I jam the note in my pocket and turn back to where Ty’s still holding the door open. “You going to share what’s going on?” he calls out as we approach.
“Doin’ this the quiet way has just become redundant,” King says, passing Ty. “Things are about to get real fuckin’ busy around here.” He cups his hands around his mouth as we all enter the common room. “Church, fuckers! Officers have got two minutes to get their asses in there!”
“What the hell’s happened?” Ty asks again.
I turn and look at him, and at the men bee-lining for the meeting room. “It’s a long story and I don’t really have time to explain, brother, but I think you’re about to find out anyway.” I tip my head toward the gathering committee. “Come on. Let’s go work this shit out once and for all so we can both get back to livin’ a life we fuckin’ deserve for a change.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
King throws his feet up on the table in what I’ve come to know as his signature move for ‘let’s kick this off’. Callum shuts the door and takes his seat beside King. Every man in the room is silent, waiting on the meaning of the impromptu session.
“Best-laid plans never work out that way,” King starts. “We all know this. We also know that doin’ shit on the quiet hardly ever works out, either. So it should come as no surprise to you lot that the initial plan to bleed Eddie’s dealers from under him to use for our own advantage hasn’t worked. We’ve also got new complications,” he announces. A murmur circles the table. “Apparently our family isn’t big enough as it is, so we’re yet again goin’ in to help out a friend.” King nods to Vince, giving him the go ahead.
“This got something to do with Tuck bein’ here and young Bronx looking like a startled deer over there?”
“Everything to do with that,” King says. “Tuck’s daughter runs with Eddie’s crew, a discovery we made thanks to our own Casanova here, Bronx.” He gestures to Harris and I in turn. “‘So what?’ you might ask. ‘She ain’t part of our crew, so what’s it got to do with us?’” He chuckles sardonically. “As usual, everything. She’s gone runnin’ back to Eddie and her ex-boyfriend . . . he is an ex now, right?”
I nod.
“Her ex-boyfriend,” King continues, “to try and shift the heat off us. They know we’re involved, thanks to her decision to seek our help trackin’ down Tuck, and she thinks she can do somethin’—God knows what—to make them let that go. What the girl is yet to realize is that men like Eddie don’t let shit like that go. We know that”—the men at the table murmur in agreement—“but she don’t. Our girl Ryan, has, to put it simply, gone runnin’ back to her executioner.” He scrubs his hands over his head before carrying on. “Now, for reasons I won’t go into, Tuck doesn’t need her death on his conscience right now. So, get ready to saddle up, boys, because we’re goin’ to collect.” He nods to Callum.
“Excuse any disrespect,” he says, “but what about our problem? We’ve still got a fuckload of cash to pay the Koreans, and if I’m not mistaken, no way to quickly do it now. What the fuck do we owe the Breed?” He lifts his hand to Harris, indicating no harm.
Harris nods his acknowledgment.
“Some of you may know that Tuck was a prospect here for a long time,” King explains. “Apex fucked him over, to put it bluntly. The whole reason why our clubs don’t get on is because of that. Apex is dead, so we move on. There’s no heat between Tuck and I, so it’s time we buried this fuckin’ shit and started workin’ together instead of runnin’ around cuttin’ of our noses to spite our face.”
Another murmur sweeps the room, dying off as Harris clears his throat. “I’m goin’ to cut it straight for you lot,” he says. “I’m a dyin’ man.” A few of the Saints drop their heads in a sign of respect. “The only thing I want to be sure of before I go is that my baby girl will be safe and happy.” He turns his head, looking me dead in the eye. “And that’s here with you.”
“Share the sentiment, brother,” I assure him.
He nods and turns his attention back to the head of the table.
“Part two of the deal,” King says. “It’s okay with all of you bastards if I bring in non-officers?”
The table nods in acknowledgement, and King rises to open the door, calling out across the common room to Harris’ men. The guys walk in, nodding to the group, and shut the door.
“This shit needs to stop here, and today,” King says, leaning his fists on the tabletop where he stands beside his seat, “I propose we split our resources down the middle and attack both heads of the serpent.”
Harris frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.
“First part is the job for us,” King tells him. “We’ll head in and get Ryan, takin’ down Eddie while we’re there. No point startin’ bloodshed over there if we aren’t going to do the whole job.” He straightens and mirrors Harris, his arms folded over his chest. “Second part’s yours. While we’re knockin’ on Eddie’s door, I need you to take down Carlos. It’s not goin’ to be easy, and I won’t promise that all of us will be here to celebrate tomorrow, but sometimes a man’s just gotta do the thing he fears the most and fuckin’ face his demons head on.”
All eyes dart between the two presidents, waiting on the answer. Something passes between the two men, a calm understanding before Harris pulls in a heavy breath and frowns. “I understand the sentiment behind this, kid, but what you think’s goin’ to happen when they’re both bled out? You’re talkin’ about throwing not one, but two outfits into upheaval.”
“Well aware,” King states.
“Eddie might be a backyard player, only startin’ out in the grand scheme of things, but you’re askin’ me to take down one of the top cartel bosses in the country.”
“Sure am. I never said it would be an easy job,” King explains, “but that asshole has to go. Yes, as soon as he falls there’ll be another opportunist there to take his place, but fuck it all, Harris—I don’t care. They can run their drugs wherever the fuck they want as long as they keep us the fuck out of it.”
“You let an asshole from the same syndicate take the top spot, and you’re back to square one,” Harris explains. “What you think the first thing on their agenda’s gonna be?”
King sags into his seat. “Fuck, you’re right.”
“Damn straight I am. I’ve been at this a lot longer than you, boy. Been on both sides of these kinds of wars, and I’m tellin’ you that if you knock off Eddie and Carlos without a replacement in mind, you’ll be facing gunfire from both sides when they regroup behind a new leader.”
“What do you suggest?” King asks. “Pick the candidate? Pay them for our security?”
Harris chuckles. “You know as well as I do there ain’t enough in either of our kitties to do that.”
“So?”
“Put your own people in there,” Harris explains. “Make the whole fuckin’ thing mass-managed between the Saints and the Breed.”
Discussions break out amongst the men in the room, the volume steadily rising as they go on. I can see Harris’ point, and he has a good solution, but shit, that’s going to be hard. He’s asking two clubs who previously kept a respectable distance from one another to not only go to war together, but to work as one afterward. He’s also asking a club that prided itself on running a clean operation to take on the role of one of America’s largest drug distributers.
He’s asking a lot.
King slams his fist down on the table repeatedly until the room goes quiet. He locks his gaze to Harris, frowning. “What you’re proposing is fuckin’ dangerous.”
“So is going to war, taking out the generals, and expectin’ the army not to shoot you in the back while you run back to your camp to hide.”
“I’m opening the floor on this,” King announces to the table. “What’s everyone’s thoughts?”
A roar of protests and support go up, the points made getting lost in the din that fills the room.