Page 108 of Rags's Awakening
“What time do we roll?” Gopher said.
“Eight o’clock. Besides the brothers I named who’ll be staying to clean things up, I need eight more.”
Every member raised an arm. Banger pushed to his feet, pride radiating off him. Hawk nodded, then cleared his throat. “Good to see the support, everyone’s support, but we gotta keep some brothers here to make sure all’s good on our turf.”
The Insurgents never left their clubhouse unmanned, no matter what was going down.
“Banger and I will decide who’s riding out with us tonight. Just know that we appreciate your asses, okay?”
Chuckles and guffaws ricocheted around the room.
“Moving on to another pain in the ass, we got some dirtbags moving in on our loan servicing business. They’re undercutting our interest rate and hitting up our existing customers with cut-rate or no interest to reel ’em in. A couple of customers bit, only to come crawling back, asking for help ’cause the fuckers jacked the rates sky-high and threatened their families.”
“We know they’re damn pussies pulling that kind of shit,” Puck said. “It’s one thing to teach a lesson to a man, but going after his ol’ lady and kids? Fuck that.”
“Exactly. They’re also getting the badges interested in the whole process, which means they’re sniffing around us. We don’t like that,” Hawk said.
“Any idea who these idiots are?” Rags asked.
“Not really, but I’ve got a feeling the Devil’s Reign aren’t involved with this. They’ve taken a few of our customers away, but what’s going on with the drop in our revenue points to a bigger scheme, a bigger outfit. At this point, I’m not even sure if it’s one guy in charge or a few. I know there’s more than onehassling our customers. Could be working for the head bastard,” Hawk said.
“Once we’re done with the Devil’s Reign, we’ll focus on figuring out who’s muscling into Insurgents’ turf. Might be smart to grab one of the officers from this wannabe one-percenter club tonight. Bring him back here and persuade him to talk,” Banger said.
“If they’re involved,” Hawk said. “I’ll know tonight. And if the Devil’s Reign are tied in, we’re snagging their president and treasurer.”
Banger handed a stack of paper to Hubcap, the treasurer. “What’s being passed around is the diagram of the Devil’s Reign’s clubhouse. Hawk put this together, so he can talk you through it.”
Rags glanced at the target template, recognizing the points of entry from when he’d been on reconnaissance.
Hawk set an enlarged copy of the diagram on an easel. “This is nothing new to you. The tactical sketch shows avenues of approach, points of entry, and where some of you will be positioned for backup.”
Since the vice president was a former Marine reconnaissance operator, it came as no surprise to Rags, or any of them, that the plan to stomp out the Devil’s Reign came with strategy and precision. Hawk’s discipline and training made the Insurgents a formidable force. They never executed a mission haphazardly and were rarely caught off guard. His plans started long before the first punch was thrown.
After the details were covered and questions answered, Banger brought the gavel down, signaling church was over. The brothers would head to the main room, talk shit, knock back a couple of shots, but their minds were already on the coming strike.
Chairs scraped and boots thudded across the linoleum floor as the men filed out.
“You pumped about tonight?” Rock asked, falling in step with Rags.
“Yeah. It’s been building. Either these assholes got a death wish or they’re stupid as hell,” Rags said.
“They’re dumb as fuck,” Throttle muttered behind them.
“They don’t get what a one-percenter club means,” Puck said, shaking his head. “They think it’s just a bottom rocker and some patches. Stupid fucks.”
“Rags.”
He slowed down and glanced over his shoulder. Hawk was approaching. “Yeah?”
“I’ll meet you in my office.”
“Okay.”
“What’s that about?” Throttle asked. “I thought we covered everything.”
Rags shrugged. “See you in a few.”
He headed down the hallway, stepped into Hawk’s office, and dropped into the leather chair. His eyes landed on the framed photo of Cara, Hawk’s ol’ lady, on the corner of the desk. More pictures showed Hawk’s children and their dogs, a Golden Retriever and an apricot cockapoo. Rags smirked, remembering the fit Hawk had thrown when his family brought home that teddy bear-like bundle of fluff; he didn’t know what to do with it.
