Rhythm of the Road (Lost Kings MC 16)

“Yeah.” Pants rubs his hand over his jaw. “Heard something about Shadow going nomad. He always was a dick, though.”

If you only knew how much of an asshole he really was.

“Tawny’s the one who took it the hardest.” I smirk, sidestepping getting into details about Shadow’s whereabouts.

Pants bursts into laughter, slapping his hand on his thigh. “Yeah, I’m sure the queen bee was all sorts of pissed. Fuck her.”

“Far as I know, Sway supports Z one hundred percent,” I add. This rumor that Z took over our charter needs to fucking die here and now.

Pants shrugs. “Guess if he didn’t, he would’ve taken off to Florida with Smoke.”

“Right.” I sit back, resting one ankle across my knee.

Now that Pants seems to trust us a little more, he loosens up. I sip my beer slowly while he pounds down shot after shot.

Jigsaw’s shot glass remains untouched.

“What else is lucrative these days?” I flick a dismissive glance to the ceiling. “Besides the porn.”

He pushes his mop of blond hair back and flashes a maniacal grin. “Hog farming.”

“Come again?”

Clearly excited about this topic, he sits forward. “Organic, pasture raised piggies fetch a fortune. Hippies love that shit and will pay top dollar for it.”

Hog farming? Is that a euphemism for something else?

“Plus, hogs will eat anything. Makes disposal of certain items much easier.”

Ahhh, figures their SAA would come up with a creative way to dispose of bodies.

“I should have Teller come down and talk to you about it. He’s started raising chickens in his backyard.”

“Fuck, yeah. Anytime. Chickens are a gateway drug. Tell him pork is where the real money is made.” He rubs his fingers together in the universal cash-is-king sign.

“Porn and pigs. Sounds like appropriate MC money earners,” Jigsaw deadpans.

“Right?” Pants slaps his leg. “People gotta eat and jerk-off. We’re meeting basic human needs.”

Jigsaw slides a look my way. “Can’t deny that.”

“Opened a second tattoo parlor too.” Pants shoves his sleeve up over his shoulder, showing off an impressive swath of blackwork-style graphic art with pops of blues and greens.

“Damn. How long’d that take?”

“Couple sessions.” He smooths his shirt into place. “So fucking busy, they’re booking eight months out.”

“That’s good.” I scratch my beard. “This new shop replace the one Vipers—”

His stone-cold killer expression returns. “Ice told you about that?”

“He mentioned it.”

He leans in closer and grins. Somehow his smile is scarier than any other expression that’s flickered over his face. I’ve never doubted the story that he got his road name by making a guy piss his pants with just a look. “We have someone on the inside at the ATF now. So it worked out in the end.”

I struggle to keep my face impassive. “He mentioned something about having them under control.”

“Fuckin’ A.” He sits back. “Moving a few people into strategic places.”

A few.

“You sure you can trust ’em? Anyone working in that environment day after day eventually might be compromised.”

“Ice has insurance.”

Blackmail—yippie.

“And the other’s a blood relation.”

“No one can fuck you over more than blood,” Jigsaw points out.

“Truth.” Pants raises his shot glass. “But in this case, we’re confident.”

“That’s good, brother. Sounds like it will benefit the whole organization.”

“Absolutely.” He reaches over and slaps my boot. “Virginia’s always looking out for you.”

While Lost Kings has a decent presence across the US, we’re certainly not the largest outlaw club. Known for ruthlessly defending our territory and respecting the territory of other clubs, only the stupid or baby outlaw clubs ever attempt to fuck with us. Those challenges have always been dealt with swiftly and harshly.

“That’s good, brother,” Jigsaw says. “LOKI East Coast needs to stick together.”

“Amen!” Pants raises his shot glass, sloshing brown liquid all over his hand.

Until more recently, our two New York charters have kept to themselves and weren’t real plugged in to what everyone else in the LOKI network was up to. Kicking up our percentage to National, sure. No one escapes that obligation. Keeping tabs on who’s getting raided and arrested is just common sense. Hell, until Sway’s shooting, the two New York clubs operated extremely independently of each other, so we sure as fuck weren’t sticking our noses in the business of charters outside our state.

Maybe we should have.

One thing Rock’s done that’s benefitted both NY clubs is cultivate alliances within New York State. No one ever talks about it, but we all know he’s well-connected to important people. Something he never abuses, which is probably why, with the exception of a few incidents, we’ve operated undisturbed.

We’ve never had clout at the federal level. Everyone’s heard the rumors that larger clubs have infiltrated all sorts of important places and now it sounds as if our Virginia charter has found a way in too.

I can’t decide if that’s reason to celebrate or piss my pants.Chapter Thirty-NineRooster

“What. The. Fuck?” Jigsaw whispers as he closes my bedroom door behind us.