Members from every chapter had contacted them, leaving messages on their phones and at the clubhouse. The content of the communications all followed a central theme: Was their family safe?
Pike had hit a raw nerve by going after Juanita like that. Even before his little piece of douchery, it had been Lalo and the Diamante who had shaken the biker world to their core, attacking and killing not only people on the outskirts of the clubs with which they’d gone to war but actively targeting the old ladies and children of officers. Unspoken in their life as outlaws had always the reassuring knowledge that no matter what, the family would be above it all.
Instead of going home, he and Mason had gone straight to the clubhouse, launching into a series of video conferences to sort out the damage. Fallout so far appeared to be only a few members from a couple of far-flung satellite chapters, new charters who didn’t have as deep a history.
Movement in the shadows pulled his gaze into focus, and he watched as a cat crept into view. It played with a tall strand of grass for a moment, rearing up on its back legs and batting at it as if it were a toy. He watched as the cat ceased its activities, dropping to flatten itself to the ground, becoming hardly noticeable in the grass. There were no other animals in view, but the cat behaved as if there were another predator close by, or prey. Even sharks will abandon a feeding ground when a larger shark goes swimming by.
He sighed. They’d also fielded a dozen calls from other clubs. Wanna-be sharks, circling, darting close to see if there was blood in the water yet, asking pointed or vague questions by turns, trolling for information more than anything. Still, an annoyance that had to be handled. So many details to hold in his head, and every time he wanted to bounce an idea off Mason, the man had been engaged in dealing with another facet of the threatening implosion.
Bethy hadn’t been pleased when she found out how long he’d been back in town before he called her. Not pleased, but she got it, equating what he’d been doing to her working a sticky deal for one of her artists. I’m a lucky motherfucker, he thought.
His phone buzzed, vibrating silently in his pocket and he pulled it out, glancing first at the time. It was just after two o’clock, which was way too late for casual calls. When he looked at the caller’s name, he lifted his lip in a silent snarl. It was the president of a western club: Chief, from Legends, and for him, it was only midnight.
Shit.
Thumbing the button to accept the call, he greeted the man with a more pleasant tone than he thought was deserved, holding himself on this side of rude. “Chief. Whatcha need?”
“Fury. You with Mason?”
Straight to the business, then. Fine. Fury could deal with that. Keeping his voice low so as to not wake Bethy, he answered, “Nope. He’s home with his old lady by now, hopefully sleeping peacefully.” The implication was the Rebels didn’t have a single thing to disturb their sleep. “You got me for now.”
No response for a moment, then Chief said in a tone that bled caution, “I have to let you know of a thing recently done in my club.”
“Okay.” This wasn’t protocol. Not at all. Fury wasn’t national and hadn’t occupied a seat at any tables where the Legends would be bringing grievances or proposing deals. Chief calling him about anything to do with official Legends’ business made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Spill.”
“You were in Kansas City not long ago. Only recently did the purpose of your trip come to my attention.” That chill which had raised his hair settled in his gut, anger warring with an unease. “And then tonight, I received a call from mutual friends in Florida.” Chief had to be talking about Sparks and his crew, the Jailbreakers MC. “They spoke at length about an event which seems to be pretty common knowledge, but you need to know it was news to me as of an hour ago.” So Chief hadn’t wasted any time, picking up the phone quickly to sort out whatever this was he had done against the Rebels. “I’ve gotta tell you, Fury, I was surprised when they told me you were dogging Mason’s footsteps. Surprised, but pleased. You always deserved better than Deacon would be willing to throw your way.” Fury made a face, but kept himself silent, letting Chief finish his brownnosing. “Are you the one I should talk to about a Legend misstep where it comes to offending the Rebels, or should I be interrupting Mason’s rest this night?”
“Probably better off letting me run interference for you, if that’s needed.” Fury looked out the window, seeing the cat was still flattened in the grass, eyes shining in the moonlight, but immobile and silent. “Talk to me, tell me what you’re looking for.” He wouldn’t offer to help, wouldn’t make anything that could be construed as a promise, no matter how long the Legends had been friendly with the Rebels.
