Page 1 of Filthy Savage
Axe
I takea seat and slowly turn my black leather swivel chair in our clubhouse meeting room. It’s too fucking early for this shit. Silas, our MC president, didn’t even call this meeting. His old lady, Sabrina did. And for a reason I already know will piss me off. I could be getting a couple more hours of shuteye and instead, I’m here, about to engage in a discussion we’ve already had a few times.
Si smooths back his shoulder length jet black hair and takes his seat at the head of the table, his ice blue eyes landing on me first, as though to warn me to watch what I say. Sabrina sits at his right and spreads out the armful of files she brought with her. Tate, Cole and Dean stroll in at the same time, and they all look from Si to Sabrina to the files on the table, then to me. We’re all thinking the same thing, but sometimes, I’m the only one who has the balls to speak up. Si used to appreciate that shit about me. Now, not so much. Not with Sabrina in his ear.
It’s not that I dislike the woman. She’s from good stock, with solid ties to the Italian mob, yet as straight-laced as they come. She even has an education in everything law-related. And sure, the brunette has been good for Si. In a lot of ways, she’s also helped to clear a path for our Satan’s Saints MC to go from outlaw motorcycle club to engaging in mostly legitimate business dealings. Mostly. But there’s a limit to how much change anyone can handle in a short time. A rubber band can only stretch so much before it breaks, and when it does, the sting from its recoil is pretty fucking painful, if you’re not ready.
Reaching my arms up, I lace my fingers together behind my head. I won’t sweat this meeting. I’m still pretty zoned out from a long night of poker and drinking with my brothers. So today, if Si wants his old lady to lead us all around by the balls, he can go right ahead.
Within reason.
Except, within twenty minutes of the meeting start time, I’ve changed my mind. Someone needs to object to this crap. No one does, though, and at the end of it, Tate, Cole, and Dean make tracks faster than two shakes of a whore’s tail.
Whatever. Deciding to deal with this later, I drag my swivel chair backward and jump out of my seat. This meeting is over as far as I see it, but it seems like Si and Sabrina have other plans for me. It doesn’t help that Si’s old lady, Sabrina, keeps pushing one particularly fucked up issue too. What they’ve just proposed to me from their seats across the clubhouse boardroom table is ludicrous.
“Security clearance, my ass,” I tell them. “We have no business shelling out money and time to bid for government security gigs that we have no chance in hell of winning.”
“Knightsbridge Protection and Securitydoeshave a chance,” Sabrina says firmly. “We’re on their shortlist, and it’s the third round of the selection process.”
I scratch my beard as I consider how to tackle this situation without getting into a screaming match with Silas while Sabrina is in the room. If Si hadn’t practically dragged me out of bed at seven this morning for a meeting that so far is a waste of time, I would have shaved by now, and I’d have coffee in my hand—the two morning rituals that help me think more clearly.
“The thing is, we’ve made it to the third round of other contract bids before. Four or five times, if I remember correctly. We didn’t win any of those gigs. Not even one.”
“True,” Sabrina agrees. “Still, that doesn’t mean we should stop trying.”
“I get that part, but with all these talks with the Los Diablos and the Mongols MC, time is tight. Think of it this way. We have a horde of extra clientele for the personal protection side of the business. We’re not hurting for money, and there’s a shitload of gigs we passed up that we should’ve accepted. Those jobs didn’t need clearances. Like those protection jobs Jordan Bain told us about. We took two, and turned away two or three. I still don’t know why. The way I see it, leaving a potential client on the lurch should never happen. Those referrals will just dry up.”
“Hang on, Axe,” Sabrina says, leaning forward. “Jordan’s my closest friend. Do you think it was easy for me to tell him no? The fact is those jobs we turned down were not a fit.”
“Why not?”
“You fucking know why,” Silas shouts. “Read my lips, Axe. We’renotproviding daytime security to power brokers trying to keep a low profile. Not Vincent Belmont, not anyone. We’re not taking on anyone contentious, period.”
“Fuck, how many times do I have to tell you that they’re not all evil soul-sucking parasites?”
Silas stares at me with a threatening look in his eyes that tells me his patience is wearing thin. “Just because your best friend is one of few big shots who doesn’t prey on other people’s tragedies, that doesn’t mean we’ll start catering to them.”
“Whatever. In any case, I don’t see how we’ll swing the security clearances. Some of us have done time.”
Silas shakes his head and folds his arms across his chest. “Not buying it. Your record is squeaky clean, Axe. Don’t try to feed me that bullshit. Why don’t you tell us what’s the real issue here?”
Scowling, I head to the door. “I need coffee in me before I can continue, and not that weak, burned as fuck crap we have at the bar. Si, if you and Sabrina feel we can make it, I’m behind you one hundred percent. Just don’t put my name down as a team member on your candidate list. They’ll smell me from a mile away. I don’t want to be the weak link here.”
Silas swivels his chair to face me at the door. “Good thing I didn’t bring up the psychological evaluation, huh?” he says, eyes on me but clearly speaking to his woman.
“Probably,” Sabrina agrees. “You think he’ll agree to it?”
“I told you he wouldn’t be up for this,” Silas answers.
“Dudes. I’m standing right here. And no. Just no. I am not subjecting myself to a psychological evaluation with some shrink who’ll want to make me talk about my feelings. Get another pansy.”
“Who then? We can’t send Tate. He’s certifiable. Cole’s done time, so he’s out. That leaves you and me.”
“Well you’re right about Tate and Cole,” I agree. “Though Tate would probably kill to get on these gigs, with all the money he’s looking to save for Aiden’s college fund.”
“The kid ain’t even a year old,” Silas adds. “Isn’t this a little early for going all out?”
“Try to tell him that. He’ll bite your head off. Anyhow, back to this question. We’ve got Dean.”
