Call Me...Vengeance: Book 1 in the Vengeance MC Series (4 page)

I’ve had more time than they have to consider our alternatives, and this is what I’ve come up with.

“You remember, Lord?” I query.

“Yeah, big guy, ran with Black Widows, SoCal chapter a while back. Don’t know what happened to him, but yeah, I remember him,” Fury confirms looking confused.

“During the run we went on to San Diego months back, I bumped into, Lord down at his local afterward. It was a chance meeting, but it was fortuitous, to say the least. According to him, Black Widows are having issues nationwide. He was looking to cut out, join a club that was still operating along the lines of what he patched in for; riding, pussy, and green. We talked, I made the offer that if he could see himself clear of them, we’d talk about him coming on board with us.”

“What’re you thinking, Boss? Informant?” Fury questions.

“That’s about the size of it,” I agree, nodding. “He’s due to black out his ink in four weeks. I’m not saying we make this part of the terms for him to patch in here, or even that I’d give him preferential treatment for doing it, but I think that while he’s still connected to them, we could use him. He might not even be up for it, but it’s worth a shot.”

“Not sure I’m all that fired up to patch in a rat, Boss.”

“Rats inform on the inner workings of their club so another can profit from it some way, Gage,” I growl angrily. “I don’t give a shit how they make their money, where they store their gear, what they do inside their clubhouse. All I want to know is; are they planning on going head-to-head with us, forcing a war?”

“It’s not a bad idea, definitely not your worst, that’s for sure,” Diesel hedges.

“Thanks, asshole. Glad I can still be useful sometimes,” I joke. “Leave it with me. I’ll reach out, see if he’s even interested, and we’ll take it from there. You’re up to speed with where we’re at, now get the fuck back to work,” I finish with a solitary thump of the gavel.

 
d

I might have said I don’t do early mornings but when it comes to business, that’s a whole other story. I’ll drag myself out of bed at the asscrack of dawn when it comes to anything that has the potential to line Vengeance’s pocket. And first on today’s agenda is precisely that.

The club has been dealing with the Vasquez Cartel for going on twenty years, a connection made back when my father was President. And simply put, one I can’t wait to sever like the useless limb it is. While we make a fuck ton of profit off the deals we make with these guy’s, that doesn’t mean putting up with them is worth the trouble. Take now for example.

Turning back to the man who should have my full attention, I assess him critically. In my business knowing your enemy, or in this case, the man trying to negotiate a truckload of semi-automatic weapons could be the difference between life and death. The man sitting across the table from me isn’t what I would have expected when, Fury, my Enforcer told me I’d be meeting with the head honcho of the U.S. arm of the Vasquez Cartel. Probably five-foot-eight, if he’s lucky, pot-bellied and balding, it’s pretty clear he’s not a physical threat, but the men at his back, they most definitely are.

All over six feet and built like gorilla’s, Oscar Vasquez, cousin to drug kingpin, Raul Vasquez, evidently believed sitting down with me would require some serious muscle at his disposal if things went wrong. If I weren't angling for this to be the last deal of its kind Vengeance does, he’d be correct to assume he’d need the six steroid using goons at his back. However, seeing as I’m working to get the club clear of this shit, he’s overestimated the manpower necessary.

“I’m gonna be straight with you, Oscar. You don’t mind if I call you, Oscar do you?” I ask daring him to correct me. When he doesn’t, I inform him of my terms if he wants to do business with us. “I took this meeting with you out of respect, but if you want to do business with us you’ve gotta know, Vengeance isn’t going to be in the game for much longer. This one shipment is all I can offer you. After that, you’ll need to find someone else to fulfill your orders.”

Narrowing his eyes, he smirks.

“You mean to say, you don’t wish to supply us anymore? Surely your club can continue to do business with us at least. We have been a long-standing customer, Jackson. It’s bad business to sever ties such as ours.”

It’s not hard to tell he’s goading me. It’s a tactic to see how committed I am to going legit. One I would have use if I were in his position so I won’t hold it against him.

“Sorry, Oscar. I appreciate your business, but it’s time for my MC to step aside and let some of the others have a taste of the good life. Like I said, I’m happy to take the last order, it’ll be ready for transport next week, but this will be the last one.”

