Damian

 

We rolled past the gates and into the parking lot of the clubhouse, and I felt the knot in my stomach constricting. I didn't know exactly what I was walking into – and not being at one hundred percent made me more than a little nervous.

 

We walked through the garage and into the main room of the clubhouse. It was set up a lot like a bar – tables and booths all around, with a long oak bar along one wall. Unlike some clubhouses I'd been in, ours was actually kept pretty clean. One of the only things Mills and I agreed on, was enforcing a “clean up after your own ass” rule.

 

A clean, tidy clubhouse seemed like a contradiction for a grubby, rough around the edges, MC, but that's how we rolled.

 

“Damian,” Mills said as he stepped out of the MC's meeting room.

 

“Mills,” I replied with a nod of my head.

 

He walked over and pulled me into a tight embrace, pounding me on the back. It was as if he was doing it on purpose, knowing I was still hurting. I winced but wasn't going to let him see me in discomfort. Show no weakness.

 

“It's good to see you, man,” he said.

 

I stepped back and looked at him. His smile just looked fake to me. Everything about him looked false. But I had to put myself in check, realizing I was probably prone to seeing the worst in him. I took a breath and nodded again.

 

“Glad I'm still around to be seen,” I said.

 

He motioned us over to a booth, and one of the prospects was there a moment later, laying down fresh, cold beers for us.

 

“Thanks, kid,” I said as the prospect scampered away like he'd seen a ghost.

 

Mills picked up his beer and raised it to us. “Glad to have you back with us, Damian.”

 

Crank and I raised our bottles and tapped them against Mills'. I had nothing to say, so I remained silent. Needless to say, I was skeptical about Mills being glad I was back. We all took a pull from our bottles and put them back down on the table.

 

“Anyway,” Mills said, “I'm sorry I didn't make it to the hospital when you were there. There was a lot going—”

 

“Yeah, don't worry about it,” I said. “I had to bail out of there early anyway.”

 

“I heard somethin' about that. What happened?”

 

I recounted the story of Mendoza's men showing up and everything that came after. Mills listened to me without saying a word, but I got the impression that he wasn't entirely surprised by what he was hearing.

 

“That son of a bitch,” Mills hissed. “Mendoza and his boys are gonna pay for this. For all of it. Nobody takes a shot at a King and gets away with it.”

 

It was about the response I'd expected from him. Mills' first response was to resort to violence. That was just his way. And while yeah, some situations might call for a violent response, not every single one did. And this was a situation that required some thought and planning rather than a blind reaction. I looked at Crank, who was sipping his beer, careful to keep his expression neutral.

 

“We need to respond, yeah,” I said. “But the situation is a little more complicated than that.”

 

“What do you mean?” Mills asked.

 

“The woman who saved my life,” I said. “She's the one Mendoza snatched up. She's the one who's been keeping me safe these last couple of days. And I'm getting a vibe that he's gonna make another run at her. We can't let that happen.”

 

Mills looked at me and scratched at his thick beard, seeming to be contemplating the situation. He was a large man. Maybe an inch shorter than me, but a good fifty pounds heavier. He had an ample midsection, but thick arms. Mills may have been a bit flabby, but he was still strong as an ox. He had long dark hair that was shot through with gray – he'd come through the ranks of the Kings with my dad, so he was a little bit older.

 

Which could help explain our starkly different views on things – we came from different generations and tended to see things differently.

 

“She your old lady?” Mills asked.

 

“Nah, man,” I said. “But she's good people. She lives a clean life. And she's helping me out of a bad jam. Taking care of me. I owe her. She doesn't need all this shit rolling down on her.”

 

“So, what does that have to do with us?”

 

“She's in Mendoza's crosshairs because she helped me, man. I owe her and I want to get Mendoza off her back.”

 

He nodded and sipped his beer. “And how are you planning on doing that?”

 

“We need to draw him out. And put two in his head.”

 

Mills took a long pull of his beer, and I could see something in his face shifting. It was the first time I'd ever put somebody up for an execution – I'd always done my best to steer the club away from that sort of thing. But this situation was different and called for extreme measures.

 

“Wow,” Mills said. “I think getting shot made you grow a pair of balls, Damian.”

 

I looked at him evenly. “Yeah, I want my pound of flesh for putting four bullets in me,” I said. “But this isn't about me. This is about protecting an innocent. An innocent who did me a real solid.”

 

“So, do you have a plan?”

 

“The only thing I can come up with is for me to set a meet with Mendoza. Lure him somewhere on the pretext of talking about what happened last night. Maybe offer to make some reparations or something.”

 

Mills shook his head. “The spic is a sharp one. He'll see right through that shit.”

 

“You got any suggestions?”

