
I knelt down and helped him sit up. He was bleeding from a cut on his head. His eye was starting to swell.
“Your engines scared them off.” His voice was quiet and raspy but he was alive.
“Just the one fire?”
“Yes, I think.” Steel came over. I saw water hit the smoke and started to feel marginally like we were not inside a firebomb.
“I’ll get him outside.” Steel was nearly as big as Victor was, and he carried Marty as if he was a child.
We fanned out. The place has been literally trashed. Our guy was nearly dead.
“Prez,” Stone called from the small office.
I went in and followed Stone’s gaze.
Spray-painted on the office walls were the words “Fire for fire.”
I knew exactly what it meant. It was no mystery. We had poked The Russians when we torched their storage units and now they had done the same.
“Orders,” Stone asked.
“Let’s just make sure the fire’s out.”
The guys secured the building. I called for a crew to come out, clean what needed cleaning, and salvage anything else.
“Ridge, call Dusty, tell her today’s stock is shot.”
“On it. She is going to need to check in with Cali. Maybe they have some backup supply chain,” Ridge said.
“Good.”
I looked at the office. Marty did a lot off the books. There was not much to steal if information was what they were after.
This looked like tit-for-tat. Just like the wall said, fire for fire.
The smoke was getting to me so I walked outside. Ridge had called more members over to help.
The billowing black smoke had dwindled to a few white plumes wafting up from the back of the building.
I walked the perimeter something in motion caught my eye.
There was something hiding behind some pallets on the loading dock. Someone was a better word.
Jesus.
“I see you,” I called out.
There was a rustling.
“Look, the fire’s over. You’re safe. Come on out.”
From behind the stacked pallets was the pair of dirty pink tennis shoes that first caught my eye.
They were attached to skinny jeans, a too tight t-shirt, and a young girl with stringy hair and haunted eyes.
If I had to guess, she was 12 or 13 years old. Maybe.
“It’s okay.”
“You’re not with them?” She asked me. I had to guess who them was.
“Do I sound like a Russian?”
“Is that what they are?”
“The men that set this place on fire, thick accents?”
“Yes. Not from here for sure.”
“I’m not with them.”
“I am not a hooker.” It was an odd thing to say. When she swallowed hard, the reality of the Russians and their cots and chains came into sharper focus for me.
This was not drugs or guns; it was people, young, vulnerable people that the Bratva was moving through Grand City.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I need to get away before they figure out I’m not there.”
“I’ll help you with that.”
I put out my hand. This kid had been hurt, reaching out to anyone was a risk for her, but it was either the Russians or me, or run into the woods.
She was smart enough to see her options or trusting enough to have a horrible life. Either way, I knew my next call.