by Marla Monroe
Chapter Three
Terror climbed off his bike and strapped his helmet to the seat before joining his brother among the others. Though Rage was older by about ten minutes, Terror kept a close watch on his big brother. As the new President of The Howling Death MC, he was high on the hit list of anyone with an ax to grind with the club or bikers in general. Their “1%” diamond patches said it all to the outside world. They were the outlaws of the road that made up one percent of the driving population. They weren’t to be fucked with.
Once everyone had joined the group, Rage pushed into the Wagon Master Bar and Grill. He followed directly behind with Hawk then Gunner on his heels. They strode through the tables to the back of the room where several of the regulars immediately vacated what the club considered to be their table anytime they were there.
“Good crowd tonight,” Hawk noted.
“Been that way for a few days now. Don’t know what’s up with that.” Gunner took a seat after Terror and Rage sat down with their backs to the wall.
“So this is unusual for a weekend?” Rage asked.
Terror looked around, telling himself he was scoping out any possible dangers, but he knew he was really searching for the pretty black-haired waitress who’d served them on Thursday night. He didn’t see her at first, but just when he was about to give up, he caught a glimpse of her clearing a table of dishes and mugs. He let himself just look at her for a few seconds then returned his attention to the conversation around him.
“Have any ideas on what the cause is?” Rage was asking.
“Nope. Not really,” Hawk said.
“We really hadn’t thought much about it. Kept thinking it was just a fluke, and it would go back to normal in a few days. Hasn’t happened yet, and it’s slowly gotten worse over the last week,” Gunner told them.
“What about during the day when they mostly serve lunch and an early dinner? Has that crowd increased any?” Terror asked, picking up on what they were discussing.
“Don’t know,” Gunner said. “Hey, Scooby. You’ve been here during lunch. Has it picked up as much as nighttime has?”
Scooby shook his head. “Nope. I eat here most days when I’m working at Jed’s Feed and Seed. Been ’bout the same as normal.”
“So it’s mostly the dinner and booze crowd that’s picked up. Do they look like town folks or out-of-towners?” Rage asked, looking around.
Terror watched as the group looked around before shrugging. He wondered what would cause more people to hang out at this particular bar and grill.
“Most are from around here. There are a few new guys, but not a lot.” Hawk didn’t seem worried about the increase in business out of the blue.
Terror wanted some examples of the new arrivals. There could be more behind it than the bar becoming more popular on its own. One thing he’d learned over the years was that there rarely were actual coincidences. Letting them slide without checking into them was like inviting trouble to your house.
“Point out some of the new ones to me,” he told Hawk.
“Um, the guy in the red Western shirt with his back to the bar. He’s sitting next to another new one with a John Deere cap on his head.” Hawk nodded in their direction without staring or pointing. Terror’s respect for the man moved up a notch.
When he leaned back in his chair and looked around, Terror let his eyes wander around the room just enough to give the look of boredom before paying closer attention to the table that Hawk had pointed out. He was so busy checking out the guys that he missed the pretty waitress when she slipped over to take their orders.
“What can I get for you guys?”
He jerked his eyes toward her and smiled slowly. He watched his brother when he noticed that Rage’s body had stiffened when she spoke. He was definitely aware of her on more than a waitress level. The slight hitch in his breathing let Terror know she had a definite effect on him. He smiled a bit broader in satisfaction.
“I’ll have beer, and how ’bout a big basket of fries, hon?” he asked with a wink.
Her eyes widened just a fraction before she quickly looked down and continued writing. Rage ordered a beer, as did the rest of them. One of the prospects ordered hot wings. She nodded and quickly disappeared. Something was off with her stride, but he wasn’t sure what it was.
“So?” Rage asked Hawk. “What about the guys over there?”
“Wannabe tough guys, but nothing we can’t handle. I don’t see them as being part of the Vipers or any other respectable club, but they could be scouts, I guess. Never known a club to use lightweights, though.”
“Trouble?” Hawk asked, looking from Terror to Rage.
“Possibly, but nothing serious. Point out any others you see,” Rage said.
Terror checked each of the new guys Hawk pointed out and nodded. Two plus two was fast adding up to trouble. There were at least six that he was pretty sure were together. With them sitting at different tables, it meant organization and planning. But for what?
The pretty waitress returned with their beer and the food. She leaned over to set the basket of fries in front of him. He reached out and wrapped his hand very gently around her delicate wrist.
“Thanks, honey. What’s your name?”
She froze the instant his much bigger hand touched her wrist. When she didn’t answer him right away, he let go of her wrist and leaned back to give her some space. He didn’t want to scare her.
“M–Mia. Can I get you guys anything else?” She backed away but didn’t immediately leave.
“No thanks, Mia,” Rage said. “Don’t mind my brother. We won’t hurt you, babe.”
She nodded and backed away before turning around and returning to the bar. Terror watched her all the way, noticing that she didn’t walk any faster away from them than she did any other time. She wasn’t exactly afraid, but cautious. He smiled.
“Get your fucking head back where it needs to be.” Rage elbowed him in the ribs with a snarl on his face.
