by Cathryn Cade
Leaning close, while his hands were busy with supplies from his kit, Mac answered. “The good stuff, huh? Guess that means you want me to help with your pain?”
“Yeah, pendejo. Gimme a shot of something.”
Mac worked quickly and steadily, cleansing the guy’s wounds, which were superficial—just as Connor’s had been at the hands of the gang’s initiates—and bandaged them. But as he did so, he looked into the victim’s eyes. “You remember me?”
The guy hissed with pain as Mac irrigated a shallow cut and covered it with a pad. “Why should I?”
Mac glanced over his shoulder. The two cops stood several feet away, talking together. Neither was looking at him.
He leaned closer. “I’ll tell you why, bud. ‘Cause I’m the guy whose kid you threatened. Connor Carson, Northside HS—ring a bell?”
The ganger’s eyes widened. “Que? Get away from me—you ain’t no paramedic.”
Mac smiled. “Yeah, I am. And you know what that means, asshole? Next time you get knifed and you’re bleedin’ out… I might be your first responder again. And next time, I just might have something a little stronger to give you. Something that will take away your pain… for good.”
“Augh! Get away from me—he’s tryin to kill me! Help, help!”
“Jaysus, is he on somethin’?” Mac’s partner asked, appearing at his side. “Fuckin’ gang-bangers. They’re all tough till they’re the ones who get cut, then they cry like babies.”
Mac grinned. “Jewel, have I told you lately how much I love you?”
His fellow paramedic, a stocky woman with gray hair in a mullet, sneered at him. “No, and don’t start with me, Carson. Let’s get this little waste of space bandaged up so the cops can take him away.”
“Listen to me,” their patient gasped, his eyes bulging in his pasty face. “He threatened to off me. He’s fuckin’ crazy.”
Jewel’s younger sister had fallen victim to a gang in Seattle. Which meant Mac’s partner had even less sympathy than he did for this guy.
She bared her teeth and gave the ganger a crazed smile. “No, no. He’s not the crazy one. I am.”
Mac snorted with laughter. “Jewel. Call the station, let ‘em know we’re about done here. I’ll finish him up.”
She rose and spoke into her radio.
“By the way,” Mac murmured to his patient. “After you showed up to my woman’s house, threatened my family, I found out where you live. And I gotta tell you, your place was way too easy to break into. Tomorrow morning? I’d check real close to see if your Chex cereal tastes funny. And did you know tequila hides the taste of whatever you wanna add to it? And what about when you take a shower? Ever wonder what’s in your shampoo bottle?”
“Help!” the guy screamed hoarsely.
Mac smiled. “You shouldn’t have messed with my boy, you piece of shit. Now, one way or another, you are a dead man walkin’.”
Straightening, Mac called to the cops. “He’s ready to go. Not gonna need to go to the ER, all his cuts are superficial. Long as he keeps them clean, they’ll heal up.”
“In that case, we’ll take him,” the female cop said. “Possession of illegal weapons.”
The cops had to wrap the ganger in restraints to transport him. “No, no, I ain’t going with you. You’re gonna kill me—he told me!”
The cops exchanged a look. “Right,” the man said. “We’ll look into it.”
“Should I even write this in our report?” the woman asked.
The other cop shook his head. “Fuck no. Carson is as solid as they come. This guy’s off his head. God knows what kinda drugs he’s been on.”
On his way home from his shift the next afternoon, Mac called Rocker and related what had happened.
Rocker laughed. “Jesus, Carson. That dude is not far off—you are one crazy fool. But… I’m also thinking, let’s have some fun with this. Build on it.”
“I’m in,” Mac said instantly.
“You set him up, so let’s use that. Break into his place, mess with his shit. See if we can put the fear of Flyer Nation into him. And I know just the thing ... I set up the new security system for the Halloween Haunted House, know the guy, think I can borrow some props. He's got some awesome realistic shit, too. We won’t have room for the zombies, sad to say. But we could do a severed head, and he’s got these crazy, mechanical black cats that jump out on springs.”
