by Chiah Wilder
“She’s not his wife,” Rock said.
Bones whistled softly under his breath. “Wrong fuckin’ answer, bro.”
Banger picked up a wooden stool and slammed it on the table, the splintering wood sounding like cracking bones. “I don’t give a shit if she is or isn’t. Why the fuck is she in our clubhouse?”
Rock didn’t flinch. “I’ll take care of it. This is my personal affair and it doesn’t involve the club.”
“Every goddamned thing each of you does involves the club. How can you have been part of this brotherhood for as long as you have and not fuckin’ know this? You got shit for brains? The fuckin’ minute she stepped her ass in here, it involved the brotherhood. Fuck!”
“I get that, but this is my problem that I have to take care of.”
“You fuckin’ put the Insurgents in a bad position. This isn’t some bitch you saw at a damn nightclub and wanted to fuck. This is a client’s wife, a big-ass client for one of our loyal outsiders. Liam doesn’t deserve the shit you just dropped on him. This is bullshit!”
All eyes were on Rock, and several brothers had their heads down out of respect for the verbal beat down their president was giving to a fellow brother.
Rock lifted his chin in defiance. “I said I’d take care of it. The rich fuck doesn’t know she’s here, and she’ll be gone before he finds out. Liam doesn’t know either. She was in a bad way and needed my help. We go back a long time.”
“What are you planning to do about it?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Well you fuckin’ better get sure real fast ‘cause her ass is out at the end of the weekend. And the only reason it isn’t tomorrow is ‘cause we got the celebration for patching Puck, Johnnie, and Blade in on Saturday. We got enough shit going on with the Skull Crushers, Demon Riders, and now the goddamned Gypsy Fiends. I can’t fuckin’ afford to take on an asshole who’s got enough money to buy an army and raze this place to the ground just to get his bitch back. Fuck! I never expected this shit from you, Rock.”
“I said I’d handle it.”
“You fuckin’ better.”
“If you need my help, bro, let me know,” Bones said.
“Same goes here.” Wheelie stood up, followed by Jax, Chas, Chicory, Bear, Bruiser, Axe, Throttle, and—except for four of the older members—everyone else in the room.
Rock straightened his shoulders and looked at his brothers, a gleam in his eye. The magnitude of support the brothers just gave him reinforced the love he had for the brotherhood. He’d never experienced such love and loyalty in his life, not even with his mother. Her undying loyalty had always been with his pa, and he could never figure out how she could’ve stood by such a selfish, cruel-hearted sonofabitch. But that was over. She was gone. His pa was locked away. Rock was in the Insurgents. And Clotille was up in his room.
A wolfish smile crossed his face.
“We’re already so deep in shit over this that I don’t give a damn who helps you. Just get it fixed.” Banger cleared his throat. “Now, on to other business. We’re meeting with Baylee to draw up plans for our new strip mall….”
An hour later, Rock went into the great room, laughing and talking with his buddies. When he spotted Clotille sitting at one of the tables, a cup of coffee in her hand, his heart soared. She was wearing another one of his T-shirts and it turned him way the hell on. She had on a pair of yoga pants, and he couldn’t wait to check out her ass in them when they went upstairs. Damn, she gets my blood boiling. As he approached she looked up from the magazine she was reading and smiled at him.
“Where have you been?” she said as he took the chair next to her.
“Church.” He laughed at her quizzical look. “A meeting. We call it church.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Just do.”
“Okay. What was your meeting about?”
“I can’t talk about what we discuss during church. It’s club business.”
She nodded. “I talked to Frederick this morning.”
He stiffened. “What did he have to say?”
“The expected: he loves me, he wants me to come home, he’ll destroy me if I leave him.” She laughed as she pulled at her hair.
Rock scowled. “What does he mean by ‘destroy you?’ Does he got something on you?”
She licked her lips and averted her gaze. “He’s helping a lot with my family, so I guess he means that he’ll pull the financial plug.”
