Willow’s blue eyes widen almost comically, and she shakes her head, letting a few tendrils loose from her messy bun. “Hell, no, girl. I don’t want any part of whatever you’re scheming. Grace is right. Just because Kelsey is safe with them doesn’t mean you’re safe from them.”
“What will they do? They’re bikers, not mobsters. They lack the connections and intelligence it takes to be effective criminals.”
Willow lets out a loud bark of laughter. “Wrong, girl. Bikers are modern-day mobsters. They don’t need to dress up like businessmen to blend in because fuck the system. They dabble on both sides of the law, just like rich people, and most of all, they’re too damn smart to get caught. Mess with them, and you’ll end up floating in the Pacific.”
She pushes away from the table with a sympathetic smile. “Good luck, McKenna.”
Luck. I don’t need luck. I need a partner. Someone to come with me and watch my back while I look into the Reckless Souls.
Since my friends are a bunch of cowards, I’ll go on my own.
Seriously, what’s the worst that could happen?
Chapter Two
Ace
“Bro, how fucking long are we going to do this?” Shades steps out of the shipping container behind me and slams the heavy metal door shut, locking it and then checking the lock again. He looks up and slides a pair of hideous lime green wrap sunglasses to cover his eyes.
“It’s early as fuck. It’s been weeks, and everything is hunky-fucking-dory.”
I nod at Shades’ words, a quick acknowledgment that he wasn’t wrong. “We’ll do this until the Iron Kings are all six feet under.”
“I’m all for that shit.” Shades smiles, bloodlust written all over his face, even the part hidden by those ugly fucking glasses.
“You think the reason things are hunky-fucking-dory is because they know we’re out here every day checking on our shit?”
From the moment we rescued our Sergeant at Arms’ woman, Kelsey, from the Iron Kings, war has become inevitable. To keep our shipments, our livelihood safe, we patrol the port every fucking morning to make sure everything is how it was the night before.
Shades shrugs and claps me on the back. “I’m sure that’s got something to do with it, man, but fuck me, does it have to be at zero dark thirty in the fucking morning?”
I smile and give his chest a playful shove. “Just before day shift takes over so we can figure out who is working with Hector.”
We still haven’t figured out how many people Hector has in his pocket at the port, and until we know for sure, everyone is suspicious.
“That’s why you’re the President, man. Always scheming and figuring out how to catch the assholes, which seem to surround us lately.” He lets out a thoughtful sigh while his gaze focuses on the ebb and flow of the water ahead of us. “Why hasn’t Hector made a move yet?”
It’s been a while since we took out half the Iron Kings in a beautiful display of bullets and bloodshed, but I’m not dumb enough to think that’s why Hector’s been so fucking quiet. “He’s planning something, and it’s big. He’s not the type to tire his opponent out with jab after jab after jab. Hector is a wild swinger, always looking for that knockout hit.”
“Is that what we’ve been doing all this time? Taking jabs at Hector and the Iron Kings?”
I nod, and a slow smile spreads across my face. “Exactly.”
Shades lets out a loud bark of laughter. “You are one sadistic fuck. Death by a million paper cuts, huh?”
“Something like that. I savor each victory because that dumb shit doesn’t realize that every flophouse that burns to the ground or gets raided by the cops makes his MC weaker. Every corner boy beat up or arrested means fewer dollars in their coffers. War is expensive, and slowly but surely, I’m making sure he can’t afford a war with the Reckless Souls.”
“I was curious,” Shades admits as we make our way through the maze of shipping containers to the parking lot. “You know I’ve always got your back, man, always, but I did have my doubts.”
“No shit, Shades. You’re not exactly the king of subtlety.”
He laughs again. “No, I guess I’m not, but now that I know there’s a method to your absolute fucking madness, I’ll savor these jabs even more.”
“Good.” I’m President of the MC, but I don’t run my club like a dictatorship. I can’t, not when I’m asking my men to put their lives on the line each and every fucking day. It’s the thing I hated most about my time in the Marines, not asking questions or worse, not being able to question tactical decisions that meant certain death for my men.
Never again.
“I’m fuckin’ starving, man. How about some breakfast since it’s still early enough for it?”