Allegiance: Nomad Biker Romance

by Chiah Wilder

  Turning toward Tank, Maniac grinned. “Like taking candy from a fuckin’ baby.”

  A few of the members perched on the stools around the pool table laughed along with Tank. It felt good to be back among his brothers. He hadn’t been by the club on a Saturday night in months, and he missed the place.

  The clubhouse wasn’t anything fancy, just four large rooms spread out in a bunker style. Mostly pieced together furniture from yard sales and family heirlooms, and an enormous bar that Raptor’s father had built way back in the day, dominated the central room. The large centerpiece had seen its share of violence, pussy, and beer—not unlike most of his brothers.

  As Tank leaned against the bar, he wondered where all the other brothers were, given the big party that was gearing up.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked as he brought the beer bottle to his lips.

  “They’ll be here. Are you coming to church tomorrow?”

  Tank jerked. “Church on a Sunday? What the hell’s going down?”

  “You didn’t get the word about church tomorrow?” Maniac asked.

  “Nope. I knew nothing about it. I just stopped by to grab a few and see your ugly mug.”

  Maniac held up his middle finger, and Chainsaw guffawed loudly.

  “And free booze and tits,” Lynch added as he sauntered over, bumping Tank’s fist with his.

  Tank narrowed his eyes and went behind the bar made of knotty pine and slabs of stone. “Free booze for sure.” Closing his fingers around his favorite bourbon, he grabbed a chipped coffee mug from under the bar and gave it a quick sniff test—it seemed clean enough.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Lynch asked him.

  “Nowhere. I’ve just been working my ass off, unlike you lazy sonsofbitches.”

  Lynch chuckled. “I live a charmed life.”

  “Yeah. I bet fucking Lilly all day isn’t half bad,” Tank retorted.

  Chainsaw snubbed out his roach on the linoleum floor. “Speaking of fucking, where are you getting pussy? I haven’t seen you with the club girls in a long time.”

  “You got some sexy citizen sucking your balls off?” Lynch grabbed a plastic cup and motioned for Tank to fill it up.

  Tank took another drink. “Yep. I got them lining up, bro.”

  “I bet you do. Chicks go for the innocent look,” Maniac snorted.

  Tank laughed. “Yeah, I’m nothin’ but a regular fuckin’ choirboy.”

  Maniac shook his head. “No, dude, I mean it.” He pointed at Tank. “Look at that fancy-ass shirt you’re wearing. Women like shit like that, not” —he pulled at his ripped T-shirt— “this.”

  “Maybe if you wore a new one, you’d have better luck.” Tank teased.

  Lynch frowned. “Why the fuck are you wearing that shirt?”

  “I was on the prowl for citizens.”

  Chainsaw’s eyes widened. “Damn.”

  Wanting to shut down the questioning, Tank stared at the pool table. “When the fuck is the club gonna get a new one? This one’s ready for the dump.”

  Maniac grinned. “Yeah. It got pretty messed up at the last party. It was fuckin’ wild. You missed a great night, bro.”

  “The sweet butts were lined up around the block, just to come in and get some biker cock,” Lynch said.

  “And coke,” Tank added.

  Lynch threw back his drink. “That’s an afterthought.”

  Shaking his head, Maniac laughed. “Raptor doesn’t want to use the club funds to buy another one. He says we’ll just trash it like we did all the others.”

  Tank shrugged and slugged back a nice size swallow from the cup. The pleasant burn worked its way down his body as he made his way over to an overstuffed armchair in the corner.

  “Anyone seen Raptor tonight?”

  “Nah, man.” Maniac blew out a long breath, his boots clacking as he walked around the pool table. “So I guess you’re totally clueless about the shit that’s been going down?”

  “What shit?”

  Lynch shoved one of the stools against the bar. “Fuckin’ bullshit, that’s what. You’ve been away too long, dude.”

  Tank’s attention piqued when Maniac stopped playing and leaned his skinny ass against the end of the pool table facing Tank. “What gives? You look like the apocalypse is coming to town.”

  Maniac’s lips curled in disgust. “Fuck, man. The VP did us dirty.”

