“I hope I’m the Bond villain in this covert mission.” - Grinder

 

 

Switching off the engine, Grinder swung his leg over the bike, leaving his helmet on the handlebars, he yanked his beanie hat from his pocket, shoving it down to his ears and strode to the main entryway inside the clubhouse. Over the last few weeks he’d been absent more often than not, he felt a twinge of guilt about it.

He wasn’t that unreliable guy.

He was the guy his patched in brothers could count on no matter what and this business with Luxe had taken his focus in spectacular easy form, but hey, sometimes kidnapping got in the way of daily life, he just had to roll with those punches and carry on.

There was no dumbfuck to blame but the guy in the mirror.

Shaking his head, the familiar sounds and scents hit him stepping inside, he hung a right and entered the main room. A giant rectangular space with a wall of six-foot high windows all along one side looking out into the compound forecourt.

The couches were just as old as ever, the coffee tables scuffed to hell from all the boots that got rested on them, the rugs had seen better days and there was always a litter of food debris and drinks on most every surface if the prospects hadn’t gotten around to clearing things away, but he always felt at home.

On the big TV screen mounted on the far wall Sports Center was the only channel he and his brothers acknowledged existed, no CNN bullshit for the outlaws, why would they wanna watch the news when they made their own most days and anyway, he reckoned his Pop watched enough news for everyone, it was his father’s jam.

Only on occasion did the boys and he flip channels to that foodie show Tiny used to love, in remembrance of their fallen brother. Damn, some days Grinder missed that big idiot more than most. Tiny had been built like a brick shithouse and was the gentlest giant who once had ambitions to open his open grub place one day.

Just recently Rider had added Tiny’s name plaque to the wall of fallen brothers in the hallway. He was only the second brother Grinder had lost since patching into the Souls. He hoped to God it was the last.

Death was a bitch.

And one that came out of left field like Tiny, more of a shock than most, the club was still reeling from the loss. He’d left a gaping giant-sized hole that couldn’t be replaced. Not to mention the guy had made the best food, it was a wonder they all didn’t starve now.

Was he walking into his own death trap if he helped Luxe steal from the Russians? Chances were high. But the risks would be worth taking if it advanced the Souls in getting the bratva out of town finally.

All good solid questions he didn’t have answers to, and it troubled him, he liked to fix, not chance and hope for the best. Now it felt as though he was going to have to take risks he had no way of knowing the outcome, because what was the alternative, let Luxe do this alone? Not atone for his mistakes to her? Both were unacceptable to him. With so much secrecy already under his beanie of late, he’d told her he wouldn’t keep her request from his club. Anything to do with Grigori would have the potential blowback for the club, and he wouldn’t be the one who put his boys in danger they didn’t see coming.

Not even for Luxe Reyes that maddening, beautiful woman and the trouble she was involved in. Though his every instinct was roaring in the background to scoop her up and do whatever he had to. As it was, her morning scent was still playing in his nose, strong and sweet, lickable, making his body ache.

The woman went right to his head.

And that was fucking nuts.

Where Luxe was concerned he was fast accepting his thoughts and actions or lack thereof for logic drastically sprinted off in the wrong direction, every single fucking time.

He’d kidnapped … Jesus, he hated that damn word---detained---a woman for days, trailed her for longer than that, watched her patterns, mentally documenting every man she talked or smiled at and when his control had snapped he’d done the unthinkable. It was as though his mind was acting out all on its own and his poor idiot body got took along for the ride.

Crazy shit and he hated himself.

Now he was willing to put his own neck on the block to atone somehow, if this was what it would take, he’d do it, to apologize in the only way she’d accept, by helping her steal something that belonged to the most dangerous men he’d come across in a long while.

No big deal.

More dangerous because the Souls knew so little about the Bratva and their true reasons for being in Colorado, making them unpredictable. So far Rider and the boys had managed to stay out of their way, for good reason, pacifying their existence all the while giving Grigori no inch to take that Russian mile.

Damn the thief. Of all things, she could have asked him for, he would have gladly provided, this was giving him pause, catching him between the club and a woman.

