by Marla Monroe
Her purse weighed a ton since she kept a lot of her life in it just in case she needed something. It would make an awesome weapon if she ever needed it. Right now, it was a strain on her back and her bad leg. She readjusted it and strode across the small parking lot to her car, walking around it, leaving plenty of room in case someone was underneath it or on the other side where she couldn’t see them. She even had her keys splayed out between her knuckles to use as another weapon if she needed them.
Nothing jumped out at her or was hiding under the car. No one approached her as she unlocked the door, and no one was hiding in the backseat either. Mia felt much better once the little car started up and she’d pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street to drive toward her tiny apartment.
Minutes later, she pulled up outside the apartment building and cut the engine. Grabbing her purse, she climbed out of the car and hurried up the stairs to her apartment on the second floor. Even at one in the morning, there were people hanging out at the other end of the walkway as she unlocked her door and slipped inside. No one had ever bothered her there, but she wasn’t stupid. The second she showed fear or they thought she had anything they might want, they would be all over her.
The tiny dwelling had a small living area with a short bar separating it from the kitchenette. It had a stove top and a microwave but no oven. The fridge was only a little larger than a dorm-size unit. From the kitchen, the next door was the one to the bathroom, which then opened into the bedroom. The bedroom wasn’t much larger than the kitchen, but she’d been able to put a full-size mattress on the floor and had laundry baskets at the foot of the bed where her meager clothes were neatly folded.
All and all, it wasn’t too bad. It was clean since she kept it that way, and she had running water and electricity. It was all she needed. With her job at the bar and grill, she was able to pay her rent and utilities, and her tips were always enough to cover food and necessities. When they were exceptional, she put it in savings in case she needed them but always treated herself to something she wouldn’t normally buy like ice cream or a new shirt.
She was sure that most people would call her situation bleak and depressing, but Mia was thankful for what she had and that she was alive. For a while, she’d wished she’d died, but when the young mother of two in the hospital bed next to her died of cervical cancer, leaving her loving husband and three kids behind, Mia had snapped out of the self-pity and dark depression. She had no right to waste what she’d been given when others would have done anything to change places with her.
Yes, she was scarred up and sometimes limped, but she was alive and had a second opportunity to get things right. She would use it and squeeze happiness out of it however she could. Anytime she started slipping into that dark place again, she pictured the woman lying in the bed next to her, holding her husband’s hand and listening to him tell her over and over that he and the children loved her as she quietly slipped away.
Life sucked sometimes, but death beat it, hands down. She chose to live.
Chapter Two
“Wonder what caused that scar?” Kieran O’Malley, known as Terror in the MC world, said.
Ronan, or Rage as he was known, shrugged. He knew who his brother was talking about. They’d both noticed the pretty woman immediately. They couldn’t get messed up with something right now, though. They were there to take over The Howling Death MC and get it back up to speed. Things were changing and trouble was brewing, heading in their direction.
They were called The Black Irish Brothers among the various arms of the MC. Outlaws above all outlaws in the Howling Death MC. Their reputations guaranteed that no one messed with them or questioned their orders. It was the reason they’d been picked to take over the chapter there in Settler’s Point.
“The guys said she’s the only one who’ll serve them. Must have a strong backbone. Bikers aren’t the easiest group of customers.” Terror wasn’t giving it up.
“She’s off-limits, Terror. We’ve got a job to do, and with everything coming to a head soon, she’d get in the way and end up hurt. Deal, bro.”
A knock at the door had them both looking up, their hands on their weapons. Rage called out to enter, and the door opened to admit Hawk, followed by Gunner. They nodded, and Gunner closed the door behind them. Rage and Terror relaxed as much as they ever did. Rage nodded for the two men to have a seat across the table from them.
They were at the club’s house in the room where plans and decisions were made. They called it Church, and though it allowed everyone that sat there to speak their mind, the President always had the last word. They voted and majority ruled, but the vote rarely went against the Pres.
“What did you find out?” Rage asked.
“So far, no sign of activity from the west. Loco said there’s been talk about something going down in Texas, but he hasn’t found out any particulars yet. He’ll come through, though.” Hawk wasn’t comfortable with them, but he wasn’t angry about them taking over. He’d been waiting for it to happen for a while now.
“Gunner, what’s the status of the armory?” he asked.
“Stocked up on ammunition for what everyone carries except you two. I’m working on it, though,” the burly ex-marine said with a grunt.
“Good,” Rage said. He turned back to Hawk. “What’s your relationship with the town like? Any trouble? The law a problem?”
“Naw. We get along with them pretty well. They’re naturally cautious around us, but they remember how we did our best to keep the shit out of their streets when it hit the fan. The sheriff is tough, but fair. One of the deputies, Theodore ‘Teddy’ Gowen, is a pain in our ass, but he’s harmless enough. Fancies himself a big man around town,” Hawk told them.
“Who is your information expert?” Terror asked.
“That’s Loco,” Gunner said.
“Have him dig up everything he can on the man. He could be a problem once the Vipers move in,” Rage said.
