The Wild Wolf Pup (Zoe's Rescue Zoo #9)(116)

He takes the pen and paper and writes his reply.

I hear you.

“You’re a dick,” I say, ripping the paper in half before throwing it back at him.

Blackie smirks as he shrugs on his leather jacket.

“Black,” I call out and watch his eyes turn back to me.

“You got this, brother,” I tell him.

I should be leading my club to retribution but if I can’t, there is no one better suited than the man standing before me. I won’t hold the gavel forever, someday I will pass that shit down, someday it’ll be Blackie sitting at the head of the table. It will be his job to bring Satan’s law to justice and now is the time to see if he’s capable.

We might plan the final ride for the Corrupt Bastards but this shit right here, this was Blackie’s test drive, riding front and center, leading the pack of Knights straight to Hell.

Where did that leave my daughter?

I suppose on a test drive of her own.

Could my sweet girl stand in the shadows of the acting president of the Satan’s Knights?

We’re about to find out.





Chapter Forty-Six




Sitting on an empty oil drum in the middle of Pipe’s garage I turn to Riggs, watching as he pulls his hat off and runs his fingers roughly through his hair.

“Bro,” he starts, fitting the hat back to his head. “Where the fuck is everyone?” He asks tapping his fingers on the rolling tool chest in front of him. “I mean it’s not just me and you on this suicide mission, right?”

I sure fucking hope not.

Pulling a toothpick out of my jacket, I roll it between my lips and try not to dwell on the urge burning inside of me to seek something out and alleviate the itch to drink this whole fucking ordeal away.

“We’ve got company,” he announces as he jumps off the hood of the car he was sitting on and heads out to the lot. I follow him and watch as the flatbed truck, loaded with Harley’s, backs into the lot, stopping right in front of us.

“Merry fucking Christmas to us,” Riggs mutters, jumping onto the flatbed to inspect the brand new bikes as I walk around to greet the trucker opening the driver’s door.

“Either one of you Blackie?”

“Who’s asking?” I question as he waves a clipboard at me.

“Delivery from Jack Parrish,” he grunts, picking up his pants that hang beneath his belly and shoving his clipboard into my hands.

“You’re shitting me,” Riggs calls.

“Sign,” the trucker orders as he waddles to the back of his truck.

I glance down at the invoice for twelve new bikes and notice the make and models of them. These broads were beauties and cost twice the amount of our old ones. Placing the invoice on the hood of the truck, I pull out my phone and dial Jack’s house to confirm with him. Reina answers the phone since his hearing is still sketchy.

“Hey, Reina, do me a favor and ask Jack if he had something delivered to Pipe’s garage?”

“Sure, give me a minute,” she says and I hear her shuffle around and Jack’s loud muffled growl. Riggs and the trucker start unloading the bikes as a van pulls into the lot and parks right beside the bikes.

“Give me the phone,” I hear Jack call.

“Blackie, you’re on speaker,” Reina adds with a huff.

“Told you my club won’t be ridin’ with borrowed pipes and I meant it. Break them bitches in and make them sing pretty for me,” he says.

“You hear that, Blackie?” Reina questions.

“Loud and clear,” I respond. “Take care of the big guy, Reina. I’ll be in touch,” I add before disconnecting the call. Stryker, Deuce and Cobra climb out of the van and curiously stare at the bikes.

“A present from the Bulldog,” I explain, signing the invoice on the clipboard.

“Guess today is a good day for the Satan’s Knights,” Cobra mutters as the three of them open the back doors of the van and pull out a piece of wood. Turning it over, they prop the wooden slab against the side of the van and the reaper carved into the center stares back at me.

“We need to put some legs on it and sand this beast down but next time you speak to the Bulldog, tell him we dug his fucking table out of the rubble,” Stryker says, running his hand carefully along the splintered edges.

“You called church didn’t you?” Deuce questions, reaching into his pocket and producing a meat mallet.

“It’s not the original but it’ll do,” he adds as I stare at the silver mallet with the Bed Bath and Beyond ticket still attached to it.

Fighting back a smile, I take the mallet from his hand and tip my chin toward the table.

“That’s it, go on, you know you want to,” Riggs encourages as he steps behind me and the trucker peels away from us, without twelve new motorcycles. I tighten my grip around the silver kitchen utensil and bring the head down to the table top and bring my first meeting as acting president to order.

Riggs clasps his hands over the back of my shoulders.

“Let’s tag some toes, motherfuckers,” he cheers.

I’m about to order them to drag the table into the garage when I hear the distinct sound of engines blaring. Without hesitation I reach behind me and draw my gun out of the waistband of my jeans and aim it at the gates. Riggs, mimics my stance and together we start for the gates. Stryker, Deuce and Cobra are right behind us, the adrenaline vibrates through the air as the bikes draw closer.