He’d asked her why she couldn’t walk away from this job. Would you walk away from one hundred grand, kidnapper? Money was a great motivator, and still, he’d told her she didn’t have the first clue who she was getting herself tangled up in.

Grinder found Rider dishing out orders to the overly eager prospects. He hung back a bit and listened to Slider volunteer to go into town and pick up some supplies.

That one was his boy. One of his Pop’s friends had asked Grinder to give the boy a chance with the Souls before he got himself thrown into jail. Grinder would never sponsor just anyone for a probationary membership into the MC, so he’d watched the younger guy for a few weeks. It usually took only one sponsor to bring in a prospect, luckily for Slider when Grinder had put him forward to the table, talked the younger guy up, his brothers had agreed he was good Souls material.

So far so good. If Slider kept up the good work Grinder knew he’d be patched in soon.

“Yo, Grinder Sir.” Slider grinned and walked over to slap his hand to Grinder’s outstretched palm, he ruffled the shaggy hair swept back with his black and white bandana.

“Being a kiss-ass to the boss again?”

Slider grinned and dipped his head, scratching the fluff he called a beard, no longer the kid who would boost cars two and three a night. “Ah, you know, just doing as I’m told, getting shit done.”

“Good, keep doing that.” He sent him off to do the shit that needed doing.

He had his own to see to. “Got a minute, Ri?” he asked his prez, boss and friend. “Can we go talk in church?”

Rider’s brow lifted into his hairline. “Sounds ominous. If this ends with you needin’ help diggin’ a shallow grave, Zara is gonna be pissed if I’m late home to dinner.”

Once behind the sacred door, Grinder shrugged out of his jacket, he took a minute to roll up his sleeves, not exactly practicing what he’d say to his prez, but he knew how to carefully choose his words. Deciding to stand when Rider took his seat at the head of the table, he didn’t beat around the bush.

“There’s this chick…”

“Doesn’t all things start with ‘there’s this chick?’ again I say I ain’t diggin’ no fuckin’ grave, my brother.” Joked Rider, though his face was straight, his dark brow rose in that arrogant way only a club president could have.

This was a man Grinder respected the hell out of. He’d been at Rider’s side almost from the beginning of his reign and watched him drag the club from the dirt into the light and make something out of it that no predecessors ever could. The Renegade Souls MC were a feared and revered club throughout the country now and Grinder for one was proud to be an outlaw associated to them.

It was all because of Rider Marinos. A fair but powerful boss. Tenacious and brutal. A president who didn’t think twice to do what was right for the club.

Club first.

Club first.

It was what every man who patched in said and meant it. There could be no wavering on loyalty, you were either in or you weren’t, it was that simple.

Only now some of the members, the prez included, had old ladies and naturally the order of priorities for those men had changed. Forever loyal to the club but it was more than obvious who was their number one.

It stood to reason, Grinder mused.

There’s this chick.

Luxe had been that chick for him for more than a year.

Baby, I'm preying on you tonight, hunt you down eat you alive.

Even in the background, he’d think of her sometimes, how she’d played him and he’d get angry. But more than that, he was aroused and intrigued by the kind of woman she was, longing for a missed opportunity, if he was honest with himself. It wasn’t just about sex.

She was under his skin, tormenting him from the inside with thoughts of tossing her around and tangling up his bed sheets.

Was this the only way to get her out of his system?

To do this favor for her, to give her payback?

I bet she’d be pleased if it got me killed.

Crossing his arms against his chest, lassoing any errant thoughts of bed sheets and tossing Luxe there, he went on, leaving out the most important detail of all. He wasn’t proud of his behavior these past weeks.

Not at all.

“Luxe Reyes. She’s associated with the Apollo Kingsmen.” Jealousy tickled his insides. “She’s a thief who’s been hired to steal from the Russians, only it’s proving more difficult for her than she initially figured.”

This detail got Rider’s attention, Grinder watched the blue of those presidential eyes flare.

