The Biker's Fate Chapter 354

Devon

I had been home for about an hour and was fuckin' wrecked, both physically and emotionally. I'd had to leave a robotic Poppy on her front porch, and I knew she'd shut herself down so she wouldn't break down, but I hated it. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Doc.

Barney's at five p.m. Tell no one. Need-to-know basis only.

Fuck, this was all I needed right now. A clandestine club meeting at the last place on earth I wanted to be. My thumbs, still aching from the long ride, fought back the urge to type back, "fuck off and die," and instead opted for, "see you there."

After changing out of my road-weary clothes, I texted Poppy to let her know I'd be out of pocket for a while and not to worry if she didn't hear from me until later. I didn't know exactly what tonight's meeting was about, but I figured it was serious from the tone of Doc's text. We were all on pins and needles to find out what he and the others had learned about who and what we were up against.

I heard Doc and Hatch's bike's fire up and figured they were heading off to Barney's a little early. I pulled my boots back on and made my way out to the main room. Not wanting to throw off any suspicion as to why I'd be leaving, I checked the fridge, knowing full well its contents; a handful of ketchup packets, a jar of dill pickles and beer.

"Well, since none of you assholes have decided to do any grocery shopping, I'm gonna go grab a bite to eat," I announced to Windows, Curly, and the small group of out of town brothers who were playing cards.

"Alright, man, see you later," I heard Curly call out as I closed the front door behind me.

My cover story for splitting wasn't complete bullshit. As much as a shithole as Barney's was, at least I knew I could get a great burger there, and I was starving. I pulled up ten minutes early and as I suspected, Doc, Hatch, and Doom were already there. They were in a corner booth, in the far rear of the building. This was clearly a strategic location, as they had a line of sight on every entrance, and were located right next to the back exit. I was confident there were also Dogs posted outside the back door.

"Hey. What's goin' on?"

The words had no sooner left my lips when Dash and Alamo joined us.

"Good, we're all here," Doc said.

"This is everyone?" I asked.

"I've got some trusted guys watching the front and back of the place, out of sight, but I wanted to keep this meeting tight. We have a lot of not-so-familiar faces around these days, and I want to make sure nothing said here gets out."

"You think we have security issues?" Dash asked.

Doc shook his head. "I'm just being extra cautious, is all."

"But not without reason I assume," I said.

Doc stared back at me but didn't say a word.

Hatch leaned in and spoke quietly, "We know who beat up Badger and who torched the club…" He and Doc shared an ominous look, "… and it's not good."

"What does 'not good' mean?" Dash snapped. "Who the fuck did this?"

"Keep your cool and lower your voice. We're just here to have some beers and shoot the shit, as far as the locals are concerned," Doc said smiling as he looked around the room.

It was still too early for the hard-drinking crowd, and Barney's wasn't good for much else, so we had the place mostly to ourselves at the moment. I flagged down Kiki, the place's one and only waitress, and ordered a burger. She'd been working there for what had to have been one hundred and seventy-five years now and said nothing as she raised a single bony digit in acknowledgement of my order.

Hatch continued, "We had assumed that it was the Dixie Mafia behind all this because they wanted us out of club business in Savannah, and we were right… but not about why."

"Or how much deeper all this goes," Doc added. "The Dixie Mafia has been in total chaos lately and apparently we're caught right in the middle of their shit storm."

"Why? What the fuck do those assholes have to do with us?" Alamo asked.

"The way Lucky put it, it seems the Mafia and the Dogs have some mutual friends," Doom provided.

"Oh shit," Dash said.

"What?" I asked.

"Torrance," he replied.

"Who the fuck are these guys?" I ground out. "They seem to be everywhere."

"Torrance isn't a who, it's a what. And what Torrance is, is a group of rich, powerful, murderers who believe they are above the law. They killed Willow's father for his church's land, and are protected and hidden at the highest level."

"Shit," I said.

"Deep shit," Doc said. "Let's face it, those mafia assholes have never been so much of an organized crime syndicate as much as they've been a tight network of scammers and meth runners, but now that they've got some funding and leadership behind them, there's no telling what they could do in Savannah."

"Jesus help us," Alamo said.

"That's not all," Doc said grimly.

"What else could there possibly be?" I asked.

"Russians," Doom said.

"What Russians?" I exclaimed, apparently a bit too loud.

"One White Russian!" I heard Kiki call out to the bartender, before nodding at me.

I smiled and waved to her as Doc glared at me. "Sorry."

"Like I said, we were right in assuming our club was torched because the mafia wanted us out of town, but not because we'd interfere with their current money laundering operations, but because we'd be competition for a handful of new strip clubs they're about to open in Savannah."

"That's where the Russians come in. Our intel has led us to believe the Russian mob is supplying girls to the Dixie Mafia run clubs, which are being bank rolled and protected by the Torrance group. Three well-funded, well-armed, criminal organizations, all working together in Savannah, all who have personal history with the Dogs of Fire, and multiple reasons to want to wipe us off the face of the earth."