I don’t know what time church is supposed to start. Thorn never told me in his text. But since today is Sunday, it’s a pretty fair bet it won’t be before mid-afternoon. Even though Thorn, Beast, and I weren’t at the clubhouse last night, Saturday nights here are always pretty raucous. I’m guessing at least half the brothers will be nursing hangovers. And short of a true emergency, Rock would only call a meeting for once everyone’s had some time to sleep it off.

Sure enough, when I walk in the door of the clubhouse, a bunch of the brothers are already here, but it’s clear nothing’s started yet. I lift my chin toward Thorn and Beast, who are over in one corner with Hawk and Brick. Thorn’s laughing his ass off, and Beast’s looking pissed. I’m guessing Thorn’s getting a kick out of rehashing yesterday’s arm wrestling story, since Hawk and Brick weren’t around for it.

I start to make my way over them to join in the ribbing, when a tug on my arm stops me. “Hey, there, baby,” coos a familiar voice. “Missed you last night.”

Fuck. Heather. “Hey, darlin’,” I drawl, turning to see the leggy redhead.

“I thought you’d be here at the clubhouse last night,” she pouts prettily at me. “None of the other girls knew where you were.”

Inwardly I groan. Heather’s one of the new club girls. She’s only been around a couple of months. We’ve fucked a few times, and she’s a damn animal in the sack, but she doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo that club girls are just that: they’re property of the club. The way she hangs on me, you’d think we were goin’ goddamn steady and she was wearing my fuckin’ class ring, or something. Jesus.

“Had some other business to attend to,” I mutter, detaching her long red nails from my bicep. Heather whines in protest and tries to cling on, but I give her a look that tells her I’m not playing around.

She drops her head and juts out her lower lip, looking at me from under her long, dark lashes. “You’re no fun,” she says breathily. “I waited all night for you.”

“That’ll teach you not to wait, then,” I mutter, and continue over to my brothers. Even though Heather can deep throat like nobody’s business, I’m starting to regret ever fucking her. The sooner she gets the message and starts chasing after one of the other men, the better. She’d be better off with a prospect — they’re more likely to get moony over one of the regulars. But she won’t give any of the non-patched men the time of day. She wants to be an old lady, that much is obvious. That ain’t never gonna happen, though. Not with me, anyway.

Irritated, I shake Heather from my thoughts and go over and join the group. “Hey, brothers,” I greet them.

“Gun!” Thorn cries, and slaps me on the back. “How the hell are ya? We thought yeh’d come back to the Skull last night.”

“I’m good,” I nod. “Did those fucks we gave a beatdown to ever show back up again?”

He snorts. “Not a chance, brother. I’m guessin’ they spent the rest of their night tryin’ to clean out the loads in their shorts. So, about that, whatever happened with that girl from the bar last night?” He flashes me a knowing grin. “She have anything to do with why you never came back?”

“She was pretty fucked up after that Gonzalo motherfucker put that roofie in her drink,” I tell him. “I managed to get her back to the motel where she was staying without her falling off my bike.”

“And?” Thorn prompts.

“And nothing, you fucking pig,” I snarl. “She was drugged up. You think I’d take advantage of a woman who was basically unconscious? I’m not that fuckin’ desperate.”

“Jaysus, listen to the Boy Scout,” he roars with laughter. “So, you just took her home out of the goodness of your heart? What’ll yeh be doin’ next, helpin’ little old ladies cross the street?”

Thorn’s certain that isn’t the end of the story. It’s clear from the skeptical way he’s looking at me. And he’s right — even though he’d probably laugh his ass off and call me a pussy if I told him what really happened afterwards. Especially if I told him Alix is at my house right now, and that I still haven’t fucked her. In the end, I figure there’s no point telling him anything one way or another.

Just then, Ghost, our Sergeant at Arms, calls out to tell us it’s time for church. All the men move into the chapel and take our usual spots around the table. Once we sit down and take care of the usual formalities, our president, Rock, tells us he’s been approached by the Death Devils’ prez to help their club with some upcoming runs.

“Oz got hold of me because the Devils are down a few men,” he says. “A bunch of their members got caught up in a war between another club and one of their charters the next state over, and shit went bad. Five of the Devils landed in jail, and it looks like they’ll all be doing a stint in county.”

Ghost whistles. “That’s some fucked up luck, right there.”

“Yeah.” Rock leans back. “So now they don’t have enough men to do their runs. At least not for the time being. And they want our help.”

“What kind of runs?” asks Lug Nut.

“The runs to our old associates,” Angel, our vice-president, answers.

For the better part of a year, the Lords of Carnage has been completely legit, for better or worse. We got rid of the last of our illegal businesses — gun running — when things got too hot to handle. The newly elected mayor of our sleepy little down, Jarred Holloway, had started gunning for us — no pun intended. The Lords saw the writing on the wall. It was only a matter of time before even the inept, uniformed bags of skin at the Tanner Springs PD would manage to find — or plant — enough evidence to take the club down. In the meantime, they’d be following our every goddamn move.

So instead of giving them anything real to find on us, we sold off the last of our gun shipments to the Death Devils, and introduced them to our associates. For a mutually agreed-upon price, we let them take over our little piece of the Iron Pipeline. The Devils were only too happy to have our contacts — and to take over a business that was already well-established. With the blessing of the Lords of Carnage as their calling card to their new clients.

Now, apparently they’re asking us to get back in.

“What kind of compensation are they offering us, in exchange for our services?” Thorn asks wryly.

“Negotiable.” Rock shifts in his chair to look at him. “But even though Oz is a hard one to read, I think we might be able to pretty much name our price.”

“It’s probably a good idea regardless,” muses Ghost, always the practical thinker. “Since the Iron Spiders went underground, we don’t know when or if they’ll surface again. It can’t hurt us to have the Devils as firmly on our side as possible. Quid pro quo.”

“Speaking of which. Tweak, you’ve been monitoring the Spiders’ old clubhouse,” Angel says, turning to our resident techie. “Any evidence of movement over there?”

“None,” Tweak confirms. “I’ve still got cameras on the building and on the only road that goes there. There’s been no activity in or out in from their old compound in months.”

“We should go investigate in person,” old Smiley chuckles. “See whether those fuckin’ Spiders are still in their hole. See what they left behind.”

Rock frowns and sets his jaw, considering. “We’ll talk about that later,” he mutters, and shifts in his seat. “In the meantime, we’re talkin’ about the Death Devils’ proposal. Are we good to provide them some backup on our old gun running route?”

“I’m good with it, if the terms are decent.” Beast’s grin is wide, almost hungry. “Things’ve been a little too quiet around here lately, anyway. We could use a little action.”

A couple of the men chuckle and nod. The last few months have definitely been a ‘be careful what you wish for’ situation. Six months ago, things were pretty damn hot for us. The Iron Spiders were trying to destroy our club from the south, and the mayor and police department of Tanner Springs were trying to pin anything and everything they could on us. These days — with the Spiders gone underground, and with them the crime and vandalism they brought to our town — shit’s been pretty goddamn peaceful.

Too peaceful, maybe.

“Yeah,” I nod. “As long as we keep this shit outside of Tanner Springs, I’m good with it.”

A few of the other brother grunt their approval. A look around the table shows that many of them seem to be feeling as restless as I am. The Lords aren’t built for peace. We thrive on mayhem. On danger.

It’s gonna be like old home week around here.

It’s probably pretty fucked up that I can hardly wait.