Take Down (Steel Infidels)

by Dez Burke

  The computer hacker.

  “Is that your wife?” I ask Sam in surprise, nudging him with my elbow.

  She’s nothing close to what I pictured her to be. I can’t imagine how the two of them hooked up together. They appear to be wildly different. I would love to know their story.

  Sam looks over the bar at his wife and winks when he catches her eye. I can feel the smoldering heat passing between them. “Yep, that’s my Old Lady,” he answers, not taking his eyes from her.

  “You’d better watch out,” Toby warns. “The last time Lila heard you call her that, she took you down to the floor in a split-second with one of her karate moves.” Toby makes a slicing motion with his hand. “One chop and you were on your knees. It was funny as hell. Lila didn’t give a second thought about who was watching or anything. Just bam! Knocked your ass down to the ground right in front of everyone.”

  Sam snickers. “You should see what Lila can do when she’s not mad,” he says. “I never cease to be amazed by that woman.”

  “There are many smart people in this room,” Toby says to me. “Lawyers, veterinarians. Except Lila takes smart to a whole different level.” He raises his hand way above his head. “Freaky, scary smart. She can do things other people can’t even dream up as a possibility.”

  “And that’s exactly what terrifies me most about the twins,” Sam says. “Think about it. They’ve inherited my troublemaker genes and her off-the-chart brain power. Not a good combination in my way of thinking.”

  “Bardsville had better watch out when those boys turn into teenagers,” Toby says. “The place will never be the same.”

  Sam sighs and takes a long swig of his beer. “You can say that again.”

  The toddlers run two more laps, then Jesse grabs the fastest one and sits him up high on his shoulders. The child grips onto Jesse’s hair and squeals, showing four little baby teeth.

  “Time to eat,” Jesse says. “We don’t want Jeb’s good cooking to go to waste. Everyone head on over to the table and dig in.”

  The family-style dinner turned out to be how Toby described it once we all sat down at the tables. Jeb’s wife and girls brought out bowl after bowl of food that we quickly passed around. Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly eat another bite, they came out with the desserts.

  After everyone enjoyed second helpings of pie and the plates had been cleared, the men begin leaving the table and heading over to the fireplace.

  “Did you get enough to eat?” Toby asks politely.

  “Are you kidding?” I reply. “I’m stuffed. If I hang around you for much longer, I’ll be fat as a butterball.”

  “You’ll never hear me complaining about curves,” he says. He reaches over and pushes my hair back over my shoulder. His fingers stroke the nape of my neck, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. “When you get finished, come over and watch,” he says before standing up and pushing his chair back under the table.

  “Watch what?” I ask curiously.

  “You’ll see,” he says with a cocky grin.

  I turn to Jesse’s wife, Trish, on the other side of me and ask, “What happens now?”

  She glances over at Lila, who is finishing up a piece of pie. “I don’t know. The boys must have a game in mind. What would you guess they’re up to this time, Lila? A game of pool isn’t action-oriented enough for them when they’re in a competitive mood. Darts, maybe?”

  “Possibly,” Lila says, frowning at the thought. “It always makes me nervous when they play around with sharp objects. Especially with the kids in the room. I’m going to put the twins to bed before it starts, whatever it is. The last thing I need is the twins getting their grubby little hands on darts. I should try to grab them now.”

  She gets up quickly and tries to corral the twins, who had escaped from the table several minutes before. They see her coming their way and duck under the tables so she can’t reach them.

  Her mission appears hopeless until Sam rushes over to help. He grabs onto a squirming leg to keep one of the twins from going farther under the table while Lila scoops up the other one into her arms. Sam finally gets a good grip on the twin he has and pulls him out. They hurry toward the front door with each of them carrying an unhappy twin over their shoulders, both of whom are kicking and screaming.

  “Don’t start without me,” Sam yells back to the men. “We could use some help if there are any volunteers.”

  Nobody steps forward.

  “Hell no, not me,” the men mutter and hold up their hands. “No fucking way.”