“Whoo-ee, I’m likin’ this,” Mac approved. “Can you set up some cameras to catch the action?”
“Hell, yeah. We don’t wanna miss out.”
October 13th
The next night, when R-Jay Esteves hobbled into his apartment in north Spokane, the lights would not come on.
Cursing, he pulled out his phone and used the light to navigate through the living room to the bathroom. He had to piss.
He pulled up the lid of the toilet and recoiled with a scream as a black shape shot out of the toilet with an unearthly hiss.
R-Jay recovered himself with difficulty, leaning back against the wall with his heart pounding. “Fuckin’ cat,” he muttered. “How’d it get in here?”
That was when he realized he’d pissed himself. Cursing foully, he stepped out of his soiled gym shorts and headed for his kitchen for a shot of something strong to steady his nerves.
He’d phone Wes and Chavo and have them come over, help him out.
He grabbed the bottle of tequila from the counter and took a long drink, then opened his refrigerator, only to recoil with another cry of fear.
“Hello, R-Jay,” hissed the decapitated head sitting on his refrigerator shelf. “Sure you wanna drink that? You know what they say, te-kill-ya!”
Which was when the burn hit R-Jay’s mouth and throat. Coughing and retching, he bent forward. Pain shot through him as the stitches in his stomach pulled loose.
When his friends pulled up in Chavo’s car a short time later, R-Jay was huddled on the street outside the building, shivering and muttering to himself.
“C’mon,” he called hoarsely, diving into the car. “Let’s go.”
“Where, man?” Wes asked. “I got kicked out of my place, and Chavo’s woman locked him out.”
“Outta this fucking town,” R-Jay said. “Seattle, I don’t care. Just go!”
October 14th
Rocker stopped by the next morning in a generic utility coverall and Snake’s van to reclaim the Halloween props and return them to their owner, along with a case of good beer.
Cooler stopped in at Rock Solid Security on his way to work that afternoon. The two Flyers watched the footage of R-Jay returning to his house of horrors, both chuckling appreciatively.
“I’d say our plan worked well,” Rocker said. “Old R-Jay pissed himself and ran for it.”
“Damn, I probably would’ve shit myself when that fake cat leapt out of the john,” Cooler said. “That thing looked real, especially in that light.”
Rocker laughed. “And your voice, coming through the head. ‘Sure you wanna drink that, R-Jay?’”
Cooler laughed again. “Ghost pepper hot sauce. If the tequila don’t kill ya, it will.”
He held out a hand to Rocker. “Appreciate it, brother.”
“My pleasure,” Rocker assured him, shaking his hand. “There’ll be other gangs, but the Boyz? They won’t be back in town anytime soon.”
October 15th
Mac arrived home the next afternoon. When he walked into his house, his woman was curled on the sofa, reading one of her hairstyle magazines.
Everything inside him eased. Damn, she looked good here, in his place, with him. Where she should be.
She looked up with a smile. “Hi, honey, how was your night?”
He walked to her and sank onto the sofa, gathering her in his arms and sighed with pleasure. “Oh, y’know, pretty quiet. How was yours?”
She gave him that smile he loved, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Also quiet. I missed you.”
“Wanna show me how much?”
<
br /> “Yes, I do.” And she did.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
RaeAnn Denton and Mac ‘Cooler’ Carson exchanged marriage vows on November 16th, at five o’clock in the afternoon.
The Devil’s Flyers’ clubhouse was cleaned and shined and decorated to the hilt, with swags of wheat, autumn leaves, fall mums, and tiny pumpkins. Centerpieces decorated all the tables, atop gold tablecloths.
The big room smelled of fall spice from the candles burning on tall stands by the back doors. Between them sat a table with a huge autumn bouquet.
A local pastor stood before it, a big smile on his face.
Mac waited there with T-Bear and Rocker. All three men wore good jeans, boots, and their cuts over western-style dress shirts. Mac’s shirt was cream, as his bride had requested.
A local guitarist played country western songs for the people seated at the tables.