“Is he supporting your brothers too?”
She nodded. “Mostly Armand.”
“Isn’t he ashamed to have a sugar daddy?” He chortled.
Her face was taut. “Armand isn’t going to be happy about me leaving Frederick,” she said in a low voice.
“Fuck him. He’s always been a pain in the ass. ‘Bout time he learned how to work.”
“Yeah.” She put her fingers to her mouth and chewed her cuticles. “I’m not sure what my plans are. Frederick has given me twenty-four hours to decide, and he’s always prompt.”
“My prez gave me a timeline too, only mine’s longer. We’ll figure it out.” He stood up. “I’m going to get a beer. Want something?” She shook her head and he walked toward the bar.
Lola was leaning against the bar laughing with the new prospect when Rock came up. “Hey, prospect. Gimme a Coors on tap. Now.” The young man’s smile wiped off his face as he rushed to serve a patched member. Rock chuckled.
“You’re such a mean SOB sometimes,” Lola chided as she ran her fingernail up his arm.
Rock drew his arm closer to his body. “You gotta show the new ones they’re in for hell so they appreciate the patch even more. What the fuck is this dude’s name, anyway?”
“Buzz. He’s pretty cute.”
“Yeah, well he’s off-limits ‘til he’s patched.”
“I know. I was just commenting. Oh, I forgot to give you a letter that came for you in the mail yesterday.” She pulled a white envelope from the pocket of her jean shorts, placing it in his hand. “Here you go, handsome.”
He looked at it, noticing the address was handwritten again and the postmark was Lafayette. He ripped it open and a single sheet of paper fell out. Written on it was one sentence: “Your father did not kill your mother.” The sentence was also handwritten, but it wasn’t in the same script as the one that had contained the mojo bag.
“What the fuck is going on?” he muttered under his breath as he reread the note again and again. Like I fuckin’ believe this. He shoved the envelope and note into his jeans pocket and headed back to the table.
For the next half hour, Clotille tried to make small talk with him but his mind was on the strange note and what it said. Was it true? How could that be? His dad had the goddamned bloody knife by him and his damn fingerprints were all over it. At the trial, he’d insisted he hadn’t hurt his beautiful wife, Marie. He’d testified that he’d had some moonshine at the casino and it’d hit him real hard so that by the time he’d come home, he’d been drunker than he’d been in a long time. He hadn’t been able to remember much of anything about that night except a lot of banging around, yelling, and a woman screaming. The jury hadn’t bought his story, and he was convicted and placed in maximum security. Rock hadn’t bought it at all either. He still didn’t.
He reread the note again. Is this fuckin’ possible? I know Pa killed Maman. Why would someone kill her? She was the sweetest woman I’ve ever known. No fucking way. So who the hell is messin’ with me?
Rock turned the note over in his hands again before he folded it in half and placed it back in the envelope. For as long as he could remember, he’d hated his old man and he thought the bastard got exactly what he deserved.
But now the note had arrived and for the first time since his father’s conviction, a scintilla of doubt poked at the dark recesses of his mind.
Chapter Eleven
“How the fuck didn’t you know that Rock lived so close to Aspen?” the man growled. “That’s sloppy work, and y
“What’s the big deal if he’s there?” a deep voice answered. “He’s joined a damn motorcycle club, so he’s out of the picture.”
“He fuckin’ saw Clotille.” The dark-haired man leaned against the desk in his tastefully furnished office. He had a bitter tang in his mouth—dealing with trash always had that effect on him.
“How the hell did that happen?” The shorter man sat down on one of the plush chairs lining the wall.
“Frederick hired some outlaw biker club to do security for one of his fucked-up dinner parties. Rock was one of the guys. What the hell are the chances of that?” He laughed wryly.
“Why the fuck would he hire a biker gang? He’s supposed to be smart.”
“Fuck if I know. Damnit! He’s livid. Clotille’s run away.”
