Chapter 21

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

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“Why the fuck do they all have these Gone with the Wind Southern-style houses?” King asks as we stop in front of the Southern Mafia’s main headquarters.

We rode into town last afternoon and decided to shower and crash so we would be fresh for today. Now it’s time for meetings and figuring out what the absolute fuck is going on between the Dark Horse MC and the Southern Mafia, although at this point, I can’t imagine that the head of this organization knows or even gives a fuck about us.

Nash pulls up beside me and jerks his chin toward the front gate. “You ready?” he asks.

No.

I am absolutely not ready.

I would rather be anywhere but here. Well, I would rather be between my woman’s legs if I had to name a place. And in all honesty, I’m always going to choose being between Spencer’s legs rather than anywhere else.

I also have work to do. I’ve been keeping an eye on my phone, and the warehouse deliveries seem to be going well, but I feel the need to be close by in case there is a hitch in the system. And with all the changes in shit, there is bound to be some kind of hitch somewhere.

“As we’ll ever be,” Atomic answers for the rest of us.

Nash has a couple of his men behind us and a few others on standby close to this stupid-as-fuck mansion in anticipation of what could happen. Which I honestly hope is a big fat nothing.

I want this trip to be a waste of time. That way, nobody gets hurt, no wars are started, and we can go back to our regularly scheduled programming.

In a perfect world, that’s the way shit would go down.

We also have to make sure that we don’t mention the fact we’re keeping Loner’s sister, Dillon, for ourselves. That is another part of this that we haven’t been up front about, and I don’t plan on it, either.

Fuck them.

All of them.

This whole fucking group has been completely full of shit since they started this. I’m just here to hear the bullshit, make sure they know we aren’t playing their games, and go home to my woman.

The gates open slowly, the sound of the metal creaking causing my teeth to gnash together. Nash revs his bike’s engine, then moves forward toward the opening that is just wide enough for only him to slide through.

Once the gate is completely open, the rest of us follow behind him. I expect Nash to be off his bike and at the front door, but he isn’t. The sight that greets me as I come skidding to a stop is nothing that I expected.

There are ten men standing around the driveway, guns drawn and pointed at Nash and us. Fuck. What the hell did we get into here? A man walks between the gunmen. He’s tall and thin, wearing a whole-ass suit including jacket, vest, and tie. His hair is slicked back, and sunglasses conceal his eyes.

“Conrad,” Nash grinds out, “you wanna call your fucking dogs off?”

There is a moment of silence. My gaze is fixated on this man, on this Conrad creature. He stands stock-still. Holding his body lean and loose. He’s ready, but for what, I’m unsure of. Instead of reaching for my own piece, I decide to just wait it out. There are too many of them focused on us right now to even attempt to take control of this situation.

“I just wanted to ensure that you understood exactly what is happening here,” Conrad says, his Southern accent cool and collected.

Nash jerks his chin toward him, taking only half a step forward. “This is exactly what I said it would be. A meeting between our clubs to figure out what happened and ensure that it doesn’t again.”

Conrad lifts his hand, holding his palm in the air then slowly lowering it, giving his men the signal. I watch as their weapons are brought down to their sides, but I also notice that said weapons are not sheathed in their holsters.

These men are entertaining us, but they do not trust us, not even a little. “Come inside,” Conrad invites before he turns around and walks into the mansion.

None of us moves. We stay exactly where we are, and I know I’m not the only one in our group wondering what the fuck we’re going to walk into when we enter that fucking mansion.

But wordlessly, we follow behind the asshole. One step, then another, falling into line as we walk through the front door and into the formal receiving area, at least I’m pretty sure that’s what it’s called. I honestly have no idea.

Nash is the one leading this, likely because he’s the only one of us who knew this shit existed to this extent. Conrad lifts his hand to the sofa, love seat, and chairs that are in the room.

None of us sit.

Instead, we line the walls of the room, all of our focus on him and the ten gunmen who were outside and are now in here, joining us.

“You came to me, Nashville,” he coos.

Nashville. My eyes widen, and I look over to King, who shakes his head, chuckling. I had no clue that was Nash’s name. I always thought it was some kind of road name, but now I’m wondering if Nashville is his legal name. Jesus Christ, that would be weird as fuck. I don’t know why, but it would.

“We came to you,” Nash states, interrupting my thoughts. Lifting my chin slightly, I look down my nose at this guy and listen.

I’m not going to speak unless spoken to. I need to learn to control my anger and my mouth simultaneously. Conrad makes himself comfortable, sinking down in one of the chairs and crossing one of his calves over his knee.

“We came to you because your chapter in Shreveport is gone. And they fucked with us. They attempted to come into Texas, but beyond that, they tried to involve themselves in our business and tried to strongarm us into working together. They also had one of their men infiltrate our club. I want to know if you were involved in this and if you’re going to continue and what that means for the future of our clubs.”

My eyes widen, waiting for this man to respond. He doesn’t show an ounce of reaction. He knows what he’s doing, and I wish I were as controlled as he is. Then Conrad clears his throat, places his hands on the arms of his chair, and inhales a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out.

“Why would they want anything to do with your club?” he asks, keeping his voice and tone far too even.

