Chapter 6 The Other Club

SABLE

The six motorcycles rolling into our parking lot sounded like the answer to a question nobody had asked.

I stepped away from the toy donations and joined Marcus at the front window. The riders wore cuts with a dust-colored devil’s head stitched across the back, and they parked in a neat row beside our brothers’ bikes as though they knew exactly where they belonged. Behind us, the prospect at the door looked toward Jarek’s office, waiting for somebody to tell him whether he should let them in.

“Did you invite them?” I asked Marcus.

“Nope.” His gaze shifted to José, who’d risen from the table near the pool game. “But I bet I know who did.”

Jarek came out of his office before I could answer. He took one look through the window and called across the room, “José. Why are the Dust Devils in my parking lot?”

José didn’t flinch. “Slate wanted to talk face-to-face. I said we’d be here.”

“That’s not the same thing as me agreeing to a meeting.”

“We’ve got nothing to hide from them, Jarek.” 

“That’s not what I asked.”

The door opened before José answered. A broad man with graying hair walked in carrying a case of beer, followed by two others. The middle rider had VICE PRESIDENT stitched beneath the Dust Devils emblem on his cut. The third hung back until their president glanced over his shoulder.

“Fuse, shut the door,” the man said.

There was our mystery boyfriend. I watched the younger biker push the door closed and scan the room, his attention lingering on the hallway to the kitchen.

Tori wasn’t hiding in there by accident. She’d returned that afternoon to show Marcus more of Fuse’s messages, and we’d agreed she could wait for her escort back to her friend’s place away from the bar. She’d told me she didn’t want a public confrontation. Seeing the way Fuse searched the clubhouse, I was glad we’d listened.

“Jarek,” the gray-haired man said, offering his hand. “Rubén Navarro. Slate. Good to finally sit down properly.”

Jarek shook it. “Didn’t realize we had an appointment.”

Slate’s smile faltered. “José said today would be good.”

“José had no authority to arrange business on my behalf.” Jarek moved aside so the three visitors weren’t left blocking the entrance. “You’re welcome to a drink. Since you’ve come this far, you can tell me what you’re proposing. Just don’t mistake listening for agreeing.”

The vice president stepped forward. “Vic Montoya. We’ve got riders who know the western roads better than most. We thought a mutual arrangement could benefit everybody.”

“Mutual how?” Marcus asked.

“Manpower when you need it. A heads-up when outsiders come through. A little more weight behind both clubs.”

“And when one of your men starts trouble?” Marcus asked. “Are we expected to finish it for him?”

Vic looked offended. “We handle our own.”

“Good,” Jarek said. “Then let’s keep it that way until there’s an actual agreement.”

Slate set the beer on the counter. “I was under the impression we were farther along. José said the support was there.”

“Among some brothers, maybe,” Jarek replied. “Not from this club. No vote’s happened in church, and nobody here has promised you protection.”

That changed the air in the room. Men who’d been pretending to concentrate on pool or their drinks suddenly found reasons to stop moving. José stood a few feet from the visitors, his jaw tight, and I could practically hear his pride grinding against his teeth.

Kade appeared at the end of the bar carrying two rolls of wrapping paper and froze when he saw the unfamiliar cuts. One of José’s friends gestured for him to bring the visitors drinks; Marcus shook his head before the prospect could move. Kade looked from one patched man to the other, then quietly set the wrapping paper under my table. I couldn’t blame him for being confused. A prospect should never have to guess whether the brothers giving him orders were working against each other.

“You could’ve told me this before we rode out,” Slate said to him.

“I told you Jarek wanted to see the details,” José answered.

“You told me it was nearly settled.”

“Then there was a misunderstanding,” Jarek said. “And I’m clearing it up now.”

Fuse made a disgusted sound. “Lot of fucking ceremony over a few brothers helping each other.”

Marcus turned toward him. “You the president of something?”

“No.”

“Then let the presidents talk.”

Fuse’s eyes flicked to me. “You’re Sable.”

“That’s right.”

“Figures. Tori’s been running her mouth to you.”

I kept my expression steady, though my irritation rose fast. “Funny how you know who she’s been talking to. She never told you she was coming here.”

“It’s a small town.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Slate looked between us. “What’s this about?”

“Your man’s been telling his ex she can’t leave him because your club has the Black Daggers backing it,” I said. “I read the messages myself.”

Fuse’s face hardened. “That’s personal shit between me and her.”

“Then why’d you put our club’s name in it?” Jarek asked.

For once, Fuse had nothing quick to say. Vic caught his arm before he could try again, and Slate looked like he’d swallowed something sour.

“I’ll deal with him,” Slate said.

“I expect you to,” Jarek replied. “And I expect every Dust Devil wearing your colors to understand that we haven’t agreed to ride for you, speak for you, or step into your disputes. If you want to submit a proposal, do it properly.”

Slate nodded, but his expression stayed hard. “We’ll remember this.”

The three men left without touching the beer. Outside, the other riders started their engines as soon as they saw their president returning, and within a minute the entire group was rolling out of the lot.

José watched through the window until the last bike disappeared. “You didn’t have to embarrass him in front of everybody.”

Jarek turned to face him. “I didn’t invite him here thinking he’d leave with my word.”

“No, but you could’ve handled it privately.”

“I would’ve, if somebody had arranged a private meeting.” Jarek glanced at the brothers silently watching from the tables. “Tomorrow we’re going over exactly what you’ve been telling those men. And we’re doing it with the officers present.”

José didn’t argue. He walked toward the bar, where two of his supporters immediately made room for him.

I looked after them, then at the unopened case of beer on the counter. The Dust Devils had come expecting new friends and left nursing a public insult. Worse, José seemed angrier at Jarek for correcting their expectations than at himself for creating them.

And Fuse still hadn’t told me how he knew Tori was here.