“The Red Dragons,” Blackie answered, as he kept his eyes on Jack.
“We’re playing nice with the Chinese now?” Wolf questioned, genuinely surprised.
“No reason not to,” Jack assured the sergeant of arms. “Our club doesn’t stand for the shit it did when Cain held the gavel,” he argued, wrapping his hand around the wooden object before it dropped onto the table with a thud. “We’re not after their product nor are we interested in getting involved in their territory,” he declared, crossing his arms against his chest and leaning back in his chair. “I know we want to keep the streets clean but the truth is, we never were too good at it, and if it wasn’t for Victor Pastore helping to control the drugs coming in and out of the seaboard, we would’ve never accomplished as much as we have. Now, Vic’s in jail, he’s got pull, but not the kind that will stop the drug lords from polluting New York and without him and his crew aiding the cause, we’re fucked. Don’t need any more enemies, seems like we’ve got enough,” he added. “So we let the Chinese do what they got to do, and as long as they don’t interfere with our operations, we turn the other cheek,” Jack enforced, turning to Blackie who seemed to be holding on by a thread. “We turn the other cheek,” he repeated, mainly to the man sitting to the left of him.
“I heard you the first time,” he grunted.
“Now, The Red Dragons are meeting us at Pops for the tradeoff. They are buying ninety percent of our supply so that’s why we need all hands on deck,” Jack continued.
“Wait a minute, ninety percent of our supply? What the fuck are we supposed to rely on if things go south for us? Water guns?” I asked. Maybe it wasn’t my place to say anything, but fuck that. Things change in the blink of an eye, each of us knew that, so then what? We’re left holding our dicks like a bunch of incompetent idiots. Albeit, my dick was impressive but it wouldn’t fucking get me through a goddamn war, should the Chinese feel the need to rekindle their hatred for our club.
“Pops got word the new shipment will be in the harbor by the end of the week. We’re good. We still have all the guns at the shooting range that are in the lockers. But no one here is expecting war, Riggs,” he said, pausing for a moment before fixing me with a glare. Ah, fuck. “I appreciate the concern but next time you want to question my orders leave your vest on the table and haul your ass out the door,” he growled.
Two steps forward, two-hundred steps backward.
“Anyone else want to add their two cents?” Jack asked the quiet room. “Good,” he said finally. “Now saddle up, we’ve got to run,” he ordered, slamming down the gavel and adjourning our meeting.
We all moved quickly, rising to our feet and ushering out to the parking lot. I straddled my bike, my engine purring to life as the adrenaline inside me kicked into gear.
This was the stuff I got off on, the shit that made my dick hard.
I secured my helmet as the sound of all our engines roaring in unison awakened the animal in me and was music to my ears.
I might not have my patch yet but I was a motherfucking Satan’s Knight. I was a link in the chain of brotherhood and had finally found my place in the world, and was damn fucking proud of it too. Now, if I could just get the goddamn patch.
When we pulled up to the shooting range, Pops was standing out front waiting for us alongside the two dozen men that were a part of The Red Dragons. We dismounted our bikes and followed Jack toward the brood of bikers.
“Sun Wu, always a pleasure,” Jack greeted, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head.
“Parrish, it’s been a long time,” the Sun Wu character replied. “Glad we could stand on common ground,” he added.
I looked around, noting there were twice as many Red Dragons than there were Knights and while we looked like just a bunch of laid back men who loved Harleys and pussy, they looked like some serious fucking dudes that had a dildo shoved up their ass. They were like statues, perfectly still and eyes glued on us, watching our every move.
Jack and Wu continued to shoot the shit for a few minutes before we got down to business and made our way into the back shed out behind the range. Pops and Jack uncovered the crates of guns and “Jackie Chan” and his posse inspected everything. They talked amongst one another in mandarin, making this whole fucking thing like a scene out of Rush Hour. I was half expecting Chris Tucker to pop out of a crate and start singing “Can’t Stop Until I Get Enough.”
Finally, Sun Wu, handed over the suitcase and it was Jack’s turn to inspect what he offered. Once the deal was closed, hands were exchanged and half the Dragons loaded their cage with the guns. Jack suggested we go back into the range and have a shot with Wu. It was a gesture of good faith, a plea to let bygones be bygones.
Jack poured Sun Wu and himself a shot before passing the bottle to Blackie who finished dispersing the alcohol.