“Nobody is gonna fuck us in the ass. Not now. Not ever,” Axel growled. “Furthermore, there’s no evidence that connects us to the Punishers or to that fucking Mathews. Billy made sure of it.”
“Yeah, I know Billy is the best at what he does, but a man like Scar is gonna have connections—the kind of connections that could have him easily putting two and two together. If that happens, we’ll have trouble knocking at our door.”
“So, what the fuck are we going to do about it?”
“For now, we’re going to tighten the reins,” Viper answered sternly. “Watch your back. Don’t take any unnecessary chances, and the girls will need to limit their sales to clients they know they can trust. No new buyers.”
Viper had always led with an iron first. He knew what was at stake and never failed to do what was best for the club. If he gave an order, I wouldn’t think twice about questioning him. Our VP, on the other hand, was there to make sure he was making the right call, so I wasn’t surprised when he asked, “You really think all that’s necessary?”
“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” Viper looked to Axel as he continued, “I know it’s asking a lot. I know we’re gonna lose a shit-ton of revenue over this, but Menace is looking into this guy. As soon as we know more about what we’re dealing with, then we can consider reevaluating the situation.”
Hawk’s eyes narrowed. “But how’s Menace gonna find this guy when we don’t know anything about him? It’s like he’s a fucking ghost.”
“You’re right, he is. But McKinney mentioned a guy named James Schommer,” Shotgun replied. “McKinney said he’s our direct line to Scar.”
“Who the fuck is James Schommer?”
“Don’t know much, just that he’s some math professor or some shit like that.” Shotgun’s expression was filled with frustration as he shrugged. “Apparently, he’s the brains behind their operation and is in direct contact with Scar. When we find Schommer, we find Scar.”
“Menace will track him down. Until he does, we do like I said. Buckle down and play it safe.”
I gave him a nod of assurance. “We’ll do whatever needs to be done.”
Viper stood as he ordered, “I want extra eyes on the girls at the club. You boys work it out among yourselves, but someone needs to be on the premises for every shift.”
With that, he slammed the gavel down on the table and ended church. The guys slowly started to disperse from the conference room, and one by one we filed into the bar- a place where we could talk freely about things without worrying about any civilians overhearing. I could tell by my brothers’ expressions they weren’t happy about the bomb Shotgun had dropped on us. Hell, I wasn’t thrilled about that shit either. We’d just spent the night before celebrating the fact we’d taken down the Punishers, so it was extremely disappointing to discover more trouble could be on its way. Widow was the first to voice his opinion on the matter.
He picked up an empty beer bottle and hurled it into the trash, the glass shattering against the metal container as he grumbled, “Guess there are worse things than hanging out in a strip club all the fucking time.”
“No doubt,” Country agreed. “Gotta love all the ass and titties, but it’d be even better if I was getting my dick wet while I was at it. But … hey, no man can have it all.”
“Fuck, the last thing you need to be worried about is gettin’ your dick wet,” Hawk bickered. “Hell, the way you’re always going at it, I’m surprised your shit hasn’t rotted the fuck off.”
“Raincoats, brother.” Country reached down and grabbed his junk. “Never take a dip without one.”
“Enough about Country and his fucking dick. We got real shit to discuss,” Shotgun barked. “Gotta figure out the schedule for the next couple of weeks. We’ve got ten hours to cover each night at both clubs, so we can either divide that shit up into shifts or take a full night. Need at least three of us there at all times. Four on the weekends.”
“I’m up for whatever,” Widow quickly replied. “Just tell me when to be there.”
“Same for me,” Hawk added.
“Good. I’ll make up a schedule and get it out to everyone. For now, go home and get some rest.” Shotgun glanced over at Lynch and added, “Looks like some of you could use it.”
It was clear from Shotgun’s expression that his statement wasn’t a suggestion but an order. No one complained; instead, we all left the bar and headed out to our bikes, each knowing the next few weeks were going to be long and brutal. We had no idea just how brutal, but we were about to find out.