30. Lamb

Chapter Thirty

LAMB

“ W hy the fuck am I even here?” I growled, staring from one ugly face to the next.

“Wow, what a warm welcome.” Pretty rolled his eyes as he tugged off his helmet. His short, icy-blond hair fell into a messy shag around his chiseled, handsome face. Even helmet hair couldn’t ruin the boy’s good looks.

“Trust me,” Hunter grumbled, turning off his own engine. “If anyone has a right to skip, it’s me.”

“Will all of you quit your bitching?” Wolf growled, standing from his own bike, leather cut straining as he stretched his arms over his shoulders. He made a pained face, and the reminder that old age was inevitable flooded silently over us all. “I thought I brought men on this run, not bitches.”

“You’re right,” I sighed, righting my slouch across my bike’s handlebars. “I am a little bitch.” I’d been the first to arrive when I’d received the three a.m. wakeup call early this morning. Now the sun was cresting over the horizon, and the warmth of dawn bit back at the cold wintery winds. “So let me go home.”

Wolf’s gaze was colder than a grave. “Just because you’ve got someplace to stick your dick now, doesn’t mean you get a free pass out of club business.” Wolf turned away. His thick arms reached up to pull loose his long, salt and pepper locks before attempting to tame the wild beast into a ponytail at the back of his neck.

I frowned. Having annoyed Wolf daily over the last decade, something about his cutting tone made suspicion rise across the hairs on my neck. I sent a questioning look toward Hunter, unsurprised to see he mirrored my confusion.

“What am I missing?”

“You’ll find out,” Wolf chipped in. “Let’s go.”

Heavy boots beat down on the ground as Wolf marched toward the rundown diner in Redwood. He neither waited for me to dismount nor for anybody to follow. Fortunately, I was fast and fell into step behind my president, with Hunter coming up belatedly at the rear. Pretty made no motion to follow, planting himself next to our bikes, resting comfortably against his own. He seemed as if he was enjoying the morning sun, not securing our escape if something were to go awry.

An old bell rang as Wolf stepped onto the linoleum floor, announcing our arrival. I took cursive glances around the newly redecorated art-deco diner. Bullet holes had been plastered up nicely and covered with retro art pieces and black and white photographs, disguising any evidence of the shoot-up last year. I’d heard about it through some back channels, but while the Black Angels had little affiliation with our now ex-rivals, it was little more than some interesting breakfast gossip.

Hunter stiffened by my side, his face rigid and hands clamping into fists at his thighs. I wasn’t surprised. Not when my eyes landed on the president of the Hell’s Runners in the flesh.

Chains, otherwise known as Hunter’s surprise half-brother. He was a mirror image of Nobel, Hunter’s blood brother and our club brother, who’d died in a clash between Hell’s Runners and the Black Angels several years earlier. It had left a bloody smear on our past and chilled the hope of Hunter and Chains ever getting along. If it hadn’t been for Chains’ brown eyes instead of Nobel’s iconic green, I’d have thought my brother had walked straight out of the grave myself.

It was my first time seeing the man in the booth next to him, but with the constant rotation of personnel on the Runners’ side, it made sense. Just because I wasn’t interested in their happenings, didn’t mean I ignored them.

Wolf stopped at the edge of their table, offering his bear paw for Chains to shake. It was a stiff and reluctant exchange, but one of mutual understanding before my president sat.

I slid in next to him, and Hunter stood like one of the Easter Island heads by my side—stone-cold, expressionless, and as big as a mountain. It was a practical move for defense, and it sent a message. Especially when Chains’ own mirroring enforcer was dwarfed by Hunter’s six-foot-four ass.

Chains didn’t bat an eyelid at his blood brother’s attitude. Their relationship was still novel to them both, and Hunter had yet to make a clear move. He hadn’t pushed Chains away, but he didn’t invite him any closer either.

I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I were introduced to a hidden half-brother at thirty-six years of age. Then again, I wasn’t like most others, so I was doubtful my hypothetical choices would offer any valuable insight.

“Still no V.P.?” I offhandedly commented, giving Chains’ company a slow, lengthy look.

The kid at his side was wiry at best, probably hooked on a drug or two—eyes bloodshot, cheeks hollowed and pale. He jittered like a vibrator, physically straining to stay still. It’d take little effort to knock him off his feet.

I almost felt regretful having Hunter by my side; it was like turning up with the real Hulk to a kid’s superhero dress-up party.

Chains cast a brief glance beside him, a moment of recognition passing across his face as if he’d just remembered his attendance. He mentally cast him aside, refocusing on Wolf and ignoring my question altogether.

“Out with it,” Wolf growled, ignoring the steaming hot pot of coffee in the middle of the table. I reached over, poured myself a cup, and took a swig, the bitter acidic taste lingering on my tongue as it burned down my throat.

Chains kept his deep brown eyes focused on the large threat in front of him, figuratively and physically; a wise choice. In the unlikely event that violence would occur, it’d be under Wolf’s order.

“You’re under investigation,” Chains caved, the words coming out on a hurried breath.