  Tank sat up straight. “What the hell?” Any news with Hammer as the headline was bound to be some dirty shit. Their vice president had his hand in all the wrong pots, and their president had been looking the other way for too damn long. “Tell me his number is finally up and we can call him out.”

  “Not exactly.” Maniac hesitated, and Chainsaw cracked his knuckles, adjusting himself against the wall with a grunt. “He sold us out to Fitzgerald.”

  “Motherfucker.” Tank took a large swallow from his mug, draining it. “Give me all the details. I’m sure this is gonna hurt.”

  “We’re back to the protection game after Hammer’s talk with Fitzgerald. The old rules are making a comeback.”

  Tank rubbed a hand down his face. “We’re shaking down businesses?”

  “Yeah. Just like in the days when Skull ran the club. We’re cleaning out Main Street one shiny cash register at a time. Protection is a hot commodity, and our useless motherfucker of a VP doesn’t give a damn that Raptor turned Fitzgerald down six months ago. So long as the prez remains occupied, Hammer’s calling the shots.”

  Tank watched Maniac hit a ball so hard, it bounced off the wall and went spinning in the other direction.

  “Aren’t you fucking his daughter?” Lynch asked.

  Tank pursed his lips. “More off than on. Besides, Quinn doesn’t know how big a crook her hypocritical dad is.”

  “But you are fuckin’ her?” Lynch asked again.

  “We haven’t been together in six months. Anyway, that wouldn’t make a difference to me. The club and Raptor come first, hands down.”

  Lynch nodded. “We all feel that way. The brotherhood is paramount.”

  After a few moments of silence, Tank said, “I told you Hammer was a fuckin’ snake in the grass.”

  “You were right. I” —Lynch looked at Chainsaw and Maniac— “we didn’t want to believe you. After you went nomad, things were cool for a while, and then Hammer started doing stupid shit. It was small, and no one thought it was a big deal. But a few months ago, serious shit started going down, telling us that this fucker is hell-bent on staging a coup.” Lynch glanced across the room at a group of members who’d been around since Skull’s days.

  “The old guard wants to bring the club back to where it was before Raptor took the helm,” Maniac grunted.

  “That’s fucked,” Tank snapped. “The club’s been making more money with Raptor than it ever did under Skull. With all the fuckin’ turf and drug wars, the old club blitzed through a shit ton of money.”

  Lynch nodded. “Yeah, I’m with you, but some of the brothers want Hammer in. It’s not helping that Raptor’s ass hasn’t been around for a fuckin’ long time.”

  “His kid’s got cancer.” Tank reminded him. “I can’t even imagine what he and his ol’ lady are going through.”

  “We all know what he’s going through, and it fuckin’ sucks, but he’s the Jagged Outlaws’ president, and his ass needs to be here. It’s like he doesn’t give a shit about what happens to the club.” The others brothers murmured their agreement.

  “Yeah, I hear you, and I don’t disagree. It’s just complicated,” Tank replied.

  “But he’s the president. If he can’t handle it, he needs to pass the torch to one of the other board members, like Reaper or Snake—they’d both make good presidents,” Lynch retorted.

  Silence fell over the men as they contemplated the enormity of the situation. A club with a faltering president was an invitation to disaster, and could cause chaos, dissension, and even war between brothers. Tank couldn’t believe that Raptor didn’t
know what was going on. His lackadaisical attitude toward running the MC made it easy for some inglorious bastards to take full advantage of the president’s absence.

  “Does Raptor know that Hammer’s lying in Fitzgerald’s bed?” Tank asked.

  Maniac shook his head. “Fuck no.”

  Anger prickled over Tank’s skin and tightened the back of his neck. “Why didn’t anyone fill me in sooner?”

  “Shit’s been a little fucked over here, Tank. We’ve all been split down the middle with our loyalties.” Maniac hung up the pool cue and cracked his knuckles. “No one can get a hold of Raptor, but you’ve got the magic touch. Maybe you can talk to him.”

  “Yeah, this is gonna be dealt with. We’re not hired thugs. We left that shit in the dust when Raptor’s pop was running this operation. I’ll have words and see if we can’t get things sorted out before it gets worse.”

