Chapter Four
Ryder
"The case of pineapple you had Zeke order is in the back, Pres," Thorne told Ryder when he stormed into the bar.
Ryder stomped behind the bar, poured a shot of whiskey, and tipped it back. He held onto the shot glass as he imagined Chuey as he had last seen him, cuddling a child with that dick, Garth. After three weeks of actively avoiding any situation that would put him in the same area as the boy, seeing him so carefree and happy had been a low blow.
Did you want him to be miserable?
It wasn't that, but it would have been nice if he seemed at least the slightest bit affected. The mating was mutual, after all. How was it so easy for him to ignore what was brewing between them?
"I take it you saw the boy," Thorne said lazily.
"I saw him," Ryder grit the words out from between his teeth.
"I'm guessing it also didn't go well."
"What makes you say that?" Ryder snapped.
Thorne disappeared into the back, returning with a dish towel and bottle of cleaner. "My first clue was when you shattered the shot glass in your hand," Thorne said.
Ryder looked down, shocked to see that his hand was clenched around the remains of his shot glass. Scarlet blood ran from his fist and down his wrist.
"My second clue was when you didn't notice," Thorne finished, spritzing the counter with the bottle of cleaner. "Come on, man, we have health codes we can't violate. Right now, this bar is the club's only income."
Ryder took the towel and cleaner from his vice president and continued cleaning his mess.
"Maybe you just need to give in?" Thorne suggested.
Ryder growled. "Orion and Wilder should have been here by now. Have you heard from them?"
"Yes. They got back when you were out. I helped them unload their shipment, and then they went to bed. Do you want me to go get them? Have them give you a briefing?"
The men had likely drove through the night and were likely exhausted. "Nah, it can wait. Show me," he said, throwing the bloody towel in the garbage as he stowed the cleaner away. Thorne took him through the kitchen to the walk-in. The thing had been broken since Ryder bought it. He pushed the door open, not bothering with the light since it didn't work anyway. He let his eyes adjust until he could clearly see the rows of potted plants along the back of the walk-in. They wouldn't stay there, even with the artificial light setup. These little babies were destined for a small shop, legally purchased in the heart of Pineville.
Ryder and his hybrids weren't too good for regular sources of income. He wasn't proud of it, but they'd all done their fair share of selling hard drugs, tiny bags of powder sold to the half-dead. But it wasn't sustainable. Not as a business practice; there was money in slinging drugs, but morally, they would be bankrupt. As club president and pack master, Ryder felt responsible for not just his hybrids' well-being but their morale as well. The bar had been Ryder's attempt to make the club legit. It brought in money, but not enough.
With the new legislation in the state, particularly the ones pertaining to recreational marijuana use, a new option had presented itself to Ryder, and though it put the club in a momentary financial bind, the potential earnings of a recreational marijuana shop were astronomical. Especially in the area they were in. The closest shop was more than two hours away. Pineville, while isolated, was centrally located. They were right off the highway and on the way to everything south.
Their customers would be bored housewives or retired old guys. They'd be legit, with taxes and permits. And then Ryder and his pack could hold their heads up high around Pineville, Noel, and every other tiny forest town in the area. Satisfied with the look of his crop, Ryder shut the door and checked the timer system on the lights. They'd get the plants moved within the next few days.
They were closed, so when the bell at the front door tinkled, both Ryder and Thorne were on high alert. He stalked to the front of the bar. When he saw an old man with wild salt-and-pepper hair, wearing torn overalls and a gray shirt standing with a bewildered expression just inside the entrance, he relaxed, but only slightly.
Zeke sauntered in from the back room, yawning and rubbing his front like he'd just gotten up. "Are the deliveries here?" he asked before spotting the old man himself. "Saunders? What are you doing here?"
"They took it all from me. Every fucking bottle." He rubbed at his forehead, and Ryder recognized a man, moments away from going into shock.
"Sit down," he ordered, indicating for Zeke to grab them a glass of water.
Saunders took a sip and then spit it out. "What is this?"
"Water," Ryder replied.
Saunders slammed the cup down. "I don't need any fucking water, literally. They took everything, Ryder, every G-D bottle."
"Who?"
"Marcos and his men. The Bulldogs." Saunders spat on the ground. "I watched some of those boys grow up. And now they want to harass me?"
With as appalled as Saunders sounded being robbed by younger men, it looked to Ryder that Marcos and his men had been successful in harassing the old man. He owned the liquor store in Noel and was the bar's liquor provider. If he'd been robbed and everything had been taken like he claimed, then Ryder's bar was without product to sell. They had what was on their shelves.
They were fucked until Saunders could re-stock.
"Who did you tell?" Ryder asked, his brain going from angry wasp's nest to the pristine stillness of a lake in the early morning hours.
"No one. I came straight here. But I can't replace all that they took without reporting it. I'll need that insurance money. Unless you... or the club can..." Saunders muttered something else that Ryder couldn't make out.
He would have loved to have been able to simply hand Saunders all that he lost, but Ryder wasn't in the place.
"For now, I'm sending you back with Fritz. He'll go with you to help make the report. Don't tell the cops who did it. Though I expect they know already. In fact, say it was some guy traveling through. Let's not give Marcos or his Bulldogs any fuel for their cred."
About ten minutes later, Fritz waltzed in looking too fresh for the occasion. He had on pale blue skinny jeans, a tight black shirt and a long gray cardigan. His hair was shaved on the sides, the top pulled back in a small bun.
"Fritz, take Saunders back to his store and help him report his loss. If there's any salvageable inventory, snag it before the cops come in and take it away as evidence."
Fritz nodded and led Saunders out.
"Are you sure that one's a hybrid? He's too damn pretty," Zeke said, shaking his head.
Ryder didn't respond. It wasn't a real question anyway. Of course Fritz was a hybrid. Ryder wasn't going to judge him just because he took a little more care in his appearance than the rest of them. Just like he wouldn't judge Fritz for enjoying his men bound and gagged and begging at his feet.
"Marcos going after Saunders, can you please tell me how that isn't an attack on us?" Thorne asked quietly.
Ryder couldn't tell him how it wasn't an attack, because it was. He just didn't know what to do about it. After what happened with Marcos and the fights, he'd been fairly quiet. Ryder figured that had been only a momentary reprieve, and it looked like things were beginning to start up again. "Zeke, I want you to choose one of the others to stay with you until things here quiet down. Both Orion and Wilder are available, or you can choose one of the others. You're never alone here, though. Got it?"
"Got it, Pres." Zeke disappeared into the back, probably to get actual clothes on.
"And you ask me why I don't claim the boy," Ryder muttered. He looked down at his hand, but the tiny cuts had already healed. "The Noel police force is in Marcos's pocket. Most of the townspeople are in Marcos's pocket. You want me to selfishly do something that may turn one of our only allies against us?" Ryder shook his head.
"No. I want you to do something about it before you explode. I know you, boss. It isn't a question of if but when. Don't you want that moment to be under your control?"
Thorne was wrong. He could control it. Avoidance was a form of control. Chuey was tucked away in the forest, which would make it easy for Ryder to limit his time with him. After today, the party that he said he would attend, he would just have to start turning invitations into the camp down.
They simply didn't have enough friends for Ryder to start turning some of them into enemies.
"I can see that you're listening and taking my words to heart," Thorne said sarcastically. "This is a great comfort to my soul."
"Oh, shut it," Ryder snapped. "Not like I'm the only one avoiding a mating." His words had the desired effect of shutting Thorne up, with the unwanted benefit of making Ryder feel like junk for throwing old wounds into his vice president's face.