“I owe her a favor, Rider, one I can’t----don’t want to get out of, and she’s asked me to give her a hand, bait and distract, breaking and entering. A bunch of old shit paintings, who the fuck wants them I don’t know, but they’re worth a chunk of change for her commission to grab ‘em. I caught her last night casing their building, she nearly got caught by one of Grigori’s men. She can’t get close enough to get into the lock box, that’s where I come in.”

Aware of Rider’s silence and his watchful stare that could mean a helluva lot, none of it good, Grinder perched on the end of the table. The same table they’d waged wars around, the very table only last year Rider and the rest of them had formed a plan to attack the Raging Rebels, ultimately taking that club out one by lousy one. Other times, lighter times they’d bantered back and forth, throwing out slurs to each other, never meaning it, just a few month ago Rider had told the boys he was going to be a father around this very oak.  This table had seen a lot over the years, worse still when Rex Marinos oversaw the gavel and presidents chair.

What a joke he’d been. Grinder side-tracked and wondered if the old prez would even dare show up for the anniversary this year. After being ousted and then trying to rally a coup against Rider in his first year, would Rex even dare? Grinder would lay money on that sly cunt traipsing his corrupt ass through the doors like his shit don’t stink.

“I’m guessin’ there’s more to ‘there’s this chick’ G. She the reason you’ve been absent more than not lately and havin’ Preacher fret like his bestie stopped braiding his hair?”

Grinder’s eyes fell flat. What could he say? “I’ve been getting my work done.”

“Not sayin’ you haven’t. But your head’s been planted up your ass for weeks. We’ve all noticed it, man. Look, I ain’t got nothin’ to say about you hookin’ up with whoever. If you’re bringin’ this to me it means you want to involve the club.”

Grinder took a long-measured breath. He wasn’t angry at Rider, even if he felt like he was getting a spanking in a roundabout kinda way. It was easier to ask for forgiveness than it was permission.

But this was the club. The place that meant a lot to him.

And Rider was half right.

“It gave me an idea, if she wants me to get as close to the mob as I can so I can break a safe, I might be able to get something on them as to what the fuck they’re even doing here and why they got a hard-on for our territory.”

“Hm.” Was Rider’s reply. His face pensive in that way he got sometimes and again Grinder was glad it was Rider who had the president seat to make the decisions regarding the club. “Risky.” Rider added long minutes later. “Right now, the Russian’s ain’t steppin’ on our toes and I like it that way, G. We poke their nest, you get caught, it ain’t gonna be pretty and the last thing I want now with my kid on the way is a war.”

Grinder jutted his chin, eyes pensive. Leaning both hands on the table top, he met the eyes of his boss.

The beginning of rock and hard place stirring in Grinder’s chest. Fuck. He couldn’t tell Luxe no with this, not when he had so much to make up for and this was what she’d asked of him.

But to go against a club order he couldn’t do that either, not lightly anyway, he wanted to avoid that.

Fucks sake.

He sighed loud enough to suck in the ceiling.

“I can see where your head's at, bro. We take it to the table and vote, if it goes your way we plan it backwards and forwards so those dipshits don’t even figure what’s happenin’, you with me on this?”

Rider was making sure Grinder knew the boss had spoken. “If we vote no, you tell your chick it’s a no go and to grab her little paintings some other way.” Something dark entered Rider’s voice and Grinder had to bite the inside of his cheek, something unequivocally protective slithered into his bloodstream wanting to keep Luxe’s name out of every male voice, even his prez’s.

And that was just irrational.

He’d brought this to Rider for the level-headed motherfucker he was. Rider could deliberate an idea inside out and know how best to deal with it that would bring the Souls out on top. He had the Prez patch for a reason.

Only, the problem he was bringing to the table was Luxe and he didn’t like it one bit his brothers would discuss her.  

He went silent for a minute.

“Okay. But I’m punching Snake if his mouth opens and says anything about jewelry heists.”

They left church with Rider laughing.

 

The table fell silent once Grinder got done explaining the dilemma.

Every patched in brother wearing the same worn-down leather cut as him with their designated patch on the front looked towards Grinder. His Adam’s apple worked as he caught Preacher’s eyes. He could almost hear what his closest friend was thinking; you out of your fucking mind, man?

