Bear

Chapter 11: Bear

Pres leans his elbows onto the table with an emotionless stare that's an eerie reminder as to why his road name is Snake Eyes. A calculated control is rehearsed in his tone as he takes in every patched member gathered in the room.

"The Vipers were running surveillance on Bear, and ended up going after his woman."

I don't bother to correct him that Birdie isn't my anything; now isn't the time. Nevertheless there's a ridiculous part of me that swells with a mix of pride and triumph at the thought of her being mine.

Only to go down like a lead balloon when I remember her reaction to my bike. She doesn't fit in this world.

"This has to be in response to the retaliation." Razor quips, distracting me from my own thoughts.

We targeted one of the Vipers riders a week or two before I hooked up with Robin, so it's definitely plausible. Pres, Ripper and I hit the warehouse that same morning too so the fucker definitely saw me leave.

She was alone whilst he was watching her house.

Pres is very strict when it comes to the Reapers code— women and children are never to be harmed; Vipers don't follow the same moral compass. Ice cold dread fills my veins when I realise just how bad it could've been.

"Probably. Either way we're not letting a civilian get hurt because of our mess." Pres' tone is final. "She stays here until we sort this out."

A wave of relief fills me when he doesn't put it to a vote. Considering I'm the one who put Birdie in this mess in the first place, it's only right.

As much as I trust my brothers to do right, it's not exactly in the best interest of the club to have another mouth to feed right now. I don't like to admit it, but it would not be senseless to vote against offering Robin our protection.

There is no protest.

"The Vipers haven't done anything besides scare a lady for now, we hold off on doing anything rash." Pres continues, ignoring Ripper who looks as though he wants to argue. It's not even out of any kinship for Birdie, the bastard just likes trouble.

One day he'll end up with far too much trouble than he knows is good for him, and I sincerely hope it's in the form of a woman, so I can give him the same smug look he gave me when Pres called Robin my woman.

"We still need to figure out who's supplying them with guns." Brute adds his own two pence, reminding all of us the shit that started this mess in the first place. "And we still don't know why the fuck they went after the warehouse. We need to find out why the fuck they've gotten so ballsy."

I for one have an ache in my shoulder as proof enough that I don't need a reminder.

"Speaking of, we've also got a bigger problem. The drugs that the Vipers torched, means we owe Silas the cost plus profits off what was destroyed." Tank speaks for the first time from behind his laptop screen. "The numbers aren't looking good."

Despite being a freaking mammoth of a man, Tank came from the corporate world. A few years back he was just a hang around with an interest in motorcycles, somewhere along the line he traded in the clean cut 9 to 5 office gig for being the clubs Treasurer.

Even with his cut, he still sort of has a Latin Clark Kent thing going for him, or so he brags with the ladies.

"How much?"

"10 grand."

Chains whistles, the pitch matching the exact steepness of this fuckery. Grave faces line the room— we all know what this could mean. A debt like that could very well be the end of the club.