  Trish waves as they pass by our table on their way out. “I pulled the lucky card in the family with our daughter, Missy. I don’t know how I would handle those twins on a full-time basis. Lila is incredible. She never breaks a sweat or complains. She calmly does what she needs to do and never gets flustered. Sam is the same way. They make quite a team and are amazing together.”

  “I can see that,” I say. “I’m exhausted just from watching them.”

  “Oh, here we go,” she says. “They’re getting ready to start.”

  The men have moved to an empty table. Two of the youngest Steel Infidels are taking seats on opposite sides of each other.

  “The competition of the night is arm wrestling,” she says. “If you hang around long enough, you’ll learn how super competitive the Steel Infidels are in everything they do. It borders on ridiculous. They never have a get-together without competing in something. The drinking contests are the worst. When they say the winner is the last man standing, that’s exactly what they mean. They drink until they pass out dead drunk.”

  Jesse walks around to stand at the head of the table. “Okay, gentlemen,” he says. “You know the rules. As always, we’ll start with the newest members in the MC. Pair off in order. The winner goes into the next round. Let’s begin.”

  The two men put their elbows on the table and grab each other’s hands. From the determined glint in their eyes, I can tell this is serious business. If I was a betting person, I would go for the guy with a Steel Infidels tattoo running down the length of his neck.

  “Wait!” Kendra calls out loudly. “Don’t start yet. You know the ground rules when the wives are present. Shirts off, bikers. Let’s go.” She makes a beckoning motion with her fingers. “Throw those shirts this way. Come to Mama!”

  Jesse holds up his hand to stop the men from beginning the competition. “Kendra, it’s twenty-five degrees outside,” he says patiently. “Not a hot summer day at a picnic.”

  “Ask me if I care, Mr. President,” she snaps back, firmly standing her ground. “The rules are the rules. And it’s plenty warm enough in here. If you fellas are cold, you can move the table over there by the fireplace. You’ve got to give us ladies something good. After all, you dragged us all the way up here into the Smoky Mountains in the dead of winter. Make it worth our time.”

  The men are watching Jesse carefully. I’m not sure if Kendra is stepping out of bounds or if this is something the wives can get away with. I raise my eyebrows at Trish. “What’s this all about?”

  “Sex,” she replies with a giggle, leaning closer. “I mean ultimately, that’s what it’s about. They’ll give in if they want to get lucky tonight. Pay attention. All we have to do is wait them out. Works like a charm every single time. They’ll play hard to get, but they’ll take the shirts off. It’s a game we love to play with them. And it’s so hot to watch.”

  Kendra crosses her arms and stares pointedly at Flint. He sighs heavily and then starts unbuttoning his flannel shirt. When he finishes with the last button, he shrugs it off and walks over to hand it to her.

  “Happy now?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at her.

  She runs her hand slowly down his muscular pecs and back up again. “You bet I am,” she replies in a low, sexy voice. “I’ll show you how much later. You’re such a handsome devil, Flint Mason. This kills me every single time.”

  He leans down and kisses her slowly on the lips before turning around
to walk back to the group. A large Steel Infidels tattoo stretches the length of his back.

  I love this rule.

  It’s brilliant, whoever thought of it.

  “Do all the shirts come off?” I ask Trish.

  “Yes. We call it paying to play.”

  “Okay,” Jesse says to the group. “You know how we aim to please our ladies. Let’s go.” He tugs off his shirt and tosses it across the room to Trish.

  “Told you,” she whispers to me.

  The other Steel Infidels quickly follow his lead in a blur of shirts, hard muscles, and tattoos. All the guys are incredibly sexy, except for Tom Brewer. We could’ve gone without him removing his shirt, but he’s being a good sport and removes his too, which brings on good-natured teasing from the other crew about his beer gut.

  Even in a room full of delicious man candy, all I have eyes for is Toby.

  He’s the only one who still has his shirt on, and I don’t understand why. He gives me an expectant look. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, if anything. Biker club rules are unbelievably vague. There should be a handbook to help a girl out.

