It would be helpful to me if he did. "She's been skipping school again. I'm gonna have Speck start following her around. Law's been doing it but he's got his own classes to get to."
Hawk rolls his shoulders back and grunts at me. "Shouldn't be using club resources for this shit. The girl needs to pull her fucking head in."
I shrug at him and check I've got everything I need. Keys, wallet, guns, a knife strapped to my belt and my phone. Ready as ever for a quiet night out in Coldstone. "She's a Callaghan. What exactly were you expecting? We're lucky she hasn't run off to another club to shake her ass on tables and do lines in the bathroom."
He winces and glances around. "Fuck, don't talk like that. It'll just give her fucking ideas. You were too fucking easy, kid. Makes being her pops that much fucking harder."
I scoff and leave him to his drink, jogging down the steps and over to my hog. It's a thing of fucking beauty, custom built by me and Rue over the last couple of years. He's the grease monkey, never happy unless his hands are covered in oil and there's something in pieces in his garage. I'm the tech guy. Too fucking smart not to go to college but I made for-fucking-sure the club knew where my head was at before I left.
I live and bleed for the Unseen.
I'd die for my brothers.
Going to college meant I could learn how the hell to keep us safer. It means I now know how to build security systems from the ground up. I can rig up fucking anything my club needs and if I can't, I know someone who can for the right price. I might not be able to build a rat finding machine but I can put in enough cameras and mics to catch the fuckers out.
There isn't an inch of the clubhouse or MC property I haven't got ears on.
Makes it easier to find out exactly who Angel Valleti really is because I’m going to learn everything there is to know about the stripper who’s ‘struck me and then I’ll get her the fuck outta Coldstone and my club.
No way I’m losing everything to some piece of ass.
The roar of the engine is loud in the quiet, still air of the night. I pass Alby shutting up his garage as I pull out of the compound, Posey dancing around the old Comet in those tiny jean shorts of hers that I'm sure haunt Rue's dreams.
That shit used to make me laugh... not so much right now.
Speck gives me a look when I arrive at the club, flicking his cigarette to the ground and slouching his way over to me like this whole fucking night is just a normal Tuesday.
“Nothing’s happened since you were gone, asshole. No need to ride up in here looking for blood.”
I shrug and swing off of the motorbike. “I thought I told you to keep an eye on her?”
He groans and rubs a hand over his face. “I got Mike watching her while I escorted a few dickheads out. Shouldn’t you be at the clubhouse with the Bay charter?”
“Change of plans. I have audits to do and I need you to tail Trink for a few days, figure out where the fuck she's been going."
He groans. "Fuck, I think I'd rather stick nails in my eyeballs than follow her ass around. Do I have the club's permission to kill whatever asshole she's sneaking around with?"
I wish. "Just don't fucking lose her. Don't interfere or start a fucking riot, just get me the fucking intel and I'll sort her out."
He nods and rolls his shoulders back. He's the shortest out of the cousins but he's already fucking stacked, too many nights of working out instead of studying for school. He barely graduated, only walked the stage because Mom told him she'd tan his fucking ass if he flunked out.
She's followed through with her threats on us boys enough for him to pull his fucking head in. Trink needs a little more of that shit to get her head back into line but, fuck, I think Mom's attention was just a little too preoccupied by her own antics to remember that her daughter is still a descendant of Rogan Callaghan, the original Unseen MC Prez. The man who built the pipeline and ruled the Dirty South with nothing but a revolver and his old hog.