5. Jax

Chapter 5

Jax

" Y ou fuckin know I hate these meetings. Why the fuck must I even attend?" I hate club meetings. Give me a job, send me out to do business. Anything but this shit.

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at my VP who dragged me to this stupid meeting.

DJ rolls his eyes and answers, "Because your Prez called a meeting and as a member of the cabinet you should be the first at the table."

Why's he gotta be all logical and shit? "I know that," I growl. "Doesn't mean I can't still bitch about it."

"Give me thirty minutes and then I'll release you to get your violence fix," KC, also known as King, or Prez, chuckles as he passes me to take his seat at the head of the table.

I grumble under my breath until the other members start filtering in. Since they're entering now I have to behave. So I stand back and listen.

Thirty minutes later, I'm getting extremely restless. I can't help the huff and agitation as I start to shift continuously. Neo, the road captain, shifts through a couple people to stand shoulder to shoulder with me. He's one of five people in this room who can soothe me when I get agitated.

"Good?" He raises one eyebrow as he looks at me.

I nod but say nothing. Finally, KC dismisses everyone, leaving me and my five brothers. We may not be blood, but the shit we've been through ties us together tighter than any blood-family ties ever could. They're the only family I need.

"We finally have the information we need," KC announces.

My head snaps up and I stare at him wide-eyed. He can't be saying what I think he is. "You found him?" I whisper, fearing if I say it any louder I'll wake up and this would have all been a dream. I have been dreaming of this moment for years so it's not out of the realm of possibility.

Becker, the club secretary, also known as Beck, pulls out a folder from his leather portfolio thing. Hell if I know or care what it's called. He grins like the cat that just got the canary and slides the folder to me.

Flipping through it, I don't understand much of what I see. It's page after page of and shorthand abbreviations that mean shit to me. I look up at my brothers as I flip another page. This one with a photo. "Ok… And what the hell does all this mean?"

"It means we finally know who started this mess. We know who had our parents killed. Stanley Shiftlan," King taps the picture in front of me. "And as soon as Cree gets us his location, we're letting you loose to capture him and bring him back so we can properly introduce ourselves," King says, the twisted, creepy as fuck smile no doubt matching my own.

We've been looking for this fucker for almost twenty fucking years, but we've finally found him. Over the years, we managed to track down every assassin who personally had a hand in killing any deathstalker. After thorough interrogations, gaining a little more information about the mastermind behind the plot each time, we ensured each of them received the ending they deserved.

Now the only person left is the one that started it all. The asshole who had the idea and then paid others to execute it. Stanley fucking Shiftlan.

"How soon?" I ask, itching to get on my bike and hunt this fucker down.

"Cree's still working on it, but you know it won't take him long. Be prepared to head out tonight," King says.

"Gladly!" I turn without another word and leave the room. I don't stop even though a couple members try to get my attention. I don't have time for this. I've waited too long to get my hands on this piece of shit and I'm not stopping now.

Once outside, I throw my leg over my hog and head for home. What I want and need for this job isn't kept in the clubhouse. We never know when the cops will do a raid. After a forty-minute ride, I pull up in front of the house, where we can have our downtime and shift. It's also where our armory is.

Parking my hog in front of the main house, a ranch-style, stucco house that fits in the Tucson mountains. The main house is for the six officers. Perks of being the founders of the club. The rest of the club stays in the bunkhouses scattered around the mountainside.

I dismount and head straight for the armory. Walking in, it looks like a normal bachelor pad. Big screen TV with several couches and comfortable chairs. Heading over to the basement door I descend the steps like a man on a mission, because I am. Still looks relatively normal down here. There are boxes stacked on one side, a weight bench, and other exercise equipment in one corner. Looks can be deceiving, though. I walk over to one wall and move aside an old map. I put my hand on the scanner, and smile as the armory door opens. This is my happy place!

As I walk around, I consider all the weapons. It would be much easier if I knew where I was going. Do I have to make this a silent job? Can I just bloody his face until he passes out and I can bring him to the boys?

My phone chirps and I pull it from my pocket hoping this is the message I've been waiting for. And thank the gods it is!

Cree: 3000 Industrial Parkway

Cree: He's expected to arrive in two hours. Get ready.

Jax: Seriously? He's gonna be that fucking close?

Cree: Yeah. Don't fuck it up. If we lose him, he'll probably go underground and who knows how far we'll have to travel to get him.

Jax: On it. I'm not letting this fucker get away.

The fucker is not only coming into our territory, he's going to my fight club. At least now I can make a plan for how to get him out of there. Max doesn't mess around with "outside activities" spilling into his warehouse. I'm going to have to be careful. Bide my time.

I grab a bag and load it down with everything I'll need. A tracking device to hide on his car in the event he gets away, a dart gun, and darts loaded with a diluted mixture of our venom that'll knock him out cold. Wanting to get there before him so I can scope out the place and get in a good position, I head back outside to my bike.

It takes me an hour to get to the fight club and I sit outside watching. Waiting for him to show. According to Cree, he should be here any time. I'm starting to think he's not going to show when finally, two blacked-out SUVs pull into the parking lot. I should know better than to doubt Cree.

Men in fancy black suits jump out of one of the blacked-out SUVs and spread out. Another beefy suit guy opens the back door of the other SUV and Stanley steps out like he owns the place. I guess he's not as stupid as I thought. I watch as five guards surround him and escort him inside.

This grab-and-go just got more interesting.