Dee, Lacey, and Mac’s daughter Cassie preceded the bride out from the back hallway. They carried fall bouquets that complemented their russet cocktail dresses. They smiled as they joined the men at the makeshift altar.
Cassie’s blonde hair was cut short on one side of her head, and the long tips falling over her shoulder on the other side had been dyed a shocking purple. She wore brown leggings and flats under her short, russet dress. As she reached the front of the room, her dad gave her a wink, and she grinned at him.
Connor walked his mother out. His hair was neatly combed back, and he wore a russet dress shirt and skinny black slacks.
RaeAnn wore a cream lace dress with a deep sweetheart neckline, fitted waist, and handkerchief point hem that fluttered around her calves. Instead of a veil, she wore a spray of cream roses in her hair. She carried a small bouquet of cream roses, accented with mini-mums and trailing leaves.
The women sighed collectively when they saw her, and the men chuckled as Cooler stared and then shook his head as if to clear it, clapping his hand to his heart.
RaeAnn stepped to stand across from him. As Con took his place by his dad, he and Cassie stuck their tongues out at each other, then grinned when Ellen hissed disapprovingly from her seat at one of the front tables. Linda sat with her, along with Mac’s parents and his sister and her family.
The bride and groom gazed into each other’s eyes, oblivious to everyone.
The music quieted. “Dearly beloved,” the pastor said. “And all you rascals and reprobates,” here the Flyers broke into laughter. “We are gathered here to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. And if any of our guests doubt that God is with us in this place, remember that He meets us where we are. And He works in all of our lives. We have seen the evidence of this in the good works performed by this club, such as the charity runs, the funeral escorts for fallen heroes, and the way they come together to help our community.”
The pastor smiled at all of them. “And we see it in the way all of you are gathered here as a family. A rowdy, loud, often contentious family—” more laughter. “But a family.”
He turned to RaeAnn and Mac. “And now, are you two ready?”
They looked at each other and nodded. Mac held out his hand, and Rae moved to join him.
They said their traditional vows, and Mac lifted Rae’s hand to press a kiss to the wedding band he’d just placed there. He gazed into her eyes, his face alight with love.
“Mama, everyone here knows how long it took you and me to get here. But I swear to you, after today, you and I will never again allow words, or silences, or anyone else, to come between us. I will work till the end of my days to show you how much I love and appreciate you.”
RaeAnn blinked away tears and lifted her arms around his neck. “Oh, Mac. That’s so beautiful. I swear I’ll do the same. I love you so much.”
Connor grinned widely, and their audience broke into loud applause, whistles and cheers ringing in the air.
Rae and Mac scarcely heard them. They were too busy sealing their vows with a kiss.
The wedding reception began with Stick Vanko rising to stand before the crowd, Sara at his side, both smiling, although she looked tired despite her perfect makeup, hair and lovely apricot maternity dress. She supported her very pregnant belly with one hand.
“First,” Stick said. “My wife and I thank you all for coming today. We celebrate with our brother Cooler, his old lady RaeAnn, and their son Connor, and his daughter Cassie. It is always good to add to our family. We invite you to stay and join us in our celebration. We have food and beer, catered by The Hangar, the best damn brewpub and restaurant in Eastern Washington.”
Loud cheers approved of this statement. Few noticed as Heavy and Drew rose from their seats and disappeared into the hallway.
Rocker stepped forward. “Mac, or as we know you, Cooler. You and RaeAnn asked that no one feel they had to bring gifts, since you’re not exactly kids starting out in your first place. But we got you something special, just to show how much we appreciate you.”
Rae looked to her husband, who shook his head, looking suspicious. He gave Rocker a warning look, but the club veep merely shrugged mirthfully.
Then a wave of laughter began on the side of the room nearest the hallway and swept through the rest of the guests, as Heavy and Drew wheeled in a big restaurant cart covered with a cloth and festooned with flowers.
In the center of the cart sat a vintage, green-and-white metal Coleman cooler. The lid was open so that all could see the cooler was full of ice, in which rested a number of long-necked Budweisers and a single bottle of champagne.
