JUSTICE
YOUNG OUTLAWS #2
T.L Wainwright
YOUNG OUTLAWS MC
JUSTICE
Book Two
By T.L Wainwright
First edition. September 2020
© 2020 T.L Wainwright
Written by T.L. Wainwright
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher except for brief quotations embodied in critical reviews
Thank you.
T.L. Wainwright
Story Editor:
Jackie McLeish
Nikki Young
Edited by:
Caroline Stainburn
Cover:
Francessca’s PR & Designs
Created with Vellum
Contents
Young Outlaws Club Members
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Acknowledgments
Also available by T.L Wainwright
You can find T.L here…
Young Outlaws Club Members
Bullet – President
Father (Pops) to twins, Brick (Smith) and Mammoth (Wesson), and Cannon (Colt).
Cannon – Vice President
Mammoth – Road Captain.
Gearhead – Sgt at Arms
An ex-marine and the best fucking mechanic this side of Mars.
Conda – Secretary and Treasurer
The unwanted result of a split condom. Bounced around the system until he joined the YOMC.
Masher – Enforcer
Big fucker with a punch equivalent to being hit by a freight train.
Buzz – Member
Lost his hand in a freak accident with a chainsaw.
Mac – Member
Ex-military. Previously worked at McDonalds drive thru until he found the club.
JB or Johny Bravo – Member
Named after the cartoon character. Pretty boy, easily distracted by the ladies.
Creeper - Member
Stalker on speed, making him one creepy assed fucker.
Tag-it – Member
Loves to fuck ladies tag team style with Creeper.
Toothpick – Prospector
Tall, skinny guy that has only just patched in from another charter of the YOMC.
Skids – Prospector
New to the club. Has a knack of falling off his motorcycle.
Doc – Prospector
Ex-military medic. One year in the pen and a bad conduct discharge hasn’t put us off bringing him into our fold. Having a former doctor and a nurse in the house is a huge benefit for the club.
Club whores
Nails – JoJo.
Fingernails always painted the bloodiest red.
Ratchet – Lisa
Kicked out of nursing college. Sexy as fuck and will tighten any guys (or girls) nuts.
Poison - Veronica
Bitch with a capital B. Bullets favourite club whore.
Prologue
“How long have you been seeing her?”
“No comment.”
“We have information that it has been for quite some time Wesson, or should we call you Mammoth?”
*Silence*
“Months by our reckoning.”
*Silence*
“Which means that chances are you’ve been having a sexual relationship with her. Have you been fucking her?”
“I said no comment.”
The two detectives continued to question me, and it’s blatantly obvious that they are starting to play Good Cop, Bad Cop. Little do they know that when I put my mind to it, I can stay as cool as a popsicle in Fairbanks, Alaska.
“You do know that’s classed as statutory rape in the state of Florida?”
*silence*
“Did you keep her there, in that cabin? Threaten her, use and abuse her, treating her like a sex slave? You did, didn’t you? You thought that you could keep her under lock and key, so that she would be there on tap any time you needed to quench your filthy needs.”
“No. Comment.”
“You’re going down for this. Fucking the underaged daughter of the man who’s been elected to be the next Mayor of Orlando, what were you thinking?” Bad cop sniggers. “No amount of money is going to get you or that gang of law-breaking scumbags out of this pile of shit. Even the bent cops you’ve got on your payroll won’t be able to dig you out of this hole. Not this time.”
Chapter 1
Cannon
The phone call from my brother telling me that he’s being charged with statutory rape and unlawful imprisonment has me reeling.
However big and imposing he is, this is something that he would never do. Yeah, he fucks women, including the club whores, but he always treats them with a reasonable level of respect. In fact, out of all the Young Outlaws members, he is the first to step-up if any of the ladies need a hand with something.
It’s all a crock of shit.
Breaking the speed limit, I get to the station in record time. I would have been here earlier, but I’d left my own damaged ride back at the club house and grabbed Toothpick’s instead. It’s an old classic Harley and it isn’t bad, but it certainly needs a good overhaul by Gearhead to give it some balls.
Walking into the station, the stone faced, asshole of a cop on the front desk informs me that unless I’m his attorney, I don’t have a hope in hell of seeing Mammoth.
I crash back through the glass front doors and out onto the sidewalk, I pull out my phone and call Luca Rossi, the best fucking lawyer I know and on retainer for the club. On the fourth ring I expect it to go to voicemail, but his deep accented tone booms down the phone.
“This better be important Colt, because I’m about to go into court to bust the balls of some useless piece of shit prosecutor.”