“I patched a man about a month ago. There’d been a lot going on out here. You wouldn’t believe the fallout from what happened in Florida.” With three sentences, Chief gave him everything he needed to know, but he let him keep talking, sensing Chief needed to talk through the story as he saw it in his head. “He’s been in the life a while, sold me a story about moving home to be around family out in Wyoming.” Legends were based in Utah, but they had other small chapters dotted here and there, some with only a handful of members. More a riding club than anything the Rebels claimed, still the Legends offered the kind of brotherhood so many men needed. “I knew him, knew his family. His nephew runs a chain of bike shops all along the front range of the Rockies.” Jesus. “He didn’t offer a reason for leaving his previous club, and knowing the troubles the club was facing, I didn’t reach out.”
“You aren’t obligated to, Chief.” This was strictly truth but wasn’t normal practice. Chief not calling meant his club didn’t always vet their members like they probably should.
“But knowing where he came from, I should have.”
“Shoulda, woulda, coulda. Pike came to you, did he?” Fury sighed. “And now, you’ve just heard what he did to Watcher’s old lady. Am I right?”
“You are. I did. The story coincides with an absence from my territory, too. He’s defenseless, as far as I’m concerned.” Chief seemed to settle into a comfortable cadence of information distribution, and Fury was reminded that the man had been a federal agent at one time. Might need to pick his brain about how to help Mason deal with Justine. “He returned a few days ago, claimed a breakdown out west, but when I had my guy pull records for the club phone he had on him, we saw the lie. He’s made several stops, and I think you’re gonna wanna know about all of them.” Chief cleared his throat. “I’m hesitant to travel with him in tow, because he’s aware of my knowledge now, so the man claims himself entirely unwilling to have any kind of face-to-face with yourself.” A chuckle, which was so out of tone with their conversation it caught at Fury’s interest, wondering what would be coming next. “Surprisingly, he feels differently about Mason and would welcome a visit. At least, that’s the story now. Should I tell him we’re going to have company soon?”
“Fuck, man. We just got home from New Mexico.” Fury sighed, then shrugged, even knowing Chief couldn’t see the movement. “You’ll get someone who will have the authority to do anything needful, okay? I can’t say who, not until I talk to Mason, and we are both knee-deep in managing various things. But yeah, tell him you’re going to have a visitor. Tell him you’ll let him know who, soon as you know. Then tell him this, because I doubt he knows one way or the other, but he needs to know we’re after his ass in a very real way. Tell him ‘Juanita lives,’ and see what he says to that.”
“What if I leave him in suspense and allow whoever arrives to dispense that knowledge? Keeping him on tenterhooks doesn’t bother me at all.” Chief paused and cleared his throat again, making Fury wonder if that was a tell he was nervous. “You get me, right? I’m personally down with whatever is needed to satisfy the Rebels. If you have questions about Pike’s guilt or his whereabouts, we’ll share the logs we have. You want info about the other places he stopped along the way, we’ll work to get you what you need. I will say, if you want to
censure me for allowing him to patch in without picking up the phone, I’m down with that. But, I’d rather you not include my men, because this is all on me.”
“Like the best leaders, you take on the full burden, don’t you?” The cat was gone, fled at some point in the past few minutes, the place in the yard where it had been empty now. “I’ll pass your thoughts along to Mason, see what he says.” Movement along the edge of the shadows evolved back into the cat, walking daintily across the grass, wending its way between clumps with head held high, tail arched even higher. “And Chief, you’re talking to the man who delivered Pike’s beatout and let him walk away. You can’t be second guessing yourself any more than I am. Hold that package, brother. We’ll be in touch.”
“See you soon.”
Yoked tight
Fury reached out and wrapped a hand around the bottle Mason sat on the table between them. “Thanks,” he muttered, not yet certain what his defacto brother-in-law wanted. Mason had shown twenty minutes ago, unannounced, and immediately manufactured a reason for Bethany to leave the apartment. Can’t be good, whatever it is.
