“Rock didn’t tell us he wasn’t comin’.”

Dragon, the president of the Outlaw Sons, is not happy Rock isn’t here.

“Rock sent me instead.” Angel’s voice is firm. There’s no room for questions in it. “I represent him in his absence. I speak for the club.”

We’re standing outside a barn at a property just inside Lords of Carnage territory. About a dozen Sons are assembled behind their president. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are others around that we can’t see. A van with the logo for a plumbing company sits off in the distance, its suspension hanging low to the ground.

“You gonna tell me why your prez couldn’t be bothered to tell me he wasn’t comin’ himself?” Dragon snarls. The single braid of his beard twitches as he speaks. It’s a stupid affectation, that fuckin’ braid. It makes me want to yank it off his face. Right before I punch him.

Angel hesitates for a split second. Any sign of weakness on the part of an MC prez is always a risk with a rival club. On the other hand, Rock’s not showing up with no explanation is a sign of disrespect.

“Medical issue,” Angel finally says. “Nothin’ serious, but unavoidable.”

Dragon smirks. “That right? Well, I suppose the old guy is gettin’ up there in years.”

The contempt in his voice makes my muscles tense. On either side of me, I can feel Thorn and Gunner’s postures grow rigid.

“We’re here to discuss terms,” Angel says coldly. “So, let’s discuss terms.”

Off to the side, one of the Outlaw Sons —a meaty guy with a shaved head and a wide scar running across the front of his skull — lets out a bark of laughter. My right fingers start to curl into a fist, but I stop them.

“Rock tells me it’s time for your club to get back into the gun business,” Dragon begins pleasantly. The asshole grin on his face tells me he thinks he’s got the upper hand in this conversation. “We’ll see.”

“Depends on the terms.” Angel shrugs slightly, his eyes flicking to the van. “You’re the one with the product. Let’s see if you can make it worth our while to help you move it.”

Dragon’s eyes grow angry. “Rock and me already came to an agreement.”

“Well.” Angel doesn’t move. “Let’s make sure that agreement hasn’t changed.”

Angel doesn’t trust Dragon. I don’t fuckin’ blame him. I was pretty goddamn surprised when Rock first came to the club with this proposal, and I know I’m not the only one. We haven’t done business with the Outlaw Sons in the past because frankly, they’re a bunch of fucking assholes. And they have a history of being allied with our enemies. Even though our clubs have never gone head to head, we’re not exactly what you’d consider friendly.

Rock brought the proposal to us at church a couple weeks ago. Told us Dragon had approached him with an offer designed to be too sweet for us to refuse. The idea was to be part of a pipeline transporting weapons between Cleveland and Pittsburgh.

The Sons want to work with our club because our territory lies directly in between their turf and the next link of the pipeline to the south. Without us, they either have to go east into Death Devils territory, or west. Either of which loses them time and money.

We’re pretty sure the Sons used to run guns through these parts with the Iron Spiders. But when the Lords of Carnage and the Spiders got in a bloody war that resulted in us wiping the Spiders off the map, our club took the opportunity to expand into the southern part of the state. We even started a second chapter of the Lords of Carnage to the southeast of us. Now the Lords control all the territory from here south, to the state line.

Which means that if the Sons want to run through here, they have no choice but to come to us.

Rock was convinced a business partnership with the Outlaw Sons was a good deal for us, too. Not everyone’s on board. But the fact is, we need the money. We know the routes. It’s a win-win for the Lords.

Except that means we have to play nice with a club we hate.

“So.” Angel crosses his arms in front of him. “Rock says you want to make it worth our while.”

“Worth it for both of us.” Dragon pulls out a smoke and lights it. “If you think your fuckin’ club can handle it.”

Angry rumbles resonate through our men. Angel doesn’t take the bait. Tension in his shoulders is the only sign he’s preparing for possible violence.

“You move our product. You take your cut,” Dragon continues. “Rock told me this was all settled.”

“Just outta curiosity. Who these guns goin’ to?”

“We got shipments comin’ in from the docks in Cleveland. Goin’ to a couple organizations out of Pittsburgh. Brown, mostly.”

