The Lost Boys MC Series: Books 1-4

by Savannah Rylan

  They nodded their heads in agreement as I drew in a deep breath.

  “Are they coming in the same containers?” I asked.

  Notch shook his head. “Nope. I just got off the phone with Cheng, actually. These shipments will be in Chinese food containers. Not the knock-off women’s products we’re used to. That’s their way of ‘dodging the heat.’”

  I snickered. “Yeah. Asshats.”

  “I do have some good news, though,” Notch said.

  I turned to him. “Well, spit it out.”

  “The guns Bronx and I are taking to our storage facility won’t be our responsibility to sell individually.”

  “What?” Texas asked.

  “That’s why it took me so long to get off the phone with Cheng. Those guns are specifically for other gangs in the area. It’s why he wanted those coming separate from the rest of the shipments. We’re storing them in our storage locker until Harry and his goons can get there to transfer them. But according to Cheng, they’ve already got some buyers lined up in the area who they want wielding their guns.”

  I froze. “That’s not good.”

  “Why not? Less product we have to push, and we’ll get a cut off the top because they’re using us to haul them. Right?” Texas asked.

  “That’s what Harry just told me. Fifteen percent, off the top,” Notch said.

  “Shit,” Bronx said.

  “Yeah, he gets it,” I said.

  “Well, can you two fill us in? Yeah?” Texas asked.

  “If they’ve got new buyers set up to try their stuff, it means they’re marketing their product again to new people. Maybe in the hopes of hooking up with another crew,” Bronx said.

  “If they’re test-running product with new people, then they’re making strides to cut us out,” I said.

  The guys all cursed underneath their breath.

  “Well, what the hell are we supposed to do about that?” Notch asked.

  “One issue at a time. We do what we need to do tonight, and tomorrow’s a new day. You let me deal with Cheng. Got it?” I asked.

  “Can we go over this song and dance one more time?” Bronx asked.

  “Yep. Here’s how it’s gonna work out. Texas is at the central port, getting that shipment back to here. I’m staying behind to receive the 9:15 shipment that’s coming directly here. Notch and you are headed to the third port to take that shipment to our northern warehouse we’ve got, and we’re storing that shit there until Harry and his goons contact us. Right?” I asked.

  Notch nodded. “Yep. Harry said they’d be by sometime in the early morning. He’d call when they were on their way.”

  “Okay. Notch and Bronx. You two bunk here for the night. Get the guns squared away in the storage locker, then come back here and rest. Wait for Cheng’s phone call. I’m staying here all night to make sure all this shit’s coordinated properly, so I’ll be heading with you guys to meet Cheng when he wants to move the merchandise. And if there’s any sign of anything amiss—anything at all—you bail and let me handle the fallout,” I said.

  I looked around the room, making sure all of my men looked me in the eye and nodded. Making sure they got it. That was the most important part of this plan. No matter what, we weren’t slaves to the Chinese. And if they wanted to pull some shit tonight, we’d be ready to bail and fight our way out in a heartbeat.

  “Sounds fair to me,” Notch said.

  “But what about the Chinese?” Bronx asked.

  I paused. “What about them?”

  “If we disconnect ourselves from them and the guns, what will we do to bring in income?” he asked.

  I grinned. “Why do you think I was asking about the bar at our last church meeting?”

  Texas smiled. “Always got a plan.”

  “There’s always a backup plan to the backup plan. Always. Remember that, men,” I said.

  They nodded, and I saw a little more confidence on their faces.

  I looked down at my watch. “We’ve got nine hours until anything has to happen. So, let’s get our asses into bed and get some sleep. It’s gonna be a long night.”

  I dismissed church and all of us piled into the bedrooms our lodge had. Even though it was only ten o’clock in the morning and the sun was shining brightly. I walked down the hallway and pushed through the door at the end. I turned on the light and sighed, ready to tumble onto that mattress and pass the fuck out. I plugged my phone into the charger on the bedside table and set my alarm. Five alarms within the thirty minutes before I had to roll my ass out of bed. I toed off my boots and hung my leather jacket over the chair in the corner. I took off my belt and tossed it onto the table against the wall, then piled into bed.

