by Paula Cox
And, of course, he would be ready if the Los Diablos decided to show their faces there, as well.
Yes, it seemed as though everyone was going to come from all of West Texas in order to send Emanuel Morrison off.
“We should maybe rent out one of the VFWs for after,” Damon said, continuing smoothly, as though Griffin’s original outburst had never happened. “Lots of people will be coming, and we’ll fit more guys, right?”
Griffin’s mouth twitched in distaste.
“Right,” he said slowly. “But Manny would have wanted something at the Bootheel; that’s where we all go, especially when someone dies. Not having that seems disrespectful.”
Damon frowned, more out of annoyance at being disagreed with now that he was a newly appointed authority figure than anything else. This didn’t bother Griffin, the president was going to have to learn to take some challenges. Griffin had no intention of backing down about anything in his entire life, and what was the point of a vice president if he just agreed with everything?
Plus, he hadn’t shut up from before he was vice president, so why stop now?
“Alright,” Damon conceded. “We’ll meet at the Bootheel after.”
Griffin was relieved, but he kept his face stony and didn’t show it. He knew that he was going to have to ask an important and awkward question next. It was something he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to.
“Was the family notified?” he asked.
He had been part of the Disciples for years at this point, and yet had never heard much about Emanuel’s family. He knew that there was one. He had caught a glimpse of a blurry picture of a child held by a smiling, blonde woman, and he knew the score. Emanuel just didn’t like to mix everything up like that, and plus, it was dangerous for the family.
Damon shrugged and nodded.
“Yeah. We’ll see if anyone shows up though.”
***
It had felt like years since Natasha Morrison had been home to Brazos, Texas. When she had decided to go to the University of Texas in Austin, it hadn’t felt as though she was moving so far, but the bright, cheery world of Austin seemed like another world away from the rough and tumble town that she grew up in.
She could still remember the crackle of static on the other line as she gripped the phone in her hand, first not understanding why one of her father’s men would be contacting her of all people. Sure, she was the daughter of one of the most respected motorcycle gangs in West Texas, but it wasn’t as though she was a member. Her father’s business was her father’s business.
Her mouth went dry when the news was broken to her. The idea of her father being anything but alive seemed impossible to Natasha—even though she knew that her father’s work had always come with some added risk. It had never really bothered her, her father being the president of some motorcycle club. What else was there to do in West Texas? Plus, he had fostered a sense of family between himself and his fellow bikers that Natasha knew he could have never found with her and her mother.
Still, she had been as close to her father as possible, and the news of his death broke her heart.
Natasha looked at the carefully controlled mess that was the bedroom of her off-campus apartment. With only a few credits left for her Sociology major, she thought that she had everything figured out, but now it all seemed so uncertain. She knew that she was going to have to go to the funeral. Of course she was, but the idea of being there as Emanuel Morrison’s daughter held a lot more weight than she liked.
She would figure that out when the time came, but first she had to pack. With a deep, heavy sigh, she began to go through her clothing, looking for something appropriate for the funeral.
It was time to head back to Brazos.
Chapter 2
The funeral took place on a bright and cheery day, with birds chirping and not a cloud in the sky. Not that Brazos saw many clouds, being so close to the desert, and yet the buttery sunshine and clear day made the funeral seem almost too cheerful. At least to Natasha, it seemed almost too cheerful, but maybe her father would have wanted it that way.
A stab of sadness hit Natasha in the heart, but she wasn’t the kind of person who wallowed in such feelings. There was no point in it. It was time for her to bury her father, and there wasn’t much else to be done about it. On the drive back to Brazos, she had decided to blend into the background as a mourner instead of identifying herself as family. While the Disciples might have been her father’s family, they certainly weren’t hers. Yet, she knew she was going to have to say good-bye.
Dressed in a plain black dress, black cardigan, and a string of pearls her mother had given her before she died, Natasha felt strangely out of place at the graveside service. It seemed as though every biker in Brazos, maybe even more, had decided to come to pay their respects, and Natasha found it easier to be lost in the crowd than she thought it would be. Most of the women there were biker types as well, “old ladies” of various members of the club, something that her father had never truly subscribed to.
As the priest droned on about eternity and paradise in heaven, about Emanuel’s love for the Disciples—ironically—and the family they had made, Natasha found herself watching the faces of the mourners around her. Most tried to dress for a funeral, at least in their own way, and yet heavy leather jackets carrying the insignia of the Disciples seemed to be everywhere. It was strange to see at a funeral, although it wasn’t as though Natasha had been to many. Most of the crowd also had the same looks on their faces, full of understanding and acceptance, as though this was just one funeral in a string of many they had attended over the course of their lives.
