Tank was dead because of Blaze's lack of involvement. So screw guilt. Blaze was the one who should feel guilty.
"Blaze and Dani made a big deal about keeping it a secret," Crunch said. That was a good thing. Otherwise, they would probably be dead.
I stood there, while Crunch dialed Blaze. "His phone is off. I'll keep trying the cell. And I'll track down where they are. If they haven't taken any precautions to lie low, it shouldn't take me that long."
"What we need to do is hole up somewhere and wait for April and Mac."
Inferno Motorcycle Club
Los Angeles, California
“Shut the door behind you,” Mad Dog said. The three men stood just inside the back room, Mad Dog’s office area. Office was a loose term for what it was. It was a small room in the back of the clubhouse, a converted empty warehouse in an area of town that consisted of industrial buildings with dubious reputations.
“It went good, Boss,” Mud said. Mud was an imposing man, a solid block of muscle, his bald head covered in tattoos.
“Everything went down as planned, then.”
“Yeah, Prez,” Mud said. “You don’t have to worry about anything. Like we said on the phone, it was done. Burned that bitch to the ground.”
“Did you actually see the three of them go down?” Mad Dog asked.
“No,” Tink said, looking at Mud then back at Mad Dog. “We had to get the hell out of there before the fire department showed up. But you don’t have to worry about it, Boss. We sprayed the place with gunfire before the whole thing went up in flames. There was no movement, nothing. No way anyone walked out of there.”
Mad Dog grunted. “You better be fucking certain about that.”
“A hundred percent sure, boss,” Tink said. He shifted his wiry frame uncomfortably under Mad Dog’s intent gaze. Tink had the twitchiness of someone who was indulging in too much meth, but Mad Dog ignored it.
“That’s for fucking sure,” Mad Dog said. “All right. We’re going to need some new non-dissenting voters on the cartel deal. I know I don’t have to make sure you keep this shit under wraps. We don’t need any bad blood in the club, not when another re-vote will have to go down.”
“You got it, Boss,” said Fats. Standing up and adjusting his girth, he added, “We’re backing you a hundred percent.”
“That’s good to hear,” Mad Dog said. "We're done. Mud, hang back for a minute."
He waited until the others were gone before he spoke. "You've got my back, Mud," he said. "I'll see you put up for sergeant-at-arms.”
“That going to go over all right?” Mud asked. “I haven't been patched in as long as some of the other brothers.”
“They’ll have to fucking deal with it,” Mad Dog said. “I need someone I can trust. Someone who’s proved himself to me. The other brothers havent fucking proved shit to me. I need loyalty.”
"And fucking get Tink under control," he said. "If he isn't fucking tweaking right now, he's coming down off something. Get him clean or we take him out. He needs to be reliable."
“Roger, Boss,” Mud said. "We'll clean him up."
“There’s about to be some good changes happening here. Once we get out from under Benicio and get ourselves attached to the cartel, I’ve got a sweet side deal with them that you’re a part of now. There’s going to be plenty of money for us, more than we’re getting now.”
“You going to have a problem with the Veep, Boss?” Mud asked.
“Don’t worry about Blaze,” Mad Dog said. “He’s away right now, and I’ve got an idea for how to deal with him. He’ll be out of the picture soon enough.”
“Fuckin’ A, Prez,” Mud said.
“Fuckin’ A, right,” Mad Dog said. “This is going to be a new era for the MC.”
June
I sat on the front porch, shifting uncomfortably in the chair I'd pulled outside from the kitchen table, and made a mental note to get rocking chairs out here on the porch. I'd check in town tomorrow. I was on a loose timeline for starting the bed and breakfast, which really meant that when I decided I was done with my time off and finished with the repairs on the house, I'd hang out a shingle.
I needed time off anyhow. Going straight from the Navy into a civilian position in Chicago hadn't exactly left me any time to decompress. But it couldn't be helped; the offer was too good to pass up. The pay was insane, and it was a prestigious hospital. One of my former Navy supervisors, now a surgeon at the hospital in Chicago, had hand-picked me for the job - and would be my boss. We'd always gotten along well, so I figured having him in my corner would make the transition to civilian life a breeze.
Turns out, we'd gotten along too well.
Never get romantically involved with your boss.
It was a good life lesson.
It made things uncomfortable, when I ended it. But that's not why I left Chicago. And it didn't explain why I'd had the panic attacks there, a few months in. The job had started out great, what my therapist had referred to as a “honeymoon period". Then everything started spiraling out of control.
That was even before I started sleeping with my boss.