Blaze:Satan's Fury MC- Memphis Chapter (Book 1)(5)

By: L. Wilder

As soon as I parked my bike, I noticed Riggs, one of my younger brothers in the club, standing beside the trailer in a pair of faded jeans and a plain-white t-shirt. The ladies often called him tall, dark and handsome, but I didn’t see it. To me, Riggs was just a smooth-talking pain in the ass. We’d both grown a habit of giving each other a hard time, so I wasn’t surprised when I noticed the shit-eating grin on his face. “Well, good morning, sunshine. I’m glad to see you finally made it.”

“Fuck off, Riggs. I’m twenty minutes early.” Technically, I really was early, but some of the guys had it in their heads that everyone should arrive thirty minutes before the declared time. They thought it made them seem more eager or invested in the club. I thought it was a bunch of bullshit. If you want me somewhere at seven-thirty, then just say seven-thirty. It’s not that fucking difficult. I got off my bike and started towards the others. “Unlike you, I’ve got responsibilities.”

“Hey, I’ve got responsibilities!” he replied sounding defensive.

“Taking your flavor of the week home doesn’t count.”

“That hurts, man.”

“Um-hmm,” I grumbled. “Where’s Gauge? I figured by now he’d be sitting on go.”

“He went to track down Murph. It shouldn’t be much longer.”

I ran my hand over my beard and sighed, wishing I’d taken the time to have one more cup of coffee before I left the house. I knew the guys were starting to get anxious when I heard Runt growl, “Fuck, if I know, but he needs to hurry his ass up. I’m ready to get on the road.”

Just as the words came out of his mouth, the back door flew open, and Gus came barreling out the door with Gauge and Murphy following behind him. He headed over to the trailers to give them the once-over, making sure they were loaded to his liking. When he got to the second trailer, he shouted, “Runt!”

An uneasy look crossed his face as Runt walked over to Gus. “Yeah?”

“Secure that second latch,” he ordered before turning his attention to us. “Just got off the phone with Cotton. I told him we were right on schedule. Let’s keep it that way.”

Cotton was the president of the Fury chapter up in Washington. He and his brothers were responsible for getting the pipeline underway, and there was no way in hell we could let them down. Knowing how important it was, we answered, “Understood.”

Runt eased into the trailer, and once he’d locked the hidden latch, Gus gave his nod of approval. “Looks good. You guys are ready to roll.”

“You heard what the man said.” Murphy motioned his hand forward, “Let’s move it!”

In a matter of seconds, we were on the road and driving towards Louisiana. Thankfully, we got down to Baton Rouge without any complications. When we pulled up to the old, dilapidated warehouse, Riggs jabbed me in the side with his elbow and said, “We’re here.”

“I see that, smart one.” I scowled. “Now, move your ass.”

As soon as we got out of the truck, Murphy went over to talk to Ronin, our distributor. We’d done well when we’d chosen Murph as our sergeant-at-arms. Not only was he a fucking badass who could handle any adversary, he was levelheaded and knew how to work the business side of the club. Murphy was respected by some of the most notorious criminals in the South. Once he and Ronin finished discussing the plan for distribution, Ronin’s guys came over to help us unload. Riggs held the trailer door open while I led the two mares over to the side of the warehouse. With the horses out of the way, Murphy released the hidden compartment, and we started to unload. Ronin motioned us over to the backside of the barge and shouted, “Over here, guys.”

He opened the hatch at the bottom of the grain container, and we stashed our crates in the space hidden beneath it, which would be completely concealed once it was filled. At this point, we’d all broken out in a sweat. As we headed back to the truck, Riggs wiped his brow as he complained, “It’s hotter’n blue blazes out here.”

“It’s this fucking humidity,” Lowball grumbled. He’d patched in a few months back, and over the past year, he’d proven himself to be a real asset to the club. Yeah, Lowball looked like the rest of our motley crew, every bit rough around the edges, but he was actually really fucking smart and had helped me a lot at the garage. He ran his fingers through his dark hair and said, “Makes me thirsty for a cold beer.”