This whole thing sounds and feels shady as fuck, but Nash continues to entertain him. Meanwhile, I’m ready for backup to arrive so we can blow this fucker to the ground. This is the queen of the beehive, and I’m ready to end it all right fucking now. Burn it all to the fucking ground, whatever it takes.

“You tell me?” Nash asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down his nose at this stuffy, uptight fuck.

“I wouldn’t have the faintest idea,” he purrs.

For a man who has been expressionless this whole time, a spark flashes in his eyes. And that is a tell if I’ve ever seen one. I want to inform Nash, but I decide against it. He actually knows this fucker, so my guess is that he noticed the same thing I just did.

“As far as I know, the Southern Mafia wants nothing to do with the Dark Horse MC. You have your circle, and we have ours. The two should never cross, correct?”

Nash leans forward slightly, his gaze focused on Conrad, his jaw clenched, and then he speaks. When he does, his voice is a harsh bark, and I’m a bit surprised. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound so pissed before.

Typically, Nash just comes to the club to see King, to party a little, and recently to talk about his strip club. He hasn’t had the enormous stress of being the president of the original chapter of the MC for years. Sure, he’s been running his club down south, but they’re all retired members and, until recently, were just fucking around enjoying retirement.

But right now, as he talks to Conrad, he is pissed. I can hear it in his voice, see it in his face, and for whatever reason, seeing and hearing Nash pissed off makes me feel even angrier at this whole situation.

I bite my tongue, but it’s already bleeding, and I’m ready to fucking go.

“You’re ensuring there won’t be any issues between our groups? Your men will not only stay out of Texas but also out of our business, and that includes calling whatever federal agents you have on the payroll to arrest one of our own.”

Conrad has the decency to look surprised for just a split second. “I don’t know. Will you cease massacring my people?” he asks.

Nash snorts. “I only killed men who were there to kill me first.”

“And the women? They are our income, our profits, and you ended them like rabid animals.”

This time, it’s Atomic who speaks. He takes a step forward and looks down at Conrad. Then, his growling voice fills the room. And I know just from the tone that this is the end of this conversation. It is done. It is final, and whatever is agreed upon is what will be. If that means war, then it means war.

“We gave them plenty of warning. We had signed treaties that they broke, and at the end of the day, that entire operation could not be trusted in any way. A broken treaty means broken everything, and there were no rules. We gave the women back once, and we were not going to chance that shit again. The entire operation was taken out, as had been promised if they broke the signed, agreed-upon treaty.”

Conrad pushes down on the arms of the chair and slowly rises to his feet. I’m not sure what exactly he’s going to do. Bracing myself, letting my arms fall down to my sides, I hold my hands loosely, ready for what is coming.

Because something is coming.

I suck in a breath, hold it for a moment, then let it out slowly as he stands in front of Atomic. Thankfully, he doesn’t make any sudden moves. Instead, he tilts his head to the side. He presses his lips together, then purses them slightly before he speaks.

“There was a treaty?” he asks.

Atomic jerks his chin. “I’m going to reach into my cut and take out the paperwork for you,” he says as he slowly opens his cut with one hand and reaches inside with the other, producing an envelope. I didn’t expect him to have it with him, but good fucking thinking on his part.

He extends the papers for Conrad to take. I watch as he opens the envelope and slides the papers out of it, then unfolds the documents and scans them. When he reaches the final page and sees the signatures, he lets out a grunt.

“That’s Albert’s signature,” he murmurs.

“Did you think it would be forged?” I ask, unable to keep my mouth shut for another second.

Conrad clears his throat. “Not necessarily. However, you can never be too sure.”

“It’s real,” Atomic assures him. “Now, do you understand why we’re so pissed? One of our own is in federal prison for three years.”

Silence washes over the room. I hear a couple of Conrad’s men clear their throats, no doubt thinking about being locked up themselves and not liking the thought. He flicks his gaze back up from the papers to meet Atomic’s.

“The retaliation for this?” he asks.

“Already paid,” Atomic murmurs.

Conrad nods. “You will hear nothing more from us. The Southern Mafia will stick to the business we have. However…” he begins, then his words trail off.

A however is not what any of us want to hear right now. It’s so quiet in this room a pin could fucking drop, and we would all hear it and probably reach for our guns at the same time.

“However?” Nash asks.

“I must take advantage of this opportunity,” he says as he turns his back to us and walks over to the window.

His strides aren’t long. Rather, they’re almost catlike as he moves. I don’t understand anything about this man, but at the same time, I can’t stop watching him. He is commanding in his own way, and he is charismatic.

He is dangerous.

Conrad turns away from the window, his gaze flicking up to meet Atomic’s before he jerks his chin in a nod. “The opportunity that I propose to the Dark Horse MC is one that I’m sure you won’t be able to turn down.”

This fucker. It makes me wonder if all of this was on purpose. As he begins to speak, I can’t help but wonder if this was a game.

A big fat fucking game from the jump.

Because this motherfucker is the type to play chess and not checkers. And just judging by the gleam in his eye when he speaks, I can’t help but truly believe that this was the fucking plan all along.

Goddammit.