He found Cyril scowling at him when he stepped inside.
“The boys tell me you had some issues that you brought home with you.”
Vince rolled his eyes. “If you think for one second that the five minutes we stopped at the gas station made a difference, you’re delusional. They obviously had us tagged the whole time. They planned to hit us when we got on the road, out of town, with no witnesses, where they could bury our asses in the woods off the highway. And I averted that disaster. They’ll come here, and that puts them in our territory, in the middle of our entire club. Six of them are going to do what? Threaten us? I don’t think so. I made the right decision, and I wasn’t the reason it happened.”
“You seem awfully cocky, Vinny boy.” Cyril had his perpetual cigar in his mouth and poured two shots of whiskey, shoving one at Vince. He hated whiskey, but the painkillers weren’t helping anymore, so he threw it back, hoping it would take the edge off his pain. “They may have spotted you before, but they tagged you at that gas station. That’s the only reason they got to follow you in the first place.”
Vince’s rage was building, his blood pressure going up, and the sore on his leg throbbing. “Actually, boss, the only reason they got a line on us like that is because you sent us on this shitty run in the first place. And by the way, you can have your bike back. I’m buying a new one today. Yours is overheating because you don’t care enough to change the oil and grease the chain, ever.”
Cyril came out from behind the bar and stood in front of Vince. It was a really bad idea with the mood Vince was in. “You got a bug up your ass about something, son?”
“I’m not your son, Cyril,” Vince said quietly. “Your sons are in the ground, and you should keep that in mind when you make decisions for this family without their input.” He knew it was a sore spot for his leader, and he wanted to push buttons. He was gunning for a fight, wanting to beat the hell out of someone and get a little blood and maybe some bruises on his knuckles.
Cyril put the cigar in an ashtray, a sign he was serious and might throw a punch. “Are you suggesting I don’t know how to run my own club? Because you signed on for this a long time ago, Larson, and nothing’s changed since then… except maybe your attitude.”
Pound suddenly appeared between them and put a hand on each of their chests, pushing them apart. “We got Demons on our tail, guys. It’s not the time to start beef within the brotherhood. We’ll talk it out later if we need to, but right now, we all have to be on the same side.”
Vince’s eyes blazed red, blurring his vision. He wanted a piece of that asshole, and Pound was calling him down. What was worse, Vince knew he was right. But he also knew that, eventually, things would come to blows with Cyril. And even if that didn’t mean anything changed, which it probably wouldn’t, Vince would feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy inside from being able to at least get his aggression out in a very appropriate way.
Stepping back from Pound, he nodded at the big guy. “I guess we need to get to the table and figure out how to deal with these guys before they show up.”
An hour later, it was done. Vince wasn’t happy about it, but the Claws had agreed to make the offer to cut the Demons in if they took on part of the risk, with a caveat that, for the first two runs, they’d share the trip with the Iron Claws to assure that relations stayed positive. Vince and several other members packed loaded guns in the back of their jeans, the rest taking up posts around the compound as backup.
The intention was to be on guard but appear to want to keep the peace, so Vince, Cyril, Pound, and Dustin stood out as the ambassadors to welcome their enemies with a modicum of hospitality. Then, if things turned ugly, they would still be prepared.
Standing vigil and worried for perhaps the first time in his career with the Iron Claws, Vince thought to pull out his phone and quickly text Ariana. Sorry I didn’t get back sooner. Been busy but I’ll call later. He turned off the phone and stuck it in his pocket quickly, before Pound could look over and see who he’d contacted. He felt better having sent the message; with a promise to talk to Ariana later, he gave himself a false sense of safety. If he had an obligation later, he sure as hell couldn’t die now, right?
They could hear the bikes coming from a couple of miles away, and Vince squared his shoulders with everyone else, him and Cyril stepping forward, with Dustin and Pound at their backs. They stood in the center of the parking lot, hands at their sides, but Vince’s fingers twitched, itching for the gun at his back. Their rivals rode in single file but stopped in a straight line of six. He recognized Cortez, the Demons’ vice-president, but he didn’t see Gordo, the big man in charge. It was typical: the man earned his nickname, sitting on his fat ass and letting his men do the dirty work.
There were a couple of other familiar faces, but their names blurred in his mind. It wasn’t important. They’d be talking to Cortez, who stepped out in front of the line of bikes while the others remained seated.
“A few of your men seemed to be lost earlier, jefe,” Cortez said. “At least five of them were in Salem, and I don’t remember sending out invitations or getting any sort of notification your boys wanted to grace us with their presence.”
Cyril opened his mouth, but Vince stepped forward. “Well, jefe, our errand had us in and out in less than 24 hours, and we didn’t encroach on any business of yours. I didn’t think it would be necessary to give forewarning of our arrival. It wasn’t intended to offend anyone.”
Cortez was tall and lanky, and he looked at odds with the rest of his crew as he chuckled. “Really? And how would you like it if we conducted business here without making reservations, even if it was just for a few hours? This is your territory, and we,” he motioned toward his crew, “can respect that. It seems you don’t carry the same respect for us. We know your business, chicos. Why did you need to pay our territory a visit to conduct your business?”
Cyril exchanged glances with Vince and stepped forward, hands splayed. “You make a good point. And as for our business, I’m sure you can figure it out. You had to be watching my boys the whole time. You know where they went, and you say you know our business. Now, we may ask for notice when you’re coming into town, but we don’t ask the details of your business.”
Cortez crossed his arms, and the other bikers finally stood, circling around him. “This is true. But we provide a service to people in your area that you don’t want to provide. We would be more than happy, with the right resources, to take over your business in our territory. If you wanted part of our business here, we would negotiate. Perhaps show us the same courtesy.”
Sighing, Vince nodded. “We might have an offer for you, but there are some pretty strict terms, and no room to compromise. You don’t have to decide right here. I’m sure you’ll want to run it by Gordo. I know he wouldn’t be happy with you making decisions without his input. And you know how to get in touch with us when you decide.”
They laid out the terms of the agreement, and Cortez looked none too happy with it. “Ten percent for all the risk isn’t much, ese.”
But Vince shook his head. “Sorry, man. The risk with our product, and our trucks, is low. It’s an easy buck for you. Fifty thousand a ride, every couple of weeks. You can’t really beat that.”
“And if Gordo says no?”
“I don’t think your jefe will like the alternative very much, Cortez,” Cyril told him, squaring up. “You might want to remind him that we’ve got a lot of backers who would stand on our side, and we’ve got plenty of money to pay for hired help.”
Cortez narrowed his eyes, looking at every each of the four of them separately, then nodded. “I’ll take this home, and we’ll talk it over. We’ll be in touch.” He climbed back on his bike, and the others followed suit. “I think there should be some consideration of the infringement on our territory. Keep that in mind, jefe, and we might be okay.” His engine roared to life, echoed by the rest of his crew, and he led the group out of the compound.
Vince watched them carefully, leaning toward Pound. Speaking just loud enough for his friend to hear him over the roar, he asked, “You think they’ll take it?”
“I hope so,” Pound said, also facing forward. “Otherwise, it’s going to get bloody.”