“He’ll get everything down to his favorite condom type. Anything else?” Hawk asked.
“Church in an hour. I want everyone here. We need to organize.”
“I’ll call everyone in. Um, Bear will be late. He doesn’t get off till three.” Hawk seemed ready to defend the man but was noticeably uneasy about doing it.
“Make it an hour and a half then. I need everyone here. Where does he work?” Rage asked.
“He’s a trainer at the gym in town. He can get off anytime we need him as long as they know to fill in, but otherwise, they depend on him. They deal with the local fire department, sheriff’s office, and ranch hands around here,” Gunner told them.
“I take it with a name like Bear and his line of work he’s a big man,” Terror said with a slight smile.
“Yeah, he’s not as tall as the two of you, but he’s a good match in size. Slow to rile, too, but hell in a fight,” Hawk said.
“Good. He wasn’t there last night,” Rage said with a grunt.
“We didn’t realize you would get here so soon. Mother told us a week or two.” Hawk still looked a little uneasy. Mother was how they referred to the founding charter of The Howling Death MC. What Mother said, you did—period.
“Didn’t need a welcome party. The bike shop and the garage are your bankrolls?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Yeah. We’ve kept it legit. Not enough of us to handle anything serious.” Hawk exchanged glances with Gunner.
Rage figured that until they built up the club, they couldn’t handle anything else. Maybe once they met Bear and saw the rest of the guys he would talk about the next step in what he had planned. Time would tell. Right now, they had to focus on getting organized and putting defense plans in place. The Vipers would tear them apart if things didn’t change fast. From what he’d seen of the club so far, the guys were rusty and had gotten complacent. Things were going to change. He figured it wouldn’t be to their liking, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass what they thought.
“Who handles the f
inances?” he asked.
“Me and Jones,” Hawk.
“After Church, let’s go over the books and see how it stacks up. Any problems with them?” Rage watched the man’s face for any sign he was nervous about an auditing. He showed none.
“No problems. We had some lean months, but it’s seasonal. I’ll get Jones to bring them,” Hawk told him.
“Good. That’s all for now. You’ve done good keeping everything together, Hawk. Mother knows it and appreciates it. The founding charter hasn’t left you hanging out here. You’ve more than proven yourself, brother.” Rage stood up and held out his hand.
Hawk stood up and nodded as they shook then bumped knuckles. Terror did the same, and the other two men left, shutting the door behind them. Rage was satisfied that Hawk was good with being usurped. He was a good man and loyal to the MC, but he wasn’t a leader by nature. There wasn’t enough of an alpha dog in him to instill security and confidence in others.
“I think he’s solid, Rage. There might not be many of them, but they seem to be smart and clean. I haven’t rooted out any users or dealers so far. Just been a day, but normally you can’t hide the signs.” Terror continued to look at the door the two men had just left through. “Gunner is okay, but he’s not a hundred percent with us yet.”
“Yeah, I got that, too. He’s loyal to Hawk and isn’t going to make it easy for us to gain his respect. May have to mix it up a little with him, but he’ll settle down.” Rage stood up and stretched. They had less than fifteen men available to them, plus one prospect. Not a lot to work with considering what they were facing, but it was a start.
“Time for something to eat and a beer. Let’s see what the hospitality’s like around here.” Rage led the way out of the room and strutted through the huge den into the kitchen where several women leaned against the counters when they walked in.
“What’s the routine for meals around here?” he asked no one in particular.
A buxom blonde that knew a bleach bottle intimately spoke up, gliding toward them. “You just tell me what I can do for you, and I’m all yours.”
“Looking for grub, not somewhere to store my dick. Is the kitchen stocked?” he asked one of the other women who’d remained where she was.
“Yeah, we’ve got about anything you might want. Did you want us to fix something in particular?” a redhead asked. She wore someone’s property cut. He didn’t know who she belonged to since she was facing him and her man’s name would be on the back.
“Thanks. We’ll fix our own.” He nodded at them. They took the hint and filed out of the room. He caught the back of the redhead’s cut. Property of Hawk. He just grunted with a smile. She was a good old lady. Didn’t flirt and didn’t bullshit around.
“Looks like they’ve got a lot of cold cuts and sandwich fixins,” his brother said as he poked around in the fridge.
“Sounds good. What about beer?” he asked.
“Usual horse piss. Want one? I’ll throw together something to eat.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He caught the can Terror tossed his way. “Make me three. I’m starved. We didn’t get much last night.”
“Same here. Should have ordered something to eat at that bar while we were there. I bet that cute waitress would have brought it to us.”
“Fuck, Terror. Put her out of your head. We don’t need that kind of distraction. You know that.” Rage wanted to punch him sometimes.
It wasn’t like his brother to fixate on a female. He’d hook up with one when he got the itch, but that’s all it was, a hookup, and they kept rolling. Usually Terror was just as stoic as he was, but this woman from the bar had flipped a switch with him. It was something Rage needed to keep a watch on.