“We’ve got trouble,” Terror said. “There are at least six that are divided up among three tables with locals mixed in. Don’t know if the locals are in on it or just cover. That means that someone is scouting, but I can’t believe it’s the Vipers. Looks more like muscle heads to me,” he told them. “All beefed up without a lick of sense.”
“Anything organized out this way? Drugs, booze, girls?” Rage asked Hawk.
“Not that I know of. We’ve never allowed anything like that in the area. Kind of like shitting in your own yard when you let that get started.” Hawk looked around but stopped just shy of being obvious. “I’ll ask around. Got some people I trust that can check it out.”
“Do that. We can’t fight two wars at the same time. You’ve got, what, two prospects with Scooby there and Legos back at the house, right?” he asked.
“Right. Legos has a friend that’s just home from Iraq. He’s getting out at the end of the month. No family, so he’s going to make his home with us. I’ve met him a few times. Good man to have in the ranks,” Hawk said. “Got another potential transferring in from SoCal about the same time. He’s been handling the bike trade out there, but he’s moving out here to give his ‘Ol Lady’ a break. She’s recovering from a miscarriage, and he thinks a change of climate might help.”
“Mother’s okay with it?” Terror asked. Mother wasn’t usually as accommodating as that. But then that was how this charter had started out.
“Yeah. They have someone they want transferred out there anyway. Has contacts that might be beneficial to the club. It was doubtful this guy and the new one would get along too well,” Gunner added.
“Anyone else?” Rage asked.
“Not right now. We don’t get a lot of new blood out this way. Sometimes we find a possibility out at the truck stop outside of town, but you can’t be too careful when you scope out anything off the highway,” Hawk told them.
Terror snacked on the fries and sipped his beer while watching the targets and keeping tabs on swee
t Mia. Her name was as erotic as her looks. All of that rich, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail looked more like a bouquet of wild flowers, or maybe broccoli. He chuckled to himself.
Now wouldn’t that go over like a lead balloon, comparing her hair to rabbit food? Smooth move, Romeo. I don’t think she’d appreciate that one bit.
“What do we do about the muscle heads?” Hawk asked.
“Nothing yet. Let’s see where all they show up and who or what they’re watching,” Rage said. “We’ll position some guys around town to watch their comings and goings. Maybe tag along when they leave to see where they lay low and with whom.”
“Got it. I’ll take care of it,” Hawk said.
Terror was glad Rage had kept him as Vice-Pres and Gunner as Sergeant-at-Arms. It gave them something to hold on to and kept them busy. He’d never been one to care one way or another if he had a title or not. As far as he was concerned, he was an associate president with his brother. His job was to watch Rage’s back and make sure nothing slipped up on them. Like little Curly Hair. She was trouble for sure. Something about her made him want her for more than a night of bed banging. The thing was, it looked like Rage did, too.
It wasn’t like they didn’t share women. They did, and often, but something about her said mine. She wasn’t just ‘Ol’ Lady’ material—she was forever and eternity all rolled up in one. That wasn’t good, not at all. They had a job to do here, and getting distracted by a piece of tail wasn’t a good idea. Only Mia wasn’t just a bump in the road. She was much more than that, and he wasn’t sure he could resist her. If Rage got involved, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand back.
He turned his attention back to business and kept it there for the most part the rest of the night. Even when the pretty Mia replaced their empty mugs with fresh ones, he kept his attention on her to the minimum, but he did look. Not even the threat of torture could have stopped him from at least satisfying his need to see her. Only the knowledge that she wouldn’t want to deal with an MC or what it represented and the danger he could put her in stopped him from staking a claim to her hot ass. One little hint that she was interested would be all it took for him to defy his brother and perhaps seal all of their fates for one taste of her porcelain-white skin.
* * * *
The night stretched on, longer than she was prepared for, anyway. What was going on that they were so damn busy lately? They were going to have to hire another server if this kept up. She and Crystal were running their fool tails off as it was. It wasn’t even ten, and Mia was already having trouble with her leg. Add to that the fact she hadn’t been sleeping the best, and she was exhausted.
I shouldn’t be bitching. The tips are super and will help build up my savings a hell of a lot faster. I just have to get through tonight, and I’m off for three.
She’d had to really work at ignoring the table at the back of the room without making them wait on refills. When that one biker with the patch, ‘Terror,’ had wrapped his massive hand around her wrist, she’d nearly lost it. The touch of his skin sent heated fluid racing through her blood vessels until she felt as if she’d combust. It hadn’t done her panties any favors either. Working with wet underwear wasn’t comfortable in the least.
He hadn’t hurt her with his grasp. In fact, he’d actually been fairly careful of her. It didn’t take much to leave bruises on her white skin. She’d always hated that about herself. It meant she couldn’t spend much time out in the sun without layers of sunscreen and a wide brimmed hat. Maybe it would have looked fashionable in the sixties, but not so much today.
