CHAPTER FOUR

"They kill one of ours, put another one in the hospital and maybe in prison, and now they're going after our suppliers in our territory? How the hell can we let this go on?" A.J. Monaghan, who looked dangerous normally with his spring-wired body and shaved head, coal-black eyes, cop-killer facial hair, and spiky jewelry, practically rippled with tension and heat. He was around thirty and the son of A.J. Monaghan, Sr., a close friend of Colt's and another former president of the club, who had died a few years ago of lung cancer. A lot of the Steel Jockeys of Colt's generation had been taken too soon, as many from natural causes as from unnatural ones. That left the forty-eight-year-old Colt, who had three daughters but no sons, the only active member of his age group. Billy Monaghan, A.J.'s uncle, was still around, though he hadn't been active for a decade since an accident on his bike had left him unable to walk without a cane.

 

Joe rented an apartment above the Thunderbird, although the term "rent" wasn’t exactly accurate, since, as a member, he technically owned one-sixteenth of the business. One would think that he’d be entitled to more luxurious accommodations, but he never complained--he’d spent far too much of his life without any kind of a roof over his head. When at last he’d showered and dumped his meager possessions off in his apartment to head downstairs, A.J. Monaghan, Rex O’Gara, and Connor "Wings" Knight had already assembled at the bar, drinking Jack on the rocks. A.J. and Red had ordered it, Joe figured, and Wings was drinking the same in a blatant attempt to curry favor with the older members. A.J., of course, had barely wasted a second welcoming his brother-in-arms back, though a brisk clap on the back was all he had offered. Joe hadn’t expected more; his friend’s eyes practically spelled “revenge.”

 

"We need to draw them out in the open,” suggested Rex, who, under his bandana and long, straight, greasy hair, was already growing a beard almost as impressive as Colt’s. He had been A.J.’s buddy since elementary school, and A.J. counted on him to go along with his plans.

 

"Aren't we giving these guys too much credit?" asked Wings, stumbling over his words as the older members turned to look at him. "I mean, they don't even have a leader. They're nothing."

 

"They've got to have something, otherwise they wouldn't have been able to do what they did to Tony. Up till now, we've held all the cards. We control all the rackets."

 

"Well, what’s changed?” Wings asked, much to Joe’s dismay. As soon as he did A.J.’s steely gaze fixed on Joe, who clenched his teeth and gulped, shoving his hands in his pockets. He had hoped this wouldn’t come up.

 

“For whatever reason, they perceive us as weak,” said Colt. “It’s up to us to prove we aren’t.”

 

“We need a weapon,” said Rex.

 

"We have a weapon,” said A.J. pointedly. “The only problem is, Ryan here has been keeping it under lock and key. The girl." A.J.'s eyes looked black as he leaned over the table, looking straight at Joe, who felt his jaw clench.

 

"No," said Joseph, looking from A.J. to Wings to Colt, whose eyes were equally hard. He needed Colt’s support, and if he didn’t get it, there’s no way he could stand up to A.J.

 

"She's our best shot, Ryan," A.J. countered. "There’s no question about it. We’ve got to amass. Call in the other charters. Rally every defense we have. And she can help us do it. I mean, she's the sister of the most powerful president this club ever had."

 

"I don't care,” said Joe. “Nobody touches her."

 

"How are we even going to find her?" asked Wings, who, along with Tony, was the youngest member of the chapter. He sat at the table, his pale hands curled around his highball glass, his freshly inked M.C. tattoo glistening in the sun that filtered in from the western window.

 

A.J. looked at Joe. "Ryan knows where she is."

 

Joe gulped, looking from A.J. to Colt, eyes like onyx. It was time to come clean. He'd kept as far away from Ruby as he could, short of moving to the next county. He knew that after what she’d been through, last thing that poor girl needed was some scruffy biker trying to manhandle her. And as much as he hated to admit it, Fox had the kind of resources to keep Ruby safe, ones Joe could never dream of having, short of Publishers Clearing House knocking on his door. "With Fox."

 

“Fox Keene? Are you insane? Kyle was the best leader we ever had, but even he had his blind spots. And Fox was his biggest. And deadliest. He was so intent on drinking Fox’s Kool-Aid, that he missed what was happening right in front of his eyes."

 

A.J. was more right than he knew. But revealing the truth of the matter now would be as good as digging his own grave. In fact, that was the only thing that had kept him from going after Fox Keene himself--that and the fact that he knew Ruby was under his protection and seemed happy. If refusing to think about it was the only way not drive himself bonkers, knowing Ruby was with the man whose scheming had ultimately cost Kyle his life, then he’d been glad, so far, to shove it to the murky corners of his mind.

