Mad Max: Hounds of the Reaper MC, page 6
Our clubs don’t mix, but we usually have an understanding of sorts. Either the understanding is broken, or Duke’s gone rogue from his own club’s rule. While the Devils Damned president is a fucking bastard in his own right, Psy ain’t into the skin trade. Only thing he ain’t willing to sell. He does the prostitution route, but not buying and selling off the unwilling. Guess that’s the guy’s only fucking standard, from what I can tell.
Doesn’t seem to be true for his VP, who’s been hanging out at a northern chapter of theirs in Oklahoma. Devils Damned have tried for years to get into our territory, but the Hounds of the Reaper have claimed the middle of the fucking road. We control the midway points from east to west and north to south. Our sister chapters vary, but we’ve got enough out there that we make a solid dent in territory throughout the US and a few overseas. Each club is run in their own way, but they all follow us, the mother chapter.
And we all follow when a brother seeks revenge on anyone doing harm to their old lady.
Kitten might be fine now, but she’ll always have a target on her back till this is over. Never thought I would see the day that Flint would fall for a woman, but I can’t say I blame the guy for the one he did. Of course, she fell first—got the scar to prove it.
Law waves him off. “No rush. I don’t think you’ll find much. Gut’s telling me to look elsewhere, but I’d rather know for sure. When are the Misfits putting on a new show? She’s been upping the practice lately, hasn’t she?”
“In two weeks. I hate that she wants another brother to watch her when she practices—says she wants to surprise me and all that shit. But each time she comes home in one of her outfits, I ain’t that disappointed.”
“What’s the show about this time?” Casper pipes up, as the club has taken to going to the shows each time. It’s become an unofficial club event. Each time we go, the show has never disappointed us. Sure, none of us may watch the movie that plays in the background, but we can all appreciate the hard work Kitten and her team put into doing the dances and scenes. And yeah, there are some hot-as-fuck numbers in skimpy outfits who wiggle on the stage.
“Burlesque.”
I grunt, the equivalent of a bark of laughter from me, as I follow my brothers out. Yeah, the club’s not going to have a problem going to another song and dance show at all. Just hope we can be done with some of this shit beforehand to actually enjoy it and not let our problems ruin a good night out.
Chapter 7 – Cheyanne
“Sit here. He’ll be out shortly.”
I smile at the guard, who doesn’t even look at my face after he shows me to the round table in the common room with all the other visiting families. I settle in, knowing the routine, and actually find myself smiling when I hear my uncle cursing at a guard. Who knows what set him off this time, but he always seems to go after one guard or another.
Before prison, he was reserved. Never raised his voice, never spoke without thinking. I don’t think I ever heard him utter a single bad word till he got here. And I know it’s not because he didn’t know them. Sure, he showed me a different side than he showed the world when he was home on leave from the agency. But in here, half of what he does I fully believe is just an act. He’s playing a part. The media portrayed him as a traitor, even though he’d dedicated his life to serving his country. So that’s the part he plays.
Guards and onlookers see a person who doesn’t give a shit about the law or that he’s stuck behind these walls. But those who are close, those who really know, see what he’s doing. He might be stuck in this place, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still playing a game on the outside. And until yesterday, I thought the game was just to get information to certain people. To provide a bit of relief to the families connected to those on the inside or to the victims he went to prison for saving.
No one but me sees the surprise on his face as he comes into the room and realizes who’s come to visit him. Not sure if the guards do it with everyone or just him, but he’s never told who’s here, just that he has a visitor. When I come, it’s always the third weekend of the month. I shouldn’t be here for another week.
I wave, per my usual, and he just rolls his eyes, per his usual. He always thinks I’m too friendly, that I should put up more of a guard, but I like waving. It’s my way of opening the conversation and closing it at the end. I had that issue as a child. Never knew when the moment was over, or I left before it even began. If I wave, most people understand when I want to start or when I’m done. And if they just walk away after I wave my hello, I just wave my goodbye at their back and walk away myself. No emotions, just results.
“Someone die?” he sneers as he takes a seat. The guards are still too close for him to drop whatever act he’s portraying. I think it’s also his way of protecting me. If he shows he doesn’t care, then I’m not someone to be looked into, just a wayward niece with no family left but him.
“Yes.” He pauses, and it’s the only sign that I’ve shocked him. “People die every day, so I’m sure someone did. I don’t know any of them, but it’s the circle of life.”
He huffs as he shakes his head, and I find myself tilting mine. I said something that wasn’t right. He never laughs, but he does this when I mess up. “Semantics, Boo.”
Ah, got it. I smile instead of feeling embarrassed that I got his question wrong. The fact that he called me Boo is a semantic in itself and lets me know we can talk freely. He only refers to me that way once it’s clear.
I take a moment to notice the others in the room. No beast standing guard like those few times I came to visit last year. Not even the usual guards, but I think that’s my fault. I came on a different day, so nothing could be planned. Despite what Jimmy says, the men in here respect him and actually want to protect him in their own way. That’s why certain guards usually bring him to our chats and why the usual inmates who get visitors seem to have roaming eyes looking for threats, not just visiting.
