Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
The timing was crap. Bull needed me to focus. Especially as we discussed our scheduled meet up with Martel. He had reached out. Wanted to negotiate the return of his drugs. It was time to flex our muscle, and Bull needed my experience now more than ever.
Yet all I could see was Chastity.
My growing addiction.
Thankfully no one picked up on my distraction because I had one hell of a poker face.
“Okay, let’s get this business with Martel over and done with.” Bull looked around the table. “Chance, Cade, Caleb, Maverick, Matlock, and Ruger, you come with me to the hangar.”
Martel’s truck was secured in a hangar in a secret location. With that amount of cocaine in the back, we couldn’t afford to keep it at the clubhouse for too long. The local police were allies, but the ATF were something different altogether. If they decided to raid our clubhouse, we would be doing serious prison time.
Bull rose to his feet. “Joker, Davey, Nitro, Hawke and Cool Hand, I want you on Martel detail. I want eyes on him from the moment he leaves Eagle’s Nest. Vader, Animal, and Yale, you stay here with the prospects… I don’t want the clubhouse to be empty while this goes down. I don’t trust this asshole. He knows we’ll be arriving with serious manpower and may try to send his own message by blowing up the goddamn clubhouse.”
The bark of Harleys roared into the afternoon as we left the compound and headed toward the hangar. We were picking up the truck and taking it to the abandoned drive-in out near the watermelon fields. But Martel wasn’t getting it. Not until he left town. It was here solely as proof that his drugs were exactly as he had sent them.
Martel arrived at the drive-in only minutes after us, in a Rolls-Royce flanked by two black SUVs.
“I see my truck is intact,” he said, tugging on the cuffs of his suit as he stood across from Bull. “You won’t mind if I have my men check the cargo?”
“Not as long as you don’t mind my men watching them do it,” Bull replied.
Martel nodded to two of his bodyguards who followed Maverick and Chance to the back of the truck and climbed in to inspect the crates.
“I took you for a smart man,” Martel said. “But this isn’t the move of a very smart man.”
Bull looked unfazed. He didn’t care for what Martel had to say, but he humored him anyway. “How so?”
“You’re a businessman, Mr. Western. There is a lot of money to be made here. Think of your club. Your town. Lives can change. We could bring so much money into this county it would make your head spin. This region is untouched. It’s an untapped resource. No one has any distribution veins running through anywhere near here. Hell, even in this state. If you let this happen, I can make your wildest dreams come true.”
It was a theatrical speech. Polemic and over the top.
But it fell on deaf ears.
Bull stepped forward, towering over Martel as he leaned in. “You listen to me, you fucking drug dealing piece of shit. The reason it’s an untapped resource is because I made it that way by squishing bugs like you whenever they lift their head out of whatever dumpster they’ve been hiding in. Your business isn’t welcome here. No cartel bullshit in this town, in this county, or in any Kings of Mayhem territory. That integrity is not for sale. Now pack up your fancy French labels and find somewhere else to peddle your blow.”
Martel looked slightly rattled. Sweat began to drip down his temple.
“You’re making a big mistake,” he said. “Think about the money. The possibilities a business deal between us could bring to everyone involved.”
“This isn’t up for negotiation,” Bull said darkly. “Now get out of my town.”
He turned and began to walk away, but Martel called out to him. “My associates won’t appreciate this. Considering the consequences this will have, what would you like me to tell them?”
Bull only half-turned back and looked over his shoulder. “Tell them to go fuck themselves.”
And so the line in the sand was drawn.
When Bull walked away, Martel watched him leave, a storm cloud darkening his usually smug and arrogant face. He didn’t like being told no, and Bull had just served it up to him in abundance.
“You’ll regret this,” he called out.
But Bull ignored him and kept walking away. We climbed on our bikes and didn’t give him another glance as we rode away, taking his truck and cocaine with us.
He would get it back when Bull was certain he was leaving town.
Back at the clubhouse, we met in chapel.
“What are the chances the cartel is going to come looking for blood?” Chance asked, clearly echoing the thoughts of every King sitting around the table.