“Would I be ringing you if it wasn’t?” I quipped back at him.
“Merda!” I hear him mutter in Italian under his breath. That’s shit to us in English. “What the fuck is it this time?”
“How about rape and kidnapping?”
“Who, one of your new recruits? Let him get himself out of the crapper. I’m busy,” he replies with an unbelievable calmness and total contradiction to my own feelings.
“It’s Mammoth.”
“You’re fucking kidding me. Now if you told me it was your father, El Pres, then I wouldn’t be at all surprised, but Wesson. That’s utter bullshit,” Luca sniggers with the audacity of it. “So, what’s the story?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I rasp. “The cops won’t give me nothing.” I rub the back of my neck to try and release some of the tension that’s building. Not being able to do anything is as frustrating as hell. You need to get your ass here and find out what the fuck is going on.”
“Okay, keep your cool. I need to go into court first and blow this case. It will take me thirty minutes tops to get it dismissed
as the judge owes me. The jet’s on standby anyway, I’ll tell my guy about the change of plan and God willing, I should be there in a couple of hours. I guess he’s in downtown, but if they move him, let me know.”
“Will do.” I pace the sidewalk, the call holding before I add. “This is crazy Luca. Mammoth didn’t do this.”
“I know that,” he replies, his voice taking on a softer, understanding tone. “We’ll get to the bottom of this and before you know it, he’ll be back in the club house planning his revenge on whoever it is that’s trying to fuck him over.”
I finish the call and look to the sky, not that it could give me any answers, but I can’t help but wonder what Ma would have made of this crap show if she’d still been around. Would we even be in this situation? Without a doubt she would have been there for us. Her love was unconditional, especially when it came to Wes being the weaker of the twins when he was a baby and needing a little more attention.
“What the fuck?” I curse out as I make my way back to my temporary ride. No way on God’s earth did Mammoth do this. I’d bet my left testicle that he’s innocent. So, who the fuck is raking up dirt? And is the target Mammoth or the Young Outlaws Club as a whole?
Who knows, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand back and let it happen. I’ll find out who’s behind this. If necessary, I’ll threaten or bribe every goddamn law enforcement officer in the fucking state of Florida, to find out the truth.
When Luca hits town, I offer to pick him up in my truck, but he’s adamant that he can arrange his own transport. The truth is that Luca has standards and my Ford F-450 doesn’t cut it. No doubt he had a sedan waiting for him when he landed to take him to the station in luxury. Another way of making the cops shake in their boots, along with the air of authority that Luca effortlessly emits simply by walking into a room. As soon as he has news he’ll be in touch, but until then, I’ve got to try and stay calm. Easier said than done. My instinct is to hit the bottle, but I need to keep a clear head. I rack up the pool table and with little attention to the actual rules of the game, I start slamming the balls into the pockets.
“What crawled up your ass and got you all fired up?” Pops thunders as he comes bursting through from the kitchen. His mouth and chin are wet and at first, I wonder what the dirty fucker has been up to until I spot the greasy burger that he’s clutching in his hand. When he brings it up to his mouth, its not to take a bite but to lick the oily juices that are dripping down his fat fingers.
“I’m waiting for a call,” I reply, turning away from him because to be quite honest, watching him eat turns my stomach.
“From who?” he mumbles with a mouthful of food. The slurping noise that accompanies it puts my nerves on edge, like chalk being dragged down a chalk board. I clench my teeth together with annoyance.
Telling Pops about Mammoth at this point before we have more information, is a bad idea, it would only send him on one of his crazy rampages. He’d be down on the cops like a tornado hitting Kansas, which is the last thing we need, at least until Luca has had a chance to work his magic. Whatever progress that our shit hot lawyer has managed to do, and I don’t question his ability for one minute, Pops could obliterate in one-minute flat. So, I quickly come up with some bullshit story, enough to hopefully get Pops off my ass.
“Some small-time gang down in Miami, wanting to make a small purchase.”
“So, why the face? You look like you’ve just found out that you’ve boned your sister and she’s got herpes.”
“Well, the way you put it about, it wouldn’t surprise me if I ain’t got a whole soccer league worth of kin out there somewhere.” Anyone else would take offense at being tagged as a male whore, but Pops? No, he just howls with laughter. Thank God I’ve still got my back to him, because my stomach couldn’t handle the site of a mouthful of mashed bread and hamburger. “He’s dicking me around over the price. I told him to take it or leave it. He’s got within the hour to make his decision.”