But not today. Today, everyone is for themselves. I see, as well as feel, a few glances my way. Jimmy might have given me all clear, but he isn’t as relaxed as he usually is. There’s no smile—not that he smiles often, but there’s definitely more of a sneer on his lip than not. I need to be careful with what I say in here, more so than usual. I have no idea if the person sitting beside us can hear and is part of what I discovered or not.
“I got a letter yesterday,” I start.
“Good for you.”
I don’t feel deterred at his bark as he adjusts in his seat and just looks pissed to be here. “It came in a very pretty black design, and I had to trace the company that made the envelopes on the web. I didn’t realize you had an account with the company.”
I pique his interest as he realizes I’m referring to his old email. “You buy anything off it?”
“No, just looked at the envelopes. Wanted to see if I could find that one only.”
“You find it?”
I’m not used to talking in code, and I’m not really sure if what I’m saying is getting to him, so I try to put things in the right way to make him understand. “I had to ask the store owner. They said the specific envelope type is named candy and that it’s been… misplaced for several days now.”
He pulls back slowly as if I struck him. I think the move is more reflex than anything else. I doubt I could ever truly shock my uncle.
He eyes me, then looks around before finally shaking his head and cursing. “Fucking hell.” He runs his hand through his hair, and I just sit and wait. This reaction from him is equivalent to others screaming and shouting. He never curses in front of me, not when we’re alone like this.
“Is… is candy something you’ve purchased before? Is the store owner reputable?” I really wish I didn’t have to speak in code. I just want to know who this person is. It’s a piece of the puzzle that I don’t understand. How is Candy, or the group I’m calling Store Owner, connected to my uncle?
“A few times I’ve bought from them, but usually it’s just letterhead. They have good penmanship.” He eyes me at the last word. He wants me to understand, and I think I do. This group only gave him intel before. Words for him to use when and where he wants to.
“I haven’t reached out to them in a long time. How did you hear about them?”
“Like I said, I got the letter. I think it was meant for you, but there was no direct name on it, just the addresses.”
He nods in understanding that I was just as surprised to be contacted by them as he is. “I don’t think you’ll get another letter from them. They must realize I’m no longer interested in their products.”
“They, um… they signed me up to receive their promotions. I might go back once the candy has been restocked, I think. They asked for me to check back in on the website in a few days if it’s not restocked.”
He presses his lips together firmly, forcing them out a bit and reminding me of a duck. He doesn’t like me being involved in whatever this is, but I see the wheels turning as he just sits there and thinks through what I said while looking me over. He knows me. Knows I can’t resist a puzzle, not really.
“Don’t you have your own office supplies? Wouldn’t they prefer you stuck to their brand of white envelopes?”
“They actually started making black ones on their own. They’re okay, but not as good quality as the other ones.” I really hope he gets what I’m saying. My client is already involved in what appears to be the same issue as the other group, but they lack the finer details.
“I see.”
God, I really hope so. This whole cryptic spy talk is harder than it looks on TV. Everything has too many different meanings.
He sits back in his chair and rubs his hand over his chin, gliding his fingers back and forth until they almost feel hypnotic.
I take the time to go over what I found out last night in my head. I’m more convinced than ever that these are from the same human trafficking ring. Each might have a different leader for their region, but they all have a connection to the buyers. I’ve dug through the intel, and it proves that the purchase locations are the borders, but the victims are picked up within each quadrant of the inner cities. Small towns get a few, but it’s the bigger cities that get the majority. Candy was taken from Oklahoma City.
I already know what Jimmy’s going to say. He’s going to warn me off this, as any regular uncle should do. Keep the harm away from their only niece. But I don’t want to stop. I might not be up to doing all the undercover spy things he did, but I want to be more involved than just doing the interviews. I got a taste for digging. It’s an emotion that’s new to me. The thought of it even has me licking my lips.
“How much digging did you do on this company?”
His words pull me back to him, and I see him studying me. I wonder how long he was watching me. Bet it was long enough to know what’s going on in my head. I might be a clinical genius, but nothing ever got past my uncle.
“A bit.”
“You going to reach out to other websites asking about these envelopes?”
I hesitate, not sure if I understand what he’s asking. I won’t be using the dark web, as I don’t really know how. I’m just sort of stumbling along.
“No.” He nods in agreement. “But”—he eyes me skeptically—“I will ask the store owner about them, and I might go looking for some in town.” Not going to lie to my uncle. He might not like what I do, but he deserves more than me hiding the truth.
“I never bought envelopes.” He looks me dead in the face, his eyes devoid of the little emotion he usually shows me. “Never wanted them, nor did I have anyone I worked with who did.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “But I heard of some who did.”
I nibble on my lip. I don’t think there’s a code for how to ask the next question without just asking outright. “Do you recommend one to talk to over another?”
Commotion behind me draws Jimmy’s gaze. I turn as well and find myself waving awkwardly.
“Friends of yours?”