“Yeah,” Mason grunted, seating himself across from Fury.
They sat in silence for a minute then Mason sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. “When Hoss brought you to me, you didn’t tell me who you were. Coulda.” His gaze met Mason’s, and he saw an emotion he couldn’t name working in the man’s eyes. “Didn’t.” Shifting in his chair, Mason’s vest gaped open, the worn leather wrinkling and bending between the patches. “Won my trust, still not comin’ clean.”
“Wasn’t so much a deceit as self-preservation. I earned my name, but how I earned it wouldn’t have gained me any fans back home.” Fury sat forwards, elbows to the table, fingers twirling the bottle. “Knew you—fuck, everyone knew you. Fifteen years after you left the hollers you were one of the biggest employers, making sure you took care of what you left behind. I didn’t have any kind of legacy like that.”
Mason’s eyes bored into him, anger flaring for the first time. “We do what we can in different ways.” Shaking his head, he lifted his bottle and drank. “Won my trust anyway. Every tread along your path was done with others in mind. Loyalty and brotherhood runs deep in you.”
“Brothers are hard to find. Takes work to keep.” Fury shrugged. “Worth everything to hold that close.”
“Truth.” Mason shifted again. “I’m calling for a national vote in four months.”
That statement got Fury’s attention. A national vote for the Rebels generally sat on a five-year cycle. This was not due for at least two years, by his count. “Means folks will be paying attention, and you know why.”
“Oh, yeah. Every fuckin’ member is gonna be glued to their phones, no doubt.” Mason snorted. “Should be. I’m stepping back.”
Fury didn’t move, didn’t breathe for a moment. Mason stepping back was never part of any equation he’d worked in his head about his place in the RWMC organization. Mason stepping back wasn’t part of any world that made sense. “What the fuck you mean?” He finally choked out the question, shocked when Mason laughed.
“Should see your fuckin’ face, man. Jesus.” One corner of Mason’s mouth lifted, but no one would ever say the smile held humor. “Take a breath, brother.”
“Jesus. Warn a man before you drop a bomb like that.” Fury lifted his bottle, draining half of it in one go. “Jesus.”
“Tagging you for national president. This is my official verbal vote.”
This time it felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room by Mason’s pronouncement. Time slowed, the clock on the stove taking a year between each second ticking away. Mason’s gaze held steady. There was no disapproval or judgment, just a patient trust.
“No.” Shaking his head, Fury pushed his chair back several inches. “There are a thousand reasons for you to pick any of your inner circle over me, and not a single reason—” He reached out, swiping the bottle off the table and, raising it, drained it as he rose to his feet. There was only one reason he could think of for Mason’s pronouncement, and he was angry at the idea Bethany would factor in this decision. He leaned a fist against the edge of the sink, staring out the window.
Proving once again that he thought his way around all corners of an argument, Mason said the only thing that would reassure Fury. “In spite of who you’re with, not because of it. If you hadn’t bucked me at every turn with Bethy, I would have been talking to you six months ago. You fucked my timing, brother.” That last held a note of humor and Fury twisted, looking over his shoulder to see a true smile on Mason’s face. “Not an easy ask, knowing how she loves you.”
He studied Mason for a moment. Motherfucker’s serious. “Talk to me. If I can’t understand the reasons for this fucked up idea, there’s no chance of convincing anyone else it’s a good idea.” Fury turned, leaning a hip against the counter. “Not that I’m saying this is a good idea, because I want to go on record as it being entirely fucked. This is not a good time for a change in leadership, but if you wanted to step back, then Slate or Bear, fuck…even Tater or Opie would be better picks than me. Slate, for sure.”
“You don’t want the accolades?” Mason barked a laugh. “Good, because there ain’t none.”
“Smart enough to know that’s truth.” Fury shrugged. “Talk to me.”
