Hiding in Plain Sight

by Hornbuckle, J. A.

  "You don't have to…" she took another breath, swallowing before she continued. "You don't have to protect me anymore."

  He'd known it was coming, but her words, though softly said still made his body jerk at hearing them. Brand was aware it was a discussion that was required, but he didn't think they needed to have it that night. So he changed the subject to one that that was called for in order to prepare her.

  "There is club business I must attend to tomorrow. I will be gone most of the day. You are welcome to stay here, or I can take you to wait with the other women at the clubhouse," he advised, giving her the choice. He'd learned his young wife needed options. If Reese wasn't given a selection, it was almost guaranteed he'd get the sharp side of her tongue to berate him for whatever choice he had made.

  "This stuff you do for the club, is it dangerous?" She moved her cheek back to dip where his shoulder met his arm.

  "Not enough for you to worry, my wife," he hedged as he tightened the arm he had around her.

  "Hmm," was her response and he felt her drag the hand from his stomach closer to her face before she stopped herself and used it to rub his chest instead. "I think I'd prefer to be around the other girls."

  "They call themselves Hell's Honeys," he corrected her with a grin.

  "So with you a member, does that make me one?" Her voice was hesitant. "A Hell Honey, I mean?"

  "I am unsure. I do not know of the women's initiations, my love. Until you, I have never brought a woman to the club," he replied, and could feel the frown on his face as he thought. Those women could be absolute bitches, and if they tried to do anything untoward to his Reese in order for her to be a part of their group, there would be a price to pay.

  "Really?" The feel of her face against his skin moved, and he heard the smile in just that one word before her face slackened and her voice changed. "Oh, but then, you had them to…"

  He squeezed her tightly in order to make her stop talking. "It is just you now, my Reese. It is just you and me together."

  He got a long slow caress in reply.

  *.*.*.*.*

  The ride in that early Sunday morning on the back of Brand's bike was awesome. The cooler air of the night streaming over us as the sun just started to peek over the trees, changing the eastern sky behind us from pink to gold to blue. Because it was so early, we didn't hit any traffic, not even from the church people. Brand pulled into the forecourt of the Hellion's property and parked next to the five or so bikes lined up in the middle area, where the bar-be-que had been.

  I got off first and removed my helmet looking around. This was the quietest the club had ever been, and I wondered at why Brand needed to be here this early. Rather than lead me to the saloon after he'd swung his leg over the big bike and stood, he just gathered me against him, his leathers creaking all the while.

  "Your number one priority for today, wife, is to keep yourself safe," he murmured, his lips on my hairline. I raised my eyes to his, uncertain what exactly he meant.

  "Is there gonna be trouble?" Even I could hear the worry in my voice. "You gotta keep yourself safe too, you know."

  I got a dimpled smile at my admonishment.

  "You are worried about me?" he asked, his voice deep and rough.

  "Always, baby." I hadn't even had to think about my answer. The kiss I received for it started a slow, salacious burn that began at my lips and moved southward. His lips were magic and could make me to forget my own name, not to mention our location.

  When we disconnected and I was able to make sense of our surroundings, I saw another three bikes on the other side of ours. I didn't remember even hearing them come into the forecourt. I saw Snake hold the door open for Jilly before Brand shifted to tuck me against his side and guide me towards the doors of the saloon.

  I wasn't sure what'd be going on inside, but I was unprepared for the calm we encountered when we entered. There was a group of men at one of the farthest tables, and I could hear the lighter female voices to my right, only undercut by Dee's rough smoky tones coming from the kitchen.

  I raised my face to Brand's while cupping a hand to the back of his head.

  "Be safe, my man. I'll see you later," I mumbled as he, yet again, caught me in the snare of our lip joining. I was starting to recognize that he made love to me with his lips as much as he did with his body when we were alone.

  I got an ass caress in answer as I turned to make my way to the women. And, I was surprised to note, the public display of his affection didn't bother me in the least.

