Chapter 32

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

CLINK

“They got a hell of a lot longer reach than I thought,” Fate states.

No fucking shit.

Not only are they multistate, but they are tens of thousands in number. The Dark Horse MC numbers aren’t anything to laugh about, but we are definitely not in the tens of thousands, either.

What the actual fuck?

“How did they get these numbers? I haven’t heard shit about them in years,” I grind out.

“No goddamn clue,” Fate snorts. “But it’s bullshit, and I don’t know how we’re going to get rid of them.”

Pressing my lips together, I lean back in my chair. “We’re thinking about this all wrong,” I say. “We can’t try to get rid of them all because that’s an almost impossible feat. What we need to do is get them to turn on each other.”

“How do we make them turn on each other?” Fate asks.

Shifting forward, I place my forearms on the table, my eyes finding his. He presses his lips together, watching me, but I can tell he doesn’t quite know what to say or what I’m thinking. I find that a bit funny. I’m not necessarily a strategist, but this is the only way we can play this and win.

“That is something we’re going to have to plan. But what makes a group of people turn?” I ask.

“Loss of control,” he says.

“Money, power, and sex,” I say. “Those are the only things worth fighting for. We attack their money, their power, freedom, and their sex.”

Fate’s lips curve up into a grin. “I don’t think kidnapping their whores is really our forte. But I’m down for the rest. Tell me how to do it or what you’re thinking.”

I don’t tell him that I don’t want to kidnap anyone. That’s not who we are, and while our club is not full of angels, we are also not ones to break those unwritten rules. Plus, kidnapping leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I don’t like anything that hurts women, which is fucking ironic considering I’ve killed a few—they weren’t innocent, though.

So I don’t think it counts, at least not in my moral compass anyway. Even though that’s kind of sketchy.

“How do they make their money?” I ask.

Fate’s gaze flicks down to the papers in front of him. His notes on the Demon Guns MC. “Arms trade.”

“I won’t kidnap women, but I’ll take some guns, bombs, and shit,” Fate says with a chuckle. “When do we start?”

I smirk. “I’m fucking ready. Probably going to have to clear it with Atomic, but I think this is the best way to fuck with them. If we can hit all their trucks at once, it will make an impact.”

“We can do that,” Fate says. “I’m fucking here for it.”

“Let's get their schedule figured out, mapped out, and chart it so we can show it to Atomic when we go to him with this idea,” I say.

“This fucking epic idea.”

Jerking my chin, I smirk. “This fucking epic idea,” I agree.

Fate and I begin to plot and plan so we can show Atomic just how much effort we’ve put into this. Attacking the Demon Guns where it hurts, the shit they love the most, which is money and power, is where it’s at.

“How do we get them to blame each other for this?” Fate asks about an hour into our plotting.

I’m working off the cuff with this shit. I know that I have to tie it together somehow and make them think it’s other Demon Guns who are attacking them. It’s easier said than done, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

“How do they communicate?” Piston asks, taking one of the chairs from beside me and sinking down. He’s obviously been listening, and while that would normally piss me off, this is a totally different situation.

“We have Blur and the other members' phones. They have to have the original charter’s numbers in there. I’ve seen those apps where you can have it look like a totally different number is texting or calling. How about we have a fucking fake text go out to everyone and fuck it all up?”

“That is genius,” Fate howls. “I’ve never been into devious shit like this before, but this is fun as hell.”

Closing my eyes, I lift my hand and pinch the bridge of my nose, laughing. Because he’s right. This is fun as hell. I hope I never have to do it again, but I’m having a great time doing it nonetheless.

“So you have their routes and schedules down?” Piston asks. Jerking my chin, I give him a single nod.

“I got as much as I can. I want this shit to work. I think it’s probably the best plan I’ve ever come up with on my own. I didn’t think I could be this smart,” I say with a laugh.

“Fucking genius,” Fate says.

Clearing my throat, I look over to Piston. “Can you figure out that phone number thing?” I ask.

He’s got his phone in his hand and is moving his fingers over the screen. Without even looking up, he responds to me. “I’m already on it, brother.”

“How about we go and talk to Atomic about it, then? He’s got their phones anyway,” I suggest.

Together, the three of us stand to our feet. Reaching down, I grasp the papers that I’ve made notes on. I’m going to have to put them on the computer if we want to be efficient, but for this, to talk to Atomic about it, my chicken scratch on paper is good enough.