  Trish nudges my arm. “If you want Toby’s shirt, you’re going to have to step up,” she says. “Lay your claim on him. If you don’t, one of the other girls will beat you to it.”

  I blink at her in confusion.

  “What do you mean? Step up, how? You mean one of the Sweet Butts would take Toby’s shirt?”

  Oh, hell no.

  “But I’m the one who rode up here with him. That wouldn’t be right.” I sound as if I’m whining about the unfairness of it all, which I am.

  Trish shrugs. “They can and they will. Make a move, hon,” she urges. “And do it fast.”

  She doesn’t need to tell me twice. I stand and motion for Toby to throw me his shirt. That’s all he’s waiting on. He rips it off and walks over to loop it behind my neck. Tugging both ends of the shirt, he pulls me closer and leans down to grab my lips in a hard, hungry kiss. I cling dizzily to his bare shoulders as he kisses me with a force and passion that steals my breath. The men laugh and cheer him on until he reluctantly breaks the kiss.

  “You’re mine now,” he breathes against my ear. “Every man in this room wants to be me.”

  He turns and walks back to the group, leaving me panting and weak.

  “Aren’t you glad I talked you into stepping up?” Trish asks. “That was intense.”

  All I can do is nod. My eyes can’t leave the sight of Toby standing there in riding boots and jeans that fit him perfectly.

  “Are the womenfolk happy now?” Jesse asks. “Because we would like to get back to the arm wrestling competition if we may.”

  “I’m deliriously happy,” Kendra says.

  “Me too,” Trish pipes in.

  “Good. Now where were we?” Jesse points to the two youngest men. “Are you two ready?” They nod. “Okay, go!”

  The first arm-wrestling match only lasts a couple of minutes before an arm slams flat onto the table, signaling the end.

  “Next,” Jesse says.

  Two more men step up. The competition goes quickly. At one point, Toby and Flint square off with each other. They’re similar in height, but Toby’s arms are more muscular and bigger. He plays with Flint for a couple of minutes and lets him think he has a chance before easily putting his arm onto the table.

  The competition finally comes down to Jesse and Toby as the final two. Both of their arms are unnaturally massive, with bulging muscles and tattoos. Their chests are bright red from all the blood pumping into the pec muscles from the previous matches.

  The competition begins and neither arm moves. Not even an inch. They’re equally matched for strength. The bicep muscles bulge on both arms and yet the strain doesn’t show on either of their faces.

  During the previous matches, the men were yelling and cheering on the competitors. Now they’ve all gone quiet. It would be disloyal to cheer against the MC’s leader.

  I wonder what Toby will do. Will he let Jesse win because he’s the President of the MC? Or will he try his best to beat him?

  After several minutes, Jesse begins to show the strain of holding Toby’s arm steady. An almost imperceptible tremble runs down his arm. Toby sees it. He glances over at me and winks. He’s not even trying hard yet.

  My money is on Toby.

  Every single time.

  A split-second later, Toby catches Jesse in a moment of weakness and slams his arm to the table, winning effortlessly.

  Jesse laughs and immediately reaches over to shake his hand. “Good match, brother,” he says. “I would’ve been so fucking pissed at you if you had let me win. Always take the victory if it’s yours.”

  “Amen,” Toby says. “To the victor belongs the spoils.”

  He looks over at me, and the dark gleam in his eyes sends my heart racing.

  I’m not sure if he’s the victor or if I am.

  I win either way.

  32

  Toby

  A loud banging on the cabin door wakes me.

  “Toby!” Flint yells through the thick wood.

  “Who is that?” Maggie whispers sleepily. She tugs the quilt closer around her neck and snuggles closer to my back.

  “Stay here,” I murmur to her. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Wake up, buddy!” Flint yells again.

  “Shit!” I grumble. “Hang on! I’m coming, Flint. Hold your damn horses.”

  I slip on my jeans and pad to the door in my bare feet. Flint had better have a good reason to drag me out of a warm bed with a naked, sexy woman curled up next to me. I was planning to work in another round of hot sex before breakfast. Or two.

