Chapter 1—Domino

   

     “Room 212,” the night shift clerk grunts. He might be the peppy type, but not at three in the morning.

     I take the key card he pushes my way over the desk and don’t even bother with my own grunt of acknowledgment back. I’m too damn tired. And cold. Freezing is more like it. When Casper told me I was to come up to this sister club, I didn’t think he meant right then. But sure enough, the second I agreed and was about to walk out the door, he asked when I was going. At the time, I said, “Right after I drink my coffee.” Figured he would have known I was joking. Don’t drink that stuff unless I have to. But the guy didn’t get it. He just patted my back and said he’d tell the guys and get a prospect to help me pack. Fucker didn’t even let me finish the coffee. And yeah, I grabbed one, ’cause I knew it was going to be a long drive.

     A single-day’s drive from mid-Kansas to northern Michigan would kill anyone. Add that it’s on a bike and not a car, and you’re dead. Oh, and let’s not forget that I was up half the night before doing whatever the shit I wanted. Which was just doodling new sketches, but whatever. Didn’t seem like it mattered to my prez. Then again, if I was itching to clear house of all the shitbags in my club, I wouldn’t want to wait anymore either.

     I take the stairs and hustle up to my room. I want to just drop my shit and crash, but I need to wash the road off me. Some brothers can live with dirt all over them for days, but I never was like that. Part of it’s being a tattoo artist and the need to have clean hands when I work, but the other part is just having fucking respect for yourself.

     Dropping my bag by the bed, I hang my vest over the single chair by the desk that’s mounted to the wall. It’s the only thing I waste a good long second on, making sure it’s sitting pretty before I kick my shoes off and throw my clothes on the ground as I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I wait to let it heat before I go in, though. I might be tired, but I don’t want to kill myself with the cold water hitting my ass. It’s fucking December, and I’m in Michigan. It’s freezing dicks off out there.

     I want to hate my boss. I want to curse the prez’s name. And as I step under the warm spray, I debate if he would hear me if I do. But I choose not to. I voted the guy in. I respect him and agree with his choices. Casper is a lot of things—even an asshole when the timing is right—but one thing he’s never been is quick to pull the trigger. The guy was a sniper for the military for years before he hung that shit up and came to the Hounds of the Reaper MC. He worked his way up the ranks till our old prez went out and we had to elect a new one.

     Sure, it only happened a few months back, but Casper still keeps a level head. Even as he found himself an old lady and we’ve dealt with shit going down with the mob and now trafficking women in our own clubs. The guy isn’t one to make a rash decision. He’s meticulous to the point of being annoying. But if he thinks we have a problem, I know it would be stupid to ignore it.

     And when a sister chapter’s VP is part of the skin trade, something the Hounds have written in every bylaw from the mother chapter to the sister chapters as something we ain’t a part of, you bet your ass he wasn’t working alone. You don’t get up in the ranks of a club without others knowing your business. You can keep secrets, but not things that big. Not without bringing in a few brothers to help cover your tracks.

     Which is why I’m here.

     Prez wants me to find out what’s going on. Figure out who’s worth saving up here and who ain’t. We had a few guys we trusted come up almost immediately after Casper figured out what was going on, but they’ve gotten nothing done. Or if they have, Prez didn’t tell me when he sent my ass up here yesterday.

     Whatever. I’ll figure it out. It’s what I do. Come in and blow shit up—both physically and metaphorically.

     After all, I’m supposed to be the new chapter’s president for Traverse City, Michigan. They just don’t know it yet.

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     The banging on the door pulls me from my slumber. It takes me a few moments to figure out where the hell I am. I know it ain’t Kansas, but I think I blacked out or some shit. I remember arriving here and taking a shower, but no clue how I got to bed.

     As I stand, I grab the towel around my waist on instinct as it loosens and resecure it. I’d rather put clothes on, but the banging won’t stop, and I swear it’s like they’re pounding a fucking drum in my head.

     “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” I say to keep the anxious knocker at bay. But it only seems to rile them up, as they pick up their pace.

     I sneer at the door but grab my gun from my bag before I look through the peephole. I might be tired, sleep-deprived, and still cold, but I ain’t stupid.

     Releasing a heavy sigh, I open the door and glare at the man who’s still knocking.

     “Fuck off, Mickey.” I’m not in the mood for the Irishman. Never figured out why he decided to cross the pond and transfer from his chapter to one stateside, and I ain’t about to ask now. He can just get the fuck out for all I care. Which, considering how tired I am, I don’t.

     I turn and head back to bed. If I’m lucky, the door will slam in his face and I’ll be able to get a few more hours of sleep before this shitstorm hits the fan.

     “No can do, buttercup,” he says with a pep in his voice that only the damn Irish can have at this hour.

     I look at the clock on the nightstand and see it’s not even seven yet. Barely got four hours of sleep after a fourteen-hour drive. I groan before throwing a pillow over my head, hoping it works to block out the sun, Mickey, and my responsibilities. At least till noon. Noon is a good time to figure shit out. After breakfast, of course. Better make it after two before we really take on the world.

