by Dez Burke
“Don’t forget about Maggie, the reporter from Channel 5,” I remind them. “She knows Sam’s first name. Considering what she does for a living, I’m sure she’s an observant person. It wouldn’t surprise me if she remembers seeing the Steel Infidels patches on our jackets too. She has two clues right there. The Steel Infidels and Sam.”
I remember the fear on her face when she realized I was leaving her there alone. “On second thought, she seemed pretty upset. She might not remember anything.”
“She doesn’t have to remember,” Sam says. “She was filming. All she has to do is play the video back and we’re nailed right there. Why the fuck did I agree to that interview?” He slams a hand down on the seat of his bike.
“We’re wasting time talking about this and how we all fucked up,” Flint says. “None of it matters. We can assume that she’ll find out who we are shortly. Along with all the other media. The question is what are we going to do about it? This could be very bad for us if the media starts digging into the MC’s business. I don’t know how we should play this when they come knocking. And trust me, they will come. This is too big of a story for them to ignore it.”
“Play it how?” I ask.
“We have two choices,” he replies. “As good ol’ accidental heroes or badass bikers. We need to think this through. The way we handle this will make a difference not only how we’re portrayed in the media, but also how we’re thought of by the other MCs and our suppliers.”
“Badasses,” I answer without hesitation.
“Heroes,” says Sam at the same time. “Or badass heroes as a compromise,” he adds.
Flint lets out a long sigh.
“You two aren’t worth a shit. I hope Jesse gets here soon.”
5
Maggie
I swallow the last sip of cold coffee and toss the paper cup into the trash can. Pulling out my cell phone, I check the time again. Bill’s wife should have been here by now. They live in a suburb forty-five minutes north of Atlanta, and the trip to the hospital normally wouldn’t take this long.
It’s been over an hour since the doctor told me that Bill needed to go straight into surgery. I’ve bugged the volunteer at the information desk so often about any new information that she finally told me politely to stop asking and to keep an eye on the pager she gave me. It’s supposed to go off with blinking red lights whenever there is an update.
Which there never is.
It strikes me as ironic that the exact same pager is used at steakhouses to let customers know when their table is ready. Finally, after what seems like forever, I see Bill’s wife rush through the sliding glass doors of the hospital lobby. She spots me and hurries over to engulf me in a big hug.
“Maggie!” she says, wiping away a tear. “Thank you for staying with him until I could get here.”
“I wouldn’t dare leave him here at the hospital alone. Bill is my friend, and I’m not leaving until I know he’s out of surgery and going to be okay.”
“Is there any news yet?” she asks.
“Not yet.”
I take her by the hand and lead her over to the information desk. “I’ll tell them you’re here. Maybe they’ll be more willing to share information with you than they were with me.”
She takes a deep breath and grips my hand tighter.
It’s going to be a long night.
Four hours later, I’m finally in my car and on my way back to my apartment. Shortly after Bill’s wife arrived at the hospital, the doctor came out to give us the good news that the bullet had been removed safely. Luckily, none of his vital organs or arteries were hit and while he lost a great deal of blood, all signs pointed to a good chance of recovery.
I stayed at the hospital until they told us Bill had been moved to the Intensive Care Unit and that his wife could go in to see him. I didn’t want to intrude on their private moment, so I took the opportunity to leave. There wasn’t anything else I could do at that point anyway.
Bill would want me to get back to work and more importantly, to find more about the men who shot him.
Why were the shooters at the mall on Valentine’s Day? And why did they go after Bill first? Not for the first time, the thought occurs to me that maybe their target wasn’t random. What if their target was me?
The thought sends a chill down my spine.
The opportunity to gun down a reporter during a live television feed would be a prize to any terrorist, homegrown or otherwise.
My mind keeps going back over everything that happened in slow motion. Nothing feels real. It’s like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
I keep thinking about the sexy biker who threw me to the ground and protected me with his own body without a moment’s hesitation. If he hadn’t been there, I would’ve been a goner.
I owe him my life, and I don’t even know his name.
Who is he?
And maybe more importantly, why did he run out of there and disappear so quickly?
The man was a true hero today.
Then again, heroes don’t run from the scene. Unless they’re hiding something. There’s a story here. I can smell it. I’ve got to find him. To thank him for saving my life, and to find out what he’s hiding.
It shouldn’t be too hard. His black leather jacket was covered with patches. One of them said Steel something or other. Steel what? Steel Outlaws? Steel Riders? Steel Rods?
Why can’t I remember?
Normally I can recall every little minute detail about everything. I’m still too shaken up. Hopefully it will come to me out of the blue. As soon as I reach the house, I’ll start searching the Internet for motorcycle clubs in North Carolina with Steel in the name.
By morning, I’ll know who he is and where to find him.
6
Toby
Less than an hour later, almost everyone is at the clubhouse. We’re all gathered in the main room waiting for Jesse to call the meeting to order.
“What’s up, Toby?” a female voice behind me purrs in my ear. “Any plans for later tonight?”