“Money is fucking money,” he snaps as he bangs his fist hard on the top of the felt surface of the pool table. “Stop pussy footing around. It’s your job to make the deal, so do it. If you need to show them exactly what happens when you fuck with the Young Outlaws, then fucking do it before they spend their dollar with someone else. Unless you’ve lost your balls after spending too much time boning that underage chick you can’t seem to keep away from,” he snickers. “Wouldn’t mind riding that tight little ass myself.”
I snatch up the eight ball from the table and squeeze it tightly within my hand. The temptation to ram it into my father’s mouth, pushing it down his throat until he chokes out his last breath is so very real. The dirty fucker won’t be able to think about Leah in any shape or form if I stub out the air in his lungs.
Any love for my father has slowly diminished over the years and is now way below zero. The only reason I tolerate his offensive and vicious actions is because, when all’s said and done, he’s the Pres and my respect for the club outranks the fact that I despise him as a father.
If nothing else, as his VP, I have some influence on my father and the dangerous decisions that he makes. He seems to have this desire to lead the club down a road of destruction, dragging us into a darker, sicker world that is full of vipers and depravity. Like quicksand, once in, the club would sink deeper and deeper into the underworld of corruption with no way of getting out. Not with our lives intact anyway.
All Pops sees is the cash. He’s greedy and wants more, fuck the consequences. Don’t get me wrong, what we do is far from lawful, but its not sick fucking shit. The Mexicans that my father is so desperate to work with are nothing but evil. The drugs, the guns, that’s nothing new to our club. Neither is prostitution, but only the legal kind. It’s illegal in Florida but the Young Outlaws have investments with two whore houses in Nevada. But the Mexicans? You’re talking about trafficking women and young kids that are scarcely out of diapers. Taken away from their families against their will or coerced with some bullshit story of a better life. Only to be sold to a sick individual or kept in some dirty whorehouse, left half starved, being consistently violated to earn money for some sick bastard.
The fuck!
I’d rather see the club fall apart before getting involved with that shit.
My Pops, he only sees the Benjamins and not the total clusterfuck that will come along with it.
I press my lips tightly together to stop the build-up of profanities, that are smoldering on my tongue, from escaping. I drop the pool stick onto the top of the table and turn towards my Pops. I push past him, bumping him with my shoulder. He stumbles back, grunting from the power of my body colliding with his. It takes a few steps for him to regain his balance, my act of rebellion takes him completely by surprise. I don’t stop, I just keep on walking towards the door that will lead me back outside and away from my moron of a father.
“What the fuck was all that about?” he growls. When I don’t respond he barks out, “You need to show me some respect, boy!”
The slight hesitation in taking my next step is lost on him and his self-absorbance. I keep on walking, tight lipped, because if I do stop and turn around, the temptation to take the bastard by the throat and finish him once and for all would be all too consuming.
When I step outside into the yard, I’m hit by a veil of hot, humid air and it does nothing to dampen my raging temper. Dust kicks up from the ground as I stomp my way over to the outbuilding to seek out Gearhead.
“Is my fucking bike fixed yet or what?” I growl at Gearhead who’s stood at the side of my burnt orange girl. I note that it’s still up on the stand and he’s removing the dinted muffler. “I fucking guess not.”
Gearhead turns his head towards me and sniggers. “Woah, VP. I’m a mechanic not a magician. Besides, I’m still waiting for the primer to dry on the gas tank.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I hiss from between my teeth.
“Maybe next time you should try not to upset your latest gash, then
she might not take it out on your ride.” Deep down, I like Gearhead and that’s the only thing keeping me from removing the one-sided smirk that he has on his face with my clenched fist.
“Don’t get mouthy with me, cunt. Just get it fucking done, because until then, I’m taking your ride,” I add as I snatch the keys from the pocket of his cut that’s slung on top of one of the tool cabinets. If nothing else, Gearhead is a creature of habit, so I knew exactly where I to find them.
“But…” he stutters taking a step towards me, but then stops. If he lets go of the pipe in his hand, it will be left dangling, risking further damage to the fixings.
“Better get on with it, hadn’t yer.” As I walk away, I hear him mutter the word ‘Motherfucker’ which is enough to lift my mood. Enough for me not to want to kill someone anyway.
The last two hours seem to have dragged, so when my cell begins to ring, I immediately jump to answer it. The fact that it’s taken some time for him to call makes me edgy because if it had been a clear cut and dry misunderstanding, then this would have been dealt with much sooner.
“Luca?” I gasp into my cell. “Did you get to see him?”
“Of course, I got to see him,” he sneered down the phone at me. “Since when have you ever doubted my ability?”
JUSTICE (YOUNG OUTLAWS MC Book 2) Page 1
