Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(30)
“When?”
“Yesterday.” The phone disconnects and I’m on my feet. Diem looks at me from the couch, and I feel her eyes on me until I disappear into my room. Locking the door behind me, I pull the duffel that’s already packed from under my bed. Unlocking my safe in the closet, I grab a few stacks of cash, a couple of guns, and a cell phone.
When I open the bedroom door, Diem is standing on the other side, her eyes narrowed on me. “I have to leave. I’ll be back in a few days.” I notice how her face falls a little at my words. I hope she don’t start asking questions. “Do you have a phone?” I ask, knowing she would need a way to call if something happened. And because I want her to call me.
“That thing that connects you to the outside world? Oh yeah, I’ve been using it for days. Haven’t you noticed?” Smart-ass. “Have fun on your super-f*cking-weird, late-night business trip.” She throws me a fake smile. “Who knew website designing was so exciting?”
“It’s my family. They need me.” My answer wipes the arrogance right off her face. I almost feel guilty for how sympathetic she looks. “See ya around, pretty girl.” I give her a wink, and the slight tremble in her knees at my words doesn’t go unnoticed.
I drive my rental to the airport, calling Cleft on my way, who tells me there is a ticket waiting for me. “Your things are already here in Houston,” he says, and I feel my chest swell with pride. My things are my bike and my cut.
“Good. I need you to ship a cell phone to my house. Get it through a local carrier and put it in Zeke’s name. Nothing fancy, just something with text and calling.”
“Done. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” I say, wondering if it’s a mistake. “Send some flowers too. A bunch of ’em.”
“That all?”
“And some of those Atomic Fireball candies.”
“Are you trying to get laid?” Am I? That would be better than saying I’m doing it because I feel like shit for leaving her all alone for a while.
“Maybe.”
“Well she must be some woman. I’ve never known you to have to work for *.” I start to snap his head off and tell him it ain’t like that. Instead, I just hang up before I say anything.
*
Houston is a clusterf*ck. San Antonio is a shitstorm. Production is behind. Officers aren’t enforcing the bylaws. And I know my time here is gonna be a helluva lot longer than a few days.
Without Dirk, the chapters are starting to fall apart. With him in mind, everyone knew that if they f*cked up, he would be paying them a visit. Until I officially take over Dirk’s role in the club, I can’t demand anything of them. But Nationals wants me to sit in and listen. Observe what’s happening in church and report back to them. It makes me feel like a rat.
Rocks has been the president for the Houston chapter for years. But you’re only as good as your team. And his team was failing him. Miserably. There were too many club parties and not enough business. Half the members weren’t even riding. They were a disgrace to all one percent clubs. But most of all, they were a disgrace to Sinner’s Creed.
So I called Nationals and told them the situation. I was more than surprised when they told me to handle it. Jimbo put in the call to Rocks himself, and told him to invite me to church. And that I was stepping in as a National and would be making decisions on their behalf. Rocks wasn’t happy about it. Neither was I. Houston was my home chapter. I didn’t want to be an *, but I didn’t want to see my brothers eighty-sixed either.
It’s the second night I’ve been here and I’m anxious as church begins. I’m even more anxious that I haven’t heard from Diem, even though Cleft assured me all my packages had been delivered. As we crowd around the table, every eye is on me. Rocks told them why I was here. And like him and me, they aren’t happy about it.
“Okay, Shady,” Rocks says from the VP seat while I’m sitting in his. “The floor is yours.” Pissed about the situation and pissed about Diem, I go straight to business. Letting my anger overpower the uneasiness I’m feeling.
“You’re not doing your job. Just because the money is good, don’t mean it’s easy. The work is hard. The risk is high. You knew that shit when you signed up. Ever since Dirk’s been gone, you’ve gotten lazy. Production in Houston is two weeks behind everyone else. Other chapters are complaining, saying that y’all are receiving special privileges because of me. I don’t like that.” Just saying the words pisses me off further. If anything, they should be working harder than anyone because of me. They should be picking up my slack while I’m gone. That’s the job of a good brother.
“I’m pulling your bottom rockers.” The air in the room grows thick with tension at my words. Every brother at the table looks at me with a different emotion—hate, betrayal, envy . . . but some look at me with respect. “I’ll give you two weeks. If you’re not ahead of everyone else, I’ll pull back patches. After that, you’ll be sewing on Prospect rockers. I don’t think I have to tell y’all what happens if you fail then.”
Cuts are laid across the table as I use my knife to remove the Texas patches one by one. The bottom rocker represents your state—what charter you belong to. Having it removed is a way of branding those that aren’t living up to the expectations of the club. It’s a blow to a man’s pride. He’s no longer worthy of a full patch. And to get it back, he’ll have to earn it.