Before I have a chance to answer, I feel sharp teeth tugging my earlobe playfully while a cool hand slips under my untucked shirt.
I suck in my breath.
“Whoa girl!” I say with a laugh when her hand slides across my stomach and then stops at my belt buckle. “Easy now filly. Calm yourself down.”
I don’t need to turn around to know who the hand belongs to.
Danita.
One of the newer Sweet Butts who always aims to please.
Any way she can.
From making the crew sandwiches in the middle of the night to brewing strong cups of coffee the next day when we’re all hungover. Danita is extra curvy in all the right places, sweet as sugar, and knows how to please a man in the sack.
Or men I should say, if I’m being honest.
She doesn’t seem to have a preference among the crew, and we don’t mind swapping. After all, that’s what the Sweet Butts are here for.
Sharing is caring.
That’s what we like to say.
She’s one of a handful of regular Sweet Butts who hang around the clubhouse as many hours as we’ll let them. The group of pretty girls make our life a whole lot easier. One of the best perks of being a member of the Steel Infidels is having a sexy young thing willing to do whatever you want, whenever you want.
It’s easy to get spoiled by the adoring attention. Who cares if there isn’t any love or even true affection involved?
I’m not all about that anyway.
Love is for suckers.
Her finger makes its way under the waistband of my jeans and strokes lower. My cock starts to stir. I chuckle at her nerve and grab her hand to hold it still. Danita wouldn’t be past pulling my dick out right in the middle of a crowded room to jack me off if she thought it would gain her points with the MC.
“Why do you want to know if I have plans for tonight?” I ask. “Do you have something particular in mind?”
She laughs and nuzzles my neck. “Believe me, I have many naughty things in mind,” she says. “I heard what you did today. Don’t you think you deserve a reward, Toby?”
I chuckle at the thought. “Yes ma’am, I believe I do,” I say. “But not here and definitely not now.” Reluctantly, I pull her hand out of my pants and tug her around to face me. She purses her full red lips up at me and makes a duck face.
Is it supposed to be a pout? Or a sexy invitation to slide my dick between her lips? I can never tell. I’m hoping it’s the latter. Either way, I don’t know why girls are so fond of doing it. I playfully grab her ass cheek with one hand and hang onto the plump flesh. “I’ll catch up with you later,” I say. “Keep it warm for me.”
A shrill whistle rings out and I drop my hand.
When a few of the Sweet Butts in the crowded room keep on talking, Jesse, the Steel Infidels Prez, puts two fingers between his lips and whistles louder this time. The noisy room immediately goes silent. When the President of the MC whistles, everybody had better listen up.
“Is everyone here and accounted for?” Jesse asks.
The crew all glance around the room, mentally taking count and nodding their heads.
“Jodi? How about the Sweet Butts? Are the girls all here too?” he asks.
Jodi, the oldest Sweet Mama, who is officially in charge of keeping the younger Sweet Butts in line, nods back at him. “Anyone who needs to be here is here,” she answers. “And if they’re not, they’re out of luck this time around.”
Jesse motions for Sam to lock the front door to the clubhouse and then makes his way to the pool table located in the center of the big open room.
Everyone involved with the motorcycle club is here for the meeting - the crew, the Old Ladies, the Sweet Butts, the wives, and even the kids. Normally our MC meetings are held among the twelve crew members in a room at the back of the clubhouse where we’re assured complete privacy.
Not this time.
Jesse and Flint thought it was important to make sure everyone knew about the shit storm headed our way and how to handle it once it got here. The Steel Infidels can’t afford to have one of the Sweet Butts running her mouth to reporters in hopes of grabbing her ten seconds of fame.
There is no telling what they would say or how much club business they would be willing to spill with a little prodding. The women that hang around the MC’s clubhouse aren’t always the smartest girls in the world, and it wouldn’t take much to trip them up.
“Alright then,” Jesse says. “Let’s get started. By this time, I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened at the mall today in Atlanta. The details are sketchy. All we know is that at least three men came into the mall and started shooting up the food court. We don’t know who they are and why they did it. All we know is that our man Toby right here…” He points a finger at me. “Managed to take down two of the shooters with a little help from Sam. Unfortunately, one of them got away. But two out of three ain’t bad though, right? I’ll take those odds any day. Who knew we had a real-live action hero right here in our own MC?”
A loud chorus of yells and clapping erupts. Rocco, one of the oldest crew members, reaches over to slap me on the back. His brother Donny grabs my hand tightly in his and shakes it.
“You did good, buddy,” he says.
After a couple of minutes, I hold up my hand to get them to hush. “Just doing what any of you would have done,” I say, more than a little embarrassed by the attention. “Nothing special.”
“I don’t know about that,” Jesse says. “According to Flint, your quick thinking and actions saved a whole lot of people today. We’re proud of you, Toby. And I’m honored to call you a Steel Infidel brother. You made us proud.”
For a brief second, my gut is filled with a warm, fuzzy glow. A nice change from the way I usually feel.
Then I remember.
I’m not a fucking hero.
Nobody should be proud of me.
Not with the things I’ve done in my past.
