Page 131 of Tracking Luxe

Without their skilled tracker, it had taken longer than usual to find a stray Russian member of the organized crime family. Lawless hacked into their phone's GPS signals and followed one to a coffee shop.

Caffeine was that man's downfall. What a joke.

Rider let himself into the shed. An innocuous building, big enough for a car, but nondescript in design. Its purpose was pain. And he found his boys had started without him.

“For someone who thinks he’s a man, you sure know how to beg like a little bitch.” cackled Snake humorlessly with the Russian’s blood coating his knuckles. With those same knuckles, he fist-bumped Lawless. A seamless tag in from brother to brother and then the real action began. No one took it lightly when Lawless opened his black bag sitting at his feet, down on his haunches he knew exactly what he was looking for. Rider wanted to warn him to take it easy, there was no point in sending the guy back dead, not if they wanted a smooth exchange, but for all intent and purposes Lawless was madness personified looking up through a hazy carousel of anger. They were all mad for what Grigori had pulled right under their noses, but Law was unbalanced more than usual. Rider could see it in the twitch of his neck from side to side, the way his fingers moved as if playing a goddamn piano. His enforcer was itching to put the hurt on this strung up guy and to do it in the slowest, harshest possible way.

Moving through the wall of members, he waited until Lawless rose, holding a hammer. Oh boy. Laying a hand on his shoulder, he leaned in, two heads together and lowered his voice for Law’s ears only. “Calm it, my brother, we don’t raise the body count tonight, you understand? But you can hurt him how you need to. For Grinder.” His reply was a sharp blue-eyed gaze and a grunt. Yeah, Lawless was mad this had been done to their club. Soul-sucking, mind-altering, life changing mad. Rider, with his mind going up in flames, took a step back and let the enforcer get to painful work.

In a while, he'd make the call to Grigori, who had already tried four times and Rider ignored, for a reason. The Russian would only talk to Rider when Rider himself was ready. And with the Apollo Kingsmen's help they should have their boy back within the hour.

As screams bounced off the iron walls, his eyes tracked Lawless as he played with giving pain.

Within the hour ... that was the hope.

At the end of the day, an MC or even a branch of the mafia are all just men of criminally charged business. It's knowing what to offer and when, that's the key to have the upper hand. Grigori held one of Rider's men and in turn Rider had one of his.

The exchange was to take place and everyone would go about their own fucking lives.

Wrong.

Rider felt it in his gut. It was too easy. Far too easy for Grigori to give in like this. His boys agreed with grumbled murmurs as they stepped down off the row of Harley's. Down the far end was Jamie and ten of his crew he'd brought along.

"Let's get this shit over with." Growled Preacher, jittery.

Rider wondered whether he should have left his road captain back at the club, he was in no frame of mind to do what was necessary, but he could see Preacher was determined. "You good to do this?" he asked quietly and Preacher nodded, the leather case over his shoulder a reminder of what the man was going to do and swore he never would again.

The sharp shooter was coming out of retirement.

"If you need to throw up do it afterward." Rider was all heart.

Or so his old lady would say.

It was Zara's influence that had gotten him through the last hours. Going back and forth on what he wanted to do weighed down by what he should. Any other MC president would, by rights, so as not to make greater waves for the club that relied on him, sacrifice one to save the many. That was what heshoulddo, what his father and uncle would undoubtedly do.

But as Zara had pointed out to him; he was not Rex. And he was not his fucking father.

He was the Renegade Souls MC president and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to do.

He'd no more leave Grinder in the Russian's hands than he would his girl.

The ramifications of his decision would come later.

For now, he had a job to do and he did it by leading.

The entered the building twenty-strong. Rider in front with his two meanest assholes flanking him. No one would mistake the men had come for anything but a brawl. Their promised retribution so powerful it swiped the oxygen out of the room.

Grigori and a wall of his men met them inside.

They shook hands. Keeping it real.

"Shall we?" he spoke first. And with a nod, Capone dragged their man, bloodied and broken, from the back and stood at Rider's left side, keeping his gun hand free. He didn't trust any of the men in front of him. "My boy for yours."

"Ah, you have made a mess of Yegor. Impressive. I think I can raise you, however."

As that, from a back room two made men held Grinder under each armpit.

Fucks sake. He looked dead and everything in Rider turned cold.

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