 

He shrugged. “Why not use the girl as bait?” he asked. “If he was as hot for her as you say, why not offer to give her to him in exchange for him taking the bounty off your head?”

 

I shook my head. “Absolutely not. She's already had too close a call for my liking. I'm not gonna put her in harm's way on purpose. We'll find another way.”

 

Mills sighed. “Like I said, that wetback is sharp. Whatever you come up with better be good because if it ain't, he's gonna see right through it and smoke your ass right there on the spot.”

 

I got the feeling that having Mendoza smoke me right there would be Mills' preferred outcome. But I held my tongue and tried to keep myself focused on the task at hand – getting Cara out of this mess.

 

“I'll figure something out,” I said. “But I need to know that the Kings are gonna be there to help when I need it.”

 

Mills looked at me with a stunned expression on his face – as if it were crazy that I would even have to ask and he was offended that I had. It was a small bit of overacting if you asked me, but whatever.

 

“You even gotta ask, brother?” Mills said.

 

I shrugged. “Probably not. Thought I'd ask anyway.”

 

There was a tense moment of silence as we stared at each other. I wasn't sure what was going through his head at that moment – but there was something there, bubbling just below the surface. Crank was looking uncomfortable and remained silent as he had throughout the meeting. But I knew he was taking everything in and processing it all.

 

To most people, Crank didn't seem like somebody who was a deep thinker. He was a clown and was always ready with a one-liner. But he'd always been really intuitive and good about cutting through the bullshit and seeing things for what they were. Those qualities had helped us a lot when we'd had to deal with some of the people over in the shit.

 

“The Kings will support their VP, man,” Mills said. “You don't got shit to worry about.”

 

I nodded. “Good to know. Thanks.”

 

We sipped our beers in silence for a few moments. I was still trying to come up with a way to bring up the subject of my shooting with him. I wanted to tread lightly because Crank was right – the last thing we wanted or needed was conflict within the MC. Maybe I was being paranoid and reading shit wrong. It was always a possibility.

 

But my gut told me a different story. My gut had gotten me through the worst of things over in Afghanistan, and I relied on it. And at the moment, it was telling me not to trust Mills as far as I could throw him.

 

“Hey, tell me something,” I said. “That night I got shot – why did you send me out to meet Mendoza alone?”

 

He shrugged it off. “I knew from the tone of his voice when he called that there was a problem with that run,” he said smoothly. “I figured he'd want to see somebody from leadership out there handling it.”

 

“Yeah, I get that. But why didn't I have any backup out there?”

 

“I honestly didn't figure you'd need it, Damian. I had no way of knowing he was going to go psycho like that.”

 

“That's why we always have backup when we're dealing with another club,” I said. “You know that as well as I do.”

 

Mills looked at me a long moment. His face was darkening, and his eyes were narrowing. Mills didn't like to be questioned – about anything. The fact that I was pressing him on the issue was pissing him off – I could see it. And Crank was growing more uncomfortable by the second.

 

“What are you asking me, Damian? Are you asking me if I set you up out there?”

 

I shrugged. “Just asking questions, prez. Trying to square some shit up in my own mind.”

 

“What kind of shit?”

 

I knew I was treading on dangerous ground, but I thought his reactions to my questions were a bit… telling. Rather than trying to reassure me that I was mistaken and that he'd never do something like that – or just admit that he'd fucked up by not sending me with backup – he was getting defensive. Angry. In my head, he was acting like a man with something to hide. But I needed to bite my tongue and bide my time. For now.

 

I shook my head. “Nothin'. I'm just all kinds of fucked up in the head right now. Just trying to find meaning or something after almost dying. Crank thinks I'm jumping at shadows. He's probably right.”

 

Mills looked at me a moment longer and then nodded. “Yeah, sounds like it.”

 

I drained the last of my beer and set the bottle back on the table. I slid out of the booth with Crank right behind me.

 

“Thanks, Mills,” I said. “Appreciate the time.”

 

He nodded. “Any time, brother. Just let me know what you need when you sort this Mendoza shit out.”

 

I nodded before Crank and I walked out of the clubhouse and back toward our bikes. He was unusually quiet and seemed to be lost in thought. As we got onto our bikes and were putting our helmets on, I turned and looked at him.

 

“Cat got your tongue?” I asked.

 

He shrugged. “Maybe you're not seeing shadows that aren't there.”

 

“How so?”

 

He sighed and looked at me, his dark glasses concealing his eyes. “Mills is hiding something. I'd lay money on it.”

 

I nodded and started my bike. With one last look over my shoulder at the clubhouse, Crank and I rode off. I needed to come up with a plan to draw Mendoza out without putting Cara in the crosshairs again. I needed to make sure she was going to be safe.

 

And then, after that, I'd deal with Mills.