Each time she bussed their empties and replaced them with fresh mugs of beer, she could feel his eyes on her. They fairly burned a path straight to her pussy. She knew his brother was looking at her, too. He and the one called Terror had to be brothers, and probably twins, though there were subtle differences in their looks. Terror’s brother had the name ‘Rage’ on his jacket. Above it was the distinction of President. Funny that Terror didn’t have anything over his pocket. She’d seen Hawk, one of the original crew, with the label of Vice President over his name. She would have thought Terror would be the Vice President, but then she didn’t know a lot about the biker clubs. She did know they didn’t like to be called gangs, though. They considered it an insult.
As she was cleaning up the empties at the table next to them, Mia overheard Hawk talking to Rage. She was actually shocked by what he was talking about. It wasn’t something she’d have ever believed if someone had told her. Hearing it with her own ears still shocked her.
“Are we still going to do the run to Stillwater on Wednesday? If you think we better not, I can call out to one of our sister clubs to take over for us,” Hawk was saying.
“No. It’s what we promised, and that little girl will be uneasy around men she doesn’t know. You’ve been working with her since it happened. Bastards that prey on kids don’t deserve a fucking trial,” Rage said, shaking his head.
“Damn right they don’t,” Terror agreed.
“We should have found him before the cops did.” Gunner rapped his knuckles lightly on the table. “They wouldn’t be wasting money on a fucking trial for the pervert.”
“Who’s been spending the most time getting her used to us?” Rage asked.
“Me and Scooby,” Hawk told him. “Jack’s Ol’ Lady’s been going, too, so she wasn’t overwhelmed.”
“I’ll go with you since it’s the trial. She doesn’t need to have to look on that bastard, and I sure don’t want him getting his dick hard looking at her,” Rage said with a snarl. “Terror, keep things working here while I’m gone.”
Mia quickly eased away from the table she’d been cleaning and carried the tray of dirty dishes and mugs to the kitchen since the bar dishwasher was already in use. It had sounded like Rage and Terror’s club was going to the Davis girl’s rape trial over in Stillwater. The poor child was only ten years old. To think that these big, rowdy bikers were going to give her support and shield her from her rapist shattered all the preconceived beliefs she’d had about them. But then again, even outlaws had codes of conduct. Some of them had very loose moral codes, and some of them had a stricter value system than others. Evidently, The Howling Death MC didn’t condone child rape and were prepared to do something about it. That put them up a notch in her eyes.
She’d heard stories of biker clubs that did things like that. Some rode in funerals to support the troops and to prevent protesters from disrupting the procession. Some even did charity poker runs for cancer victims. Mia couldn’t help but wonder what else about The Howling Death MC she didn’t know.
The rest of the night seemed to pass in a blur as the crowd increased, and no one seemed in any hurry to call an end to the fun. Her leg ached to the point she was afraid she might start crying, but Mia refused to break. The tips were good, and she was going to be off for three entire days to rest up. She could make it another hour or two.
On weekends, The Wagon Master stayed open till one, but this crowd didn’t seem to care. The band was happy to play as long as the tip jar overflowed and there were people on the dance floor. So far there hadn’t been nearly as much trouble as normally occurred when they were this full. She dragged another tray of dirty mugs and glasses to the bar and sighed as she emptied the dishwasher only to refill it once again.
“What in the hell is going on? Did Settler’s Point grow overnight or something? I didn’t think there were this many people who lived here,” Duke mused. “Got to be something happening we don’t know about.”
“Well, they need to check it out soon. I’m ready to collapse on one of the damn tables.” Mia gave the bartender a half smile before grabbing the tray and heading back out into the crowd to take more orders.
She’d just finished dropping off a round to a table with four men who didn’t seem all that into the place but continued to sit there and drink when she caught sight of another table trying to flag her down. With a sigh, she slipped through the press of bodies t
o find out what they wanted.
“Refills all around?” she asked as she stopped at their table.
“Make it four whiskies, neat,” one of the men said.
“Got it.” She turned to walk away but felt the pinch on her ass before she’d managed to slip away.
“Asshole,” she muttered to herself.
Mia didn’t look over her shoulder and scowl at the group. It would only encourage them. Instead, she ignored the incident and kept walking. With as many people as there were in the building, it wouldn’t do for a fight to start up. If she made a scene, that was what would happen. Crowded fights caused major damage, and that would see her fired quicker than shit.
When she returned to the table minutes later with their whisky, the man only nodded as if he hadn’t pinched her earlier. She set each shot glass in front of one of the men and reached out to accept the money from the first one. Instead of releasing it, he wrapped his hand around her wrist. Unlike when Terror had held her wrist, this man was hurting her. She’d have a bruise there for sure.
“Let go of me, please,” she said without raising her voice.
“Join us, dawlin’,” he said with a hint of a slur in his voice.
“No thanks. I’m working.” She tugged on her arm to no avail.
“Have a seat right here on my knee while I finish mine then. I want to talk to you about something,” he said as if she hadn’t already said no. With a jerk, he had her sprawling on his lap in less than the blink of an eye.
Immediately, Mia started trying to stand up again, but he held her with one arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her off balance with her back leaning on his chest.
“See? Nothing happnin’. Just visiting a spell while I have my drink.”
“Let me up. I’ve got to get back to work, or they’ll fire me,” she said, trying to get him to let her go.
