Page 91 of Being Lost

“He wake up?”

Niran nods. “Halfway back. Couldn’t do much more than thrash around. Had to stop Reboot from hitting him again. I thought you wouldn’t want him concussed, or, not until we learn what he knows, and what the fuck he was doing there.”

They’d done good.

“Anyone see him disappear?”

“Nah,” Niran replies to the sergeant-at-arms.

I wonder if Shark’s disappearance will ring alarm bells. We don’t want that business getting twitchy and closing down, not until we know more about what goes on there. The fact that one of our out bad members was hanging around is highly suspicious.

Damn it. Should I have asked more questions about Shark at the time? Tried to hunt him down? It was all too easy to accept he’d only made a fleeting visit to this town. Anyone with a brain in his skull wouldn’t stick around long, not with the Satan’s Devils’ price on his head.

“Can’t believe how cocky that fucker is. Never fuckin’ dreamed he’d still be hanging around.” Kink, who’s walked in during Niran’s explanation and who’s thankfully left his ‘pet’ of the day behind in his room, comments. I have two thoughts, one whether he’s left the girl tied to his bed, and the second, at least I wasn’t the only one to not have paid too much attention to Shark rearing his head.

I stand. “Not going to get answers until we’re face-to-face. Who’s coming to speak to Shark?” I’m not surprised when everyone gets to their feet. “Salem, call Dart,” I request.

“Want everyone in on this, Prez?”

Looking around, I count up the absentees. Scribe is missing, Keeper too. And Bones and Snips. “Yeah, tell them what’s going down.” I doubt there will be anyone who wants to miss out.

As I walk across the clubroom, Patsy catches my eye. I detour one moment, resting my hand against her cheek. “Go to bed, babe. I’ll be awhile.”

“You going to be okay, Lost?”

“Sure.” For a fleeting moment I’m torn between wanting to question Shark and going upstairs with her.

“You coming, Prez?” Grumbler pauses.

“Yeah.” I bend, brushing my lips over the woman who’s crept into my heart. Then, knowing club business comes before getting my needs met, I match my steps to those of the sergeant-at-arms, and walk beside him to the hangar a short distance away from the clubhouse. As we proceed to the back, I take note that the custom auto-shop is starting to take shape. Workbenches and metal drawers which will contain a myriad of tools are being set up. One area is curtained off with plastic sheeting, presumably for spray jobs. Once Salem gets an idea in his head, it’s not long before he brings it to life.

Then we arrive. Grumbler opens the door, then steps back to let me precede him inside.

In true Satan’s Devils’ fashion, Shark is restrained, his hands tied above him, his feet only just touching the ground.

My eyes are caught by Smoker who’s sat himself down. It’s clear the evening’s activities have taken it out of him, as he looks pale, and his eyes are half-closed, his breathing sounds laboured and his hand rests over his chest. Perhaps I should have insisted he stayed home. But suggesting he’s not up to this is probably a worse option as far as he’s concerned. I’ll just have to keep a close eye on him.

Suddenly, there’s a bark of laughter. The man, for whom this should be no laughing matter, is chuckling like a fucking loon.

“Oh, man. Now I’m fuckin’ glad that I was sent out bad.” Shark’s got his eyes fixed on my cut. “Couldn’t they do better than you? Snake always told us what a loser you were.”

You’re going to fuck up. Think you’re an MC prez? Think again.Shaking my head, I try to rid myself of Snake’s voice, but instead it chuckles.Even a loser like Shark sees what a fuck-up you are.

For a moment, I’m frozen to the spot. I’m not sure what I would have done had Grumbler not growled loudly from my side, getting Shark’s attention turned on him. “You? Sergeant-at-arms? Fuck. It gets worse. You aren’t fit to shine Poke’s fuckin’ boots, let alone wear them.”

“You want to have a go at me now?” Bones walks menacingly closer. “When they made me fuckin’ treasurer, I discovered the hundred ways DJ was cooking the books. Siphoning off money to start your enterprise, stealing from the members.”

“But you didn’t know what DJ was doing at the time.” Shark’s still laughing. “All you did was moan about your light payouts. Not one of you could fuckin’ see what was happening in front of your nose.”

Pennywise makes a sound in his throat that alerts me I’d better take the initiative away from the strung-up man. But seeing him has brought all my doubts that I’m the right man for this job flooding back.

Taking a breath, I summon my inner strength, willing up the MC prez inside me. While I’ve so far had a fairly quiet three years, concentrating on keeping the club happy and together rather than coming down hard on discipline, I had had years of watching Snake ply his trade. And, on at least one memorable occasion, witnessed how Drummer, our mother chapter prez performed. I’m not totally bereft of ideas.

Walking behind Shark, who’s still staring and smirking at the men he used to ride alongside, I take my knife out of its sheath, and slice through the shirt he’s wearing. At least Shark has the sense to fall silent as the Satan’s Devils’ full back patch tattoo comes into sight.

“You were sent out bad,” I remind him, my voice deceptively calm. “You were to get that blacked out.”

“I was getting around to it,” Shark protests.

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