“If that’s the case, boss, we’re screwed,” Thore grumbled. “You know how many big business fuckers stroll in and out of our city every day?”
“Too bad we can’t talk to Beau anymore,” Worm muttered, then grinned.
“What’s going on?” Scribe asked, looking around the room as he leaned against a recliner.
“Got a missing shipment,” I blurted, then looked at my uncle and asked, “Garland Coltraine?”
My uncle shook his head. “Haven’t found him yet.”
“So, no one knows where my shipment is, and Garland is hidin’ like a little bitch.” I groaned, then looked at Juju. “What do the bones say?”
My VP shook his head. “Bones ain’t talkin’, boss. Whoever’s got the shipment is keepin’ it under lock and key.”
Leaning back in my chair, I took a deep breath and let it out. “This ain’t good. That shipment needs to ship out in three days.”
“Could narrow it down if you knew where it originated from and where it was going,” Enigma muttered to no one in particular.
Looking at the man, I asked, “How so?”
Taking a seat, Enigma explained, “I’m gonna assume whatever the shipment is, it’s hot, which means wherever it originated from and where it’s going is a clue. With that, you can narrow down your suspect list.”
“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Scribe exclaimed, gaping at the man.
“Shug’s got me watching Mafia Wives of Little Italy. Gotta tell ya, brother, those women scare the crap outta me. They are fucking devious. Of course, if you just tell us who the shipment belongs to, then maybe Scribe and I can help.”
Worm stopped typing and slowly shook his head.
“Can’t do that,” I muttered, looking around at my brothers, who all sat stone-faced and unmoving.
“Then your best bet is to look into where it came from and where it’s going.”
I looked at the men around the room, each one a piece of the puzzle that made up the Bourbon Kings MC. To outsiders, we might seem like a ragtag crew of whiskey-soaked rebels, but each of these men had a mind sharper than a straight razor. “Alright,” I said, rubbing my temples. “If we’re goin’ by origin and destination, then we need every set of eyes on this. Worm, dig into the logistics and find me a manifest of outgoing shipments from our last known supplier. Juju, I want you to work your magic—get into the heads of our competitors and figure out who’s desperate enough to intercept this.”
Enigma leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he exchanged a glance with Juju. “You know, Gator, if this shipment’s hot, it ain’t just desperate competitors you should be worried about. Could be the Feds sniffing around, or worse, someone closer to home.”
There was a heavy silence in the room, the kind that settled when unspoken truths hovered just out of reach. Worm kept typing, the clack of his keyboard the only sound filling the space. Juju broke the tension with a low chuckle. “If it’s someone close, guess we’ll find out soon enough. My bet’s still on the competition, though. Desperation makes men stupid.”
Thore nodded in agreement. “True, but whoever it is, they’re playin’ a dangerous game. Messin’ with the Bourbon Kings ain’t exactly a career move that ends well.”
I smirked, leaning forward in my chair, my elbows braced on my knees. “Good. Let’s make sure they remember why.” My gaze locked onto Worm. “I want updates every hour. If there’s even a whisper of interference, I want to know about it.”
Worm didn’t look up, but his reply was steady. “You’ll have it.”
Juju stood, stretching as he grabbed his jacket. “Guess I’ve got some heads to get into. Don’t wait up for me, boys.”
As he moved to the door, Donut called out, “Just don’ forget—those heads you’re gettin’ in to better still be attached by the time you’re done.”
Laughter rippled through the room, but it was short-lived. Each of my brothers knew the stakes, knew that this wasn’t just about a shipment. It was about keeping the name Bourbon Kings MC untouchable. And failure? That wasn’t an option.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Oh my God,” Henley moaned, her eyes rolling back so far, I half-expected to see her brain. She melted, quite literally, into her chair.
“This is so good.”
I swear, the woman was a dramatic masterpiece. I, on the other hand, was too busy experiencing pure, unadulterated sandwich bliss to be dramatic. I took another bite, the olive salad exploding on my tongue in a symphony of salty, briny, and slightly vinegary perfection. A perfect storm of flavor nestled between layers of soft Italian bread and cured meats.
“Yep,” I mumbled through a mouthful of deliciousness, “And it’s the only thing that’s keeping me here. I’m telling you, Hen, if Rosewood had these sandwiches, I wouldn’t need Wade anymore. Every bite is a new sensation. I swear, I’ve orgasmed at least three times because of this sandwich.”
