Fuck, do those birds outside have to chirp so fucking loud in the morning? I rub my temple and move closer to the pool table to take my shot. Ever since I had my cornflakes with whiskey instead of milk and minus the cornflakes, Axe has been looking at me funny. Neither of us has seen Sabrina all morning, except for the five-minute wake-up call where she thought she could start calling the shots again. A timeout is a good idea after driving her wild in bed last night. To keep my distance, I slept on the creaking leather recliner in the MC den, surrounded by sack demons trying unsuccessfully to remove my pants, and overcompensating for their failure by pouring me more shots.

Which explains my wicked hangover.

Usually, there ain’t a damn thing that more liquor and pussy can’t fix. It’s two of the three things in our holy trinity.

Booze.

Bush.

Bullets.

Not necessarily in that order. But I don’t want just any pussy now. That’s the part that leaves me in a cloud of confusion about the petite vixen upstairs in on my bed. A slight smile slips up my lips. I’m the one who gave her a reason to be tired. Straightening my shoulders, I shoot two billiard balls into their rightful pockets.

Axe walks around the pool table, analyzing all the different options. “Man, I thought getting a piece of Sabrina would fuck with your game. Guess I shouldn’t have made that bet for a hundy. Now we know she’s not your biggest problem.”

I lean against the nearby wall with my cue in one hand. “I’ve got the prospect and a small team watching the parking lot for the others to roll in. They’ll need some downtime soon. Someone needs to relieve them later.”

The sharp clicks of the hard cue balls smashing together make me wince through my hangover. Fuck. I’ll need a few more hours of sleep after this game.

“I’m on it,” Axe confirms.

* * *

I wake up in the clubhouse meeting room a couple of hours later. What we’re about to do requires a clear head.

Axe walks in like he’s been monitoring the room for movements. “Got enough shuteye?”

“No, but fuck it. Sleep can wait.”

His facial expression goes serious. He hesitates for a split second and holds on to the backrest of one of the swivel chairs at the other end of the room. “Are our plans still on the books today, boss?”

I nod.

“Nice. Then it’s time.”

“Uh-huh. Time to take action. The team’s ready, right?”

“We should be all set.”

“How many do we have altogether?”

“Seventeen officers and voting members, plus us four executives. So, twenty-one in total. By the way, I put Dean on clubhouse restoration duty.”

“Good. How’s he working out?”

“So far so good.”

“Silas!” Speak of the devil. Dean, our Road Captain prospect for the club, hurls his tall, broad frame through the meeting room door. “Everyone’s here.”

“Thanks for looking out. Is Cindy back yet?”

“Yeah. She just drove up.”

“Perfect. See if anyone needs help in the back room.”

“Sure. You got it, boss.”

“I’ll be right there.” I wait until I’m alone to dig into my pocket and find the phone. Hitting speed dial, I bring the phone up to my ear. Someone I don’t recognize picks up the call after the first ring. “It’s Corrigan,” I announce. “Checking up on how you liked the shipment after our meeting yesterday.”

“Mr. Giovanni will be right with you, sir.”

Figures, the guy would hire help answer his fucking phone. Which is funny considering that every prior conversation we had before today was man to man.

“Mr. Corrigan,” Giovanni answers. “Nice of you to check in.”

“I’m assuming we’re all good?”

“Yes, we received the items as scheduled. Everything is more than satisfactory.”

Well of course it is. Does this man not know who he’s working with?

“Good to hear.”

“I’d like to make that volume a regular arrangement if you’re able to manage that capacity.”

I have no idea why anyone would need that many weapons on a regular basis. Giovanni either has a massive nationwide operation, is stockpiling them for some unknown future use, or he’s smuggling the bulk of them across the Pacific where the demand for American brands is still high. Or all three. I don’t give a fuck what the man plans to do with them, though. I’m glad for the extra business.

“We can.” I keep my ears honed in on my newest repeat customer’s voice. “There’s one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about an attack on my club last night, would you?”

“Attack?” he asks, but it sounds more rhetorical. It’s like the fucker already knows. “No, not at all. What sort of attack?”

I grit my teeth, realizing it’s a fucking longshot to think this douchebag would give me any kind of information if he knows anything. “Low-grade explosives. Nothing too serious. You didn’t know about it?”

“That’s alarming to hear. It sounds like quite the mess.” Giovanni isn’t giving me direct answers to any of my questions.

