“Don’t get your fuckin’ panties in a bunch,” Sig told Cage. “All of you. You know the prez called us here for a reason. Have a little fuckin’ patience.”
Easy snorted next to Whip and said under his breath, “He should fuckin’ talk about patience.”
“Heard that,” Sig growled, his brown eyes narrowed on E.
“Ain’t a lie,” Easy challenged.
The VP squared off with E. “How ‘bout you just keep your fuckin’ trap shut?”
“Brother, let it go,” Whip whispered to Easy when he felt the man tense next to him. E’s reaction surprised him since he had the road name Easy for a reason. The two men were as opposite temperament-wise as they could get.
Luckily, E did let it go, but it had more to do with the steel door next to the loading dock opening.
Jesus fuckin’ Christ.
He had to make a conscious effort to keep his jaw from hitting the floor as he watched six men follow Trip and Judge inside.
What the actual fuck? They had to be the “Shadows” Judge had talked about. The “security” team who worked for the Dirty Angels’ enforcer.
They weren’t in suits with earpieces like bodyguards. They were dressed in full tactical gear. Neither their knives or guns were concealed and Whip had no doubt they had more weapons hidden on their person.
They were dressed as if they were going to war.
Trip and Judge both said when “it” happened it would happen without a lot of warning. “It” being blowing up that fucking mountain. Putting an end once and for all to the Shirleys.
Problem was, they never had a final discussion on what to do with the women and children up there or who would assist these guys.
No, not guys. Mercenaries. Killers. Take-no-prisoners type of badass motherfuckers.
They were no Gravy Meal Team Six. They were the real deal. No doubt they’d dealt with some real shit. Probably shit they wished they never had.
Their eyes were laser focused and their heads on swivels. They put the hillbilly militia, Guardians of Freedumb, to shame.
Fuck, they put the Fury to shame. Whip did not want to be on their bad side. Not one of them and certainly not all six.
Trip did his sharp single clap to catch everyone’s attention as he stepped in front of the intimidating line of Shadows while Judge moved off to the side.
“All right, everybody here?” Trip asked Sig.
His brother nodded. “Everybody accounted for ‘cept for Dozer and Woody.”
“Yeah. They’re doin’ their part by runnin’ Pete’s.”
He turned to the side and began to introduce the men behind him. He pointed to the huge guy on the end with a very noticeable scar running diagonally across his face that made him appear even more menacing. Especially with the way one corner of his lip pulled up into almost a sneer.
“That’s Mercy. He’s gonna be in charge. He gives you an order, you listen. Don’t want to hear any fuckin’ backtalk, yeah? Hell, any of them tell you to do somethin’ they got a good reason, so fuckin’ do it. I hear otherwise…” Trip shook his head. He pointed to the man standing next to him. “Brick.” The prez went down the rest of the line. “Steel. Hunter. Ryder. Walker.” He turned back to the Fury members and said, “Remember those fuckin’ names and faces. They’re gonna get done what we can’t on our own.”
It had to bug the fuck out of Trip that they couldn’t handle the Shirleys on their own. He knew it bothered them all that they had to call in outsiders. And, worse, those outsiders weren’t cheap. The club would be financially hurting for a while but seeing the Shadows in person, he knew it was the right choice.
The shit with the Shirleys had to end and those six men appeared more than capable of ending it.
Trip continued, “They’re gonna stay at the motel ’til this whole thing’s done. But you see them, you pretend they’re strangers. Want no ties between them and us. One reason we ain’t holdin’ this meetin’ on the farm.” He turned to Ozzy. “You brought the keycards with you?”
“Yeah, six like you said,” the motel manager answered with a nod and patting his cut.
Hunter spoke up. “Stayed in that fucking motel before when my wife and oldest boy lived in this town. It was a fucking dump back then. Tell me it’s no longer like that or we’re gonna need other accommodations.”
What the fuck? Whip guessed if they were as good as they were supposed to be, they could make demands.
“Yeah, it’s no longer the roach motel it used to be,” Trip assured him. “Anythin’ you need, you let Oz know and he’ll get you squared away.”
“Gonna give you my number so you can get ahold of me directly,” Ozzy told the men. “Unless you don’t want my number in your phones.”