     The bed bounces a second before the pillow is ripped away. I glare, but it does nothing to the damn man but make him chuckle.

     “Not the top-of-the-morning type, aye?” He takes a seat on the desk, not giving a shit that I hate everything about him right now.

     The guy was with me the entire time we were in Russia, but we still know little about each other. Taking out a Russian mafia leader takes more planning and less buddying up than you’d think. I met the guy a few times before then but rarely spoke to him. I just never considered him a friend—more acquaintance, really. Looks like that’s about to change.

     Out here I need all the friends I can get, and at least Casper vouches that the bastard is clean. In my book, that’s the same as me saying the guy’s good to go. I trust most of the brothers back home with more than my life. It’s those outside the circle I hesitate to say the same for. Which is half the reason I got this gig and no one else. I sniff out trouble, trust little, and get my hands dirty if I have to. Which I like to do, so it makes for a fun life.

     But not now.

     “Screw you and go away,” I say as I roll over and hope he gets the hint.

     “Oh, come now, buttercup.” I can hear the mirth in his voice a second before my ass is smacked. Hard. I jump up and damn near knock the asshole’s head off as he laughs so hard he falls back against the wall.

     I grunt as he giggles like a child at my reaction before I grab my bag and head to the bathroom, locking the door—not going to take any chances of him barging in and trying to mess with me more. I’m up. Pissed, but up. If he wanted a happy guy, he should have let me sleep in.

     Heading back out a few minutes later, I grab my vest off the chair and put it on. I don’t say anything, and neither does Mickey, though he keeps chuckling. Whatever.

I look over the place once more and make sure I get all of my shit before leaving. This was only a pit stop. I’m planning on bunking at the clubhouse tonight.

     When we make it outside, I curse as the wind picks up. It hasn’t snowed recently, but that just means it’s too damn cold to do so. I hardly had a chance to pack after I glanced at the weather yesterday. You bet your ass I’m making a full new wardrobe part of the expenses for coming up here. I’m even going to bill it to the club. Well, half of it. Don’t want the boss to see me as greedy or nothing.

     I could just have Jumper send my shit up here, but that means more than I’m ready to admit. This is just temporary. I’m here to clean house, start it over, then pass it along, not for anything long term.

     On the way up here, I had a lot of time to think. Flint spoke to me a bit on the comms and gave me some details he and Casper found out about what’s going on up here, but most of the time, I was solo. Left to my own thoughts. I’ve never had a problem with it. Still don’t.

     Gave me time to think about this and set up a plan. Six months. I’m giving this place six months to get back in shape. If it’s still out of whack by then, then Casper needs to demolish it. Or I will. Six months is enough time to figure shit out. And if I’ve still got questions, that means more than enough are damaged goods and don’t need to be in the Hounds’ brotherhood anymore.

     As we get to the bikes, I secure my bag before I turn the engine over. “Where’s breakfast?”

     “I already ate.” Mickey grins so wide at his own joke, but I don’t. He gets my mood before nodding, dropping the smile too. “Aye, boys are over on the west side. Even told them to get the coffee going for you. Figured a bite to eat and then head to the clubhouse. No use in waiting longer than we have to. Everyone lives on-site, so we won’t be needing to send out for people to come in.”

     I nod and then gesture for him to lead the way.

     The ride to the breakfast place ain’t too far, but the cold makes it seem like forever. Might have to invest in a cage if it gets much colder. I’ve got no shame in saying I prefer the finer things in life. And feeling my hands and toes is a privilege up here it seems.

     The diner we park in front of is packed, but we find spots by two other motorcycles that Mickey must recognize, as he pulls in next to them. When we walk in, no one turns their heads at us. Definitely not like at home. But I get it. We ain’t the only club in Michigan. Hounds might not be known to everyone here like we are back home, and we aren’t as loud as others, but certain crowds know who we are. We get the respect the club is due for the patch alone. Well, maybe not this chapter, but I’m about to change all that.

     We head to the back, Mickey sliding into the booth first, me following. I nod at the two others sitting across from us and note their Hound vests. Unlike mine, which says “Mother Chapter” below our logo, both of theirs show “Nomad.”

     “Lucky, Rooster, meet Domino. Our salvation,” Mickey says with a smirk as he drinks from the waiting cup of coffee in front of him.

     Both seem older, but I know more than most that looks can be deceiving. I might be clean-shaven and resemble the typical college football star who’s ready for his television debut, but that’s the last thing I am. Got dark in my soul just like the rest of the Hounds.

     Lucky, the blond-haired one, seems more the brooding type, but it’s his look, and he owns it. His hair is just long enough for him to need to style it daily, slicked back from either him or his bed partner from the previous night. Rooster’s is shaved close to the head with tats on the sides. He’s wearing zero sleeves, so he must be fucking nuts. No wonder the redheaded Irishman next to me picked these two. They probably fit in with his type of crazy. Which is just like mine if Casper said I could run this place and get along with these three at my side.

     “Salvation, my ass. More like watch me explode,” I huff as I take a drink from my mug. Going to need all the help I can get today, even if it’s shit coffee. I grab the cream, pour almost all of it into my mug, and then add more sugar than is necessary. Still not good, but drinkable.

