THIEF_Steel Saints MC

by Paula Cox

“I know. And we will. But give me a chance to do better than minimum wage. Alex, I make over a hundred thousand a year now. That is the life I want to give you. Not the life of a guy that flips burgers.”

  A hundred thousand dollars a year? The amount ricocheted around in my mind. I thought I was doing well at sixty. What did he do? “How much you make isn’t important.”

  “It’s important to me.”

  I thought about that a moment. I knew some men didn’t want their partners making more than them, but I was surprised that Cain was like that. Or was he? Maybe it wasn’t the money as much as being a good provider. “Why? Why does it matter?”

  “Because, it does. I remember when we didn’t have anything and I want better for my kid.”

  “Tell me what you do, Cain. Please. I won’t tell a soul.”

  He was quiet for a long time, but I waited him out. “I can’t,” he whispered.

  “Okay.” I felt the connections that had formed with him wither.

  “Alex, please understand. I swore an oath. I can’t break that. The only thing I ever had was my word. I can’t break it. Just like I’m promising you, I will be here for you. All you have to do is call and I will be here. Every doctor’s appointment, every class, every time you need me, I will be here.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I’m sorry, Alex,” he murmured.

  “So am I,” I whispered as I rolled to my side and turned my back to him.

  He pulled me in close but the connection was gone. There was so much about him that I didn’t know, so much that he wouldn’t tell me. Was I just supposed to trust him? There were just too many unknowns. The 1% patch was a big problem. He could tell me it meant he rode his bike rain or shine, but I didn’t believe it for a moment. Not with him pulling down six figures working for the club. No, he was mixed up in something illegal, no matter what he said. Maybe it wasn’t drugs, but it was something.

  Machined Parts… Something they imported and put together. I tried to figure out what he wasn’t saying, but I kept coming up empty. Something illegal, but not illegal. Something that generated a lot of cash. As my eyes began to grow heavy I finally gave up thinking about it. It didn’t matter what machine they built, it was still obviously illegal. If it was machines at all. It was just as likely it was all a bunch of lies and they were dealing drugs, despite what he said.

  I sighed. I always thought I would be a mother someday, but not like this. Tomorrow I would take him to get his bike, and then he would be gone. Out of my life. I knew I could do this on my own. I had no choice.

  Chapter 11

  Cain dismounted his bike after leaning it over onto the stand in the Hellhounds’ clubhouse parking lot, tired and saddle sore from the eight-hour ride from New Orleans. The time on the road had given him a chance to think, to think about Alex and all that could have been. He needed to check in, but as soon that was done, he was out of there and headed home. First thing in the morning he would contact the bank and start the paperwork to get checks cut for her every week. She would either cash them or not, but if she didn’t, the next contact she received from him would be from a lawyer. He was ready to wash his hands of her.

  “Cain! Where have you been, man? Thad has been looking for you,” Clyde said as Cain walked into the clubhouse.

  “Yeah. Something came up while I was in New Orleans. I called him yesterday and told him I would be late. I’m going to see him now.”

  “Glad you’re back. Trouble’s brewing, bro.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Bulls trouble.”

  “Shit…okay. Where’s Thad?”

  “Try the office.”

  Cain walked down the short hall to the President’s office, dragging his hand along the restored, teal, 1950 Panhead that decorated the main room.

  “Thad?” he asked quietly as he stuck his head into the President’s office.

  “Cain, glad you’re back. Get your…issue…resolved?”

  “Yes. No. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Well, I need you to get your head back in the game. The Bulls are making a move on us.”

  “What kind of move?” The Blacktop Bulls were a rival club and were a constant pain in the Hellhounds ass, always yapping at them like one of those little dogs chasing cars. All bark, but if they ever caught the car, they wouldn’t have the first idea what to do with it.

  “They are trying to make a move into our business.”

  “Guns?”

  “Yeah.”

  Cain snickered. “Let ‘em. We have the best supply chain in the business. They’re all bark.”

  “Not according to New Jersey.”

  Cain’s brow furrowed. “Why? What happened?” New Jersey was the club’s nickname for some very heavy hitters out of Newark, just across the river from New York City. They were the Hounds biggest customers.

  “They said the Bulls were offering US and NATO weapons at the same prices we get for our stuff.”

  “Bullshit!” Cain spat. “There is no fucking way they can get NATO arms at those kinds of prices. This is bullshit, Thad. New Jersey is trying to screw us.”

  “Maybe. But I had to let their last shipment go at our cost…less shipping…to get the deal through.”

  Cain sat in the chair and fumed a moment. “I’ll call Nicolaus and find out what the fuck is going on. I think either the Bulls are fucking with New Jersey or New Jersey is fucking with us, one of the two. Did New Jersey actually see the weapons?”

  “Don’t know. Are you sure we are on top of this?”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely! Thad, I’m telling you, this stinks to high heaven. The Bulls are just trying to screw us. Why can’t they just stick to running their whores and leave us alone? We don’t shit in their sandbox; why are they shitting in ours?”

