Red's Peril Part 2: The Prez's Old Lady (Satan's Devils MC Las Vegas Chapter) by Manda Mellett

Author:Manda Mellett [Mellett, Manda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781915106025
Publisher: Trish Haill Associates
Published: 2021-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

RED

“Something smells, Prez.” Indian says quietly as Bruce leads us back down the stairs.

“Fuckin’ reeks,” Twister agrees, wrinkling his nose.

Keys is walking stiffly. “I’m getting the feeling we should never have gotten into this.”

Him and me both. The problem is we make a hefty profit from this contract, and there’s also the lure of giving at least the club’s security business some respectability. But maybe I should have asked more questions in the first place.

My feelings aren’t appeased as we stand by like spare parts when Bruce manages to summon a team. With a glare in my direction, he has them moving bags from the safe, then we escort them outside to where an armoured truck is waiting.

Narrowing my eyes as though to focus them, I look around carefully. Everything to my untrained eye looks just as it should be. The armoured truck has the name of a reputable company blazoned on the side, and the guys accompanying it have recognisable uniforms and look the part.

They go through the required motions, one knocking on the hatch which opens for the anonymous person inside to accept the money bags.

It all goes smoothly. The money from the casino is loaded without incident. The paperwork on the clipboard is signed, then the truck drives away.

Bruce huffs and hustles his men back inside. Twister stares in the direction the truck has disappeared in, worry lines creasing his brow.

But it’s Keys who puts his finger on it.

“Fuckin’ hell!” he exclaims, examining his phone. “That truck’s not genuine. The license plate isn’t registered to the company.”

The truck looked kosher enough but could have been stolen.

I don’t even waste a second. I’m on my phone before he can finish speaking. “Abort, Crash. Fuckin’ abort.”

The engine noise I can hear from Crash’s end lessens and then stops completely. “Prez?”

“If this is a heist, it’s already happened.”

“You want us to come back? Not follow the truck?”

“Yeah. Meet us back at the compound and we’ll have a sit-down and discuss.” Fuck knows who’s driving the casino’s money away, but I want no part of this.

At least mine and my brothers prints won’t be anywhere near those money bags.

“Crossman’s fuckin’ set us up,” Twister growls, looking like he’s going to march back upstairs and rearrange Crossman’s face with his fists.

As far as I’m concerned, I’d like nothing better, but I want to be armed with information first and find out what the fuck’s going on. I’m betting we wouldn’t get near Crossman anyway. Bruce will have him well protected, and us causing a ruckus in the casino wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“Get back to the clubhouse,” I instruct, fixing Twister with my stare. “We’ve got things to thrash out.”

Sharing a look that suggests they’d rather be getting immediate answers with their fists, Indian and Twister reluctantly head to the parking lot. Cobra, Hammer and Keys trail after them. I hang back for a moment, rubbing my temples and trying to work out what the fuck’s going on.

My brain doesn’t come up with more than one answer by the time we arrive.

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