Dirty Weekends (The Weekends Duet, #2 - MC Romance)

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24. Property of Don


Don


“They’re gone and they know we’re after them. We’re fucked,”

“Nothing makes sense. Why would they keep Crey alive? Nearly a week has gone by and we’ve heard nothing.”

More voices continued to spill into the conversation, creating a harmonious hum around the room. Muerte held up his hand, commanding silence from not only the MC members from the Miami chapter, but from those from other states.

“My guess is they’re re-strategizing which is what we need to do,” he said. “We’ve got the backing of other chapters in The Angel’s Demons MC. Thank you for coming.”

One by one, the Miami chapter voiced their thanks. I held a cigarette to my lips and watched the ember ends brighten to amber as I inhaled. Smoke fled my lips in rapidly as I said. “Thanks for saving our asses.”

Chuckles filled the room. All except Muerte’s. I took another drag of my cigarette.

“What’s up with this gang? What are they called? Serpents?” Dandelion, or ‘Lion’ as most of us called him. Not because we named him; he promised to kick our asses if we spoke his full name. “A bit generic don’t you think?”

“Their name isn’t our problem,” Muerte said. “But we’re gonna have to up our defences. We might have to end in another lockdown if we can’t figure shit out.”

“For our women and children, yes, but we can’t keep living in fear,” Tennessee said, clearly frustrated from the way snuffed out the butt of his cigarette. “I know we don’t want to admit it but we’re gonna need more than Knox’s help. And I mean FBI status.”

The room fell quiet. Tennessee had a point; nobody wanted to admit the truth. We couldn’t keep playing vigilante when our tactics ain’t working. It maybe it was difficult to admit, but we underestimated them and taking them out wouldn’t be as easy as swatting a fly.

“I agree,” I spoke after a moment of silence. “We act as if we’ve got something to hide. The Angel’s Demons has been clean for nearly two decades. Anything that would tie us to the past is gone. What are we scared for?”

Returning my cigarette to my lips, I glanced around the room. For the longest time, nobody said anything. Not because they didn’t agree. I could see their minds working. The Miami members sat around the table where we did our usual meeting at Red Devils. Other members from other chapters— Austin, New Orleans and the Birmingham chapters—all sat around us. Some sat in a single row in front of the bar. Some stood while others sat on chairs away from our main table.

“Fair point,” one of the New Orleans members said. Tommy. “Shit, did you guys report the incident? Your police friend should’ve help you with that at least.”

“The incident has been reported,” Muerte commented while searching the room. “So that’s it? We have the FBI involved?”

“We’re out of our depths here. They’ve got more resourced than we’ll ever have. I’ll get in touch with Knox since he has the connections,” I said, blowing out another round of smoke. “But if the FBI get involved, that means we’re out. We gotta let the authorities do what they need to do.”

It may be difficult for us, as an MC, to give control to someone else. With years of scepticism when it came to the police, we were so used to dealing with out own shit. It wouldn’t be easy letting the FBI come close, considering some of us had criminal records from the past.

“Is that all?” Muerte asked. When no one responded, he hit the gavel, ending our meeting. “Alright. Don, you call Knox and let him know.”

“Sure thing,” I said, rising to my feet the same time as everyone else.

Some guys went outside while others lingering around the table. Talking, grabbing a bear— by themselves because Honey spent most of her time in the hospital— or choosing to play pool. With the cigarette hanging from my mouth, I was searching through my phone when someone called my name.

“Hey, Don, some girl is out front looking for you,”

“Who’s the girl?” I asked, gaze down and distracted until he answered.

“Said she’s yours, Vanessa?”

I glanced up, meeting Tommy’s curious eyes. Instead of answering his unspoken question about Vanessa, I stalked past him and headed towards the entrance of Red Devils. Vanessa stood by the threshold, arms folded to fight off the evening chill.

“Don,” she whispered. Her eyes shifted to someone behind me. I followed her gaze. Tommy stood a couple of steps behind me, unapologetic with his observations of the both of us. Since he was shorter than me, around 5’7, I had to look down at him.

“Thanks, Tommy, you can leave,”

He left without another word. The boy was always weird. He probably thought he was some sort of fly on the wall but it never worked out.

“Bambi,” I said, my steps eating the distance between us. With her face in my hands, I kissed her forehead. “What are you—”

“We need to talk,” she said. Blinking, I took a couple of steps back to get a better view of her. Judging by her face alone, something was wrong and fuck I couldn’t help but think of the worse. Before I could say anything, she cut in. “Nothing serious. Just… can we go inside?”

