Cain dismounted his bike after leaning it over onto the stand in the Hellhounds’ clubhouse parking lot, tired and saddle sore from the eight-hour ride from New Orleans. The time on the road had given him a chance to think, to think about Alex and all that could have been. He needed to check in, but as soon that was done, he was out of there and headed home. First thing in the morning he would contact the bank and start the paperwork to get checks cut for her every week. She would either cash them or not, but if she didn’t, the next contact she received from him would be from a lawyer. He was ready to wash his hands of her.

 

“Cain! Where have you been, man? Thad has been looking for you,” Clyde said as Cain walked into the clubhouse.

 

“Yeah. Something came up while I was in New Orleans. I called him yesterday and told him I would be late. I’m going to see him now.”

 

“Glad you’re back. Trouble’s brewing, bro.”

 

“What kind of trouble?”

 

“Bulls trouble.”

 

“Shit…okay. Where’s Thad?”

 

“Try the office.”

 

Cain walked down the short hall to the President’s office, dragging his hand along the restored, teal, 1950 Panhead that decorated the main room.

 

“Thad?” he asked quietly as he stuck his head into the President’s office.

 

“Cain, glad you’re back. Get your…issue…resolved?”

 

“Yes. No. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe.”

 

“Well, I need you to get your head back in the game. The Bulls are making a move on us.”

 

“What kind of move?” The Blacktop Bulls were a rival club and were a constant pain in the Hellhounds ass, always yapping at them like one of those little dogs chasing cars. All bark, but if they ever caught the car, they wouldn’t have the first idea what to do with it.

 

“They are trying to make a move into our business.”

 

“Guns?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Cain snickered. “Let ‘em. We have the best supply chain in the business. They’re all bark.”

 

“Not according to New Jersey.”

 

Cain’s brow furrowed. “Why? What happened?” New Jersey was the club’s nickname for some very heavy hitters out of Newark, just across the river from New York City. They were the Hounds biggest customers.

 

“They said the Bulls were offering US and NATO weapons at the same prices we get for our stuff.”

 

“Bullshit!” Cain spat. “There is no fucking way they can get NATO arms at those kinds of prices. This is bullshit, Thad. New Jersey is trying to screw us.”

 

“Maybe. But I had to let their last shipment go at our cost…less shipping…to get the deal through.”

 

Cain sat in the chair and fumed a moment. “I’ll call Nicolaus and find out what the fuck is going on. I think either the Bulls are fucking with New Jersey or New Jersey is fucking with us, one of the two. Did New Jersey actually see the weapons?”

 

“Don’t know. Are you sure we are on top of this?”

 

“Abso-fucking-lutely! Thad, I’m telling you, this stinks to high heaven. The Bulls are just trying to screw us. Why can’t they just stick to running their whores and leave us alone? We don’t shit in their sandbox; why are they shitting in ours?”

 

“Bad blood, brother. It’s always been this way.”

 

“We need to clean their clock.”

 

“If it comes to that, we will. But for now, just find out who is fucking who, and get it straightened out. Let me know if you need anything.”

 

“I don’t need anything at the moment, and I will find out what the fuck is going on. That it?”

 

“That’s it. Make it happen, Cain.”

 

“Yeah. I’ve got it.” Cain kicked the chair back so hard when he stood that it fell to its back. He jerked the chair off the floor and slammed it upright before storming out of the office. Goddamnit! When it rains, it fucking pours! He snarled to himself as he stomped out of the clubhouse, kicking over a trashcan along the way.