  "Reese!" I heard him call and I turned around, but never stopped stepping even though it was backwards. "I love you."

  "As I do you, husband!" I yelled over the blaring music. I brought my fingers to my mouth before blowing him a kiss and felt the swinging doors of the kitchen hit my back as his slight grin went to full and shining, his dimple on full display. I pushed through the door and eyed the other women scattered around the room. But truth be told, my mind was still on Brand and his smile.

  "Namaste, bitch," Carly called from her place at the eight burner, industrial stove.

  "Morning, slut," I offered back with a smile and a chin lift.

  "Heard your troubles were over, pretty girl," Dee said, working a big-ass knife on a cutting board of onions. "Glad for you, babe."

  "Me, too," I responded as I pulled off my jacket and went to the sink to wash my hands. "How can I help?"

  "We're doin' a frittata, Reesie," Jilly offered with a hand clap and a bounce, although I couldn’t see that she was adding much to the breakfast production.

  "Biscuits or toast?" Was my next question as I saw Carly doing a slow sauté of veggies.

  "We were thinking toast but if you could do biscuits that'd be amazing," Lock offered over a shoulder from her place at the stove next to Carly. She was squeezing out logs of sausages into a hot large cast iron skillet.

  "In my fucking sleep!" I admitted loudly to be heard over the music. "Damn, Carly, turn your fire down, girl. You need to cook things slow and sweet!"

  "That how you got Brand, pretty girl? By keeping the fire slow and sweet?" Dee's face held a sly smile when I caught her glance.

  "Absolutely. Us country girls know how to keep things deliberate and steady," I said, stepping in time to the music, hips rolling and fingers snapping as I went to the cabinet that held the flour and lard. "It's called controlling the fire."

  There were catcalls and even a couple of whistles as I poured a measure of flour out onto the cutting board. This to me was 'old school', making biscuits the way Granny had done. You made a mound of flour, then swirled your finger in its peak, creating a well. Add dollop of lard, a couple of eggs with some baking powder, and you worked the wet into the dry with loose fingers, crumbling until the mass came together. The real skill in light fluffy biscuits was knowing when to stop working it.

  I knew the size I needed, what the hard driving men in the room would want and gently dropped the fist dimensioned rounds onto heated baking sheets. While they were in the oven, I tackled the piles of dishes in the sink. But it didn't feel work since the conversation between the five of us flowed so easily.

  The place was filling up and the noise level was almost defining as we set up the food buffet- style on the long bar. I hadn't noticed how many people had been at the bar- be- que but in the large space of the lounge, there had to have been over fifty people. With a skewed ratio of more men than women.

  I put our plates of food on the table in front of Brand and turned to pull another chair up to the already crowded table. But he snagged me around my waist and pulled me into his lap without missing a beat and while reaching for his fork. I twisted until I was facing the table but couldn't resist a little wiggle against the lump growing under my butt.

  "No teasing, wife," he breathed in my ear and I felt my face flush. I glanced around to see if anyone else had caught me as I spread my napkin across my lap.

  "This is my wife, Reese," I heard him announce to the table. I got a nod
from the big man who Dee was fussing over. And by fussing, I mean fiddling with his grayed ponytail, straightening his heavy flannel shirt that was over a thermal. I would've put him in his late forties, early fifties but his skin held a pallor that didn't seem right.

  They were seated next to a tiny asian featured woman with the most amazing waist-length blue-black hair whom I'd learned was Lily. She was pulling a half-chewed cigar from the mouth of a grizzled man wearing a skull-cap. He must be Zip, the man that had ordered Brand's beating.

  I hated him on sight.

  Trey was on the other side of Zip and was explaining something in low tones to Dare, seated to my left.

  "These biscuits are the shit!" Dare exclaimed, tearing open his third.

  "Reesie made them," Lock called from the table behind him.

  "Really? You made the biscuits, my beauty?" Brand asked over my shoulder.

  I shoveled in another forkful of the frittata to cover my embarrassment but nodded in response.