  All of us had to keep a low profile until we could get this shit over with.

  And until I could figure out what the hell Yung, Cheng, and his goonies were trying to pull over our eyes.

  I tumbled into bed, pressing myself underneath the covers. Even though my eyes didn’t feel heavy, I turned off the lamp beside me and tried to get some sleep. I needed to be rested for tonight. All of this hinged on our ability to interpret shit in the dead of night. And for that, we needed rest.

  But, not even an hour into my fitful sleep, I heard a knock on my door.

  “Stone? You still awake?”

  Texas’ voice wafted through the door and I groaned.

  “Come in.”

  “Did I wake you?” he asked.

  “Not from any sleep that matters. What’s up?” I asked.

  I heard the heavy falling of feet behind him and I grinned. I turned on the lamp next to my bed and saw all of them standing at my door. Texas in front, with Notch and Bronx peeking their heads over both of his shoulders.

  “The kids can’t sleep?” I asked, chuckling.

  “More like we’ve been talking,” Texas said.

  I furrowed my brow as I sat up in bed. I motioned for them all to come in and they piled into my room. They closed the door behind them and leaned against the wall. Pulled up chairs. Whatever they could do to get comfortable. I saw something was on their minds. Something that was preventing them from sleeping.

  “Spit it out,” I said.

  “Were you serious about that bar thing?” Bronx asked.

  I nodded. “Yes. Why?”

  They all looked around at one another before Texas sighed.

  “We were thinking about bringing up to you the possibility of getting out of the weapons game after this shit is over.”

  I nodded slowly. “Uh huh.”

  “I mean, we can’t work with Cheng and his men forever. Not with the stuff they’ve pulled this time around,” Notch said.

  “You’re not wrong there,” I said.

  “We’d have the money in a heartbeat to open a new bar. Staff it. I’ve done very well with saving back money into an investment vehicle that compounds interest at a rate of—”

  “English, Bronx,” I said.

  He chuckled. “We’ve got just over half a million sitting in an investment account ready to be used for the bar and anything it needs.”

  My eyebrows hiked up. “What?”

  “Wait, half a million?” Texas asked.

  “Holy shit, Bronx. The hell you been doin’ with those numbers of yours?” Notch asked.

  “Using them to our advantage. Look, we aren’t hurting for money. We could just as easily get into the bar business and turn a good fucking profit like we have been doing in the weapons business. And we’ve got the upfront cash to do it. I made sure to set us up for it,” Bronx said.

  I eyed him carefully. “And what made you take those strides?”

  “Stone, cut him some slack,” Texas asked.

  I held up my hand, waiting for Bronx’s honest reply.

  “Honestly?” he asked.

  “Yep,” I said.

  “I started doing it three years ago, when we had that close-call with the cops at the port. I took an investment class at the community college. Started taking the extra m
oney and throwing it into a high-risk investment account yielding—”

  I held my hand up and Bronx stopped his sentence. I didn’t understand half the mumbo jumbo that came out of his face anyway. I didn’t need to know the details. All I wanted to know was what sparked him from withholding money from this entire fuckin’ crew that we were rightfully due.

  And he had a damn good reason for it.

  “Good job,” I said as I lowered my hand.

  “Wait, really?” Bronx asked.

  I nodded. “I’ve actually been thinking about this weapons thing a lot lately. I considered it a bit back three years ago, when that shit happened at one of our ports. But even before all this shit happened with Boulder, it’s been on my mind. Ella’s on her own again. Stable. Keva’s getting older, and she’ll start getting curious.”

  Hell, Hayley’s already curious.

  “Plus, I don’t like the way Harry’s threatening us with shit. Barging in here unannounced, like he owns the damn place. I can’t work with someone like that,” I said.

