The Wild Wolf Pup (Zoe's Rescue Zoo #9)(49)

Charlie averted his eyes to me before he looked over my shoulder, causing me to turn and watch as Ronan tried to make a run for it. Quickly, I grab him by the back of his neck and whisper against his ear as I lean over his shoulder.

“You wanted to talk, spook, we’re going to talk,” I promise.

Cobra pulls the van up in front of us and Pipe opens the back doors. I eye Riggs, wait for his nod before he grabs Ronan’s arms and pulls it back igniting a shriek from the man before he throws him into the back of the van.

“You’re mine fuck-face,” Riggs declares, climbing in behind him. Once the boys were in the back of the van, I shut the doors and smack the side of the van giving Cobra the okay to get out of here. The van peels away as my boots pound the gravel and I make my way next to Jack catching the tail end of their conversation.

“You miscalculated, Parrish, by assuming my club was dead in the water. The Corrupt Bastards are very much alive, stronger than before and deadlier than ever. I hope your boys enjoyed their time with the NYPD.”

“Watch who you’re threatening, Charlie,” Jack seethed. “Remember what happened the last time the Corrupt Bastards threatened the Satan’s Knights.”

“Not a threat,” he said, lighting up a smoke. “I’m just giving you fair warning I want control over the docks and will stop at nothing to get it. Now that Pastore is up the river, the way I see it you can either relinquish your control or I can take it from you.”

“Why in the Devil’s names would I do that?”

Charlie took a drag of his cigarette before flashing a cocky grin toward Jack.

“I have resources bigger than you and your mob friend, Parrish,” he says pointedly.

Jack steps closer to him, takes the cigarette out of his hand and glides the glowing tip to Charlie’s face, stopping just before the cigarette meets his cheek.

“I always admired the ink on your face, maybe when I pull the breath from your lungs I’ll mark my face just as you did.”

Charlie shakes his head unfazed by Jack’s words as he stares back at me.

“Your days as the ‘Bulldog’ are numbered, going to turn your ass into dog meat.”

“You and what army?” Jack sneers, flicking the ashes onto Charlie’s lap before letting the butt fall to the ground. He crushes it with his boot before turning around to face me as he dismisses Charlie. “We all good?” He questioned me.

I nod my head before watching Charlie tip his chin to someone standing behind me. I didn’t give into him, knowing well enough he was provoking me and focused on my president.

“Always, brother,” I answer.

Jack nods before turning back to walk to his bike and I take that as my cue to do the same. I catch a glimpse of Brantley standing on top of the steps of the station staring back at us. Charlie revs his engine and speeds out of the parking lot, saluting Brantley as he drives passed him.

“Didn’t see that one coming,” Jack comments as he fits his fingerless gloves to his hands.

Yeah.

Me either.

But then again we never usually see the mayhem; that shit creeps up on us time after time and bites us in the ass.





Chapter Nineteen




Gritting my teeth, I walk into the Dog Pound and take in the mess. Tables have been flipped, chairs broken and the mug shots that hung proudly on the walls have been thrown across the floor. Mack was busy sweeping up shards of broken glass while Linc and Deuce worked on turning the couch back to its rightful place. The rest of the guys had parked their asses at the bar as Bosco grabs a bottle of whiskey and the few glasses that Brantley and his crew hadn’t fucking broken. He fills their glasses, offering me one, but I brush him off, ignoring all of them as they stare at me, not ready to delve into this shit storm just yet.

Not without the help of a bottle of scotch.

I pour that shit straight down my throat.

The fiery liquid harshly warms my belly, but it’s not enough. I throw my head back and swallow more, waiting for the liquor to take the edge off. Placing the bottle down on top of the bar, I zero in on the man sitting in the center of my brothers, tied to a bar stool with a gag in his mouth and Riggs’ gun pointed to his temple. He stares back at me, his eyes wide with fear, just the way I like them.

“Someone going to tell me why this fuck is here?”

“Says he’s got information we want,” Blackie offers as he walks up behind Ronan and grabs his shoulders. “Isn’t that right?”

Riggs slams his shot glass down on the bar as Ronan starts to mumble. He grabs a fistful of his hair and smashes his face into the bar.

“Motherfucker just nod your fucking head,” Riggs growls.

My eyes sweep around the room at my disgruntled club and the decision becomes clear. I need to grab the reigns on this shit.

“Church, now and bring him,” I say tipping my chin toward Ronan as I grab my scotch and head into the chapel. Their stools scrape against the floor behind me as they rise and follow suit.

“Where is Cobra?” Blackie asks, taking a head count of everyone.

“He had some personal shit come up,” Deuce announces. “He’ll be back by sunrise.”

That didn’t work for me. He wasn’t a nomad anymore and his place was at this fucking table. I point a finger at Riggs and motion to Ronan.