Page 67 of Micro
“I just did. I wasn’t tech, and that guy’s dead now, so if your guy can’t get into his shit, you’re flying blind.” He stood up, clearly thinking this shit was done and finished.
“You got somewhere to be?”
“I can be of more use out there right now. You’ve got a pissed off bunch of bikers, and nobody keeping an eye on them.”
I let him leave, leaning forward and tapping my forehead against the table surface.
“We’re fucked. This isn’t going to work.”
“Hey, look at me. Reacher and Stitch think you can do this, so you have to believe that they know what they’re talking about.”
“Yeah, or they know this is a fucking doomed venture, so they’re keeping their hands clean while getting rid of the trash, akame.”
Rumbling of incoming motorbikes had us both up and leaving the small meeting room, to go out and meet an incoming Phoenix contingent, and the leftover Rogues were already cursing at them.
“Rocket, Stag, welcome. Who the fuck’s that with you?” I asked, as I joined them at their rides, and they both dismounted, tossing their backpacks on the ground. I hadn’t expected any of them for a few days, but maybe having them here immediately would be a good thing. Unless they added to my troubles instead of improving them. Time would tell.
“Grease. You knew he was coming, right?” Stag asked, jerking a thumb at the mafia bastard, as he slowly parked up his ride, and ignored me.
“Great. That bell-end.”
Surprisingly, Stag seemed fairly welcoming, and greeted me like a friend before he buggered off to look for a room, but Rocket was a little less friendly.
“Hey, man, thanks for being here.”
He simply lifted an eyebrow at me.
“I’m here because I needed a change of scenery. I’m not here for you. I’m here for them. I owe you nothing.”
Nice. So this club hates me, and my old brothers hate me, and why the fuck do Reacher and Stitch think there’s a chance in hell that this won’t go south?
“Fair enough. Go settle in, there are plenty of spare rooms.” We’d had them cleaned out, once the dead were removed, but the place was run down and needed upkeep. I guess the Rogues had spent more time fucking and fighting, than making sure their fucking roof would stay up.
“Eat me,” Rocket hissed, as he shoved his way past me, and a few of the Rogues laughed. I turned, grabbed the back of Rocket’s cut, dragging him toward me, and shoved him down on the ground.
“The fuck do you think you are? This is my club now. I’m your President now, and you’ll fucking show me some respect. You wanna fight this shit out, let’s get it done.”
Rocket scrambled up again, and brushed dust off his cut as he glared at me.
“Sorry,Pres. My bad. Can I go now?” Whoa, I really thought he’d fight. In fact, I was kinda counting on it. It’d help relieve my stress, and show the Rogues that I wasn’t a pussy they could easily overpower.
“Get the fuck outta my sight,” I growled at him, as Grease hauled his own bag up onto his shoulder, and started in my direction. I opened my mouth to say hi, and his fist hit me square in the face, knocking me back onto my ass. The fucker towered over me, and smirked.
“Nice to see ya, Micro. You’re still a cunt, I see.”
I got up and he let me, but he wasn’t backing down, and now I was looking like the weak link here.
“Wasn’t expecting a sucker-punch from you, dickhead. Guess you know you can’t take me if I have time to prepare.”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Where do you want me to set up?”
“Why don’t you turn right around, and get the fuck off my property, assface?”
Grease grinned, looking around us at the audience gathering to watch our showdown.
“You need me, and you know it. You had that coming, but I’m done now. I ain’t got no beef with ya.”
I rubbed my jaw, easing it back and forth, after taking that unexpected hit.
