The Last Betrayal (16 page)

“How do you know we have British prospects with us?” I ask curiously.

“Cobra told me and warned me not to try and lose them.” She rolls her eyes before tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “Typical caveman bullshit followed soon after that.”

“Don’t want to know, Alexis!” I hold my hands up in mock horror. Hell, I don’t want to know her sex life any more than she wants to know mine.

She tips her head back and laughs. “All right, I’ll spare you the details. Anyway, the prospects should be by the lift doors, that’s what they call an elevator here, when they open. They’ll be waiting for us to appear.”

True to her word, when the doors open, four young, tough looking guys in Crusader cuts are standing there. Noticing us, they come over and introduce themselves in that delightful British accent.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Lauren, and this is Alexis.” We shake each of their hands before following them out in the light wisp of rain falling from the dark clouded sky.

They lead us to a shiny, black SUV with chrome wheels. Being gentleman, they open the door for us to hop in.

“Our men could take some tips from these guys.” I laugh, pointing a thumb to the prospects standing outside the SUV, conversing in whispers.

“I hope they hurry up, our jet lag will kick in pretty soon, and I need to check out some British shops.” Alexis moans, jutting her bottom lip out in a cute pout.

I tap on the window and sign for them to hurry up. “Here they come.”

“Where do you two wanna go?” I think his name is Rick, says from behind the wheel.

“Burlington Arcade shopping mall?” Alexis asks, fluttering her lashes. “You know where to go, right?”

“Of course, love. Have lived in London for a long time.” He laughs before throwing the car in gear and pulling out in the afternoon traffic.

Alexis and I converse quietly as Rick weaves in and out of the traffic like a pro. “I guess you’ve lived around here for a while if you can go through traffic like this.”

“You got that right, darlin’, only the good drivers can get around London and survive in one piece,” he replies, looking in his rear-view mirror at us.

I smile at him before turning my head to gaze out the window, watching the passing cars and scenery.

Entering the British Crusaders clubhouse was like walking in our one back home. The bar, the bedrooms and courtyard are placed exactly the same. The difference? All the British accents floating in the air.

After meeting Blade at some coffee shop called Costa, we loaded ourselves up with caffeine and tailed Blade back to the British chapter clubhouse in Tottenham. Why we chose to stay at The Ritz half an hour away from here is anyone’s guess. I’m all up for showing my girl a great time while in London, but that’s far out even if I say so, especially when we’re going to be here a lot of the time.

“Beer?” Blade turns and asks us.

“Sure, why not,” I reply for everyone, following him to the bar.

I look around the room at the different men mingling throughout the room, and notice a lot of the brothers are staring at us.

“You the lads from the states?” one of the burly men asks us.

“That’s right. The Prez is over there.” I point to the where Prez is standing, chatting with someone who’s cowering from him.

“Ah. Big boss. Heard you lot were coming over. We’re happy you agreed to come help us, mate. All of ya.” He tips his head at us before swiftly walking away.

Every chapter around the world has a Prez, but our Prez is the big one, his command is what goes. He’s under pressure a lot from having to manage everyone from around the world, and we understand that. That’s why we sometimes take shit into our own hands because he has enough on his plate. But, we would never disobey or dishonor him in any way.

“So, Blade, what are you here for? I hear you’re an enforcer and have no ties to any one club,” Cobra asks, tipping his head back and pouring an unhealthy amount of beer into his mouth.

“Yeah, I’m an enforcer. I’m here to help you boys out. I was patched into the Devon Destroyers MC for a while. I guess being tied to one club ain’t for me.” His somber expression speaks volumes for the shit he’s got going on in his head.

“You left a girl behind, didn’t you?” I ask boldly, not that I expect an answer. I mean, the dude doesn’t know me and doesn’t have to answer shit to me.

“You could say that. I’d rather not talk about it, yeah? I’m here to get you lot out of the shit storm you got yourselves into. It’s fucked up, mate.” He shakes his head and turns it when he hears his name being called. “Catch ya later.”

“He doesn’t want to be here any more than we do. It’s obvious he’s struggling with some shit, which is probably why he’s an enforcer,” Dope speaks up, giving his head a small shake before returning back to drinking his beer.

“Brothers!”

We all turn when we hear Prez calling for us. Placing our beer bottles back on the bar, we walk over to him, Cobra leading the pack.

“What’s up, Prez?” Cobra says, coming to a standstill in front of him.

“They’re calling Church so get your asses in there.” He storms off in the direction of church. My guess? It’s in the same fucking place as ours and is probably identical inside the room too.

As we file into the room, we hear loud voices coming from behind us, making us all halt in our tracks.

“You know what you are, and you know what this was! Fuck off before I fuckin’ make ya!” A large, overweight guy wearing a purple bandana is in some poor naked girl’s face. She looks petrified, clinging to her clothes, and her large eyes wide in fright.

“Hey! Fucking lay off will you? Who the fuck do you think you are getting into some girl’s face?” I pin the large guy to the wall by his throat, the surprised expression on his face makes me laugh inside.