  "We ride in fifteen," Trey yelled, standing and my heart sped up at how serious his face was.

  The noise changed from the cacophony of voices to the squeals and scrapes of chairs that were shoved back as the bikers moved. Brand's arm tightened around me, and I was partially lifted, only barely having time to set down my fork as he stood.

  "Will you see me off, my Reese?" But I was getting that Brand only asked out of politeness, since he was already pushing me towards the bottleneck of people leaving.

  The forecourt was now filled with an array of motorcycles the morning sun glinting off, the shining chrome of forks, fenders and handle bars. While some riders fiddled with their bikes, others were head to head or mouth to mouth with their women. I saw more than one couple, who were touching each other in places I didn't think were for public viewing but only got in a couple of glances before I, too, was grabbed.

  After a long, slow deep kiss, Brand raised his head. "I do not know when I will be back. Stay with the Honeys. If you need something, ask."

  "All I need is for you to be safe," I murmured, raising up on tip-toe to kiss his chin.

  "I love you, wife," he said, dropping his lips to my neck.

  "I love you, my husband." Confessing my feelings for him, to him, was becoming easier every time I said it. And, if I was lucky, I'd get to say it a lot more.

  The roar of so many machines starting up was almost deafening. I saw Big Duke, the large, sick-looking man who was with Dee, open the rolling gate at the front of the property and stand right smack dab in the middle of the driveway. He held a fist up and I watched as every other rider did the same.

  I stepped back a few paces and watched as two by two, the motorcycles peeled away, forming a sort of phalanx that carefully skirted Big Duke.

  "They'll ride in their order," I heard Jilly's voice next to my ear. "Since Big Duke is laying low, it'll be Fats and Trey taking point. Next is Zip with Brand and Dare behind him. The other six can ride next to whoever they want, but they'll only move in two lines."

  "How many?" I asked, trying to count but with all the movement in the forecourt, it was hard.

  "Fifteen, I think. Although Silo, Dice, Patch and Mile took the SUV with the trailer. They already left," Jilly was holding a hand to her eyes as shade against the brilliant morning sun. I heard her sigh before she turned towards me. "Now comes the hard part."

  "The hard part?"

  "Yeah," she mumbled going back towards the clubhouse. "The waiting."

  Chapter Thirty Two

  It should've gone off without a hitch.

  Everything had been carefully planned by all the players involved: the Hellions, the ATF and the Milosevics. Brand, being aware of two of the three preparations in place, took the Glock 18 he'd been given and went to stand on the far right, next to the large U-Haul the Milosevics had hired to bring the guns.

  It was to be a simple transfer, but the Hellions were leaving nothing to chance. Brand knew the ATF would wait until the motorcycle club's trailer was half filled before they'd make their move.

  Easy and smooth was the order of the day.

  But the transfer was taking much longer than either side had anticipated mainly because Trey had demanded that each crate of guns be opened and inspected before it was approved and loaded into the Hellion's trailer. And with the delay, people began getting antsy.

  "I don't like this. We're too exposed and they have too much firepower," he heard one of the Milosevic's men say in the old language from their position next to the truck.

  "This is our first direct dealing with them. Be patient, Yuri," came the terse reply.

  Brand knew they had cause to worry. If any of the crates were found to be short, or if they contained anything other than what the club had ordered, the Milosevic's hirelings would be held accountable. He kept his eyes roaming over the trees and his ears open. His biggest fear was that the hirelings would become so nervous, they'd initiate a move and everything would all go wrong in a heartbeat.

  All the players were in place but as he picked up on a movement in the trees, he felt his heart drop. The ATF team were not in a normal formation. Harvey Becker, rather than take a place at the back, per procedures so as to keep an eye on the action and make adjustments to the team as necessary, had decided to act as point.

  Brand didn't know whether to laugh or to get pissed at such a stupid, vainglorious move.

  He waited to hear the ATF announcement, advising of their presence and asking for weapons down. But it never came although the team kept moving forward stepping carefully over the uneven ground.

