“Fuck.” I need to make sure Serena doesn’t come by my place any time soon. Still not used to sending texts and wanting to hear her voice, I dial her number.
“Hi, Grayson,” she answers. Hell, the simple sound of her voice soothes me immediately.
“How are you?” I flick the television on, leaving the sound off.
“Not bad. I’m on my way home from work now. Unless…”
“Tonight’s not good.” I glance at the TV. “Snow’s supposed to come down hard until morning.”
“Ugh, I hate driving in the snow. I’m so ready for winter to be over with.”
“I know, buttercup.” Bet that little car of hers doesn’t handle rough roads well. “What’re you planning to do tonight?”
“Probably edit some videos and plan out my next few projects.”
“Send me a picture later?”
She hesitates for a moment. “Sure.”
As soon as we hang up, I check my watch. I’ve got a few hours to get up to the clubhouse, sit down with everyone, and get back here before officer time clock could be on the prowl.
Finally, I grab the note from Big Chief and flip it open. It’s nothing more than what I assume is a date, time, and set of GPS coordinates.
“The fuck?” I mutter. Whatever’s happening is going down about a week from now. What’s Big Chief thinking? I’ll show up for kicks? Do his bidding?
Stupid motherfucker.
As much as I hate doing it, I gotta call Rock and let him know what happened. To protect me, yeah. But also to protect the club.
I locate the safe number Rock had given me to use for an emergency like this.
I’m dumped into voicemail.
“It’s me. I have a problem. You might want to call a few people to the table to sit down for this one.”
After I hang up, I stare out at the darkness beyond my windows. Woods. I can barely make out the tops of some trees and a hint of velvety black sky.
No matter how happy I was to finally get out, in my heart, I knew it was only a matter of time before the ghosts of prison past chased me down.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Grinder
When I arrive at the clubhouse almost an hour later, Teller and Murphy are sitting at the bar by the front door.
“What’s wrong?” Teller asks as soon as his eyes land on me.
Rock steps out of the war room. “You’re here. Good.”
Murphy slides off his stool. “Everything all right, brother?”
Christ. Way too many people in my face at once. “I’m fine,” I snap, gesturing for Teller and Murphy to keep moving. Don’t need all of ‘em crowding around me like I’m a dancing circus bear. “I’ll tell everyone at the same time.”
Dex and Wrath are already inside the war room. Murphy closes the door behind us and everyone else takes their seats. I stand, pacing behind Wrath’s chair.
“Gray,” Rock says. “Have a seat.”
Wrath pulls out the chair next to him. It’s starting to be my regular spot.
“P.O. hassle you again?” Wrath asks.
“Yes, but that’s not what this is about.” I take a deep breath. Tension wraps around my chest, squeezing from all angles. “You know better than anyone how hard I worked to secure our position on the inside.”
“Of course,” Rock says.
“After you got out,” I nod to Rock, “I was the only Lost King on the inside, except for a few short stays here and there. But no one ever made it to where I was at the Supermax.”
“Right.” Rock sits forward. “Go on.”
“I had our connections through the Demons and DeLova’s crew that helped keep me safe.”
“We’ve always maintained that relationship with the Demons.” Wrath turns toward Rock. “DeLova not as much.”
“Didn’t matter,” I say. “It’s a different world in there. Once I had the pressure from the outside lifted—when you got Ruger off my back,” I nod at Rock, “things were easier for me. But in some ways, it was also harder. Green Street Crew and Little Reds were at each others’ throats. Keeping out of it was impossible. GSC and I came around to an agreement first.”
“Good to know kissing Loco’s ass all these years wasn’t a waste,” Rock grumbles.
“He still alive?” I ask. “He had his cousin gunnin’ for him not that long ago.”
“Yeah, the cousin didn’t make it.” Murphy angles a finger gun toward the carpet and pulls the trigger. “Pow.”
“Loco wasn’t in a forgiving mood,” Wrath explains. “Not even for family.”
“Good. Kidd was a weasel.” I really couldn’t give a shit about GSC’s petty business. “Moving drugs through the prisons is big business,” I continue. “That’s not news to anyone at this table. And even though you may have extracted the club from dirtier criminal enterprises out here—”
“I get it, Grinder. You don’t have to explain yourself to us,” Rock says.
“I’m not explaining shit. I did what I had to do to keep power and survive.”