  “And we shouldn't have to,” Texas said.

  They were all looking at me with prying eyes. Wide eyes. Begging me to put the motion on the floor.

  “Okay. Okay. Church is called,” I said.

  “And we’re all here for it,” Texas said.

  “A motion needs to be brought forth,” I said.

  “Floor open,” the guys said in unison.

  “Motion to leave behind the gun business in pursuit of something else,” I said.

  “Reasons?” Notch asked.

  “It’s becoming too volatile. Too dangerous for us. Putting too much heat on the group and getting us closer and closer to jail time,” I said.

  All the guys nodded their heads before Texas grinned.

  “Motion seconded,” he said.

  “All right, let’s take a vote. All in favor of getting out of the weapons game after tonight, raise your hands,” I said.

  And when all of their hands crept into the air, I shot mine up as well.

  “Motion passed,” I said.

  The guys were all smiles as they stood up and headed for the door.

  “We’ll talk more about this bar thing after tonight,” Bronx said.

  “We’ll call an official church meeting and throw out all sorts of new ideas,” Texas said.

  “Time for our asses to get some sleep. Ready, guys?” Notch asked.

  “Just get out of my room and leave me alone,” I said, grinning.

  And as the guys closed my door behind them, a calmness took over me. A peace I hadn’t felt since I was a child. I laid my head back down onto the pillow and turned out my light, slipping into sleep easier than I had before.

  Now, all I had to do was contend with the Chinese on our decision.

  20

  Hayley

  I sat there quietly, trying to listen in on my father’s discussion outside. But when he closed that porch door, there wasn’t much I could hear. I didn’t like the way he looked at me, though. When I mentioned Stone’s motorcycle gang.

  So, I decided to do a bit of snooping.

  I got up and placed my plate on the counter, trying to make it look like I was finished. I saw my father peeking through the window. But when I looked over at him to wave and smile, he turned back out toward the backyard. That told me everything I needed to know. Whoever he was talking with, he was talking about the conversation we just had.

  I had to figure out if my father was targeting Stone’s crew.

  I slipped silently from the kitchen to the hallway. I walked down it, bypassing my father’s room and darting into my old bedroom. Well, my bedroom that he had converted into a home office space. I slipped through the door and turned the light on, trying to be as quick as I could about things. But it didn’t take me long. Because there, on top of his desk, was a file folder.

  And when I opened it, Stone’s picture was on top.

  “Shit,” I murmured.

  I rifled through the pictures. I saw three other men there with names I didn’t recognize. Some massive tank named “Texas.” Some skinnier looking guy named “Bronx.” A guy with a player’s smirk on his face. His name was “Notch.”

  Notch? Really? Like notches on a damn bedpost?

  “Ew,” I whispered.

  There was a great deal of information there. Things my father had highlighted. Some guy by the name of Boulder. Jett. A couple of women named Ella and Keva, whoever they were. I saw ages and something about guns. The word “Chinese” with a question mark by it. Then, at the top of one of the papers, I saw it.

  “Confirmed: The Lost Boys MC”

  My heart dropped into my stomach. The room tilted around me. Holy shit, Stone was in some sort of trouble and my father was poking around in their group. Was this the crew he had gone undercover for these past few months? It had to be. There wasn’t any other explanation as to why the file folder was so thick. He didn’t get this kind of information sitting at his desk.

  He only got this information by speaking with them directly.

  “Oh, no,” I whimpered.

  I paused, figuring I had heard something. But, when nothing met my ears but silence, I hunched over his desk. I shuffled through the papers, trying to take as much information as I could. I pulled out my phone and began taking pictures. As many as I could take from the massive file in front of me. And as I was taking pictures, my eyes scanned over something that made my skin tingle.

  “Jobs: gun smuggling, money laundering”

  I felt sick to my stomach. I continued taking pictures, hoping the quality would be good enough to read them later. If I zoomed in or something. I read enough to know that my father’s team was trying to stop them. Trying to peg them for what they were doing. And after I’d taken some pictures, feeling satisfied with the information I could filter through, another thought crossed my mind.