  “Bad blood, brother. It’s always been this way.”

  “We need to clean their clock.”

  “If it comes to that, we will. But for now, just find out who is fucking who, and get it straightened out. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “I don’t need anything at the moment, and I will find out what the fuck is going on. That it?”

  “That’s it. Make it happen, Cain.”

  “Yeah. I’ve got it.” Cain kicked the chair back so hard when he stood that it fell to its back. He jerked the chair off the floor and slammed it upright before storming out of the office. Goddamnit! When it rains, it fucking pours! He snarled to himself as he stomped out of the clubhouse, kicking over a trashcan along the way.

  Chapter 12

  “I understand, Mr. Castellino,” Cain Rodgers said into his phone as he oscillated a pen between his finger and thumb, “but I have checked with our source and he knows of no new players entering the trade. Like me, he doesn’t believe that the Bulls can obtain the weapons they claim to have access to and sell them at such low prices.”

  “Cain, it’s nothing personal,” Gianni Castellino said, “it’s just business. They said they could deliver and—”

  “Mr. Castellino, have you seen the weapons?”

  “We saw a sample. My Weapons guy checked it out and said it was legit.”

  “But have you seen the entire shipment? Have you selected a few at random and inspected those? I could provide you with one or two M27s and tell you I picked them up at the local gun dealer for a hundred bucks each. But providing two hundred at that price… that’s a different matter.”

  “You really think they’re trying to screw us?”

  “Mr. Castellino, let me put it to you this way. If you can buy them at that price, do so. It is the deal of the century. But just make sure you know what you are buying. The Blacktop Bulls have been a pain in our ass for years and I think they’re just trying screw up our deals. But they don’t have the resources to do it on the up-and-up, and this whole deal smells of a scam. We have dealt squarely with you for fifteen years, passing along every discount we could negotiate. I’m asking you now, as a favor, before you kick us
to the curb, to just make sure you know what you are buying. I don’t want to see you make a mistake.”

  Cain sat quietly and let Castellino think over what he had said. “You’re right, Cain. Since you took over our supply chain, you have delivered every single time. You, and the rest of the Hellhounds, have never given me reason to doubt what you are supplying me. If you think we are getting fucked, then we need to dig a little deeper.” Castellino paused and, when he spoke again, Cain could hear the amusement in his voice. “I sometimes forget that not all of you cowboys can be trusted.”

  “Playing games with the customer is a great way to ruin a working relationship,” Cain said, putting as much conviction into his voice as possible. “That’s why we don’t do it. We only promise what we can actually deliver.”

  “Yes. Yes you do. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. We have our own reputation to think about and I don’t need some swinging-dick cowboy screwing that up.”

  “No sir. That’s why I contacted you when I couldn’t verify the Bulls’ supply.”

  “Thank you, Cain. You have done me a great favor.”

  Cain smiled, flipped the pen into the air, and caught it. Crisis averted, just like he told Thad it would be. “Taking care of the customer is what I do. You know that,” he teased.

  Castellino’s laugh echoed from the phone. “Yes you do. Especially the last time I was in Dallas. We’ll be prepared to take our next scheduled shipment like normal until we can verify what the Blacktop Bulls are selling.”

  “It will be here. Thank you Mr. Castellino.”

  “Thank you, Cain.”

  As soon as Cain disconnected, he dialed Thad’s number.

  “Thad. Go.”

  Cain grinned. Thad always answered his phone like he was mission control for NASA. “President Thaddeus Wilton, the noble and wise, your humble servant has news of great import!” he cried in his most dramatic voice. He was feeling good about himself having once again made chicken salad from chicken shit.

  “Cut the shit, Rodgers. What do you want?” Thad growled playfully from the phone.

  “I just hung up with New Jersey,” Cain continued in his normal voice.

  “And?”

  “And…I think it is all straightened out. I told him if he could buy those weapons at the price the Bulls are selling them, he should do so. But I also told him to make damn sure he knew what he was buying.”

  “You’re that confident the Bulls’ deal is a scam?”

  “I’m that confident. Nicolaus doesn’t know of anyone entering the game, and he would know. In fact, he told me if the deal was on the up and up, we should buy from the Bulls and sell them to him. He could buy them from us and sell them on, and still make a profit. It’s too good of a deal to be real, Thad.”

  “Okay. Good to know. One of these days we’re going to have to deal with the Bulls. They never stop pushing.”

  “Yeah. It may be time to slap them down again,” Cain suggested.

  “Yeah. Or worse. Every time we kick their ass, they come back at us sooner. It’s only been a couple of years since the last time we fucked them up. I’ll send word that if they don’t cut this shit out, the next time we come at them, it will be for keeps.”

  “It’s about time,” Cain mumbled into the phone.

  “Listen to me, Cain, killing a person, even a Bull, is bad shit. It’s not how we operate.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I get so sick of their shit all the time.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. But we have you, and they don’t, so let ‘em try.”

  Cain grinned at the compliment. “Does that mean I get something extra in my envelope this time?”