“Slate or Opie’d be a safe pick, either of ‘em. They’d be good. Stable officers, well-liked brothers, firmly entrenched in the life and the club.” Mason shrugged. “No bad bets there. But this is a club that’s got a good history of growing. I’ve made some bold leaps over the years.”
“Some folks would say a few of those big jumps weren’t your smartest moments.”
“Yeah, but those folks couldn’t see the end game for the moves. I did.” Mason leveled a finger, pointing at Fury’s chest. “You do, too. You see the big picture better than anyone I know. Not quite as good as me, but you got time to hone those skills.” His hand angled towards the refrigerator. “Gimme another beer, be a good host.”
Fury settled back into his chair, sliding one of the bottles he’d retrieved across to Mason. “So you want the club to keep growing? What’s next, international?”
“Fuck, yeah. We got seats at those tables already. The connection with the Hawks in Australia is a big step. Germany is a lock. We got a dozen guys in the service stationed there now and they’ve hooked up with a local club. I’m ready to pass out support patches to their friends, and we both know that’s the first step to rolling a chapter. Italy is the same. We’re already international, just not singing about it yet.” He looked at Fury from under his brows, eyes dancing. “That’ll be your first announcement. I’ve padded your first few months with a wealth of things like that.”
“I agree growing is key, but holding territory here isn’t guaranteed. Still think it’s a bad time for a change, Mason. We’ve not solved the Diamante threat, yet.” Fury leaned back, throwing an arm over the back of his chair. “We don’t want to fight internally, too.”
“Won’t be a fight. Past president stays active for two years. You and me, we’ll be yoked tight together.”
“Two years? Since when?” Fury shook his head. “Never heard that bylaw.”
“First time we’ve had a change in national leadership since I handpicked my team. My rules. You saying you don’t like my rules? What—” Mason grinned and Fury saw an echo of Bethy’s smile. “—you can’t stomach having to deal with me for a couple of years? Fuck, man. You’re my brother in so many ways now, you’re fuckin’ stuck with me for life.”
Bending his head to hide his smile, Fury told Mason, “Talk to me.”
For the next several minutes, Mason outlined his hopes and plans for the Rebels, and as he spoke, Fury grasped the edges of the vision, seeing where a change in strategy would strengthen an idea, and where there hadn’t been enough consideration given to local political climates for another. Their back and forth was lively, a meeting of equals in a way Fury hadn�
��t experienced with Mason before. It was heady and exciting, and at the end of the conversation, he had a glimpse of the depth and intellectual scope of the man seated across from him.
They were on their next beers when the talk turned somber again. Mason led the way with a quiet statement that sent a chill down Fury’s spine. “You put on that patch, it stops being about you.”
“I know that.”
“I know, you know. But I want to make sure you understand. A member puts on a patch and every decision he makes while wearing that patch reflects on him and his local chapter. Reflects on the club. For each member, it’s about the brotherhood and holding the trust passed to him with the awarding of his center. Brotherhood is all. The bones behind the phrase that rolls so easily off every member’s lips, Rebels forever,”—Fury finished with him, their voices overlapping on the final two words—“forever Rebels.”
“Accountability is a good thing, and every member knows they’re held to the wall by their choices.” Fury nodded.
“You put on that national president’s patch, it stops being about your choices. It stops being about you. From that point onwards, you are the office. The office doesn’t take a vacation, it doesn’t sleep, doesn’t rest, and never goes away. It stops being about the individual, and becomes about the collective membership. Every word that falls from your mouth is measured and weighed, prodded for hidden agendas and favoritism. Every decision is life and death, because you’re a general behind the lines calling for an advance or retreat.” Mason pinned him with a stare. “It is a burden that doesn't shift from your shoulders, ever.”
“Not painting a picture that makes me want to say yes.”
“But, you will.”
Fury heard the rattle of Bethy’s keys in the front door and climbed to his feet. Without a word he walked out, met her in the middle of the living room and wrapped his arms around her, forcing her to lift her bag-laden hands to the sides. “Well, hello to you, too,” she chirped, and he smiled against her neck to hear that sassy tone.
Fury (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 11) Page 29