Page 5 of Bad Luck, Hard Love
“You know why I’m here,” I say, trying to cut through the tension in the air.
“Don’t believe I do,” he shrugs. “We have rules about drop-ins, and your club president knows that. If you’re here on official business, we should have been notified.”
“That's the problem, Ace. We've been trying to notify you for weeks.” I lean forward, matching his intensity. “Calls are not getting answered. Messages ignored. You know how Raze feels about that kind of disrespect.”
The club girl places a whiskey in front of me. I don't touch it. Rule number one when dealing with a chapter that's gone dark: don't drink what you haven't seen poured.
Ace's weathered face cracks into something between a smirk and a snarl. “Disrespect? That’s what you call it?” He takes a long pull from his beer. “Maybe we've been busy handling our own shit. Vegas doesn't run on Upland's schedule.”
The room has grown quieter, I notice. The scattered members have shifted positions, forming a loose circle around us. Not yet threatening, but a message, nonetheless.
“Territory disputes don't pause for courtesy calls,” I counter, watching his reaction carefully. It's a shot in the dark but Raze suspects the Vegas chapter might be pushing boundaries with neighboring clubs and making deals that go against his new vision for the club.
“You're making assumptions, Thor. Dangerous thing to do in another man's house.”
“Then set me straight.” I spread my hands on the table. “What's so important that the mother chapter gets ghosted for months? What's happening in Vegas that Raze shouldn't know about?”
Ace's jaw tightens, a muscle working beneath his weathered skin. The room feels like it's closing in, the air thick with tension and cigarette smoke.
“You got some balls on you, kid.” He leans back, sizing me up like I'm a hand he's not sure how to play. “Maybe that's why Raze sent you instead of coming himself. Always did like to use other people to do his dirty work.”
I keep my face neutral despite the insult to our president. This isn't about defending Raze's honor. It's about figuring out what's rotting in Vegas.
“The way I see it. We're all Heaven's Rejects. One club. Different chapters, same colors.” I tap my cut where our emblem sits. “That means we share information. That means we don't go dark on each other.”
One of Ace's men steps closer, a bull-necked enforcer with knuckles that look like they've seen more faces than a barber. “Watch your mouth, road captain. You ain't in Upland anymore.”
Ace raises a hand, silencing him without looking away from me. “Striker, give us some space.”
The enforcer backs off, but not before giving me a look that promises we're not done.
“You want straight talk? How about we just get to the point? You’re here to see if we’re planning a hostile takeover of your chapter,” Ace says bluntly. “Well, I’ll save you the trouble. We’re not.”
“Then what’s going on here?” I ask, leaning forward. “Why the radio silence from you guys?”
Ace hesitates, then leans back in his chair. “Raze’s decision to go straight. Can’t say I agree with turning our back on the club’s history to play happy family. It might work for your chapter, but the rest of us have deals in places we have to honor.”
“What kind of deals?”
“None that concern you or your chapter, pup.” He takes a drag off his beer. “I think it’s best if you and your club president walk away. We wouldn’t want to soil that new, squeaky clean reputation that prospect of yours bought you, now would we?”
“That so?”
Ace shakes his head, “We didn’t need your chapter before, and we don’t now.”
I lean back in my chair and rub my chin, deep in thought. “Raze feels differently about that.”
“He can take his opinions and shove them up his ass for all I care.”
I can see a flicker of something in Ace’s eye before he quickly masks it. He’s hiding something from me. Whether it’s a plan to take over the mother chapter or something else, I’m determined to find out.
“His opinions are worth more than that. You know it, and I know it.”
“Money is worth more than his word these days. We have things in the works here that can’t be stopped.”
“Like what?”
“Again, none of your concern, pretty boy.” He slides from his chair. The metal legs scrape against the wooden floor with a screech.