  What the fuck?

  He glanced back at Harvey and read the tension in his face and body.

  Too much tension for a simple bust, Brand's mind warned and he felt worry and apprehension zing through him straight to his balls.

  This was wrong on too many levels. The men behind Harvey were picking up on their leader's excited nervousness, which was evident by the eyes that darted, the ever shifting weapons and not so sure-footing in the undergrowth of the forest.

  When he'd passed along the Hellion's plans, the meticulous tactics they'd struggled with for months, he'd been working under the assumption that ATF policies and procedures would be followed to the letter. He'd counted on it to prevent unnecessary loss of life on either side.

  What he hadn't counted on was Harvey Becker's zeal in his first mission as well as his inexperience in leading men.

  "Give it up, motherfuckers!" Harvey bleated in a parody of a battle cry and raised his weapon, pointing the barrel directly at Brand's chest. He heard the first retort of the handgun and raced to take the seemingly crazed ATF supervisor to the ground as he yelled for the others to hold their fire.

  The first bullet took Brand through the side of his waist, the impact moving him back a half-step before he surged forward again, determined to take Harvey out of the mix. He could hear several rounds being fired that had commenced after Harvey's first round hit Brand.

  All of the sounds of gunfire though seem to be coming from the trees, from the agents.

  Brand was determined to put a stop to the craziness.

  Another slug hit Brand as he was only six feet from Harvey, close enough to see the terrified glee in the pudgy man's eyes. He's enjoying this, the stupid shit! Brand's thought before the searing heat hit his hipbone, causing his left leg to immediately become useless.

  Brand's only directive, only mission at that moment, was to stop Harvey.

  As his leg collapsed, he didn't even feel the bullet hit him over the top of his right ear. What he did feel was the satisfying scream of the little dumb-fuck when Brand pulled him to ground, ripping the handgun from the chubby fingers. He managed to toss it away before the black spots hovering on the edge of his vision all moved together to drag him down into waiting darkness.

  Even in later recounts, no one doubted the first shot came from the ATF agents, done at the command of their leader and against all written mandates of the agency.

&nbs
p; And ballistics performed later confirmed all three bullets that hit Brand were from Harvey Becker's weapon.

  *.*.*.*.*

  Dee was sitting with Big Duke when the call came in. I saw the middle aged man's face go to granite as he reached for Dee's hand and said some words too low for me to hear.

  "Which one?" I heard his rough voice bark loudly into the phone. She was up and moving behind the bar, grabbing things from underneath as she raced back to his table.

  I had no idea what was going on, but the air practically sizzled from whatever it was.

  Big Duke pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and handed them to her as he disconnected. "St. Pat's, babe."

  "Go get Lily, pretty girl and meet me on the forecourt." Dee shoved by me and I saw one of the handbags she was holding was mine.

  "Why?" I called to her back.

  "Just do it, Reese," Big Duke called in a voice that sounded weak. He had a hand over his eyes, and I ran towards the kitchen where the women who hadn't cooked with us were cleaning up.

  "Lily! We've got to go," I yelled from the doorway and saw her immediately turn around, wiping her hands on a paper towel as she ran towards me.

  Dee sitting in a bright, yellow baby Hum-Vee with both the passenger and one of the back seat doors open. I crawled into the back and found my hands were shaking as I did up my seatbelt. Lily had started to silently cry, her head turned towards the window.

  "What the hell is going on?" I asked, scared to death but not understanding why.

  *.*.*.*.*

  "Come on! Stay with me," Dr. Steve Malcolm yelled from his place atop the body on the gurney, doing chest compressions while a nurse worked the BVM. He was unaware of the blood that was soaking his scrubs as he watched the monitors. He knew he had to keep the compressions at least two inches deep and twelve to fifteen per minute to do any good, but the man fighting for his life was a big fuck. Two inches meant Dr. Malcolm was pushing very hard, hard enough that his arms and hands grew very tired, very quickly.

  The lines on the monitor remained flat though.