     “Oh good. Looks like we’re about to have some fun.” Lucky snickers and rubs his hands together, and I eye him cautiously. Looking him over, then Rooster, I wonder for the first time ever if maybe I’m the calm one in all of this. Something I usually am not when compared to my brothers.

     What the hell did Casper get me into? And with who?

     “What’s good here?” I ask as I glance over the menu. I need food; then we can talk about world domination or whatever they have in mind.

     “Anything and everything,” Rooster says in a deeper voice than I expect. He doesn’t add more detail.

     I give him an eyebrow raise, then shrug before I go back to the menu and scan it for a minute before the waitress stops by. Her name tag says Betty, and she seems pissed to be working. I pull out my charming smile, but it does nothing. She just asks what we want and then goes away a second after we’re done ordering.

     “Friendly bunch around here,” I mutter as I drink more coffee and feel bits of my soul defrost.

     “We come for the food, not the friendship. Trust me, this place is worth the other BS. It wouldn’t be packed if it wasn’t,” Lucky chimes in as he gestures about.

I scan the crowd and note a few things, but nothing more than a few pretty faces and some tired ones. Must match my own, I’m sure.

     “All right, let’s get this over with. What am I walking into?” I direct it at the table, not sure which one will take the lead. Casper had Mickey come up this way from the Operation Hell Hound unit out of the Dakotas since he was already on a required break from his last mission with OHH. Not that any of our guys like being benched, but it’s for a reason. Rest and rethink before going back out for another black ops mission the club takes on.

     With Mickey on “rest,” he was the perfect guy to come at a moment’s notice when Casper was up here a few months back and needed some backup. That was before the boss realized that this local sister chapter wasn’t sticking to the club’s bylaws: No skin trade. We don’t know how many were involved. The VP for sure, but Casper already took care of him. Now we need to know who else was part of it. Or still is. No way he did it on his own—too much went down for it to be just a one-man operation.

     “Bane’s out of physical therapy and trying to keep the club together,” Lucky offers as a place to start.

     Bane was the president who let this happen under his nose. Boss isn’t so sure he’s clean, and neither am I. Looking around the table, I see the others agree with my thoughts. He might have been shot and almost bled out before help came, but that could have been part of a cover-up. He knows his time is coming, was even briefed to keep his head down and mouth shut. So far, it seems he has.

     Mickey came in right after Casper and C8 destroyed a sex club that was a cover for some kind of skin trade home shopping network. He brought Rooster and Lucky with him, picking his own crew to help figure all this out. They came in claiming nomad status and just looking for a bit of time to settle down. Bane was told to welcome them, and he has. They’ve been pretty cozy in the new club but still haven’t figured out much. Hence why Casper sent me. He’s tired of waiting. He wants things shaken up and cleared out ASAP.

“No one is pushing anything that we can see or going out and trying. Could be no one was in on it, or maybe they’re still lying low. Heard most places shut down during the holidays around here,” Mickey adds.

     “Anyone you think will be trouble?” I nod to the waitress as she drops our food off.

“Not that we have on our radar. We’ll keep an eye out to see who flinches when you make your announcement,” Mickey says around a mouthful of eggs.

     I nod as I mull over everything.

     “You know what you’re going to say?” Rooster holds my eyes a second longer than necessary, putting the full weight of his words out there for me to measure.

     I shake my head. “Got a few thoughts. Figured I’d just wing it.”

     “Ah, the good old ‘fuck it’ method. If it’s good enough for Yellowstone, it’s good enough for us,” Lucky says with a smile that has the rest of the boys, including me, chuckling.

     “Great show.” I moved the rest of my eggs around a bit before I look up and catch each of their eyes. “If I ask you to step up, you willing?”

     A takeover doesn’t happen often, but people know it’s a possibility. It’s the equivalent to the threat of you can get fired at a moment’s notice or accused of a crime you didn’t commit. You don’t know when it’ll happen, and you do what you can to avoid it. But when one happens, and at a club level, it means everyone is out and new people come in. If I’m to be acting president, I’m going to need officers at my side I can trust. I might not know these three well, but right now, I trust them more than anyone else up here.

     Plus, I trust Casper. If he picked Mickey to be his in-between guy before I showed, that’s good enough for me. And I know enough about him to not tie himself to assholes who’ll screw me over later. At least I hope not.

     “Aye, mate. We’re ready to stand with you.”

     It’s a somber moment, one that should have theatrical music in the background and not some chick yelling about being right. But as we all turn to look at the person shouting, all I see is a blonde head and another girl blushing pink. Talk about a way to lighten the mood.

     “If her friend sounds like that when she yells, can’t help but wonder what she sounds like when she screams.” Lucky goes as far as adjusting himself under the table to prove the effect the woman has on him.

     I can’t disagree. Her voice, even if it was just a short thing, seems to have sparked a reaction in me too.

     Oh well. Work now, pussy later.

     “Let’s go.” I drop more than enough to cover what I’m sure the bill will be and stand. Like Mickey said, no need to drag this out.