There were several that she could only assume were part of her father’s inner circle, their faces stony but eyes shining. Just looking at them made Natasha even sadder than she had been. They all looked like men who had lost a brother, and perhaps to them they had. One man stood in the front with prominence, his reddish-brown hair cut shorter than the others. He had an unreadable expression, as he stared at Natasha’s father’s coffin. Natasha couldn’t figure that one out, but it seemed as though he was trying to seem strong for the others. She supposed she couldn’t fault him for that.
It was then that she felt a strange tingling feeling, as though someone was watching her. Without being too obvious about it, her eyes swept the crowd again, only to snag on a man leaning against a tree nearby with his arms folded.
He was wearing the same leather jacket that most of the Disciples were wearing, but there was something about him that was different. For one, he was gorgeous, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes that she could see from where she was standing. While most of the other bikers had beards, it seemed as though he had opted for a slight amount of stubble that made him look sexy and dangerous.
He was also looking directly at her. In fact, she almost wanted to call herself crazy, but she was pretty sure that he was checking her out.
Part of her flushed hot underneath his smoldering gaze, but she tamped down her feelings out of respect. Who was this dangerous-looking man who had the audacity to check her out at her own father’s funeral? Of course, there was no way that this man could possibly know that she was the daughter of Emanuel, but still, there was a cosmic wrongness to it.
It was time to lower the casket into the dry earth of the Texas cemetery, and Natasha ignored the strange man in order to get a little closer to see her father descend into his final resting place. She managed to get quite close, and with as much sorrow in her heart as she allowed herself to feel, she closed her eyes and prayed that her father would rest in peace.
That’s when all Hell broke loose.
At first Natasha didn’t realize what was happening, but once the tell-tale popping of gunshots rang out, she dropped to the ground and began to look around. She couldn’t see where the attacker or attackers were, but she could hear the roar of a motorcycle and the angry cries of dozens of bikers. Some women screamed and ran, protecting whatever children they had brought to
the occasion, while others moved to step up. Natasha ignored all of that, the only thing she needed to do was to find the damn assailant.
Gunshots rang out again, but it was easier for her to see, now that the people were scattering. A few people lay wounded around the grave, and Natasha would be damned if she was going to be one of them. Gathering her nerves, which were calmer than she had originally given herself credit for, she ran immediately to a nearby grave that was large enough to hide behind. If she didn’t know where the assailant was, running towards the main road where all the cars and motorcycles were parked seemed like a good way to get herself killed.
Hiding behind the tombstone, she tried to peer around to see if she could see anything in the chaos, and it was then that she heard the ominous click of a gun cocking back very close to her head.
***
Griffin had noticed her immediately. She wasn’t hard to miss, given the fact that he had never seen her before. She wasn’t dressed like anyone else there, and she was smoking hot.
The girl was probably only a few years younger than him, with the longest legs he had ever seen. She had the sort of body that usually meant a woman’s tits were small, but as she folded her arms, he could see the swell of her breasts push up underneath them, and the sight almost made him go hard, even at a funeral.
Her hair was long and blonde, that kind of lucky hair color that sticks with a person when usually blondes grow out of it. It was pulled back into a ponytail and for some reason Griffin just wanted to see what it looked like down. She had full lips that she would occasionally nibble on as she looked from face to face. She looked like an angel, maybe she was. She would be the perfect distraction for him if she ended up at the Bootheel tonight.
It was then that she noticed him noticing her, her eyes narrowing slightly to the point where he could tell that she might have been checking him out in return. He didn’t smile or acknowledge it though; there was plenty of time for that later. Now…it was time to say good-bye to Emanuel.
He had opted against standing in the front next to Damon and the other closer members, but this was mostly because he didn’t want the funeral to be political. Emanuel was more than just the president of the Lost Disciples; he was a good man, and Griffin didn’t want to overshadow the situation by placing himself front and center. There would be plenty of time for that later, especially when it came time to plan for revenge.
This was it; the casket was being lowered into the ground. Griffin had already buried his more unpleasant feelings deep inside of himself, so he instead looked around to see if any of those Los Diablos assholes had the audacity to show their faces.
Distantly, he heard the sound of a motorcycle revving its engine, and immediately, his senses jumped into high alert. Of course, since he was surrounded by at least fifty other bikers, a few people looked around too, but most of them seemed to have brushed it off as a latecomer to the funeral. Griffin wasn’t so sure. This was a little too late to still be arriving.
Griffin settled his nerves, thinking he was clearly just being paranoid.
But that was when all Hell broke loose.
It happened almost too quickly, almost too surreally for many people to react, but when Griffin watched the biker pull off the road and gun towards the funeral with everything he had, he felt himself reaching for his gun. Gripping it in his hand, he moved behind the tree so he wasn’t a sitting duck, knowing that the assassin already had a gun in his hand.