  Mom.

  I paused again to listen out for any sounds. I crept back to the door, wondering if my father had come back inside. I crept down the hallway, not wanting to press my luck if I didn’t have it. But, as I peeked through the kitchen and out the back doors, I saw my father had sat down in a chair on the back porch. His phone still connected to his ear.

  Oh, he was in the midst of a deep conversation. Which meant I had plenty of time.

  I ran back down the hallway and lunged into the room. In the swell of a heartbeat, I ripped open the drawers at his desk. I filtered through them, trying to find any sort of information on my mother I could. A death certificate. An obituary. Hell, the program for her funeral I’d lost in my move. I searched his desk and pulled out his drawers. I looked through the file tabs where I figured her information would be. I even took to looking through his bookshelves on either side of the room, pulling books out and shaking them to see if anything would fall out. But there was nothing.

  Nothing about my mother anywhere.

  Is it really that easy for him to erase her?

  I stood in the middle of my father’s office and closed my eyes. It grew hard to breathe. Hard to think straight. I swallowed deeply and went back to the file folder, taking pictures of the rest of the information. My father was head-deep in a conversation. He’d probably forgotten I was here. So, I took the liberty of at least making his unlocked office worth my time. After over one hundred pictures taken of the papers in the file folder on The Lost Boys, I slipped my phone back into my pocket.

  Why didn’t my father have anything of my mother’s in here?

  I looked around his office and on his desk. There were pictures of me. Of him and I. Pictures of his team and awards he’d won at work over the years. Pictures of his promotions and pictures of us in the park. But there was nothing of my mother.

  Nothing at all.

  “How could he just not have anything?” I murmured to myself.

  I put everything back where I found it to the best of my ability. Then, I slipped out of the room. I put the door back to the cracked state where I’d found
it, then headed back to the kitchen. And as I walked back there, I took stock of the pictures on the walls. Pictures of my father and myself. Portraits we’d had done over the years to clock my birthdays and Christmases. I walked into the living room and took stock of the photos he had of coworkers. Bosses. More promotions and more awards. I’d never noticed it before, but there wasn’t a damn thing in this house that even remotely resembled the presence of my mother.

  And while I understood grief, I got the feeling that it was much more than that.

  “What are you not telling me, Dad?” I asked softly.

  I shook my head as I made my way back to the kitchen. But as I crossed by the patio door, I heard my father talking outside. I heard his voice rumbling lowly. Intentionally talking lower than he needed to. And because my curiosity had already peaked to dangerously high proportions, I stood there and pressed my ear to the curtained window.

  “Confirmed, yes. The set up is tonight. Be ready to go at eight. We’ll have them right where we want them by nine fifteen.”

  I didn’t know much, but I knew my father was talking about setting up Stone’s crew. He was setting up the club tonight for something, and in the pit of my gut I wanted to tell Stone. I wanted to make sure they were safe. Sound. Secure. I didn’t know why. I shouldn't have cared. After all, they were just a bunch of gun-running, money-stealing, roughhousing men.

  Yet, the feeling didn’t go away.

  I saw my father get up from his chair and I dashed back down the hallway. I slipped into the bathroom, locking the door and turning the fan on. I needed to buy myself some time to piece all this together. I needed to figure out what the fuck I was missing. My mind wasn’t putting everything together because it kept shooting off into twenty thousand different places.

  “Hayley?” my father called out.

  “Pooping!” I exclaimed.

  “Ah, right. Well, I gotta get a shower! Make yourself at home!”

  “Thanks, Daddy!”

  Great. Even more time.

  I sat down on the toilet seat and listened as my father walked by. His shadow appeared underneath the doorway and he stopped, which made my heart stop in my chest. I held my breath. I made small grunting sounds, trying to sell what I was doing.