I look back to my uncle, who has a raised eyebrow and a smirk on his lips. I sheepishly shrug, not denying it but also not fully admitting it. This is literally the first time a guy I slept with is in the same room as Jimmy. I guess this is as close to my parents meeting a suitor as it’ll get. Not awkward, just different.
Mad Max glares at me as he moves to the empty table next to us with two others. His president sits next to me as the other guy, Casper, sits by the beast.
Another inmate comes, not one I know, and no one talks to him as he takes a seat at the table with Mad Max and Casper. No one seems to notice him, but I get the feeling he’s just a prop to let more Hounds in this place. Surprised the warden let the president sit at our table; even if the limit is two people per inmate, we were already in a meeting.
He lifts his chin at Jimmy. “Travis.”
“Law.”
I watch the exchange as they size each other up, and I swear the room quiets for a second, like everyone is waiting for a fight to break out, but I’ve never known my uncle to hold a grudge against the Hounds. And last I checked, Mad Max was a guard for Jimmy at some point, so unless something happened recently, I’m not sure what the tension is.
“There a reason why my niece is waving at you lot?”
Oh.
“She’s a friendly girl.”
“Not that friendly.”
“Met her the other night. One of my guys dealt with a problem she had.”
This has Jimmy moving forward and resting his arms on the table, all but ignoring me. “Dealt how?” The growl in his voice makes me push back from the table in surprise. Never heard menace like that from him before.
“He won’t be a problem.”
All eyes turn to Mad Max. His table buddies are sitting like a triangle, the inmate with his back to us and the two Hounds on the opposite side facing us, watching us talk. There’s enough space between the tables to have privacy, but Mad Max’s voice travels to our group.
“You sure?” Jimmy asks.
“Benny’s not a problem.” I feel the need to step in and prove I wasn’t an idiot. I still stand by my thoughts. Benny might be a guy who has no clue what loyalty is, but he isn’t a threat.
“Personal guarantee.” Neither table spares me a glance, and I huff as I fold my arms across my body. They all nod in some sort of agreement with what Mad Max said.
“What brings you lot to my neck of the woods? Might not mind the company, but I didn’t expect to see you back here in a long-ass time.” Jimmy talks to Law till the end, and then he makes a point to look over at Mad Max.
“We’re here as a courtesy, nothing more,” Law says for the Hounds.
“About what?”
“Perhaps we should wait for innocent ears to leave… unless they're tangled as well?”
“No.”
The one word from my uncle earns a quick follow-up response from Law. “Good.”
Both men look to me, and I just stare wide-eyed at everyone. “Right. So, I guess this is the part where I leave. Bye, Uncle Jimmy. See you soon.” I stand, waving my goodbyes, focusing only on my uncle, as he’s the man I came to see and the only one I can guarantee will return my ending of the conversation.
But before he waves, he stops me from walking away.
“See you soon, Boo. Stop by the shop on Fifth and ask for Lou. He’ll be able to help you with the stationery.”
I nod and do my damnedest to act cool as I leave. But my eyes betray me at the last minute, wandering to the beast as I pass. A shiver rakes through me as I find him already watching me, and we share a look before I pass him and continue on my way.
The Hounds might want me to stay away from whatever they’re here for—which, if I were a betting woman, would be for the same reason I was. But while they might be warning me off, Jimmy gives me a bigger surprise. I know exactly who Lou is on Fifth, but most call him Louie the Fifth. And he isn’t a nice man.
Which is fine, ’cause I know how to deal with men like that: show no emotion and bring a wad of cash. One I have, and the other I just need to stop at the bank for. Luckily, it’s on the way home and next to the only grocery store in town that sells my favorite drink.
Seems like fate to me.
Chapter 8 – Mad Max
Istay seated, even as I feel every fiber in my body demanding I get up. I honestly don’t know which of the three reasons is pushing me more.
It wasn’t too long ago that I sat at these very same tables but on the opposite side. There’s a distinct itch to get the fuck out of here so they don’t find a reason to make me a permanent resident again.
There’s also another part of me that wants to get my ass up and move to sit at the table with my president. Never was the club’s enforcer, but I always had Law’s back when shit like this went down. He’s the one man who I protect over everyone else while Casper cares for the rest of the brothers. Not sure if that’s why I got chosen to come here over the VP. It sure as shit wasn’t because I have friends in this place who can help us out. I survived, like every man here, and I kept the enemy list low.
That’s about as poetic as it got around here. And the man across from my president was never an enemy of mine, but he’s not a friend either. We had an understanding—some was club mandated, and some was just between me and him. I can respect the man and still not trust him at the same time. He might have said his niece wasn’t involved in anything shady, but I also know how he gives out information. And that last bit was filled with it, even if I don’t know what it was about yet.
Cheyanne, the fairy. There’s a strong urge—might be stronger than the others and that’s why I’m pushing it so far down—to go after her. She’s a grown-ass woman, been coming to see her uncle like clockwork. She knows how things work around here, and no one bothers her, but I don’t like it. Not sure when I decided to care what a woman did; ain’t about to figure it out now. Just know I’d rather she wasn’t alone. I took care of one of her problems, but my gut is telling me she’s got a few more.