“Hey! Fuck you. I’m hungry.” Terror shook his head and started spreading out what he needed on the table.
Rage popped the top on the beer and took a long pull. They’d been nomads for the last five years. The road was their home, and the thought of settling down, no matter how long it might end up being, didn’t come easy for them. But Mother needed them here right now to shore up their weak spot with the Vipers moving that way.
Mother, the original and first MC named The Howling Death, was based in New Mexico. They’d patched in smaller clubs all over the South and Midwestern states, but the club here in Settler’s Point, Oklahoma, had been part of the original from the start. One of the founding members had wanted to return to Settler’s Point where his mom was alone and in poor health so he could care for her. They had worked out that an arm of the club would reach out there and act as a sanctuary for anyone needing to recuperate or lay low for a while.
Then all hell had broken loose a little over two years before when a rival club wanted to move drugs through the area. The Howling Death didn’t like all that shit in their town and had stopped them cold. A month later, reinforcements nearly annihilated the club, but they managed to put an end to them despite their losses. It had gone a long way to garnering support in the community. Everyone turned a blind eye to their ways for the most part.
“Food’s ready,” Terror said, breaking into his thoughts. “I’m going to sit outside until Church.”
Rage watched his brother storm out of the kitchen carrying a beer and three sandwiches. He sighed and knew the tension of being stationary for God knew how long was eating at them both. Still, that waitress was weighing heavy on his brother, and that could mean trouble.
She had been pretty with her wild, curly hair pulled back and those amazing dark eyes framed with the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen on a woman without aid of the gunk they put on them. He was pretty sure hers had been the real thing without embellishment since she hadn’t been wearing anything else to cover up her pale, delicate features. She was plenty curvy, but not quite as filled out as he usually liked his women. But Terror was right. She was fine, a choice morsel that under different circumstances he’d be all over.
Shaking his head, he sat at the table and started in on the food. He probably could have eaten four but figured three was better for him. He’d be less likely to miss something if he wasn’t full and satisfied. He had to be on his toes until they knew what they were up against with this new club.
The more he thought about the situation, the more he wondered why he and his brother had been called in to head the group instead of drawing on another, closer club for leadership. They’d been all the way out in SoCal at the time checking on some parts one of the clubs in west Texas needed when they got the call. It had taken them less time to ride than they’d anticipated, but then they tended to push it more so than some did. The road was in their blood, and they’d spilled plenty of blood on the road. Maybe seeing the same place for a while would be good for them. He just didn’t know.
* * * *
Man, Mia loved taking hot showers, but soaking in the tub was perfect when she was aching all over. Friday night had been just as busy as Thursday had started out. Her leg ached, and her feet were killing her.
One more night. I can handle one more night, and then I’m off till Wednesday.
The longer she soaked, the less she wanted to get out. She couldn’t keep adding hot water to the tub no matter how good it felt. She needed to get some sleep. Her shift started at four that afternoon, and it was going on two a.m.
With a sigh, Mia slowly climbed out of the tub and pulled the plug to drain the water. While she dried herself off, she never looked in the mirror. It was too hard. Once she was covered up, she could handle seeing the scar on her cheek without it reminding her too much of the past. Nightmares came and went but happened with a lot less frequency now. Time dulled many things, but not everything bowed to time.
As she brushed her hair that couldn’t be tamed, Mia’s thoughts circled around the last few days, and two very distinct, very lethal-looking men commanded them. She’d fought to forget about them with no success and finally had settled for holding them back while she worked but releasing her hold once she was alone in her own place. Then they seep
ed out to haunt her. The bikers’ eyes had followed her into sleep Thursday night, and she had no doubt they would do the same that night as well.
Something about the two men had opened a Pandora’s Box where her emotions and libido were concerned. Already her pussy had leaked enough to soak her panties, and she hadn’t even climbed into bed yet. All she could think about was that anyone as large and built as those two were had to have equally amazing cocks and balls to go along with it.
Mia growled then let out a frustrated groan at how her breasts ached and her nipples burned for their touch. She hadn’t even heard them talk. Why was she so attuned to them? Was there some undetected scent that called to her? Did they exude some type of sexual hormone she was overly susceptible to?
She knew the moment she climbed into bed and attempted to relax her mind would start throwing together all sorts of scenarios in which she was the damsel in distress and they were the ones who rode in on their thundering steeds of steel to rescue her. When one ended, another one would start until she’d run the gauntlet of themes and plots, from pirate ships to cowboys and Indians. In every one of them, they saved her and carried her off to their lair, castle, or fort.
But for one thing, she wouldn’t have worried about her fantasies revolving around them when she knew nothing would come of them. Fantasy and imagination were normal and natural. A single celibate woman could get just as sexually frustrated as a man in the same situation. But what wasn’t normal or natural about what Mia was experiencing was that she always dreamed and thought about both men and not just one of them.
I’m certifiably insane to center my sexual fantasies around one biker, never mind two. They’re way out of my league. I’d just be one more notch on their bike in a long line of notches, and I respect myself more than that. At least I did.
