Chapter 4 Club Business

SABLE

José Carrasco walked into the clubhouse with two brothers at his heels, took one look at Jarek waiting outside the office, and stopped smiling.

“Didn’t realize I needed an escort,” Jarek said.

José glanced at the men beside him. “They wanted to hear what we’re talking about.”

“Then they can hear it in church. I asked for you.”

One of the brothers opened his mouth, reconsidered when Marcus appeared behind Jarek, and headed for the bar. The other followed. José watched them go before stepping into the office. Whatever he’d expected from this conversation, apparently it hadn’t included being reminded that the president could still tell him where to stand.

I stayed by the filing cabinet. I wasn’t there to vote on club business, and I wouldn’t have tried. I was there because somebody was using our name to threaten a woman, and I was the one who’d brought that information through the door.

Jarek sat behind his desk. Marcus remained standing, arms folded, leaving José the chair opposite. Nobody offered him a drink.

“Tell me what you’ve been doing with the Dust Devils,” Jarek said.

José leaned back. “Talking. Same thing I told you I was doing.”

“Talking about what?”

“A working relationship. They ride routes we don’t have the numbers to cover all the time. They’ve got men willing to help when something kicks off. We can be stronger together than we are pretending we don’t need anybody.”

“We’ve got allies,” Marcus said.

“In Arizona. And elsewhere. I’m talking about somebody close enough to show up before a fight’s already over.”

It wasn’t a ridiculous argument. We’d called on other clubs, and they’d called on us. The Vipers and Sons of Doom in particular, and they were close. 

Relationships mattered when a problem crossed territorial lines. But every alliance came with obligations, and some of those obligations could get brothers killed. José knew that better than most. He’d stood beside Jarek through enough bad years that nobody could question whether he cared about the Daggers. 

That was exactly what made watching him dig in his heels so uncomfortable. An outsider could be shown the door. A brother with years of loyalty behind him was harder to confront.

Jarek tapped one finger against his desk. “I told you to bring me a proposal. Did you do that?”

“I’ve been trying to find out what they’re prepared to offer.”

“By promising them our protection?”

José frowned. “I didn’t promise them anything in writing.”

Marcus let out a disbelieving laugh. “That’s your defense?”

“I’m saying there’s no agreement.”

“Funny,” I said. “Because one of their guys is telling people we’ve already agreed to back them. He’s using the Black Daggers’ name to scare his ex into staying with him.”

José looked at me, genuinely surprised. “What guy?”

“Dane Pritchard. Fuse.”

His expression changed, though not enough to tell me whether he knew the name because he’d met the man or because he’d heard about trouble involving him.

“Fuse is a mouthy bastard,” he said. “That doesn’t mean the rest of them are.”

“So you know him,” Marcus said.

“I’ve met him. I’ve met a lot of them. That’s the point of getting to know another club before making decisions.”

“Not if they’re walking around telling people our word’s already been given.”

José leaned forward. “I told their officers we were talking seriously. I said you were willing to listen, Jarek. That’s all.”

“And when they asked whether we’d ride with them?” Jarek pressed.

“I said I thought we could work something out.”

Jarek held his stare. “So you spoke for me.”

“No. I spoke as a brother who knows what this club needs.”

“Those aren’t two different things when you’re wearing my patch in another club’s house.”

The office seemed smaller with every exchange. I’d seen Jarek angry enough to throw furniture, but this was worse in its own way. He was giving José every chance to explain himself, and José kept handing him another reason to be furious.

“Look around out there,” José said, gesturing toward the door. “We spend half our time on charity drives, family barbecues, and fixing everybody else’s problems. I’m not against any of that. Hell, I’ve brought toys to that run every year. But we still need to look after our territory.”

“Don’t drag my toy run into this,” I warned.

“I’m not attacking your toy run, Sable.” He glanced back at Jarek. “I’m saying we need to remember we’re a motorcycle club first.”

“And you think I forgot?” Jarek asked.

“I think we’ve gotten comfortable.”

Marcus pushed away from the cabinet. “You want to talk about being comfortable? How about being comfortable enough to give somebody else expectations that could start a war? Because that’s what you’ve done.”

“I’m trying to prevent the next one.”

“Then start by letting the officers do their fucking jobs.”

José’s jaw tightened. “I’ve been wearing these colors long enough to know how to protect them.”

“And you’ve been wearing them long enough to know you don’t negotiate on behalf of the whole club without church,” Jarek said. His voice was calm, but he wasn’t asking anymore. “You want an alliance? Bring me names, numbers, what they control, what they expect, and what they’re actually offering. We’ll put it before the brothers. Until then, you stop telling them anything that sounds like a promise.”

José looked toward Marcus, then back at Jarek. “You really think they’d listen to me if I told them I needed permission to talk?”

“Yes,” Jarek said. “Because that’s how a club with rules operates.”

For a long moment José said nothing. Then he stood, moving slowly enough that I knew he was fighting the urge to argue again.

“Fine. I’ll bring you what you want.”

“Good. And José?” Jarek waited until he stopped at the door. “I find out you committed one man, one bike, or one bullet without a vote, and this becomes a different conversation.”

José gave a short nod and walked out.

I followed a few steps behind, looking toward the kitchen to make sure Tori hadn’t wandered back into the crowd. She was still sitting where I’d left her, and one of the prospects had brought her a bottle of water.

Near the bar, José’s two companions closed in around him. I couldn’t hear everything they said over the music, but I caught one question: “He still won’t listen?”

Another brother, who’d been chalking his cue, shook his head. “If there’s a problem, he ought to take it to church like everybody else.”

“Maybe if somebody listened to him, he wouldn’t have to,” one of José’s companions shot back.

The argument stopped when they noticed me watching. Nobody apologized, and nobody looked particularly ashamed. That bothered me almost as much as what they’d said.

José didn’t answer. He only took the beer somebody handed him and stared across the room toward Jarek’s closed office door.

The men beside him stayed there, waiting.

I’d come to the clubhouse worried about what the Dust Devils thought we’d promised them. Now I was wondering how many Daggers thought José had the right to make those promises in the first place.