Chapter Two

“No big shock there,” Zoe said wryly. “The Road Devils MC has always run drugs, and been big into the illegal strip clubs. When you shut all that down and left the world of the one-percenters, you really thought everyone would be thrilled with the loss of income?”

“No, of course not. I was expectin’ push-back from the two or three older guys and some of the more fringe members. Guys who were loyal as hell to Wheels and the crime scene.” Wolf exhaled, hard. “I just didn’t expect things to drag on this long.”

“What’s really going on, Wolf? Spit it out.”

“Lots of members leavin’,” Wolf said quietly. “Last month, one guy – Dawson Kinney – started a whole new club called The Blood Crew behind my back. Took over a dozen guys with him. Fuckin’ blindsided me, baby girl. Never saw it comin’ at all.”

That shocked Zoe, and she sat up straighter, not even pissed that Wolf had waited until she was here in person to tell her this part: this was a big goddamn deal, the kind of info that was passed on by the President, not anyone else.

Leaving an MC after being patched in was a major thing… an unthinkable thing. There were ways out, of course, though they were so hardcore that none were worth thinking about seriously. But just taking off and starting a splinter club without permission or warning? Fucking unheard of. And she’d heard and seen plenty about these MC boys.

“You’re kidding me,” she said, indignant for him; she also privately thought that The Blood Crew was the fucking stupidest MC name that she’d ever heard. “What an asshole.”

“Yeah, well.” Wolf shrugged again. “It’s done now. They just picked up all the dirty contracts and clients that I’d dumped, most of ‘em Kirk Jensen’s, so money’s no major issue for them, and all the parties involved know each other.”

“So Kirk Jensen is involved with Dawson’s new club? The goddamn Blood Crew?”

“Kansas didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Jensen’s dead.”

“What?” It seemed as though the devil didn’t have an unlimited number of lives after all, and even though she had no clue what had happened to that sick, twisted fuck, she was all ready to buy a drink for the person who blew him off the face of the earth. Two drinks if he or she dispatched Jensen with maximum pain and humiliation. “What happened?

“Ace Cuddy.”

Zoe blinked, trying to keep up. “Ace Cuddy? From – from The Fallen Angels, Ace Cuddy?”

“The one and only.”

“But… wait. The Fallen Angels are Jensen’s favorite boys. They get a huge number of his contract killings, and run the bulk of his drugs into Nevada. Don’t they?”

“They sure as shit did, baby girl, you ain’t wrong about that. But Cuddy turned informant, and ratted out club business and Jensen’s activities.”

“What?” Zoe repeated. “Informant for who? The feds?”

“Kinda. For Matt Kingston and his people.”

“Holy Lord above.”

Wolf nodded. Matt ‘King’ Kingston wasn’t a scum-sucking pimp, murderer and drug-trafficker like Kirk Jensen had been, but his name evoked just as much awe, fear, and hushed reverence as Jensen’s had. King and his black-ops-type group, King’s Men, were mostly the good guys (and ladies), but not always. They were privately-owned and -operated, and they took cases and clients on an individual basis, so they weren’t overly concerned with anything but fulfilling their contractual obligations. King worked with the cops, but he didn’t hesitate to work with motorcycle clubs, ex-cons, and bounty hunters.

He also crossed lines, sometimes massively, sometimes beyond a point of no return. Using Ace Cuddy for information had been risky but above-board, but when Cuddy had gotten rumbled by his own club, King had protected him, though not well enough. Ace had been taken, badly hurt, sliced up, tortured. King’s Men had stormed the warehouse where he’d been held – and they’d taken down ninety percent of The Fallen Angels. They’d also killed most of Kirk Jensen’s lieutenants and upper people, leaving the organization crippled, vulnerable, hurting.

Wolf had been in that warehouse, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with King and his people, armed and dangerous. He’d killed some men that night, and he’d done it without a qualm. And he hadn’t been alone: Scars Innis, his Vice-President, had been there too. He wasn’t about to tell Zoe this part, though… The Fallen Angels and Kirk Jensen were done and dusted, and no sense dredging up the past.

Besides, that bloodbath at the warehouse to rescue Ace Cuddy was the first time in a year that The Road Devils had done anything illegal, violent, or questionable. And if Wolf had any say, it was going to be the last time for a long, long time. Hopefully forever.

“So – what?” Zoe said now. “Ace killed Jensen, and he ran?”

“Yeah. Cuddy’s long gone. Nobody knows where he is, except maybe King, and the man ain’t talkin’.”

“Is there trouble between you and the new club?” she asked him. “Between you and Dawson? Sounds like tensions are running high all over the damn place.”

“Nah, no trouble. Bad blood, for sure, but they leave us alone.” He sighed. “They’re busy takin’ advantage of the vacuum left by Jensen kickin’ the bucket and the Angels implodin’, you know, so they’re settin’ up new contracts and expandin’. They ain’t got time to come around here and cause shit.”

“You got Dawson’s word on that?”

“Yeah. He sent a message through Ice. He ain’t interested in any back-and-forth with attacks, and payback and more payback. He wants to focus on buildin’ up the business and growin’ the club.”

“So this guy Ice is with them now? He left you to join Dawson?”

“No way. Dawson asked him to go, but Ice told him to fuck right off. He’s loyal.”

“So your major problem at the moment is – what?”

“Lack of warm bodies,” Wolf said, waving his hands around the tattoo studio. “The guy that I had runnin’ this place did go off with Dawson, and now I’m stuck with no experienced manager that I can trust fully. That’s where you come in.”