Play Dirty: Devil's Mustangs MC Read Online Free PDF Page B

night rides out to the drop points so much that she spends more time with the underlings and the club’s old ladies than she does with me. When I do see her, it’s moments in between club meetings or school runs.
     
    And I’m sure when she’s here, and I’m not, she’s seeing some bad shit, too. Just last week, a guy came in shot up in the shoulder. His white t-shirt and colors jacket had to be cut off of him so the club doc could stitch him up on our kitchen table – the same table we had breakfast at most mornings. I remember Maddie slipping in to get a glass of milk before her bedtime. It was if there wasn’t a guy having vodka and vicodin poured down his throat so Doc could stitch him up.
     
    I clear my throat before reassuring Maddie that her teacher was still on her side, “Tomorrow, I’m gonna walk you into your new classroom. Michelle – I mean Miss Springer – is gonna send your homework there. If you’re good for the rest of the quarter with no more fights, no more cursing, you’re gonna be back in there. You think you can handle that?”
     
    Maddie lights up, her eyes beaming with hope. “Fuck yeah!” She looks distraught as she catches herself, “Oh – shit – I mean, heck yeah!”
     
    I glance at the clock over her shoulder as I hear the commotion coming from the club’s meeting space. I’m running late. I tell Maddie to head upstairs and find Miranda, the maid in charge of her tonight, and head down to the basement where the club’s members have assembled.
     
    The Devil’s Mustangs are all sitting around at the circular tables, chatting lowly. It’s been a long week for almost everyone. Routes are being blocked, members are being attacked out in the open, and territory is falling to the Coyotes almost every day. And I can tell by how our leader, President Jager, is reacting that money ain’t flowing like it’s supposed to be. When money don’t come, Jager and the rest get anxious. There’s no such thing as a broke motorcycle club.
     
    I take my seat next to Red Dog as he whispers over to Ace, “Fuck that, man! We need some action. We need to punish those little pricks for taking what’s ours. We’ve been on this beat for over 20 years, and now we’re just gonna let ‘em take our blow and our customers? That’s freakin’ crazy.”
     
    “I’ve been here a lot longer than you have, man, and I know that this is just part of the game. Jager’s got a plan, and it’s gonna be good.”
     
    “You better hope it is.” He leans in, eying the rest of the table as he says it, “If not, I hear the young guns are calling for mutiny, and all us old timers, the loyalists, we’re gonna be gone fast. Ain’t no stopping that kind of change.”
     
    I roll my eyes. It’s like Ace said – these shifts of power is just part of the game. You win some, you lose some. And Jager’s been good to us for the last ten years. He knows this club and the Coyotes like the back of his hands, and he runs our blow enterprise like a CEO at a Fortune 500 company. And if it’s really in trouble, he’d snuff it out quick.
     
    But there is a small part of me that wants what Red Dog is antsy for to come true. I want blood. Lots of it. The Coyotes aren’t just our club’s mortal rivals; they’re the assholes that killed the mother of my daughter. They shot her tire right in front of me in retaliation for me shooting into their clubhouse the night before. They’re the ones that made me a single father, raising my daughter in a club with no help. They’re the ones that took my April away.
     
    Jager, with his leather jacket bursting with club patches and his receding hair is hidden behind a black leather baseball cap. His hands smooth out his thick black mustache before he speaks, his loud, grizzly voice cutting through the room’s noise. “This meeting is coming to order. Y’all know why we called you here. The Coyote’s been raiding our drop spots, intimidating and threatening our dealers,