“That’s nothing new.” Wolf shrugged, unperturbed.

I reached for the sugar shaker and rocked it back and forth as the sugar sifted into my drink. I caught the wiry Runner watching me, disgust growing across his ghostly features as the granules endlessly poured into the black abyss.

“Even if it’s the FBI?”

That caught my attention.

Wolf showed nothing, and much to his credit, neither did Hunter. They were well-trained. I was proud.

I set down the sugar, picking up my spoon and stirring a whirlpool into the surface, the grains of sugar scratching at the bottom of the mug. “Can’t see why the FBI would be sniffing around us,” I interjected, eyes transfixed on the vortex in my drink.

“Not sure who you’ve pissed off, but orders came from up top. It’s an undercover investigation and—”

I scoffed.

Chains stared at me, waiting for something to follow. Nothing did. I continued to stir, and he turned back to Wolf.

“They’re building evidence, but it won’t be long before they turn up with the battering ram.”

“What evidence?” Wolf’s eyes were swallowed into the inset of a deep frown. His expression was stern but not concerned, as he did well to smother the growing tension rippling across the surface of his arms and knuckles concealed beneath the table. I’d known the Russian giant for a long time, and his subtle motions were glaringly obvious to me now. He was an open book. An angry, mistranslated, dusty, old book.

“Free trial is over.” Chains straightened, hand reaching to push a lock of curly blond hair out of his face. “You want the rest of the information, we need a deal.”

Wolf barked a harsh laugh. He leaned back into the booth, arms folding over his chest, chin held high as he regarded the younger man. “It seems the pup has finally learned how to bark.”

“I’ve got a club to run, just like you, Wolf.” Chains rolled back his shoulders, chest puffed out, confidence controlling his expression. “I can do much more than bark.”

“The bravado is cute,” I sighed, abandoning my coffee. “But we need to get back on track.” I slid my coffee forward, toward my wired friend, and he gave it a fearful glare. “Make your offer.”

“I want a route through Fellpeak.”

I’d have spat out my coffee had I drank it. For dramatic flair, of course. I wasn’t surprised by his words; my network tracked his every move, word, and breath. From the way Chains had been working to revive the once-collapsed Hell’s Runners, I figured something like this would be his next move.

“You’re biting off more than you can chew,” Wolf warned, his teasing tone turned threatening.

The audacity to ask the club for passage rights, even temporarily, was a big one. Lending territory was considered taboo for clubs without prior affiliation; never mind one with a blood-soaked history.

“Big risks mean big gains.” Chains shrugged, but the movement was stiff. The relaxed and confident air he was boasting was paper thin. I marveled at his attempts to play in the big league.

Wolf was a seasoned veteran in the MC world, and being a president, Chains wouldn’t have an easy time with this negotiation.

“What makes you think this information is worth it?” Wolf leaned forward, his imposing seven-foot body was the size of a small mountain, even folded into the tight diner booth.

“Something is only worth what someone is willing to pay,” Chains responded, fighting not to mirror Wolf’s body language. A natural behavioral response. “And I bet you’ll be willing to pay.”

“I’ll make that bet,” I interrupted, capturing Chains’ attention. It was rude not to pay attention to me. It wasn’t often I sat at the table of a business meeting and was ignored. “We’ll decide once you give us the information. If it’s worth it, you can have a temporary pass to run through Fellpeak. But it will be escorted, and it will require prior notice.”

Chains’ dark eyes betrayed his relief, but I wasn’t finished yet.

“If it isn’t worth it , that pass won’t be instated, but you will still receive appropriate compensation .”

I would cross-check the information myself; I had many strings at my disposal, and my connections would quickly spin the truth. Depending on the outcome, the Black Angels would honor whatever deal was made today. If any of the information turned out to be false, or a red herring, well … they’d honor it differently.

Chains weighed the options. Brown eyes jumped between the president and me as if he might glean any more information to sway his decision. There would be none.

The deal wasn’t leaning in Chains’ favor, especially if he hadn’t verified the information himself before staking such a large claim on it. But Chains would always be at the bottom of the proverbial chain until he managed to rein in his club and take charge. If he could manage it, I’d commend him; building from the ground up as a traitor was no easy task.

If he couldn’t … well, I’d still be entertained by the show, nonetheless.

“Deal.” Chains extended a hand, too eager to sign himself away to such unfavorable terms. Unfortunately, time was not on his side. And neither were we.

Wolf stared at the open palm, leaving it in the empty air as his stoney glower slid back up to Chains’ face. “Information first, then we shake.”

Chains’ fingers retracted into a tight fist as he lowered it onto the tacky table. A ring of white lined his tightly pressed lips as he worked the words up from his throat.

“A dead body’s turned up,” Chains began, forcibly unfurling his fist and lying it palm down on the table. “I know that’s common news in our world, but this is a special case.” His eyes bounced between me and Wolf and, for a split-second, toward his brother, his eyes uncertain. “It’s Anatoli Ivanov.”

Nobody moved.

