I’m two seconds from laying him out. This is none of his business. “You’re getting dangerously close to making me become someone you won’t like. Now move out of my way.” My forehead almost tingles with the need to headbutt him.
“Sensitive subject?” He takes another sip, and I wonder if he’s suicidal.
“Look. All I want to say is”—he brings the coffee to his chest—“I hope you have enough respect for her to cut her loose if you can’t give her what she came here to find.”
He then walks around me, kicking the conference room door to alert them we’re here. “And you’re welcome.” He looks straight ahead but shoves the coffee at my chest.
A prospect opens the door, saving Rip from getting a fist in the gut. Loud voices explode from inside as brothers hang out, smoking and talking, as we enter.
Poet throws me a death glare, then gives me his back while he continues talking on his phone.
I drop into my chair on Blade’s left. He takes a breath and leans forward for the pack of cigarettes.
“Everyone out but my officers,” he barks, lighting up.
Chairs scrape the floor and the brothers grab their crap and file out. Axel and Ox seem to be ignoring me. Edge sits flicking a lighter on and off.
Fuck. For just one day, I’d like to get up and not have this vibe in the room. One day when my head doesn’t pound with the knowledge that bad shit is ready to go down.
I grab my phone and start scrolling through the many messages, trying to get caught up. I glance over at our monitors, which show my brothers laughing and smoking. The sound is off, but they don’t look too tense.
Poet cuts into my thoughts as he stops pacing to look up at the ceiling. “I know, beautiful, I’ll take care of it. What I need you to do is stay calm.” Listening, he takes a deep breath and says, “Then leave Cindy in charge… Where the fuck is she? You know what? Fire her ass. I’m done, Charlie.”
I look over at Blade and Axel who sit quietly. Blade smokes; Axel stares at his hands crossed in his lap.
“You fire her, or I will. I’m coming to pick you up now.” Poet hangs up and throws his phone against the far wall, hitting a neon beer sign so both shatter.
“I want names.” I haven’t seen this Poet in years. The new Poet keeps his anger and violence under control, but clearly it’s been percolating, and now he’s ready to explode.
His silver eyes scan all of us in the room. “The Feds just raided my wife’s diner. My wife! She’s hysterical. They threatened her with auditing, health codes, asking for documentation from all her employees.” He runs his hands through his hair.
“Are you getting this? They scared her.” His voice is hoarse, barely holding back his anger. “Charlie’s pregnant. She’s supposed to have zero stress.” He looks at me. “Zero.” He reaches over Axel’s shoulder for a burner phone, since he has four. Axel’s paranoid and carries several phones around at all times.
“Now, I don’t understand how the Feds have gotten this far, but I do know this: I’m not going down for this shit. Find the fucking rat and deal with it, Ryder. If you can’t, I will.” He kicks a chair, making it slam into the wall, and walks out.
Blade takes a deep inhale off his cigarette and drops his boots to the ground with a loud thud. “Out Takes Diner was raided earlier by the Feds, I’m sure you gathered that.” He pulls out his knife and repeatedly stabs the table. It’s littered with marks from all the other times the club’s been fucked and he’s sat there doing exactly the same thing.
“And last night they raided one of Axel and Rip’s dispensaries downtown.”
I look over at Rip, who calmly drinks his coffee, yet much like Poet, when Rip erupts, he’s as deadly as any of us.
“Where’s Frosty?” My voice sounds normal even though my head is pounding. I’ve never missed Church. I’m always the first one up, the one in control. Except for this morning… I almost laugh.
Diavolo.
A devil doesn’t get happily ever afters; a devil gets nothing but pain.
Blade stands and goes to the window to look out. “He’s bringing in a new computer, and Rodney and Jett Powers are on their way. I asked them to come early in light of what’s going on.” His voice is tight as he stares outside.
I clear my throat. I don’t ever apologize—never had to. But missing Church, sleeping through the messages… fucking unacceptable.
The door swings open as Frosty walks in carrying a large monitor under one arm, and a laptop under the other. With his dark hair sticking up, he looks like he hasn’t brushed it in days.