Free Blow Me Away (Seven Tribesmen Motorcycle Club Book 3) by Evelyn Glass

why not.”
     
    Coyote's brows furrowed in frustration.  He wasn't convinced, and he wasn't afraid to voice it.  “Why would the White Knights join up with the Demons though?”
     
    “We put one of their men behind bars.”  Bishop frowned, recalling Stan.  He vaguely wondered where the man was now.  A paranoid part of him almost expected the disgusting piece-of-shit to rear his ugly head. 
     
    “An affiliate ,” corrected Coyote.
     
    Bishop waved away the correction with an irritated palm. “Point is, there's motive.”
     
    Coyote wasn't letting go of the topic.  He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the wooden table.  His pointer finger tapped against the tabletop, as if his point were solidified in the wood grain.  “Yeah, and there's motive for the Spikes to lie to us.”
     
    “Everyone and their grandma knows the FBI is in town,” snorted Bishop, rolling his eyes.  “Why risk getting caught with possession of crank?”
     
    “You mean everyone knows you're banging the agent.”
     
    “ Coyote .”
     
    “Just saying.  If the White Knights got involved, then the Demons and Spikes know about your relations with Agent Holmes.”
     
    Bishop fell silent.  That speculation had been lingering at the edges of his thoughts, afraid to be noticed.  Just imagining Stella getting involved in the tangled mess of club politics made his stomach lurch.  He couldn't do anything about it though.  She had already shoved her nose in pretty deep.
     
    “The Spikes are putting themselves in a vulnerable position.” Bishop's denial rallied against Coyote's sense.  It wasn't even implausible denial.  “If they get caught red-handed with blow, they're gonna get possession.  Bare minimum.  The blowback could be traced back to the Demons and the cartel.”
     
    Coyote shrugged, shaking his head slightly as he heaved a sigh.  Bishop groaned, rubbing his throbbing temple.  Sometimes, Bishop felt the tangled web of motorcycle clubs could use a good trimming.  It didn't help that the Seven Tribesmen had lost a long-time partnership and investment.  There was also a second issue with the Spikes: they offered their turf and their patch in exchange for protection from the Demons.  Bishop's jaw clenched and unclenched.  Acreage was a big deal.  It was even a bigger deal for a club to relinquish their identity and become a charter.
     
    A set of knuckles rapped across the conference room door.  Bishop's eyes swung to the clock.  Nine o'clock.  He resisted the urge to groan again.  The rest of the Seven Tribesmen were ready for the meeting and vote.  That meant the three newbie s— who had been given a kind of internship with the 7 T— would be watching over the Spikes.  That meant they needed to be short and sweet with business.
     
    “Get in here!” Bishop barked through the door.  The rest of the member s— sans New b— filed into the room.  Each expression held the strained, pinched look of a club ready to topple.  Bishop swallowed, mentally preparing for the long discussion ahead.  As he shifted in his seat, the dull throb of his muscles reminded him of the pleasant afternoon with Stella.  A dull ache singed at the corners of his heart, but he tried to push the feelings aside as he delved into the meeting.
     

CHAPTER TWELVE
     
    A motion of 5 to 2 brought the Seven Tribesmen to the highway early in the Thursday dawn.  They dawdled at the truck stop, waiting for the delivery truck to show up.  According to one of the Devil Spikes members, the drivers always stopped at this outpost for the diner's flapjacks and a set of legs that went by the name of Joy.  At that thought, Bishop glanced at the booth behind Bulletproof. 
     
    Thanks to a close vote, four Spikes members accompanied them.  If bullets went flying, at least they'd have four extra bodies to fend off or sacrifice. It was a cold, detached thought, but Bishop didn't care.  A bitterness still thrived in his heart over the