The shorter man rose to his feet, sweat tickling down his face. “And she’s with him? Fuck!”
The man adjusted the lapel on his Armani suit. “Don’t panic. He doesn’t know if she’s with him, but you and I do. We know her and we fucking know Rock.” He tapped his fingers against his desk.
“Does Frederick know Clotille knows Rock?”
“No, and I don’t plan to tell him, so don’t shoot off your fucking mouth. Got it?”
The shorter fellow wore casual pants and a striped polo shirt. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “As long as the old man lives we risk going down for the murder, especially since there’s still a living witness.”
“The old lady kept her mouth shut, and as long as we keep paying her, we’re good. The problem is if Clotille doesn’t go back to Frederick. Then he’ll cut me off which means you’re off the payroll. We can’t risk losing the money. When I get a hold of Clotille, she better get her ass back or else I’ll take away the one thing she loves the most. She had an agreement and she’s fucking blown it.”
“And if we can’t pay the old woman, then her memory will miraculously come back. You watch and see.”
The taller guy walked behind his desk and sat down on his buttery Italian leather chair. “I’m not going to wait to see if that happens. I’ll have to take care of everything because you’re a dumbass and Clotille’s a fuckup. I should’ve had Rock killed when he was in prison.”
“Let’s just deal with one thing at a time. The most important thing right now is getting Clotille to go back to Frederick. If that link’s gone, the whole fucking chain breaks.”
“And there’s no way I’m going to let that happen. If she doesn’t cooperate, I’ll make her watch everyone she’s ever loved be destroyed, and then I’ll kill the spoiled little bitch with my own hands. She’s not going to fuck this up for me.” His eyes narrowed as he opened the mini fridge near his desk, took out a sparkling Pellegrino, and poured it in a tall glass.
Clotille knew the score and she’d agreed to play.
He hated when things changed mid-game.
He was a competitive bastard, and he played to win.
At all costs.
Chapter Twelve
Clotille watched out the window as a large van pulled into the club’s parking lot and stopped at the front door. A burly man jumped out of the driver’s seat and walked around to the back of the vehicle, then slid the door open. Several women came out carrying makeup cases. More than the majority had on tight jeans and tops that showcased their ample cleavage. They scurried into the club as the van pulled away and parked in the back of the lot.
A steady stream of chrome and metal made its way into the Insurgents’ lot, the riders clad in black leather and denim. A few women teetered on four-inch heels waiting by the guard station until the prospect cleared them for entry. There was an air of anticipation among the women and men, and Clotille felt a rush of excitement skate over her just from watching the people below.
“You can have the bathroom. I’m done.” Rock’s scent of cloves and leather wafted around the room. She loved the way he smelled. When he’d leave the room she’d rush over and pick up his pillow or folded sheet, inhale deeply, and let herself get lost in his scent.
She turned around and her breath caught as she took in six-foot-one inches of raw power and manliness. He was shirtless, rummaging through the second drawer in his dresser, and she took the opportunity to admire his hard muscles beneath taut, tanned skin and the enticing tats on his arms, back, and chest that danced with each breath he took. He stood up and caught her ogling. She spun away, blushing.
He chuckled. “You don’t need to turn away. I like it when you check me out. It’s hot.”
Under half-lidded eyes, she gazed up at him and locked onto his rock-hard torso, his to-die-for sculpted six-pack, and the dusting of dark hair trailing from his belly button and disappearing beneath the low-riding waistband of his tight jeans. All of a sudden the room grew smaller and hotter, and her body hummed with desire. She licked her lips and gave him a crooked smile. “I definitely like what I see.”
He winked at her and slipped his T-shirt over his head. “We’re going to have to do something about that, chérie, but for now, I gotta get downstairs. When you’re done getting ready, text me and I’ll come up. Tonight there’ll be a lot of guys from the other chapters in the state, as well as Wyoming, Utah, and Nebraska.”