  “I wouldn’t take too long. Hammer’s got an agenda, and he’s working fast.”

  Tank nearly threw his mug at the wall. “If the fucker wants a full-scale takeover, he’s in for a fight. Terrorizing hard-working citizens is old school and ass backward. Going against the word of our prez is more fucked—”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Tank, we’re on your side, but who’s gonna correct the fucker? We can’t even get a hold of Raptor, let alone have him whipping these sonsofbitches into shape,” Chainsaw scoffed from his corner, shifting from foot to foot. “We need action, scare him back into line.”

  Dread washed over Tank. Shit’s dire if Chainsaw’s opening his mouth. What a fuckin’ mess. The thought of going to war with his own brothers chilled him to the bone. There’s gotta be another way. I have to talk some sense into Raptor.

  The deep rumble of Harleys outside the main door drowned out the overhead music. Tank jerked up from his seat, walked to the bar, and poured some bourbon into the mug.

  “How many do we have on our side?” He winced at the bitter burn working its way down his gullet and noticed Maniac getting shifty.

  “Enough. We got enough,” he answered.

  “We need hard numbers, bro. Find out, okay? If Hammer’s taking this shit deep and dirty, we need to be prepared for the worst, and I need to know if we have enough backing to stop this shit in its tracks.”

  Maniac saluted with a shit-eating grin before turning serious. “He’ll be here tonight, but we’ve gotta keep things under wraps. No one needs to know anything until we’ve got everyone in line and we know where we stand. We need to play along.”

  Tank paced, chewing on his inner cheek. “It’s gonna be damn hard to pretend to suck up to that fucker, but we don’t have much of a choice. We’re here to protect the brotherhood, not watch it crash and burn all to hell.”

  They nodded their agreement.

  Tank rubbed a hand down his face. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  Maniac shrugged. “We would’ve told you sooner, but we get that shit’s rough with your mom and all.”

  “Just keep me in the loop from now on. I’m in this all the way. I’ll even go back to being an active member.”

  “We’d love to have you back full-time, dude, but Hammer will get damn suspicious if you switch out your bottom rocker at this point. We gotta play it cool,” Lynch said.

  Tank nodded. Of course, he’d go active again in a heartbeat for the club. His loyalty ran deep, but his mother was in a bad way. Ever since her heart surgery, she hadn’t been herself, and he knew it’d be damn hard to be an active member and take care of her, even with the help of the caregivers he’d hired. Throughout his growing years, and even into adulthood, his mom had been his rock. She was his support during a painful and fucked-up divorce, and now she needed him, and he didn’t want to push her to the side. Damn you, Hammer. The mess this jerk was making burned Tank’s ass and caused a mass of conflict to erupt inside of him.

  “After we get things squared, we’ll throw you a party when you trade in your nomad patch,” Maniac said.

  Tank cleared his throat and shook his head, sensing the warming wash of nothingness invade his skull from the alcohol. “Yeah.”

  At the sound of boots vibrating through the room, Lynch whispered, “It’s showtime.”

  Tank shifted toward the door and watched as a stream of members walked through it. The last person he wanted to see at that moment was the one bringing up the front of the line. Hammer strode through the clubhouse like he owned it, his shitkickers caked with mud, chin stubbled like he hadn’t slept for days, and his long black hair was tied in a braid, falling right above his flat ass.

  Hammer walked over to him and extended his hand. “Good to see your ass around these parts again, Tank.” While Tank tried to make the contact as quick as possible, the asshole used his leverage on Tank’s hand to pull him aside. “We’re gonna need you for a little collections project I got going on downtown. I need more muscle for the job. Can you free yourself up?”

  A muscle in Tank’s jaw ticked as adrenaline surged against his temples, but he kept hold of his temper. The asshole was really trying his patience.

  “Raptor knows about this project, right?”

  “What the fuck? Yeah, of course. It’s been signed, sealed, and delivered with a fuckin’ bow on top. Does that work for you, or are you backing out of your commitments because life has you down?”