Not a second later.

“The fuck you thinking about, G? Messing with the mob without provocation is asking for a pair of concrete boots. Jesus motherfucking Christ. I didn’t think you were that stupid.” Announced Preacher in his pissed off timber, the green of his eyes darkening as he tapped one of his silver skull rings to the table.

“I don’t know, Preach, I kinda like the idea of G going all Ocean’s Eleven.” Smirked Snake from down the other end of the table. Oh, you fucknut, Grinder glared with his own twitched grin. “He’d be that one always feeding his face.” Brothers laughed.

Tension straightened his spine. “They’re holding gatherings every night this week for select criminally minded folk to indulge in vodka and pussy, we were invited naturally, to grease the hands of the locals no doubt and to kiss Rider’s ass., They’re hoping we agree to a business deal.“

“You get all the fun, Prez.” Offered Pretty-boy.

“The idea is to send a representative, keep Grigori busy and to make the Souls presence felt in the open, while I do my thing with Luxe.”

“I just bet you will.” The rusty accusation came from Lawless and Grinder tried really fucking hard not to let the guy bait him.

“We’ll be in and out-----”

Lawless scoffed. “Now he’s just feeding me lines.”

Grinder flipped him the middle finger without pausing and continued. “---- and once that’s done and she has her shit, I can take a look around, see if they’ve left anything incriminating on any flash drives. Fuck, even a memo pad will do, they’re all a bit backward from the cold country.”

“Big risk with no outcome of a pay-out for us, I didn’t know we were running a charity.” Sometimes, Grinder just really wanted to fucking punch Lawless.

“Why isn’t wonder boy Steele helping this chick out with this?”

Grinder shot his gaze down to Arson who had asked the innocent question, bones crushed under his skin biting back the retort about Jamie fucking Steele. She doesn’t belong to him, that’s why.

“It has nothing to do with the Apollo Kingsmen.”

“It has nothing to do with the Souls, either.” Preacher’s voice tight and accusing.  

“Look. I’m already doing this for her, that’s not up for discussion, okay. What I’m bringing to the table is do we want to use this opportunity to see if I can gather something concrete we can use to kick those motherfuckers back to their mothership?” Irritation sliced through Grinder’s speech. He could hear it and yet there was no stopping the way he sounded like a jealous boyfriend. He loved these knuckle-dragging monkey’s, but their all-knowing scrutiny piercing him with eyeballs from every corner was yawning a hole like acid through his stomach lining.

Critical eyes stayed on him. Burn. Burn. The hole increasing.

“Do we get a profit of her steal?” Asked Texas.

“No.”

“Our boy is doing it for more than money, Tex. Isn’t that right, G?” simpered Lawless in that way of his that could crawl under a person’s skin like a tape worm and eat away at you until you spilled your guts. Grinder had seen Lawless in action when he’d been terrorizing a poor fucker without putting a hand on them, he’d just never been under Lawless’ microscope before.

And he didn’t like it one bit. He didn’t want to get into the whys of what he was doing.

Luckily Rider chose that moment to take the table back. “We vote.”

“Aye.” Grinder started it off.  

“Aye.” Another said.

“I hate those Russians and I hate waiting to see what move they make. It’s fucking risky but I vote yes.” Nodded Snake.

“Aye.”

Capone looked Grinder in the eye when he said. “No. I don’t want you dead, Hermano.”

Grinder nodded understanding. He had already considered all the risks.

The last to vote was his best friend. Preacher sighed hard enough to cause a gust in the room, he rubbed the back of his shaved head and glared hard at Grinder. “You fucking fuck. The shit we do for our women, bro, for fucks sake.”

She’s not my woman, he wanted to insist and the words got stuck in his throat.

“Fine. Fuck.” Preacher added his vote. “But we do this smart, we let Lawless do the thinking, at least we know it won’t be with his dick.”

Everyone laughed and broke the tension, even Grinder smirked while Lawless took center stage and they began to talk about logistics.