“You could say that. If you hear anything through your sources—”

“Absolutely, I’ll pass along any information if I find out more about it. You’ve got a satisfied customer here. Rest assured, we’re on the same team now. I’m sure you understand.”

“Sure,” I reply through gritted teeth. “I’d appreciate that.”

“So, are we covered for the next shipment or do we need to renegotiate?”

“Same time, same place, same supply.”

“Excellent.”

Click.

I blink a few times, staring into the empty void as I wait for the man to continue. There’s nothing on the other end of the line. Fucker hung up on me. Shaking my head, I shove my phone back in my pocket. That son of a bitch might have denied any knowledge about last night, but regardless of what the motherfucker said over the phone, my instincts are on full alert. Don’t trust a soul, and Giovanni sounds like he’s hiding something. It’s not just paranoia. I’ve already seen that the man lives for power and thrives on dominance. It’s nothing I don’t already see in the mirror every fucking day. We’re both alpha-style leaders, but running a motorcycle club that’s jam packed with alpha males makes me more aware of what’s needed to handle this prick. That’s why negotiating with people like him is second nature to me. In our world, balls, brawn and boldness are a necessity when dealing with the worst of the worst.

That fact brings me back full circle.

I get to my feet and head outside toward my mother’s silver Jeep Grand Cherokee. She’s still sitting inside, talking to someone on the phone with her driver side window down. Leaning forward, I pop my head inside, kissing her cheek. “Keep an eye on Sabrina while I’m gone, okay?” I straighten up and start to walk away with Axe.

“Uh, sure,” she shouts with the phone still at her ear. “Because I have nothing better to do with my day.”

She’ll whine and moan and bitch about it, but she’ll do it because she knows I can’t let Sabrina go yet, and I also can’t be in two places at once.

I round the bend into the back section of the parking lot and find Tate, Cole and our reinforcements perched on their motorcycles parked next to my ride. They’re all waiting for me to lead them into battle. I straddle my bike and zip up my cut as I look over at Axe next to me.

“Everything’s set?”

“Ready to roll out, Pres,” Axe shouts above the chorus of the off-beat rumbling of our Harleys, Choppers and other custom-built bikes.

“Let’s see if we can make some Mexicans dance,” Tate adds.

Shaking my head, I give the signal. “Follow me and keep up.”

Almost two dozen angry bikers head out onto the highway with the early evening sun at our backs. I relish the warmth that presses through my leathers, a silent reminder we’re taking the heat right back to Los Diablos’ doorsteps.

Twenty or so miles down the road, I wave my hand in the air, signaling for my men to make a hard right. We turn off the highway to a gravel side road, heading down a path beside a narrow dried-out gorge where red rock mountain ranges divide the northwest Arizona desert. We’re minutes away from prime Los Diablos territory, but our rivals won’t expect us to come from this direction. I make them all stop to do a final weapons check. There’s nothing an arsenal can’t fix. On these special trips, everyone needs to be packing the heat in a big way. I trust my boys to be armed to the teeth and ready to use their gear without question. It’s the Satan’s Saints way.

“Move out,” I call out.

We’re set to go.

We reached the last section of the gravel road leading up to a sprawling, private ranch house about a half a mile from the Los Diablos main clubhouse. I motion with my hand again and they all stop, park and get situated. Getting off my ride, I look on as they secure their weapons of choice and prepare themselves. Although this is a surprise attack, I brace myself. We’re on enemy territory. They’re probably not expecting us, but we need to be ready for anything. My gaze flicks across the uneven, rough desert terrain. Everything is calm. Except, why is it that Los Diablos don’t have men stationed everywhere after attacking my clubhouse last night? That makes no sense at all, but I put it out of my mind, explaining it away with the idea that they’re here and taking cover because they must be expecting our immediate retaliation. Which means we need to be that much more vigilant.

It’s time, so I start giving orders. We four executives will head in first, and our seventeen reinforcements will be waiting to close in on the place once we draw out the Los Diablos scum hiding out who knows where. I want Vasquez. He’s today’s target, and I don’t plan to remove him from this earth just yet, I want answers. I wrap it up with, “Remember my orders. Women, kids and the elderly are off limits. I don’t care if they’re armed. We’re focused on the patch-wearing Los Diablos men and officers we know, because they can get us to their Pres. It’s blood for blood, so remember their attack didn’t take out any of our members. That means no one dies today. This visit is about getting answers and sending a message without going overboard. Let’s show Antonio Vasquez how we fucking rule.”

The men all nod.

Time to exact our own special brand of justice.

Satan Saints style.