Signaling to the man on his right, Oscar speaks in hushed tones before accepting the briefcase the other man is holding. Placing it on the table between us, Oscar says,

“I believe you will find your regular fee, and an incentive to deliver the goods three days early to the new location inside.”

“What new location,” I growl. “Marcus didn’t say shit about a new drop point, or you needing the shipment early.”

This is what I’m talking about. People are getting more demanding, trying to change the rules, and break agreements regularly these days. The reason, Vengeance hasn’t had a brother do a long stretch in prison is because we play it safe. We might deal with the underbelly of society, but we do it smart. Planned runs, pre-approved drop points, schedules cast in stone. We don’t make changes at the last minute, and we don’t deliver early. Marcus, one of, Oscar’s higher ranking soldiers, the man we usually deal with is lucky he’s not here today, because if he were he’d be answering to my size thirteen boot.

Folding his hands in his lap, Oscar smiles widely, showing off a set of discolored yellow teeth.

“I will speak with, Marcus about his failure to communicate this with you. I can assure you, he will be dealt with appropriately for his mistake.”

“Yeah, that’s great, but it doesn’t change that you’re expecting delivery in seven days and to a location we haven’t had a chance to secure yet, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t. We will be awaiting your men in one week, at that location,” he adds, gesturing to the briefcase. “Or we will see it as an insult to our decades-long business relationship.”

I’m sure he will, I groan internally. The thing with these cartels is; they see every-fucking-thing as an insult. Oscar knew, coming in here, that I wouldn’t go for it. No biker, even if he’s only had his patch for a day, would see this deal for anything other than what it is; bullshit. He’s got me backed into a corner, though. I’d already agree to fill the order before he changed the rules, so I can’t back out now.

Deals like this don’t work the same way as their counterparts in the legitimate business world.  There is no code of honor, no contracts, and no backing out if someone doesn’t stick to what’s been agreed upon. No, in my world you’ve got assholes like this who think they make the rules and can change them whenever the hell they like, which means you’ve always got to be one step ahead of them.

“If what’s in that case isn’t double our usual, we’re gonna have a problem, Oscar,” I hedge knowing it won’t be.

Glaring at me, Oscar tips his hand one card too early. Rule number two; always keep an ace up your sleeve.

“I think you mistake me for someone I am not, Jackson. I am not a fool, but I fear for you that this is what you think. We have been more than generous with our compensation. If the amount enclosed displeases you, I am afraid we will have what you call a; problem.”

I was prepared to take the deal before he issued his idle threat, I’d just wanted to see how far he was willing to go to have his demands met. Like I said; know your enemy. Good old Oscar apparently must really want those guns, or he wouldn’t be willing to risk going to war with us to get them. Because frankly, he knows that what he’ll get threatening an MC President.

Tipping my head toward the case lets, Fury know we’re done here. Sliding it over, Fury flicks it open, nodding his head twice to signal the money’s all there. I take that as my opportunity to put an end to our meeting, standing up and offering my hand to the man to shake.

“Good doing business with you, Oscar. Sorry, we won’t be able to do anymore.” I say unconvincingly.

“Should you reconsider, do not hesitate to contact us. Your fee may not be the same as it is now. However, we trust your club so I’m sure we could come to an agreement that would benefit us both.” Yeah, fuck you too buddy. Not going to happen.

Gripping his hand tighter than is considered friendly, I reply,

“If we do, I’ll get word to you.” There’s no need to tell him he’ll never get that call because he already knows that. So without another word, Fury, Sly, and I turn and walk out of the warehouse.

Straddling our bikes, we watch the six gorilla’s box in their boss, walking him to one of the two SUV’s parked in the empty lot like he’s royalty. Fury waits for them to leave, nothing but tire tracks in the gravel and a cloud dust to prove they were ever here before asking,

“What the fuck was that all about? They’ve never done a last minute switch up before. Never threatened us either.”

“Yeah, well, the word must have gotten around we’re not gonna be in the game for much longer. That was, Oscar playing the only hand he had, Brother. They want to go out on top, and by changing the rules, he believes he’s doing that. Let him have what he thinks is his victory, we’re so close to done it won’t hurt any.”

“What about this drop, though, Boss? Jump’s still on the road for a few more days, so we can’t use him to case this one. Gage’s good, but he’s no, Jump. And Diesel, he’s fucked up over that bitch who left him last month so I don’t know if he’ll be up to it,” Sly states.