  Throwing open the door, I glare at him. “Why the fuck are you banging on my door?”

  Daylight is barely breaking across the mountains above the lodge. A heavy fog coats the treetops and the grass around the cabin is frozen with frost. It would be a perfect morning to stay in bed. I’m pissed about being disturbed.

  “They’ve identified the terrorists,” Flint says. “It’s all over the Internet and the news. I wanted to let you both know. Maggie might want to check in with the television station.”

  I blink at him and lean against the doorframe. “You mind telling me why we give a damn who these fucking terrorists are? What are we now? Homeland Security?”

  “Because they live right in our back door,” he says. “That’s why.”

  I rub my bleary eyes, sure that I heard him wrong.

  “What are you saying? We live in bum-fuck Georgia for God’s sake! That’s hardly known as a hotspot for terrorist groups. Who the fuck are you talking about?”

  Sure, we’re involved up to our necks in an illegal gun-running operation and we’ve worked plenty of deals with other motorcycle gangs. But none of them would come close to what could be considered terrorists.

  They’re certainly not men who would shoot up a shopping mall full of innocent people. I can’t imagine who Flint might be talking about.

  “Do you remember Eric Rudolph, the Centennial Park bomber?” Flint asks.

  “The guy who set off the bomb at the Atlanta Olympics years ago? Sure I do. Everyone around home knows about him. I don’t remember much about the actual bombing since that was in 1996 and we were all just kids. I’ve heard plenty about Eric Rudolph though. All of the old-timers talk about him. That was the biggest news to have ever happened around the area.”

  Not only did Eric Rudolph set off a bomb at the Atlanta Olympics, he also fire-bombed an abortion clinic and a gay bar. After setting the bomb at the Atlanta Olympics, Eric Rudolph hid for years in a town right across the Georgia-North Carolina state line. He was finally caught digging through a trash dumpster no more than twenty miles from the Steel Infidels clubhouse.

  “According to the statement they made, they call themselves the Army of God. The same as Eric Rudolph. News reports are saying they’re a bunch of crazies. Home-grown terrorists with radical ideas ranging from an
ti-abortion to anti-media to anti-government.”

  “If they’re against everything, what do they stand for?” I ask.

  “Who knows?” Flint replies. “You saw the look in the kid’s eyes at the mall. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing there. They’re just a bunch of wackos. The point is they live close to us. Within fifteen minutes’ driving time. Or closer. You can bet your ass they know who we are and where we are. We took out two of their men.”

  “Unbelievable. This is all we need right now. What are we going to do?”

  “Go back home,” Flint says. “And take down those sons of bitches once and for all.”

  33

  Maggie

  “I’m sorry, darling,” Toby whispers in my ear before planting a soft kiss on my lips. “We have to go. Hurry and wake up.”

  I open my eyes groggily and reach up to pull his handsome face down to mine for another kiss.

  “No,” I protest. “Don’t say that. Stay in bed with me. I don’t want to get up.”

  He sighs. “Believe me, I’d love to. We don’t have a choice. They’ve identified the terrorists.” Reaching into his zippered jacket pocket, he pulls out my cell phone and hands it to me. “Here’s your phone back. It feels stupid to keep it now. I’m sure you’ll need to make some calls.”

  I quickly sit up in bed when I notice the frown on his face.

  “This sounds serious,” I say. “You’re scaring me. Who are they?”

  He quickly fills me in on everything Flint told him about the terrorist group.

  “The important thing is they know who we are,” Toby says. “And like a bunch of idiots, we’re all up here in the Smokies, except for Donny and Rocco. We’ve left ourselves exposed back in Bardsville: the clubhouse, Sam and Jesse’s tattoo parlor, our homes…everything. We have to get back there immediately.”

  I’m already up and heading for the bathroom. “Give me five minutes to brush my teeth and comb my hair,” I say. “Then I’ll be ready to go.” I stop at the door and whirl around. “What about Sadie? Is she safe?”