  He was seconds away from reminding Hammer that he couldn’t say a fucking thing about commitment when Tank was nomad, but a slim little sweet piece inserted herself in-between them, breaking off the conversation. She blinked her fake lashes at Tank, giving him the Bambi eyes.

  “We’re finishing up here. Climb up his fucking tree in a bit, slut.” Hammer elbowed the woman out of the way. She whimpered and scurried off.

  Tank clenched his jaw. Now wasn’t the time to sink his fist into Hammer’s smug face. The fucker didn’t need to know which way the wind was blowing until he was pissing in it, then it’d splash across his face. For now, though, he had to hold it together, but the asshole made it damn hard.

  Hammer squeezed Tank’s shoulder, hard enough to cause a ripple of pain to shoot down his shoulder blade. “Look, I get you’ve been out of the loop, Tank, but that’s no excuse for insubordination. I’m still VP around here and that’s not gonna change, so I don’t fucking appreciate you questioning my authority. I’m giving you a pass this time because I’m feeling generous, and tonight is gonna be a good night with all the sweet butts and booze. But question me again, and I will beat your ass into the ground.”

  Before Tank could chime in with his thoughts, the bastard spun around and began circulating around the clubhouse to grab some ass and booze. Yeah, this sonofabitch needs to be dealt with before shit gets worse. There’s no way he can be our prez.

  “Sorry I bothered you earlier, but are you up for a little drinking game now? I’d love to have some fun.”

  The slinky brunette from a few minutes before cozied up to him near the corner of the bar. I know her. Meredith… no, wait… Merida? No, Merry—that’s it. They’d played around a few times in the past, but he hadn’t recognized her when she’d first come over. But then, all he had running through his veins had been white-hot anger.

  “You remember me, right?” she said in a breathy voice.

  “Yeah.”

  Merry clearly remembered their hookups, judging by the way she was shoving her boobs in his face and twirling her hair around her finger. But her warm brown hair reminded him of Lena, and how perfect she had felt in his arms. And the way she looks up at me through her lashes, and that cute way she crinkles her nose. Fuck.

  “We had some real good times. We can have some fun tonight,” she purred, pressing against his arm.

  “Not tonight. Try Chainsaw. He’ll be pissed after he loses the pool game, and he’ll need a little comfort.”

  Not seeming to be put out by his suggestion, Merry brightened and headed toward the pool table. He dug his cell out of his pocket and stared at the screen, thumbing up Lena’s contact informatio
n, and stared at her number. She probably won’t answer. Before he could stop himself, he hit the call icon and raised the phone to his ear. He couldn’t drive the image of her in his arms, kissing him, out of his mind.

  The phone rang. Pushing away from the bar, he walked outside. The palm trees stood tall above the asphalt lot and slices of green grass. .

  After the fourth ring, he was ready to end the call when Lena picked up and answered drowsily, “Hello?”

  Hearing her voice brought a smile to his face.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Tank?” Sounding surprised to hear his voice, he smiled.

  “Were you expecting someone else?”

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

  He heard shuffling in the background, like she was trying to sit up in bed.

  “It’s a little late for that. I left the parking lot nearly three hours ago.”

  He chuckled. “You’re ornery when your beauty sleep is disturbed.”

  “I need all the help I can get,” she groaned.

  “You know that’s bullshit.”

  “Where are you?”

  Tank looked over at two members fucking one of the women on the lawn in front of the club and said, “Getting ready to take a ride.”

  “At this hour?”

  “It’s the best time. The only sounds will be my bike and the waves. It’s fuckin’ awesome. I’ll have to take you sometime.”

  There was no response.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were good. I gotta go.”

  “Tank?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad you called. Goodnight.”

  “Nite.”

  Slipping the phone into his pocket, Tank jumped on his bike. He had no idea why he’d called her, but he was glad he did. An unfamiliar warmth spread through him, making his cock twitch at the thought of her in bed, snuggled underneath the covers.

  Bringing his Harley to life, he sped out of the lot and headed for Pacific Coast Highway.

  The moon was full and the night peaceful. The only thing missing was Lena pressed against his back, those sexy thighs of hers wrapped tight around his.