Please don’t tell me Priest rode up here to question me about Pony’s leadership skills. “Good. We weren’t able to stay long but Pony’s doing well.”
He continues staring at me, clearly expecting more information.
“Pony’s crew seems to respect him.” How much should I tell Priest? Washington has a few issues but nothing that needs to be brought to National’s attention.
I could be a dick and rat out Acorn. But what’s the point? The issue was handled. Tattling to Priest only makes me look like an asshole.
“He was having some territory issues,” Priest reminds me. “Cost us a lot of money and brought on a lot of scrutiny.”
“I remember.” I tap my fingers against the side of my leg, considering my words carefully. “Pony seems to have a better handle on the territory now. There was a minor issue with Red Storm—”
“Those motherfuckers,” he growls. “I’m so fucking sick of them. Fuckin’ thrilled when Dragons ran ’em out of Texas.”
“Yeah, well they didn’t take the message to heart. They were running through our territory still sporting Texas rockers.” I flash an evil smile. “But we relieved them of those patches and I delivered them to Blaise when we were in Texas.”
“You did?” Priest raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed all this went down without making the national news.
“Yes, sir.”
He stares at me, thoughtfully rubbing his hand over his cheek. “You seem to thrive on the road.”
Danger. “Shelby’s finishing her tour, recording her album, and then we’ll be heading to New York. I’m in touch with Z—”
“Easy, Rooster. Z’s got no complaints about you.”
That’s a relief.
“In fact, you seem to be universally respected by most, if not all, of my regional presidents.”
My jaw unhinges. Not quite sure how to respond to that. Has he been asking for opinions about me? And if so, what the fuck for?
“That doesn’t always happen,” he continues. “Lot of strong personalities. Different styles of runnin’ things.” He taps his chest. “Even though you patched-in under Hopper, you have a better sense of loyalty and your views are more aligned with the direction I want the organization to go in the future.”
Holy. Fuck.
Twenty-year old me wants to spike a football in Hopper’s face and do a touchdown dance. But I don’t dare say anything disrespectful about Hopper.
“That means a lot, coming from you, Priest.” Yeah, I feel like a suck-up, but they’re not empty words. Priest’s style reminds me of the gentleman outlaw types my uncle was friends with. He’s a hardass motherfucker for sure, but he actually cares about the brothers and their families. The ones that have the biggest issue with him are the Acorn, Hopper, and Smoke types of bikers.
“Did you know there are two kinds of nomad, Rooster?”
“Uh.” My mind blanks. Jesus, I thought I was finished with pop quizzes.
When I sit there slack-jawed with no answer, he continues, “I haven’t had to send them to New York since probably way before you ever patched-in.” He holds out one hand. “We have our nomads who aren’t affiliated with any particular charter. The laid-back ones just riding the wind. Maybe taking care of a job here or there if someone asks. Then, we have our more official nomads who answer to me.”
Those last three words land like a nuke. Sounds more like a secret hit squad then a charter of freedom-seeking bikers.
“Similar structure. Prez, VP, enforcer, road captain. No treasurer. Funds come directly from National.”
“Okay.” And why are you telling me this?
“If there’s an area we might want to establish a charter, they’ll go in and help set it up. And,” he sits back, “if a charter’s been a constant problem, they’ll go in and shut it down.”
Hit squad. Yup.
“They need to have a certain skill set. Diplomacy is at the top of the list.”
“That makes sense.” Can’t imagine many MC presidents feeling all warm and fuzzy when Priest’s super-secret hit squad stops by for a “visit.” Bet stuff goes sideways fast.
“Most of the time it’s an easy ride. We’ve worked hard to install good leadership in all our charters. So they fulfill a support role more often these days.”
“Sure.” Thank fuck Z was willing to take over when Sway got shot. Otherwise, it sounds like Priest would’ve sent his nomads to “support” us.
I meet Priest’s steady stare. For all the information he’s given me, there seems to be a whole lot he’s leaving out of the story.
Typical.
“Anyway.” He slaps the table as if he’s about to dismiss me. “How do you feel about Deadbranch?”
My head spins from the abrupt shift in conversation.
“Haven’t had a chance to talk to Digger yet. But they’re always welcoming.”
“Weather’s better in Tennessee. Can ride almost all year instead of only six months like New York.”
“I bet the guys like that a lot.”
“Your girl’s from Texas, right?”
“Yes. We were visiting her mom before we came here.”