Page 3 of Patchover Fright Night
Start as you meanto go on, right? Patchover day was all planned, and yet little things were niggling at me. Security was an issue, and I was still working on details that the others seemed to be not so fucking bothered by. Take, for instance, the delivery of food that came earlier. Dumped at the fucking gates, and left unattended for several minutes. Doesn’t sound like a big deal, right? But here’s the thing. It takes seconds… SECONDS… Mere seconds to mess with stuff, and risk people’s safety. Wanna know how I know this? I’m a mafia guy, and I know this shit happens.
Hell, at one point, when Don Rossi was being targeted by someone, he had a fucking taster for his food, and thank fuck it wasn’t me, because one guy died. That’s what happens when your food isn’t protected from the fucking source to the plate.
“Seriously, nobody thought this was a big deal?” I snapped at Harley, as we checked the cartons, and inspected the seals on them.
“It was like five minutes, man, will you relax?”
Relax. Lucky him, if relaxing was his fucking go-to response in a situation like this. In a few hours, we’d have all the big cheeses from this club in one place, and if anyone thought there wasn’t a risk of someone attacking them, then they’d be the first to die. Me? I’m fucking thorough. I sent Harley and Stag, and a few of the others, to the kitchen with the boxes, since they looked untouched, but I also warned them to keep them sealed until I checked the cameras. It’s calledsafety, and you’d think one of these fuckers would have their finger on the fucking pulse, right?
“Yo, we’re just leaving, what’s up?” I’d dialled Ice as I walked to my tech office, and locked the door behind me.
“I’m surrounded by fucking idiots is what’s up. Tell me you guys are taking precautions at your end.”
He was quiet for a moment, and I wondered if the call had dropped. I really wasn’t looking to be edged by his response right now.
“Okay, I debated making some dumbass joke about condoms, but I just realised you’re serious. What’s going on?Yo, VP?I’m just gonna be a minute.” I heard Stitch complaining in the background, but I ignored him, because Ice would get this. He was like me in so many ways.
“The guys here are so fucking slack, I swear to god, a team of assassins could just walk right in and kill us all.” I started flicking through screens, finding the camera feed for the gate, and winding it back to before the delivery van appeared. I went back another half hour or so, and watched it at a medium speed, looking for anyone lurking outside.
“Wait, hold up, man. Assassins?! What the fuck kinda deal are you expecting? It’s just a patchover. We’re all gonna be there, but… Grease, what’s going through your head right now?”
I couldn’t explain it, but something was wrong, and I didn’t think it was the likelihood of a certain pain in my ass returning to bust my chops. Truth be told, I’d enjoyed fucking her, andI’d happily do it again, but she wasn’t the problem right now. Everything was going too smoothly. That was it. This wasn’t the mafia, and shit never went like clockwork, so when it seemed to be, I guess it made me edgy.
“Fuck me. I’m losing my mind, man. Ignore me. Safe travels, and I’ll see you when you get here.”
I hung up the phone, amid grumbling from Ice, and watched the video of the delivery, right up until I started checking the boxes. Nobody touched a thing. I dropped heavily into the chair, and tipped my head back to stare at the grubby ceiling. Maybe what I was feeling was the impending end of my fucking happiness once again.
The patchover was happening, and that meant my time here was nearly over. Once more I’d have to put Grease on a shelf, and be Tesio again. I couldn’t put into words how much I wished that I could just fucking stay. To let this be my life. There was no way Don Rossi would let me go though. You know how you leave the mafia?In a fucking bag.
Ice
Iswear, sometimes itseemed like Grease’s fucking head was in the clouds. He was expecting some kind of assassin shit today? We were a simple biker club. We didn’t have those kinds of enemies, not now Micro was being a good boy. And, by the way, I still wasn’t convinced of that, no matter how much Lissa tried to talk him up. Once a psycho, always a psycho. Once a fucking traitor to his colours, always a fucking traitor. Istill mostly wished we’d killed him, but for some reason Lissa seemed happy getting to know him, and he hadn’t put a foot out of line as far as I’d heard. I guess the events of today would either prove or disprove that, once and for all. If it all went smoothly, maybe he wasn’t still a fucking snake in the grass. If not, well, I wouldn’t let him survive hurting Lissa twice.
Oh, and he hadn’t heeded Reacher’s advice about not fucking in his office, but hell, I was getting used to checking with my ears first, so I didn’t see anything I’d see in my fucking nightmares later.
“The gates were open. Why were the fucking gates open already?” Stitch complained loudly, as he rested his bike and stepped off. We’d parked just inside the boundaries of the soon-to-be Phoenix MC Hampshire Chapter club grounds, and he was right. Especially after Grease’s little rant earlier. There should have been a prospect waiting to let us in. Paranoid or not, that was just the fucking way it worked.
“I’ll take it up with the fuckinginterimpresident,” Stitch barked, heading straight for the small building that housed the President’s office, Grease’s office, and a small lounge. The place was pretty shitty, if I’m honest. A large plot of land, containing several large buildings, which were more like converted barns, to be honest. One was the building Stitch was marching towards, the second was a bunkhouse kinda building, and the next was smaller still, and used for meetings, aka ‘Church’, and then there was the storage building. There were plans to build a second bunkhouse, and president’s quarters, because apparently even an interim president, who’s a total prick, should have a swanky room for himself.
Fucking cunt.
I saw him appear from the building, just as Stitch reached it, and started bitching at him about the gates, even bothering to point at them, like the dipshit didn’t know what gates were.
He looked even more shaggy haired than the last time I’d seen him, and if he thought his newBon Jovihairdo covered up the monster beneath, he was fucking wrong.
“Stitch seems uptight, man,” Ryder said, as he watched Tori heading over with the other old ladies, to meet up with Sophie, the aforementioned cunt’s old lady. Unofficially, of course. She was his wife though, and who’d choose that asshole? I still hadn’t figured that part out.
“Cammy’s getting close to her due date, man, and he doesn’t like her being in the van instead of on his ride.”
I mean, I could understand that. If Lissa ever wanted babies, I’d feel the same when she couldn’t ride with me. It still surprised me that I could ride now, but Doc had been working on solutions for my shoulder injury, including some specific PT that he was enforcing on me, and although I’d never admit it to his face, it was definitely making a difference. Who knew that an injury like that changed the way you used your muscles, and caused additional issues? Well, me now.
“He could have stayed in the van with her,” I said snidely and, after a split second of silence, we both burst out laughing, because like fuck he would. A patchover was a big deal, and as VP of the flagship club, and let’s be honest, this one too, he had to show up like a boss, astride his fucking motorcycle, and yeah, I would have too, I guess.
“I should go find Grease, and see what’s shaking. He was acting weird earlier, thinking something nefarious was gonna happen here.”
Ryder caught my arm, a frown creasing his forehead at my words.
“Wait. He thinks something’s up?”