  “Fuck no! I like you, but I don’t like you that much,” Thad teased. “Seriously, good job, Cain. You pulled our nuts out of the fire again.”

  “Thanks, Thad,” Cain said, warming with his praise. “I do it for the club.”

  “I know what you mean, brother. We all do. That’s why the Hounds kick ass.”

  Chapter 13

  My eyes flickered open and I lay still, waiting for it to arrive. I knew it would; it always did. I stared at my ceiling a moment and I felt my stomach roll over. Here it comes, I thought as I rolled over, hung my head over the edge of the bed, and puked into the large plastic trashcan I had bought just for this purpose. God, please, why? What did I ever do to deserve this? I heaved again, my sides cramping as I strained to empty my already empty stomach.

  I rolled back over onto my back as I panted and swallowed convulsively, fighting to not heave again. The mornings were the worst. As I lay still, I once again mentally composed my obituary. Alexandria Nicole Bernhardt: born July 22nd, 1988, died September 16th, 2014. Cause of death: terminal morning sickness. I had just completed the cause of death when I rolled over and heaved again into the trash can, spitting and gagging.

  “Fuck that hurts,” I moaned softly as I flopped back into the bed, but at least I was feeling better. I knew from experience that I had about thirty minutes to get up and eat something or the barfs would start all over again.

  I threw the covers back and staggered into the bathroom, taking the trashcan with me. I poured the contents of the can into the toilet, flushed and then filled the plastic container with water from the tub along with a healthy splash of bleach. I then used the toilet myself and rinsed out my mouth before I made my way into the kitchen to make myself a peanut butter sandwich.

  My stomach rebelled and I had to force the sandwich down, but after about half the sandwich had been consumed, my stomach began to settle and I started feeling better. Just one more month to go… I hope, I thought as I took a drink of water to help the gummy sandwich down. That was the only thing keeping me going at this point, the hope that the morning sickness would pass after the first trimester. To be like this for nine months was just too depressing to think about.

  Feeling better, I returned to the bathroom where I dumped the trashcan into the toilet then set it aside. I started the water for the shower, holding my hand under the stream until it ran warm, before I stepped in and began to scrub. I ran my hands over my stomach. I was just beginning to show. While still easily hidden by my clothes, standing naked in the shower I could tell there was something happening down there and I smiled. I wasn’t going to be able to keep this a secret much longer.

  My family and friends knew, but I hadn’t told a soul at work that I was pregnant. I had been frantically looking for a new job, wanting to find one before I told my boss that I had gotten knocked up. I didn’t think he could legally fire me, but he could stuff me in the back room while he built a case against me – not that he needed many more reasons to fire me. I had missed so much work the last three weeks it was embarrassing. I had passed my sickness off as the flu, but that excuse was wearing thin. I would show up at work and everything would be going great until about eleven o’clock. That’s when the upset stomach would hit. Some nights I could get through it, but other nights were terrible. I had tried everything – eating and not eating. I had tried fruit, pasta, peanut butter, all the things that I normally could eat that would help me. Some night it helped, a little, but others, I would puke it up as fast as I could get it down. God it was awful, and it had left me in tears of frustration and misery more than once.

  I shoved the thoughts away. I knew thinking about being sick only served to upset my stomach and bring the on the heaves. Today was my second doctor’s visit and I would talk to the doctor about it and find what she recommended that I do.

  Finished in the shower, I dried myself and returned to my bedroom, setting my barf can beside the bed. I had forgotten to place it there one night, a mistake I won’t make again.

  I dressed in jeans and a comfortable shirt. As I tucked in the shirt, I looked myself over in the mirror. I still had my figure, but there was a thickness about my middle that hadn’t been there before. I smiled as I caressed my baby through the shirt.

  I finished getting ready in the bathroom, putting on a light application of m
akeup, before I returned to my bedroom. As I slipped on my rings and watch, I saw the four checks from Cain lying on my dresser.

  The latest one had arrived just yesterday. Each neatly typed check in a typed envelope arrived like clockwork on Thursdays. They looked like a business checks, though only Cain’s personal information was on them. I had been shocked at the amount of the checks when they arrived — a thousand dollar each. I hadn’t cashed them, feeling like if I did so, I would be admitting him into my life. I hadn’t spoken to Cain since he left, after I told him he was a father, until Wednesday when he had called me to confirm that he would be here for my doctor’s visit.

  When the first check had arrived, I thought about tearing it up, but then decided that I would just give them back to him the next time I saw him. That way he would know that I didn’t accept them. But since the first check, I had begun to worry that maybe I would have to accept them after all. I had started pricing baby furniture and clothes, along with all the other stuff that comes along with having a child. Suddenly that nice fat savings account I had didn’t seem so fat anymore. Not to mention I worried more and more that my little Mazda MX5 just wasn’t going to be up to the task of being a mom-mobile. I could get the kid in there, but where was I going to put all the… stuff? No wonder moms all drove SUVs and minivans. Babies took up a lot of room... and were expensive!