 

Joe gulped. "He’s legit now. Or at least so he says.” He didn’t expect any of the guys to believe that. He didn’t either.

 

"Please," laughed A.J. derisively. "You sound as naive as Wings."

 

"Hey!" protested Wings.

 

"Fox is pulling strings with the Reapers. Or at the very least, he's the money man. I bet my bike on it."

 

'"A.J.'s right," said Colt diplomatically. "I don't know what Fox is up to, but anybody who isn't a friend of ours is a friend of theirs, as far as I'm concerned."

 

"Fine," Joe insisted stubbornly. "Go after Fox then. Break his thumbs. But leave Ruby out of it. She's been through enough."

 

"Ryan, are you insane?" A.J. growled, leaping up from his chair. "But what if she marries him? What if she has his kid? You've got the heir to the Reapers right there. The heir to half of San Joaquin County, for God's sake. With Fox's money and her blood, they could consolidate every biker within a hundred miles under her. Think about it--all of our distributors, all of our suppliers, all of our contacts, mustered into them. If they hear that Kyle Clarke's sister is with the most powerful guy in the city, they'll think the tide is turning. They'll want to be on the winning side...”

 

"Guys, don't you see?” Joe raised his voice, trying to catch each one of them in his sights. “As far as Ruby Clarke knows, we're singlehandedly responsible for getting her brother killed. You remember what Kyle used to tell us about her. She thought we were the scum of the earth even before he died. What do you think she thinks of us now? She'd probably shoot us on sight. A.J., I hate the fact that she's with Fox." Joe sighed, sat down again, and ran his hands through his thick blond hair. "It disgusts me to even think of them together, and believe me, I think about it a lot. I don't trust him. He turned his back on the club, and he's not without blood on his hands for Kyle's death. But I won't have anybody pointing guns at her. If we just talk to her, I’m sure we can get her to make the right decision. We do this bloodlessly, or we don't do it at all."

 

"She doesn't get to make her own decisions." A.J. pushed back his chair, seething. A.J. had always been very possessive, even controlling, when it came to his women, but Joe hadn't thought that would extend to Kyle's sister. "She gave up that right when her brother joined us. Besides, now Fox is involved, and he’s dangerous. Ruthless. Don't you remember what he did to that shithead police snitch in Modesto when he found out he was wearing a wire? When he walked back to his hotel room after a couple of drinks, Fox was waiting there with a socket wrench."

 

Joe saw Wings' eyes go wide. "Then what?" Joe was going to have to remind Wings not to sound so eager all the time; it made him sound like a golden retriever puppy. Especially since Joe was the one responsible for bringing him into the club; they were the only two members left without a legacy connection. He knew Wings had nothing to fall back on if he lost the club. In fact, the two young men shared very similar backgrounds, and Joe felt protective of him.

 

"Let's just say he'll be the last of his genetic line." Wings' face wrinkled as if he'd just eaten battery acid.

 

"I can't believe you, Ryan." A.J. looked genuinely angry. "You think the Reapers are going to give us that same consideration? After what they did to Tony, and probably Kyle? They'll kill us just as soon as look at us. Unless we kill them first."

 

Colt shifted in his chair, exhaled loudly. Everyone one else went silent at the signal that he was about to speak. "A.J., calm down and think about this for a second. You’re really suggesting we just waltz right in there, put a gun to this girl’s head and expect her to go where we tell her?" Colt, despite his fearsome appearance, did everything he could to avoid, bloodshed, violence, or unpleasantness of any kind. After all, he had a family. He had others to think about besides himself. But on the other hand, Colt would probably kidnap his own mother if he believed it was best for the club. "God only knows what bullshit Fox has fed to her about us. If we try to take her by force, she'll run the first chance she gets, and she’ll call Fox for help--and then we’ll have him to deal with."

 

Joe smiled at him gratefully. Colt nodded imperceptibly, his hairy, tattooed arms crossed impassibly over the ancient leather covering his chest. He and Colt were almost always on the same page, and knowing the older man had his back was not a small reassurance when dealing with hotheads like A.J. and Tony.

 

"I go tomorrow,” Joe sighed. “Alone. I'll try to make her see reason. If that doesn't work--"

 

An evil grin spread over A.J.’s face. "We go to Plan B."