We move as a single unit on our way to the office. Fate is the one who lifts his hand and knocks on the door. Atomic lets out a grunt, and I’m sure he's exhausted as fuck. We all are, but we need this shit handled.

“Come in,” he calls out.

One by one, the three of us enter the office. Atomic lifts his head as soon as Piston closes the door behind us.

“I think we got a plan,” I say as I approach his desk and place the papers in front of him.

And together, the three of us explain how we’re going to mindfuck and financially fuck the Demon Guns MC on a national level. Atomic is typically cool and calm, but the way his lips curve up into what can only be described as an evil smile tells me everything I need to know.

He likes the plan, and we’re going to do it.

DILLION

My plan for a brand-new hobby is a bust. In fact, it’s beyond a bust. I spend the entire afternoon switching between staring out the window and scrolling around on social media. I don’t comment or post anything, though, mainly because I never do. I’m a lurker.

When it gets close to dinnertime, I force myself out of bed and make my way downstairs. The sight that greets me is… surprising. Not only is the bar packed, not just with men but also with women, there is a long table covered with dishes of food.

Spencer is the first one to greet me. Her warm smile eases my anxiety almost immediately. She reaches out and takes my hands in hers. I’m not quite sure what’s happening here, but I can’t deny that I’m glad they’re here.

“We figured since you were locked up here, you would need some company… and good food.”

“Food is always a plus,” I mutter.

“And then Shawn made sure to bring dessert because she always brings dessert.”

Smiling, she squeezes my hands one last time, then releases them. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure how this would work out with my brother, but I’m really happy it’s you. I like you.”

“I like you, too, Spencer,” I whisper.

She dips her chin once, then laughs and spins around to face the bar. I watch as her man, Brew, wraps his arms around her and picks her up, planting a kiss on her lips. Taking in the room again, I realize that all the women are being greeted by their men in much the same way.

I’m sure this is for me to a degree, but to be honest, this is about them seeing their men. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m not sure if it should bother me or not. They’re here to feed their men and spend some time with them, and it’s probably my fault that they’re all here.

My stomach twists at the thought. I’m keeping their men away from their families. It’s all my fault. I wish I could do something to change it, though I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do to fix it.

Pressing my lips together, I take a step backward, then another, when I feel fingers grip my hips. Turning my head, I look back slightly at the person behind me. It’s Humble. He spins me around in his arms, tipping his chin down to look into my eyes.

“You were getting ready to run, why?” he asks.

I press my lips together and shrug a shoulder. I don’t want to tell him why I want to leave. Because he’ll tell me that I’m being stupid. But it doesn’t feel stupid.

Once again, I’m on the outside looking in on life.

“I was just going to go to the bathroom,” I lie.

He shakes his head, dips his chin, and touches his mouth to mine before he speaks. “Go ahead and then come back here. Girls went to a lot of trouble, and I know they’ve been wanting to hang out with you. They’re here to see you, baby.”

I don’t tell him that I know they’re really here to see their husbands. It’s not worth it to get into an argument about it. He’s obviously excited about them being here. So, instead of telling him what I think, I head to the bathroom. He lets me go, but I can feel his gaze on me the entire time.

Slipping into the bathroom, I lock the door behind me just as my phone buzzes. Pulling it out of my pocket, I look at the screen. It’s a text from my realtor. Sliding my thumb across the screen, I hold my breath as I read the message.

We have an offer.

Full cash.

My fingers tremble, and I wonder what I should say, how I should respond. Part of me wants to say accept it. The other part of me wants to stay right here with these people. Even if I’m forever on the outside looking in. It’s not a bad place to be here, with all of them. Watching from the sidelines.

But instead of telling her that I don’t want to sell it, to cancel the whole thing, I tell her to accept it.

I don’t know why I do it.

My finger moves across the screen, and I press Send before I realize what I’ve done. Lifting my hand to my lips, my eyes widen as I stare at the screen in shock. I don’t know what to do.

What to say.

But I don’t cancel it.

I don’t do anything.

I go to the bathroom, shove my phone back in my pocket, wash my hands, and walk out to the bar like I haven’t done anything at all. Like I haven't just accepted an offer on my house. Like I won’t be climbing into my car and driving away from here in a few weeks.

Like I won’t be leaving all these people.

Leaving Humble.