“She’s a fucking whore, mate. Why would you give a fuck about a dirty slag?” He spits in my face, his vile breath washing over my face in a cloud of green fog. Gross.

“Whore or not, brother, she’s just a girl. I’m not sure how you British men like to treat woman, but us in the States know never to lay a hand on one. Do we have to teach you some basic manners while we’re here?” I sneer at him, disgust written across my face. If there’s one fucking thing I hate other than liars and paedophiles, it’s men who get kicks out of frightening girls.

His wide eyes stare at me, but he doesn’t reply. I push him a little harder into the wall and add a little more pressure to his throat. “What do you say to her?”

“Sorry, Loretta,” he mutters, eyes cast downward.

“Better. Now fuck off before I regret letting you go unharmed.” I release him, and he drops to the floor in a heap.

Turning back toward Church I notice everyone standing there, including our British brothers, smirking with their arms crossed over their chests.

“Enjoy the show? Fuck, let’s just get this over with, yeah?” I storm through them all and enter the main room. I was correct; it’s fucking identical.

We all take seats around the table with me, Cobra and Prez sitting at the top end of the table, showing our authority.

“Was this clubhouse built to look like ours n purpose?” I throw that out there, needing to know.

“Yeah, so when you yanks came over, you wouldn’t get homesick.”

I look at the man who answered. He has black buzz cut, beady eyes and a beard that could give Santa a run for his money. Raising a brow at him, I reply, “You seriously getting sarcastic right now, brother? I’m not in the mood for a cat fight.”

Everyone around the table laughs, Cobra shakes his head while holding his abdomen through his laughter.

It does the trick though; the man shuts up.

“All right, enough, boys. We need to discuss this shit you’ve managed to get us into, Mack, because I’m not fucking happy that I’ve had to come over,” Prez says, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke above his head. Mack is the British chapter’s Prez, the man in charge of the latest fuck up.

“We run drugs through this neighbourhood, and all over Tottenham, you know that. It’s what makes our money. Seems some dipshit in the club decided to venture out of our territory and into some gang shit. Not only that, we seem to have a snitch here too, which is why I only brought my three uppers in here with us,” Mack tells us, rubbing a hand down his face.

“What do you mean, a snitch? How do you know that?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and crossing an ankle over my knee.

“’Cause every pickup we do, the fuckin’ Old Bill turns up before us, before we can even get handle on our stuff,” Mack replies, frustration flaring across his face.

“What’s Old Bill?” Cobra asks, raising a brow in confusion.

“Police, dumbass,” beardy guy says, fire burning in his eyes.

I guess he doesn’t like us very much.

“Calm it, Fred. Stop with the hostility before I kick your arse out of Church,” Mack spits out at him. “I’m sure the big Prez wouldn’t mind doing the honors.”

Beardy, whose name we now know is Fred, scoffs at him, turning his head away to look at the wall.

As conversation about who the snitch could be, the one who is feeding the cops in-house stuff flows, and Cobra and Prez get into a heated discussion about the drugs and gangs.

“Hold up, lads!” Mack says, standing from his seat. “We need to figure out the gang shit first. They’re not like the gangs in New York, I’m sure. But they’re a gang none-the-less. The quicker we eliminate those arseholes, the quicker we can figure out the mess with the rat.”

We quickly get to work on who the gang are; names, places, their prominent colors and where they hang.

Hearing most of the names, I send Chip a text with them to get addresses, pronto. After sending the text, I quickly shoot one off to Lauren to see if she’s okay, and to tell her I miss her. Damn it, she’s turned me into a mushy bastard.

L: Miss u too, babe. Shopping in Piccadilly wiv Alexis. X

Her text brings a smile to my face.

“What you smiling about, brother?” Cobra asks, trying to peek over my shoulder at my phone.

“Nothing.” I shove my phone back into my jean pocket and fold my hands on the table, looking at everyone talking and planning.

Cobra returns to his seat while still smiling at me, which is freaking me the fuck out.

“You crushing on me, Cobra?” I raise a brow at him in question.

“Huh? What the fuck you talking about?” he replies, appearing startled by me calling him out.

“Stop fucking staring at me with a giddy smile on your face then. It’s creepy as shit.” Shaking my head at him, I return to the main topic of conversation, hashing out the details of what, when, where, why and who.

“I think we should pay each asshole a visit to their houses, more than likely one or more are going to be with another,” Dope chimes in.

“Not a bad idea, son. Mack?” Prez says, stubbing out his third cigarette. The man chain-smokes when stressed, anxious, annoyed or busy. Hell, I don’t think ten minutes go by without him having a smoke.

“Nice one, mate. Good idea. We’ll go with it. Pick out the little fish and then go after the big buggers.” Some of the stuff Mack says, doesn’t mean anything to me.

“What’s bugger?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

“You don’t want to know the true meaning, mate, it ain’t nice. But we use it instead of bastard or something like that.” He waves a dismissive hand at me before getting back to business.

Huh, I guess I’m going to learn quite a bit of the British lingo while I’m here.