Rae let out a little shriek of laughter. Cooler’s face turned red, and he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks,” he said dryly.
“What’s it all mean, Cooler?” Rav hollered across the room.
Cooler shook his head. “Anyone who doesn’t know, doesn’t need to know. And that’s all I’m sayin’. Except, thank you all for coming, and now, let’s party!”
“Beer outside, wine and hard liquor at the bar!” Rocker yelled.
The reception began. The back doors were propped open, revealing a brand-new food truck with the Hangar logo on the side. It stood open to serve, with Hangar chefs smiling in the opening.
Tall patio heaters stood on either side, along with several kegs of Hangar microbrews on tables.
The wedding guests eddied happily to claim their drinks, greet the bride and groom, and enjoy the party
Mac and RaeAnn circulated, hugging and kissing and greeting their guests… until they got to Pete and Lesa Vanko.
Mac took one look at Lesa and muttered a curse. He set his beer down on the table and squatted before her to peer into her face. “How far apart are your contractions?” he asked.
“What?” Pete demanded, his tanned face going pale. “Baby, you’re in labor? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
Lesa held her belly and panted, then let out a sigh. “I didn’t want to ruin the party,” she wailed, her eyes filling with tears. “This is a wedding.”
Cooler shook his head and gave her a smile. “Looks like it’s also gonna be a birthday,” he told her. “It’s okay. We got you.”
The brunette nodded, but then let out a shriek, clutching her belly. Fluid splattered on the floor between her legs, soaking her pretty gold dress and her brown sandals.
“Fuck, what do we do?” Pete demanded, hands on his wife’s shoulders. “Lesa, what do you need? Tell me and I’ll get it for you.”
Lesa, busy panting through another contraction, did not answer.
“Do you want me to call 911?” RaeAnn asked Mac. “I have my phone.”
He nodded. “Yeah, babe, do it. Tell them birth in progress, paramedic on site, mother is healthy, but we may need transport.”
He rose to his feet. “T-Bear, Moke—to me. We need you two to get her into one of the bedrooms. Billie, Shelle, go make sure one of the beds has clean sheets. Somebody get us a pile of towels. Somebody else bring the first aid kit. Let’s go.”
As the shocked wedding guests watched, the two huge Flyers
linked arms and carried Lesa into the biggest of the bedrooms, Stick’s.
Sara was already there with the blankets stripped back. “The sheets are fresh,” she told Mac. “Towels are on the way.”
By the time RaeAnn got off the phone and hurried to the impromptu birthing room, things were well under way. Billie was stationed on her sister’s left side, Pete on her right.
Rae watched from the doorway, awed by what she saw. Mac had everyone calm, including Lesa, and ready for the baby’s imminent arrival.
“Did you call 911?” Pete demanded, holding his wife’s hand as she growled through another harsh contraction.
“They’re on the way,” Rae said.
“That’s good,” Mac replied. “But your baby ain’t waiting for them. Lesa, when I tell you, push. Push with all your might.”
Steven Vanko was born ten minutes later.
The Airway Heights volunteer FD paramedics arrived shortly after that. Baby and mother were pronounced healthy, but Pete insisted they be taken directly to the hospital to be checked over. He went with them in the ambulance.
Mac joined Rae after washing up in one of the bathrooms.
He shook his head ruefully. “Sorry. Not how I pictured our wedding reception, mama. This is your big day, it should be all about you.”
She smiled mistily at him. “Oh, Mac. I got to see you work your paramedic mojo, and we have a new baby in the Flyer family. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He crooked his arm for her to take. “Well, hell, in that case, let’s celebrate and get on with livin’ life to the fullest.”
“Sounds good to me, biker man.”
There would be time enough when they grew old, to sit by the fire. For now, they would dance in the flames.
They had honey to burn.
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for reading the HONEY series! I hope you love the Devil’s Flyers as much as I do.
NOTE: About Sara & Stick’s pregnancy – I know Sara already gave birth in that one novella… but this story ends before that February.