“MS-13?” Angel asks.

“And Kings.”

Behind Angel, Ghost snorts. “You’re supplyin’ to both sides of their war?”

Dragon leers, showing a set of stained teeth with some gold. “Spics wanna kill each other, what the hell do I care? Whatever makes us the money, brother.”

“I ain’t your brother,” Ghost fires back.

“You got a problem?” The asshole to Dragon’s left, with the Enforcer patch on his chest, takes a step forward.

I’ve had enough of this shit. I step forward too and move into a defensive position, my hand ready to go for my piece. “You gonna make a problem, fucker?” I snarl.

Brick, our own Enforcer, moves into position next to me. One of the Sons makes a sudden move to reach behind him. One of our men yells out a warning, and all at once, guns are drawn on both sides.

Adrenaline pounds in my ears. For a few seconds, it looks like this is gonna end very badly.

“Dragon!” Angel shouts in sharp voice. “Tell your men to stand the fuck down!”

“Get your men in line, VP,” Dragon roars back. “Or we’ll blow them off the goddamn map.”

“This ain’t the time or the place to start a fuckin’ war, Dragon,” Angel warns. “Let’s talk about this one on one. Tell your men to stand down.”

His voice echoes in the silence. A bead of sweat trickles down my temple. My eyes dart from Outlaw to Outlaw, searching for the slightest movement, the slightest reason to fire.

Dragon clenches his teeth and gives Angel a look of suspicion, but slowly lowers his gun. He glances back and gives a brief nod, and his men do the same.

“Stand down, Lords,” Angel says. We do as we’re told, reluctantly. “Dragon. Let’s talk.” He lifts his chin over to the far side of the barn. Without waiting to see if Dragon will follow, he walks away from the group. As he goes, he cuts a sharp look at Ghost, our Sergeant at Arms. “You keep shit in line.”

“Understood.” Ghost doesn’t look happy about it. I don’t fuckin’ blame him.

Dragon waits a couple beats, then slowly follows Angel to a point about thirty feet away. Their murmurs reach my ears, sharp and strained. I can make out a few words here and there. Next to me, Thorn listens, too, his jaw tight. I hear them talk percentages. Angel argues a point or two. Gradually, the tone shifts, becomes less angry and more businesslike. I let myself relax just a hair. But then I hear Dragon say something that doesn’t make sense.

“And the other product?” he asks.

“What product?” Angel frowns, his eyes narrowing.

Dragon pulls back, and cocks his head at Angel for a few seconds, saying nothing. Finally, he lifts his chin and smirks. “Guess I must be thinkin’ of another conversation. Forget I said anything.”

A few seconds later, Angel and Dragon exchange an edgy handshake. As they walk back to us, Dragon barks out to a bunch of his men to drive the van inside the barn and unload the guns into the trailer we keep there. Angel comes back to us, and tells us the run down to the border will take place in a couple days, once Dragon has confirmed with his contact that we’ll be making the drop.

“Somethin’ about this shit stinks,” I mutter, glancing over his shoulder at the Outlaw Sons as they work.

“It’ll work,” Angel reassures me. “We’re good.”

I hesitate, then decide to ask the question that’s on my mind. “Rock tell you anything about another product we’d be movin’? I heard Dragon say somethin’ like that while you were over there with him.”

“No.”

“Any idea what it is?”

Angel shakes his head. “I’ll talk to Rock about it. Goin’ over to the hospital after we get back to town.”

“I’ll be over there later. Maybe we’ll cross paths.”

Angel nods. He glances over at the barn, where the Outlaw Sons have finished loading the shipment from their van to our truck. “We done here?” He calls over to Dragon.

“Yeah.” Dragon hawks deep in his throat and spits on the ground. “I’ll expect an update when you’ve made the drop.”

“You’ll get one.” Angel looks around. “All right, Lords. Lock this shit up tight, and let’s get a move on.” He flashes me a grin. “See? We’re good. Easy peasy.”

I don’t say anything. I’m not worried about the gun transport. We can do that with our eyes closed. But there’s something fucked up about this situation. I can feel it.

I just don’t have any goddamn idea what it is.