Lucky: No Prisoners MC Book 4
Las Vegas, November 2015
Three-fifty-seven a.m. Pretty fucking early. Why the hell he was awake, he had no clue. Maybe his female companion had inadvertently woken him when she crawled her sweet ass out of the bed and slunk into the night.
Lucky’s head was a bit groggy, but the intoxication seemed to have worked its way out of his system. A quick cup of the sludge his MC brothers called coffee and he’d be good to ride home where he could actually get some comfortable sleep. This damn bed was like sleeping on a pile of rocks, and sharp nails.
Now where the hell had his cut landed?
He found it dangling from the foot of the bed. Once dressed, he made his way down the dark hallway toward the main area of the clubhouse. The building was a seven thousand square foot single story old shoe factory that had been converted for their needs years ago. The front of the building served as the heart of the clubhouse. The space was wide open, with a massive bar, pool table, dart boards, and a number of plush, albeit questionably sanitary, couches. That’s where they partied, hung out, and generally caused a ruckus.
A long hallway led to the back of the building where offices and spare rooms were located as well as the giant meeting room, or chapel, where the club conducted its business. Lucky loved his second home, even if sleeping there was a less than restful experience.
He trod as quietly as his booted feet would allow so as not to wake anyone else who’d spent the night. As he neared the bar, loud, angry voices broke the silence of the early morning.
“How did this happen? Tell me how the fuck this happened!” Rebel’s smoke-roughened yell made Lucky wince. Their Vegas chapter president was not someone to piss off. Those who got on his bad side often found themselves missing a tooth or two. Just last year when their club brothers from Crystal Rock, Arizona were in town, Rebel had rearranged some punk’s face for having the nerve to step on his foot and not apologize in a crowded bar.
“I don’t know, Pres. Casper called me just five minutes ago. First thing I did was come to you.” Savage sounded just as agitated as Rebel. Another man you didn’t want to put a target on your ass. Like Lucky, he lived up to his nickname with gusto.
Lucky halted, unsure if he’d be welcome at this moment. If it seemed like they could use his help, he’d be more than happy to jump in, but something felt off about the situation. The small hairs on the back of his neck rose to attention. An issue requiring attention at four a.m. on a Saturday could only mean trouble.
Casper. Why did that name sound so familiar?
“Tell me exactly what Casper said. Word for fuckin’ word. And give me a fuckin’ cigarette. I left mine in my room.”
Silence descended and Lucky pictured Rebel lighting up and sucking in that first soothing drag. In eight years, there had perhaps been three times he’d seen Rebel without a cigarette between his fingers and smoke billowing from his mouth. His leathery face and raspy voice bore the marks of a man who loved his smokes.
“Spit it the fuck out, Savage.” Rebel sounded close to losing his cool. Surprising for a man who ruthlessly commanded respect and never seemed at a loss. Shit must be bad.
“Casper said they’re having ongoing issues with their supply from the cartel. Trust has been a problem since the Crystal Rock chapter ambushed them. Stealing the mil meant for the cartel pissed the Grimm Brothers off, big time. They liked working with Snake but hate Casper’s guts.”
Lucky remembered now. Grimm Brothers MC. Casper was the VP and Snake had been the president for a while. Nasty motherfuckers who caused serious trouble for two of his brothers, Striker and Jester. Snake kidnapped Striker’s woman and blackmailed Jester’s ol’ lady with threats of killing her only brother. The Grimm Brothers were the sworn enemy of the No Prisoners Crystal Rock chapter.
“Shit.” Rebel’s curse was followed by a loud boom that had Lucky jolting. He tiptoed a few steps further into the hallway. He should leave. Spying on the President wasn’t a smart idea, but now he itched to know the rest of the story.
“Did they get this month’s shipment? Thirty percent of that product had our name on it,” Rebel asked.
Wait. What? Lucky’s blood ran cold. His club steered far away from the drug trade.
“Most of it. The cartel held some of it back as punishment for Casper’s bad attitude.” Savage paused and without actually looking at him, Lucky could imagine his cold eyes turn deadly. “Said they have no problem finding new buyers so Casper needs to get his ass in line.”
Rebel let out a harsh laugh followed by a barking cough. “That scrawny asshole knows how much I depend on the cash from our heroin sales. He better get his shit together or the cartel will be the least of his worries.”
Lucky swore his heart stopped beating for a few seconds, just before it kicked up into a fast gallop. Rebel and Savage were selling drugs. Who else knew? Who else was involved? How long had this been going on?
Nausea rolled through his gut like a violent storm. His sister had died of an overdose when she was just seventeen. One of the reasons he’d chosen this specific MC when looking to prospect was the fact that they were fierce in their stance against involvement in the drug trade. Too risky and too much collateral damage. Or so he’d believed.
“Maybe we should consider cutting out the middle man. Deal with the cartel ourselves.” Rebel coughed. The man’s lungs had to be blacker than tar.
“Not a bad idea, Pres. Things ain’t the same since Jester beat Snake near to death. You think Casper finished the job? You know that greedy asshole was just biding his time until he could claw his way to the top and no one’s heard from Snake in the months since.”
“I need a drink. What a fuckin’ mess.” Rebel sighed, then the sound of liquid being poured reached Lucky’s ears.
Well, now he sure as hell couldn’t step out into the bar area. With the stealth of a ninja, Lucky crept back toward the room he’d crashed in. This was far too much information to process at four in the morning after a night of heavy drinking. His thoughts bubbled and swirled like molten lava in a volcano near eruption.
Now he got to choose between two shitty options.
Turn a blind eye and keep his trap closed.
Or run with what he overheard to someone who could help. Take it to the Crystal Rock chapter. Tell them his president and vice president were in direct violation of the club’s strict no drugs bylaw. Be a rat.
And in the MC world, there was nothing dirtier than a rat.