“I noticed some of them riding in. I also saw a van of women being dropped off and some more women standing by the gates. This party feels different from the one the other night.”
“It is.” He slid his belt through the loops on his jeans. “Three prospects are going to get their colors, their full patch. It’s a fuckin’ big deal. The women who got out of the van are some of the strippers from our club. They’ll entertain the brothers in one of the rooms. We have a stage and pole set up. The other women are hoodrats, who come to the parties to let loose. You know: drugs, fucking, and booze. They all gotta get cleared through security to make sure we don’t have any rival club people or badges slipping through.”
“Do you think the black dress I bought in town the other day will be okay? Some of the women had on sexier outfits.”
“Who do you want to look sexy for? If it’s me, I already think you are. If it’s for another brother, don’t even fuckin’ think about it.” He attached several strands of chains onto his belt loop.
A warm shiver skimmed across her skin, and she melted at the intensity with which he watched her. “I was just saying that because I thought I may stand out like a sore thumb.”
“Are you kidding? You’re all kinds of crazy in that dress. And just ‘cause someone’s looking at you doesn’t mean you have to play Miss Social and talk to them. In my world doing that will get you a fucking, not an invitation to a charity ball.”
She shook her head. “So basically I’m not to look at or talk to anyone but you?”
“Pretty much. I gotta get down there to make sure everything’s good. Remember to text me when you’re ready.” He walked out, closing the door behind him. The jiggle of the knob made her smile; he was always making sure she was safe.
She walked back to the window, her eyes widening when she saw the throngs of bikes parked in the lot and the women gathered at the gate. A fluttery, empty feeling played in her stomach, and she gripped her arms to try and quiet her nerves. She pulled away from the window and headed to the bathroom to take a shower.
By the time she entered the great room, Rock’s arm hooked with hers, the place was teeming with people. The haze from the smoke was so dense that she had to tilt her head in several positions to make out any faces. Punctuating beats from a Metallica song pounded in her ears as Rock led her to the bar. Without warning, he grasped her waist and hoisted her up, placing her on a barstool.
“You want wine?” he yelled in her ear.
She nodded as she looked around the room. Three men wearing clean new vests stood on tables drinking one shot after another. She surmised they were the ones who received the patch Rock and the others seemed so fond of. Clotille turned to look at the bartender and noticed that he placed drinks on the bar before anyone asked for them, like he knew what the brothers wanted.
“How does he know what they want to drink?” she shouted in Rock’s ear.
“That’s one of the duties of being a prospect. He’s gotta know what the members in his club drink and have it ready the minute he sees them come in. The prospects start learning that shit when they’re just hangarounds. Once someone sponsors them and they become prospects, the crap they have to know and do goes way up.”
“Seems like a lot to do for just a couple of guys for a big club like yours.”
Rock shrugged. “We all had to do that shit, so we’re not asking them to do anything more than what we did.”
A burst of shouts and whistling drew her attention away from Rock and to the center of the room. There was a line of women, and the three newly patched members went to each one, kissing them, touching their breasts, and squeezing their behinds. Clotille leaned in to Rock. “What the hell are they doing?”
He yelled out to the guys and then laughed. “They’re picking which club girl they want to fuck. They’ve been talking with them, flirting with them, and watching them fuck different brothers for the past two years, but they couldn’t touch ‘em or do anything with ‘em. Since they have their full patches, they can have fun with the club girls. I bet Puck’s going to fuck Rosie. He’s been pitching a damn tent for her since she came on board a year ago.”
Clotille watched in fascination as each man yanked a woman to him while the others cheered and clapped with each choice. The women picked seemed thrilled, and they clapped their hands and kissed the men who chose them.
This is a strange world, but is it any stranger than the one I lived in with Frederick?
After the men left with their chosen women, the crowd thinned a bit as people filed out into the backyard. Rock wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her off the stool. “Let’s get something to eat.” He grabbed her hand and led her out the back door.
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