Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(132)
There. That's more like the Prairie * badass wannabe I know. I looked at Goliath and grinned.
Blaze folded his hands and leaned forward, all his attention on me again. “I'm inclined to agree. Look, Brass, we appreciate you giving us a head's up about this shit. Mostly so we can stay the f*ck out of it. What were you hoping to do with this little knock and talk?”
Fuck. Typical selfish Prairie * bastard. I balled fists underneath the table, trying not to let the anger in my eyes flood everything.
“Blackjack and I are trying to save both our asses. Can't you f*cking see that? I know this club's been through the grinder ever since you started this charter, Blaze. The last thing you wanna do is strap on your knee highs and go wading through our cesspool.”
“Damned straight,” Blaze said with a smile.
“And you're a f*cking idiot if you let the past blind you to what's coming.”
Blaze's smile melted. Tank rose, slow and angry, ready to choke the life outta me for insulting his Prez in their own clubhouse.
“Wait, wait,” Blaze said, putting up his arm over Tank. “Let's give him one chance to qualify that before we shut his ass up for saying such stupid shit.”
“This shit will spill over into your club, Blaze. What I didn't get a chance to tell you is Fang thought I was a rat for the Devils. Not the cartel.”
“Fuck!” Tank growled, settling back into his chair.
“I know. We had a major shipment f*cked up in Washington last week. He doesn't believe the Mexicans would slip so far north and hit us past Redding. Didn't take him long to draw a target on the Devils, thinking you'd double-crossed us while we've been busy.”
“Bastard!” Blaze's fists hit the table. “If that dumb motherf*cker wants a war on his northern flank, we'll give him one. We'll ride through Sacramento with his f*cking head on our bikes before the Mexicans can get to it.”
The Devils Prez was shaking. Hot headed as usual, but for once, I didn't blame him for having such a short fuse.
“Dunno, boss,” Tank said, eyeing me warily. “There's only eight of us, maybe double if we put in a call for reinforcements from the Dakota boys. That's enough to take Redding with Brass and his splinter group, but it's not shit if we gotta battle dudes from every other Grizzlies charter too.”
Blaze shook his head. “I hate to say it, but you're f*cking right. Having this club on your side isn't gonna mop up every charter from Coeur d'Alene to San Diego. Besides, it sounds like the cartel's got your man on the ropes. Maybe we'd be better off here, beefing up our defenses, waiting for your evil empire to fall.”
I laughed. He really didn't see the full picture, and it was like talking to the goddamned wall trying to pry his eyes open.
Don't give up. This is the end of the line, boy. One more try, or settling down with Missy's gonna be the least of your worries.
I couldn't ignore the persistent voice in the back of my mind. I tried to stay calm as I looked at Blaze and stood, hands on the table, not even looking past him when Tank got up and began sizing me up.
“You're totally f*cking wrong, Blaze. I wouldn't come here asking you for favors without holding an ace.” This time, I looked at Tank, the fiercest skeptic in the room. “He botched a hit a couple weeks ago. Some druggy with an old personal vendetta. When the f*cker wouldn't pay up, he sent his boys after the guy. Ended up with a dagger in his back.”
“Who the f*ck cares?” Tank growled. “Give us something we can chew on or shut the f*ck up, bear.”
I grinned. “Fang doesn't take trophies like Devils do. He likes to see it all go down on video. Some guys recorded the crime scene. Even got some junkie bitch holed up in the room to squawk about what happened on film. Go ahead and f*cking guess who's brought the tape to Big Sky country.”
Silence.
Tank and the younger guys eyeballed me like they wanted to drag my ass out back and put a bullet through my head. Blaze drummed his fingers on the table, angrily digesting the bitter pill I'd just forced down his throat. He knew damned well how restless other club Prezes got when shit started to fall apart. One more bombshell that made the head honcho a target for the Feds was one straw too many, one last kick that would bring the whole rotten structure down.
He didn't need to know I'd killed the f*ck myself and bribed the junkie to spill what I told her. He didn't need to know the twisted bastard was just a convenient kill I'd made for Jackie, warping the murder into a weapon against Fang.
I swore I'd bring his ass down. Any white lie, any kill, any f*cked up stroke of luck was on the table.
Only trouble is, Blaze still didn't look convinced. Shit. I had to head him off before he could open his angry mouth and breathe selfish fear back into all his guys.
“Look, I get it. Calling in your support means a battle, even if there's hardly anyone left standing by Fang's side. But it's a battle that must be fought. This shit doesn't end any other way – not even if Fang ends up with his neck on some Mexican's machete. It's not over 'til my club's removed its cancer and starts to heal. Don't you see it? If the Grizzlies fall apart, guess who's next in line for the cartel?”
I gave him a chance to answer. He didn't.
“Those boys from south of the border don't fight like MCs. There's no code, no club charter holding 'em back, no mercy. It's all about green to them. Green money and red blood.” I rubbed my fingers together. “My club has a lot of f*cking problems, I'm not blind to that. But we didn't fall apart over night either. We were kicking your asses, barely raising a finger, back before the cartel started bombing, shooting, and raping everything in sight. They're taking the Grizzlies down, piece by piece, and we're a helluva lot bigger than your club. What the f*ck do you think they're gonna do when we're dead and buried? When there's nobody left to fight them tooth and nail between Mexico and Montana?”