Right now, he only cared about one goddamn thing.
One fucking person.
The woman who packed her Lexus with her shit, and drove the fuck away while he still stood on that damn deck. Feeling like a helpless motherfucker.
And he let her.
Just let her fucking go.
The umbrella he bought her went somewhere, too. It was sent flying over the railing. So did all four chairs, followed by the goddamn table.
All of it crashed to the pavement one story below, bringing Marilyn, one of the front desk clerks, running out back to see what the noise was about. Once she spotted the pile of trashed furniture, her eyes had lifted to him, widened and she ran back inside.
The gavel cracking against the table made him jump.
“You with us, brother?”
Ozzy twisted his head toward the head of the table, where the president always sat.
“This shit’s important. Pay the fuck attention,” Trip ordered.
“Actin’ like you don’t wanna be here,” Judge grumbled with a frown.
No shit.
Judge leaned toward him across the table. “You got somethin’ better to do?”
Of course he fucking didn’t. Shay was gone. He had nothing to fucking do.
Except be a miserable motherfucker.
Especially since it had been two weeks of her ignoring his phone calls and texts.
She probably had blocked his damn number.
“Nope. Carry on.”
Trip snorted. “Thanks for your fuckin’ permission.” He glanced around the table, shaking his head. “The Great Oz said we could carry on, so let’s carry the fuck on.”
He should just resign right that minute as club secretary. Give it up. Give up the club. Give up managing the motel.
Hit the damn road and not stop riding until he had no choice but to stop.
“All right, now everyone’s awake and present, go on, Sig,” Trip instructed the VP.
Sig shot Ozzy an annoyed look first, then began to speak, “As we all fuckin’ know, Castle and Scar recently started takin’ turns headin’ up the mountain again since the feds cleared out. Also, as we all know already, the moonshine stills are gone. Meth lab’s gone. The shed those hillbilly goat fuckers used to reload ammo was cleaned out. Anythin’ illegal they were doin’, the feds confiscated or destroyed it.”
“Not surprisin’,” Cage said. “They ain’t as stupid as we think. They’d dealt with these sovereign nation militia wannabes before. The government pigs know those fuckers ain’t gonna just walk away from what they claim’s theirs.”
“Yeah, we knew they weren’t just gonna be hauled off that mountain and not try to go back and reclaim it,” Trip said. “They consider Hillbilly Hill their ‘country’ and their leader the King of the Clan.”
Sort of like how Trip considered himself to be king of their club.
Funny as fuck how that shit worked.
“Right. Backwards backwoods motherfuckers.” One side of Sig’s lip pulled up in a sneer and his dark eyes became hard. “Shoulda burnt that mountain down when we had the chance.”
“Yeah, okay,” Trip said dryly with a shake of his head. “Anyway… Keep goin’. Don’t got all fuckin’ night.”
For fuck’s sake, Ozzy didn’t want to fucking sit there all night, either. He wanted to go downstairs and get shit-faced. Not talk about those inbred Shirleys.
“Anyway, they were up there and the last coupla nights they saw signs that the goat fuckers are returnin’ to their compound even though the county, or who the fuck ever, slapped those orange condemned stickers on every damn buildin’ that still stands.”
“That don’t mean shit to them,” Deacon said. “We all saw how those buildings were built. Ain’t none of those dumb fucks any kind of structural engineer. Hell, they probably don’t even know their fuckin’ ABCs.”
“Don’t think Scar does, either. Got no fuckin’ clue how he read those orange stickers in the first place,” Cage huffed. “Probably stood there scratchin’ his fuckin’ nuts as he sounded out each fuckin’ syllable.”
“Syllable?” Judge asked. “How d’you know such a big fuckin’ word? My sister teachin’ you a thing or two?”
Cage shot the club’s sergeant at arms a wicked smile and added a wink. “Yeah, she’s teachin’ me somethin’ all right.”
One of Judge’s eyebrows rose as he stared at Cage down the table.
Trip slammed the gavel on the table again. “Christ, it’s like fuckin’ herdin’ stray cats! Keep fuckin’ goin’, brother. Ignore these assholes.”
Sig scraped a hand down his beard. “Yeah, well... Last night Castle was just about to head back down the mountain when he heard a vehicle comin’ up the lane. Said he saw one of those fifteen-passenger vans they like to drive. He hid behind some cover to watch and six goat fuckers got out. No breeders, no snot monkeys. He wasn’t close enough to hear what any of those backwoods bumpkins were sayin’, but he did see them inspectin’ some of the structures in the main clearin’. Pointin’ at shit and havin’ conversation. Probably about what needed to be done to get it ready to bring in more men and their women.”