Where was Damon? It would be a record for the new president to die so soon after the old one, and Griffin clearly wasn’t ready to take over just yet, so he scanned the panicked crowd that had already started to disperse. He thought of the blonde chick and hoped she was getting out of the way as soon as possible.
Gunshots fired through the air and Griffin fought his instinct to fire back. In the rush of leather jackets and screams he didn’t want to end up hitting one of his own, so he remained calm and kept watch. He knew that he could very well be a target in what could potentially be a massacre.
For a few heart-pounding seconds, Griffin searched through the crowd, only to see the would-be assassin making his way through the crowd. The gunman only stopped to hurt someone if they got in his way. However, too many people were in the way for Griffin to take his shot, but he crept out from his cover in order to get a better one. There was no way he was going to hide like a bitch while members of his family were getting hurt.
The assassin moved with purpose, but Damon was nowhere to be seen in the crowd, and it was only then that Griffin caught a flash of blonde hair as a girl disappeared behind a large tombstone.
Shit, Griffin thought, as the assassin cocked his gun and pressed it against the girl’s head. Without thinking, Griffin pointed his gun and fired, hitting the man in the back of the leg. He crumpled like a sack of potatoes, and Griffin clenched his teeth in rage to see the Los Diablos insignia proudly displayed across the attacker’s leather jacket. The girl stared up at Griffin with wide eyes, as Griffin kicked the attacker onto his back.
The man was still alive, and Griffin’s lips twisted into a sneer, as he readied his gun to fire…
Chapter 3
“Wait!”
Natasha lunged towards the dangerous man who had been checking her out during the funeral, and who had now saved her life. Up close he was just as gorgeous as she had originally thought—although the dangerous edge was almost worse. Now, with a gun in his hand, she couldn’t help but feel how powerful he was, how uncompromising. Yet, in spite of everything, she wasn’t sure that she wanted him to kill for her.
His piercing blue eyes bore into hers as he hesitated.
“What?” he asked. His voice was husky and low, and immediately, she began to doubt her own hesitation. The attacker had placed a gun against her head and was fully willing to pull the trigger until this other man stepped in, and yet she was going to plead for mercy? For him?
“Maybe he has information,” she said.
She didn’t want to admit that she was a target, obviously that had been some sort of terrible mistake on the part of the attacker. How could he have known that she was Emanuel’s daughter? Was he just killing for fun? That chilled Natasha almost as much as being a potential target had.
The attacker had grown quiet in his pain, and the man kicked him the stomach to remind him that it still existed. He moaned in misery, and the dangerous man smiled. Natasha couldn’t help but stare.
“You have any information that I might want?” Griffin asked the assassin.
Natasha could finally see the assassin’s face better through the motorcycle helmet he had worn, with his wide, dark eyes and beard. She tried to memorize the assassin’s features just in case she had to talk to the police—although she wasn’t too keen on the prospect of doing so.
Suddenly, the assassin’s boot shot out towards Natasha, causing her to yelp in surprise, the dangerous man who had saved her pushed her out of the way and took the blow in the knee, hissing in pain and allowing the assassin to scramble to his feet and set off running. The dangerous man pointed his gun at the assassin’s retreating back, but once again Natasha stopped him.
“Do you think he’s going to remember your kindness when he tries to kill you again?” the dangerous man asked.
Natasha levelled him with a serious stare, her eyes hard, and said, “Next time I’m going to be ready.”
The man didn’t say anything back, and that was probably for the best, because the running assassin had managed to turn around and fire off a few shots. They missed wildly, but it startled Natasha enough that her knees gave out, causing the dangerous man to grab ahold of her, pick her up, and carry her with as much speed as he possibly could towards the road, where she assumed they would be getting on a motorcycle, or more hopefully into a car.
She wanted to fight him, knowing that she could take care of herself. However, he moved so quickly and the danger had not yet passed, so she allowed him to take her. The dangerous man carried her through the
chaos over to a motorcycle and threw her on the back of it. She sat there for a moment, stunned, while he leaned over to the back hatch and fished out a spare helmet.
“I can take care of myself, you know,” she said stubbornly. He looked at her with those piercing eyes again, and in spite of her fear, she felt a jolt of desire run through her.
Suddenly, she was very aware of her position on the bike, her legs slightly splayed, her dress riding up around her thighs. In other circumstances, it would have been a provocative position, and the dangerous man took a moment to look at her hungrily.
“I don’t doubt that,” he replied. “But we still need to get the hell out of here.”
“To where?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. He moved close to her, placing the helmet on her head and bringing it down securely. She could smell a hint of motor oil, some cologne she couldn’t name, and something deeply masculine that she could only assume was his scent. He felt so warm, and she found herself leaning in close to him in spite of herself.