He’s not wrong either. Jump, my Road Captain, isn’t due back for close to a week, and my VP, Diesel, hasn’t been himself since the woman he’d been seeing broke it off with him, leaving us short on all fronts.

“Looks like you drew the short straw then, Brother,” I nod at my Intelligence Officer. “You can read a map and ride a bike, you’ll do fine.”

I wouldn’t usually risk a run like this by using a brother who isn’t experienced in the way they work, but Sly’s smart, intuitive, and he can smell a setup from a mile away. I’ve got faith that he’ll get the job done just as well as, Jump would have.

“He’s right, Brother. If there’s anyone I’d trust to do it in, Jump’s absence it’s you. Keep shit on a tight schedule, check the terrain, exits, entry’s, make sure you assign enough brothers to ride 2-2-2-1 formation, and you’re golden,” Fury encourages.

Strapping his helmet on, Sly snorts,

“Thanks, I’ll get on it when I get back to the clubhouse. You riding with us, Boss.”

There’s nothing I’d love more than to be heading home right now, but I’ve still got another stop to make.

“Not me. You and Fury head back, I’ve got to go see a man in, Denver about one of our legit deals. Bring bail if I’m not back in a few hours because this guy is a pain in my ass.”

“Need me with you on this one, Prez?”

“No, Fury, you’re all good, Brother. I’m only half joking about this asshole. I’m only paying him a visit because I’ve had enough of the bullshit stall tactics he’s using. Should be a quick in and out if I’m lucky.” At least, I hope it is, I muse turning over the ignition of my bike.

As my lady roars to life, the power of the 1500cc engine vibrating between my legs, I flick my wrist out signaling they’re free to go. Giving me a two-fingered salute, they accelerate, pipes roaring and take a left on I-95 home. Watching them until they disappear around a wide bend, I suck in a deep breath and then another, preparing myself for the pain in the ass my next meeting is going to be.

The last few weeks I’ve been hauling ass between, Denver and, Furnace, a two-hour ride each way. Usually, I don’t mind riding out, putting some miles beneath my tires, but the reason for my frequent trips out of town lately are what had me seeing red. Lewis Adams, the club's lawyer, located in, Denver, and on call 24/7 for a fuckload of cake, was helping to broker a contract on another garage just on the outskirts of, Boulder. Something I’d been working on getting up and running for months with disappointing results.

Expanding was going to be the only way the club could extricate themselves from drugs and guns entirely. Something I knew, and wanted more than my next breath. We wouldn’t be as cashed up as we are right now, it would take a few years, but we certainly wouldn’t be hurting for green either. Shit, patched members, cut of business was already in the high five figures each month. When we were completely legal, before opening the Boulder expansion, my brothers take would work out to be around thirteen thousand a month.

If the assholes complained when they were making that kind of numbers, I’d actually consider punching them in the fucking throat. Hell, most of his brothers live in the clubhouse, the single ones anyway. They drink the booze and eat the food I send the prospects to get, club whores do their cleaning, cooking, and laundry, and on top of that I pay them a fuck load of cake. What the more could they want? Hell if I know.

But the logistics of the deal on the MC’s end wasn’t the issue. The seller of the property we were buying in, Boulder was. He was dragging ass, so I’d made a personal appearance at today’s meeting in hopes that it would hurry this shit along. Jesus, the look on the guy’s face was priceless when I sat down opposite the table from him. I’m aware I come across as intimidating, but what do people expect? I’m a fucking MC President for Christ’s sake.

Standing at six-foot-four and weighing two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle, the only man who rivals me in height and build is, Diesel. Most of the brothers come close, within forty pounds or so, but lack the bulk I do

“Lewis,” I address our lawyer.

“Jackson, good to see you. I trust your ride here was good?” He doesn’t give a shit either way, so his attempt at making small-talk falls flat.

“I wish I hadn’t needed to make the trip at all, but I’m here now. Let’s see what we can do about moving this shit along, though, I want to get home before I’m too old to ride.”

The fifty-something man with thinning hair across from me scratches the back of his neck, leaning over, he mumbles incoherently to the guy who he’s brought along. I’m assuming it's his lawyer, but I don’t care enough to ask.