“Okay,” I answered slowly, searching her face for more answers. Something moved in her hands and I dropped my gaze. A piece of paper? “What’s that?”

“A letter from my dad,” she said. Her voice was calm despite how shocking her words were. Taking in the surprise on my face, she continued. “It was a part of his will, something he wanted me to read around my twentieth birthday. Although, there is one thing I don’t understand. Neither does Mel.”

At that, I folded my arms and lifted a brow. “Which is?”

Vanessa didn’t respond straight away. Her silence stretched a couple of seconds longer when I realized she was hesitating. Did she lose some sort of property or something? With sympathetic eyes, she whispered. “Mateo was a part of my father’s will.”

What the fuck?

“Come in,” I said, stepping to the side. Vanessa walked in and I followed. The interior was dimly lit with a reddish hue. Spending most of my Friday evenings at Red Devils, I could navigate my way around the bar. Enough that I wouldn’t crash to one of the guys sitting by the bar. Gasping out loud, Vanessa pulled away. I caught her waist before she could fall on her ass.

“Careful there, darlin’. Wouldn’t want a pretty thing like you to get hurt,”

I was too focused on helping Vanessa regain her balance to pinpoint who said that. The metal music blasting through the speakers didn’t help either. But Vanessa was very easy on the eyes like a painting you just can’t help but stare at. In any other situation, knowing that my girl could easily catch the attention of other guys wouldn’t bother me. In some cases, I find it a compliment knowing that she was mine. But with the men lining the bar? I knew these motherfuckers. Seen them in action too. Literally. And I didn’t want any one of them going near her.

I made a mental note for contact the clubs’ seamstress.

“Just gonna walk past without introducing yourself?”

“Fuck off,” I growled over my shoulder, leading Vanessa to the door that read ‘staff only’.

Laughter followed us into the back room. As the door shut close, we were in complete silence.

“Who are they?” She asked distractedly.

“You’ll meet them soon,” I said, nodding to the letter in her hands. “So, how the hell does your dad know mine?”

“My dad was a lawyer. Practised criminal law. From what I read, I think Mateo came to him for help… help from the club,” Vanessa answered while unfolding the letter. “Your dad inherited a property from mine. A cabin a couple of hours outside Miami.”

Holding out my hand, Vanessa handed over the letter. The first page was just a simple outline of what went to who, money distribution etc. I went on to the second page. One thing about Vanessa’s dad, judging by the letter, was he didn’t bullshit. Instead of leaving five to ten pages of the events that happened before his death, he went straight to the point. Didn’t leave much room for an explanation. He was paranoid about something, someone, coming after him. He mentioned the day of my Mateo’s death which surprised me. I checked the dad of when the letter was written.

1st November 2013

“Why would your father write this to you?”

“To let me know his death wasn’t an accident,” I looked at her, shocked by the conclusion she came to but even more when she continued. “And judging by the way he mentioned Mateo’s, neither was his.”

“But how?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “During the early days you had Tennessee watching me, I overheard something I wasn’t supposed to know but…”

“What?”

“They suspected you were a mole.”

If I had a list of words to describe how I felt, shock would be an extreme understatement. I didn’t know if I should feel this way because Vanessa knew more about club business than me or that I never heard a sound about a mole in the club. Not even a haha we thought you were a mole, fucker, but not anymore type of speech. I tried to get myself together but the only two I could say were. “That impossible.”

“I thought the same thing,” Vanessa said in a rush, relieved. “You’ve been riding my Miami to Atlanta. And judging by your behaviour according to Goliath, there was no reason why you could be giving information to a rival.”

Shit. This was fucked up. This was so fucked up.

“Tennessee didn’t believe it. I think that’s why he didn’t pursue it in the end—”

“Who’s they?” I asked, interrupting her.

“What?”

“You said they suspected me. Who was Tennessee talking to?”

A brows furrowed. Confused, Vanessa shook her head. “I don’t know. He never said the other person’s name. I assume it’s someone else in the club but…” Vanessa trailed off, lost for words and shrugged.

“There’s a mole in the club,”

“No, I told you, Tennessee didn’t believe—”

“If there was any speculation in the first place, that means the mole is still out there. I just ain’t a suspect no more.”

It explained why our first plan went to shit. Someone was feeding information to the Serpents and that person was in our meeting for the second plan. Fuck!

“What are we gonna do?”

“You’re doing nothing. I’m gonna figure this out, okay?” I said, reaching for her waist. I pulled her close with a warning looking, knowing damn well she was about to protest. She agreed reluctantly.

“Okay,”




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