And maybe even worse, the things I didn’t do.
As much as I would love to have the admiration of Jesse and the rest of the crew, I don’t deserve it.
Not today.
I don’t want to be an ass, so I try to act normal and accept their congratulations while inside I feel like a big fucking fraud. I’m relieved when the attention turns back to Jesse.
“That was the good news,” he says. “Now onto the bad. Since we have a national hero in our midst, the media is going to come calling. With a little luck, it will take them a couple of days to find us. Flint says we shouldn’t count on it, especially with social media being what it is now. Photos are already being posted of the scene and crazy rumors being shared. People are marking themselves ‘safe’ on Facebook even if they’re two hundred miles from the mall. Why the hell do people do that?”
“To let their mamas know they’re safe,” one of the Sweet Butts pipes up to say.
Jesse hides a smile. “I know. I wasn’t really asking for an answer. Thanks anyway, Jessica. Here’s the deal. No one is to talk to anyone, especially the media, about what went down at the mall.” He slowly scans the room, taking the time to make direct eye contact with each person.
“If you run your fucking mouth and I find out about it, you’re history. No questions asked and no excuses. This goes for everyone in this room. No exceptions. I don’t care how long you’ve been with the MC or who is doing the asking. I don’t care if it’s Diane Sawyer calling your house ten times a day or the New York Times. Nobody talks until me or Flint gives the okay.”
The room is so quiet that I can hear Rocco’s steady breathing from several feet behind me. I can’t think of a time before when Jesse threatened to throw people out of the MC. He means business.
I hope the Sweet Butts are listening and paying attention. I glance over at our two newest girls, Madison and Chloe. Twin girls in their early twenties with long blonde hair almost down to their asses. Their blank blue eyes are as big as saucers. Hopefully that means they’re absorbing something. At least a few words maybe. While I’m watching, Chloe casually extends a manicured hand and checks out her nail polish. Then again, maybe not.
Jesse suddenly turns in my direction. “Toby, you’re going to be the one in the spotlight, so be prepared.”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I say. “Because I’m not talking to nobody.”
Jesse nods. “I’m not worried about you,” he says. “Now Sam on the other hand…” he gives his youngest brother a stern look.
“Why are you always worried about me?” Sam asks in exasperation.
“Do I really need to explain why?” Jesse says. “Everyone in this room knows why considering your past history of getting into trouble.”
Sam holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. Not one word from me either. I swear. Nada, nothing. Mum is the word. I don’t know anything, didn’t see anything. Hell, I’m not even sure I was there. In fact, I’m fairly certain I was in Victoria’s Secret picking out Lila’s Valentine’s present when it all went down. A red lacy bra with matching panties. Except I don’t think you can call them panties because the crotch is missing. Lila, what do you call those things? Bloomers?”
Lila slaps him hard on the forearm. He laughs before pulling her tight against him. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Reporters can come sniffing around here all they want, but they’re not getting anything from me either.”
“Good,” Jesse says, looking relieved. “I’m glad you all understand. Flint, do you have anything to add to the discussion?”
Flint runs a hand through his brown hair and shakes his head slowly. “Not really. Just be prepared when the media shows up and let me do all the talking. Which there will be very little of. I’m the club’s spokesperson and the only one with permission to talk. We still haven’t worked out exactly what we’re going to say or when to say it. Everybody got it?”
When everyone agrees, Jesse claps his hands together. “Alright th
en. This calls for a round of drinks. I know Valentine’s Day plans were spoiled for many of you, and I appreciate you all showing up. Jodi, can you and the girls get some drinks going around? Make sure our man Toby gets the first shot. Hopefully this will all blow over and things will be back to normal in no time.”
I hope so too.
7
Toby
The squeaky sound of my bedroom door opening jars me awake. I open my eyes and squint against the bright sunlight streaming through the window blinds. My head is pounding like a motherfucker and my mouth tastes like I’ve been chewing cigarettes. After they’ve been rolled around in cow shit.
Groaning, I cover my head with a pillow.
“Want some coffee?” Danita asks from the doorway in a perky voice. “I can make a pot before I go to work. Or even breakfast if you want it. I’m handy in the kitchen.”
I hate morning people.
And mornings.
“No,” I mutter. “Just leave me alone and let me die in peace.”
Now she’s standing beside the bed, hovering over me. She’s dressed for work in a white and pink striped waitress outfit. “You drank a lot last night,” she says.
“No kidding.”
I slowly become aware of the fact that I’m still wearing my jeans. I guess I didn’t get lucky. A pity.
“Jesse told me to follow you home last night to make sure you got here safely,” she says. “You shouldn’t have been driving at all, but you insisted.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Appreciate it.”
I wish she would go and leave me in peace. Even on a good day it takes me a while to get going in the morning, much less when I’m hungover.
My golden rule is to never let a gal spend the night at my place. Mostly so I can avoid awkward scenes like this one. I could kick my own ass right about now. I must’ve been super wasted last night to break my rule.
“Why I didn’t crash at the clubhouse if I drank too much?” I ask out loud.