“Is that it?” Wolf’s shoulders sank, his creased brow smoothing over his forehead as he released a sigh.

“It’d be nice if it was.” Chains leaned back into his seat. Whatever reaction he hoped to pull from us seemed to have fallen short of his expectations. “We both know that the FBI likes to look the other way when one of their most wanted shows up face-down in a river.”

Wolf’s fist flinched beneath the table. It was a brief fraction of a second out of the corner of my eye, but it happened. Hunter stayed stiff but calm beside me, holding his unfazed expression neatly. Chains, fortunately, was none the wiser, missing the reaction he’d been searching for.

“This time is an exception,” Chains continued, ignoring the wave that passed through his company. “A full undercover operation has been sanctioned to find whoever put an end to Romanov. And I have good word they’re looking in your direction.”

“The FBI, huh,” I huffed, pulling out my phone and scrolling through an extensive list of coded contacts. I paused over numbers that would come in handy and got to work dancing my fingers over the screen and firing a few short messages.

Chains, and even his two buddies, sent me some inquisitive but guarded glances until Wolf diverted the attention.

“You got a time on this?”

“Sounds like they’ve been sniffing around your area already. If they haven’t been yet, you probably got a few days, max , before they come knocking.”

“Who’s your contact on this?”

“I don’t reveal my sources.”

Wolf gave him a long, hard look, stern silence stretching across the retro diner table, coffee growing cold between them. “Good. Don’t burn bridges you don’t have to,” he grunted, the closest thing to a compliment from a fellow president that Chains would ever receive.

Wolf pressed his humongous paws flat on the table and pushed his huge form to full height. He towered easily over the table and the other men. Even Hunter was dwarfed by his superhuman size.

Concern fractured through Chains’ calm and collected mask. His eyes flickered between us as I shifted out of the booth, making room for Wolf to follow, watching as the expression crept closer to the surface.

I kept mute, wondering if the pup would jump the gun or if he’d let us walk out the door.

Wolf ended my experiment.

A large meaty paw was extended over the still steaming coffee pot. A frown was still woven into the grooves of the Russian man’s face, his expression permanently disapproving and disgruntled.

Chains wasn’t fazed. He almost leaped across the table, stealing Wolf’s hand into a fierce grip before it could escape. Wolf held it for a long tenuous moment, and I’d bet money on the test of strength being exchanged between them.

“You’ll hear from us tomorrow,” Wolf finished, being the first to release the grip, satisfied by the exchange.

I stepped aside, letting Wolf take the lead as he turned his back on the young president, who had once been our enemy. As a betting man, I’d put money on the new fragile alliance taking shape. As vice president, I’d say there was much work left to do for anything to come to fruition.

Cold, tingling air was welcomed as we stepped out of the stiflingly warm diner, and I strolled toward my bike in tow of my president. Behind me, Hunter followed the procession with stiff, near-robotic movements.

“Family reunions always feel a bit tense,” I stated, rubbing my arms to chase away the settling chill. “I assume, anyway. I’ve never had one.”

Hunter sent me a cutting glare. “It was a business meeting,” he snipped. “What do you want us to do? Hug? Catch up like old times? Oh, wait. We don’t have any old times.”

“Ouch,” I hissed, holding a hand over my wounded chest. “That’s a tad cruel.”

“You’re the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Fair enough.” I shrugged. “But it might do you some good to reconnect. Loosen up the old heartstrings. Make a little room for a lonely outcasted brother.”

“My only brother died, Lamb. I didn’t forget that. And neither should you.” Hunter barged past, pushing me to the side as he strode toward his bike.

I frowned, coming to a stop next to my own bike parked on Wolf’s other side.

“How’d it go?” Pretty asked, waiting until each brother had their legs swung over their seat, keys in the ignition.

Both Hunter and I turned to Wolf.

Wolf didn’t turn his head, start his engine, or even address him. He stared hard into the distance, his thoughts traveling around his wide head, growing unhappier with each loop they made.

“Call church,” Wolf growled, surprising Pretty. The boy flashed a concerned gaze between the diner and the door. “I want to be the last one walking into that room.”

Pretty and Hunter wasted no time pulling up their phones and passing on the message. There was no doubt that every single brother would be sitting and waiting in church before our tires even crossed Fellpeak’s boundaries.

Wolf’s bike sounded to life.

Hunter and Pretty followed in tandem, but just as I grasped my own keys, Wolf’s hand rose into the air. I stopped.

“Lamb.” Wolf’s stern tone had me sit straighter in my seat. His eyes stayed fixed in the phantasmal distance. “You know what to do.”

Without waiting a moment more, Wolf kicked up his stand, and his bike propelled him forward. Pretty and Hunter fell in behind their president in a triangle formation. At least Pretty was sympathetic enough to give me a confused head nod before they pulled out onto the street, leaving me alone in a cloud of stirring dust.

I waited until their forms were no more than ants on the horizon before turning my keys. My engine roared to life between my thighs, and I took a deep, steeling breath.

It was going to be a long night.