Page 98 of Marcus: Sins of the Father

“Um, he has no brains and lives with his mommy. No, I’ll do the match-making here. If you’re serious,”—she turns her attention to Izzy—“I’ll find you a man, and he’ll definitely not be bland.” She winks. “But I hope you like hot sauce.”

“My kind of girls.” Izzy nods approvingly.

I feel relieved. They do seem to be hitting it off after all.

“I want to help,” Harley pipes up.

We shut down the place, but not before Harley and Melissa have created a list of prospects for Izzy based on the barrage of questions they asked.

“Well, glad we could help pick your candidates for the dating game.” Marcus laughs. “But I think I’m stealing Brandy away now.”

The girls giggle, but send us off.

***

Marcus—

The last couple of days, I’ve heard nothing about Patterson. I think we’re expected to be with the brothers, but they’ve kept us out of the specifics.

The mood in the clubhouse has steadily lost the carefree feeling as the day of the Death Head pickup has inched closer. Based on what I heard Patterson tell Prez, it should be going down tonight.

I feel on edge waiting for the orders to jump. This is the first time I will be knowingly walking into a situation like this. We are bringing the fight. I just hope it doesn’t end in a bloodbath.

I’m standing at the gate with TJ when the unmistakable rumble of motorcycles can be heard approaching, and from the sounds of it, it’s a lot of them.

TJ and I glance at each other. All the brothers are here, so we have no idea who the hell would be rolling up right now.

They come into view, and I see the president of the Dead Souls at the front of the pack. Looks like they’ve arrived for backup. We must be preparing to show full force just who owns this state.

We slide the gates wide, and they roll in. Wyatt nods as he passes.

“Well, I guess shit is going down soon,” TJ calls over the rumble.

“Yeah, wish they’d clue us in a bit,” I grumble, swinging the gate closed behind the last rider.

I’d just closed the gate when another five bikes roll up. It took me a minute to see the patch identifying them as War Dogs.

Cole really called in all the stops. The War Dogs aren’t even one-percenters. They’re basically a riding club.

“What are you guys doing here?” TJ questions.

“Yeah, I guess we rarely get involved in the Dead’s shit, do we?” The man at the front chuckles. “Well, you see, we don’t like sex trafficking going on in our state, so we thought we’d help kick this scum out.”

TJ nods as he pulls the gate open for them to enter.

“Well, damn,” TJ whispers when they pull out of earshot. “I hope they’re still planning to take us along. With these numbers, I can’t imagine the Death Heads doing anything but hightailing it out of our state.”

“I hope you’re right,” I agree.

We stand at the gate as the sun creeps higher into the sky. The clubs have been inside for over an hour. I can only imagine them cramming into church, trying to get a game plan laid out.

Another hour passes before the door swings open. Billy, who’d been inside manning the bar, jogs across the lot straight to us.

“We’re rolling out.” He waves his fingers in a circular motion over his head.

“Now?” TJ asks as the clubhouse door opens again, and men start trooping toward their bikes.

“Yeah, now. I heard someone say we were taking up position early so we don’t run into the Death Heads on the road, plus Cole wants to intersect the shipment before it arrives.”

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