by Nicole Snow
Christa gave me directions to her place, and soon we were heading south toward Redding, ahead of the rest of the crew. Thank fuck I'd get a break from the cleanup duty. It was gonna take a lot of hands and some heavy bribes to any cops to hide all those bodies and broken vehicles.
On the open road, with her on my back, the shit seemed a million miles away, though. A cool spring breeze coursed through her hair, sticking out the helmet around the edges. I watched it flow in my mirrors and suppressed a smile.
This was living.
If I ever needed proof we'd both survived and gotten away intact, it was right there on the back of my bike. Beautiful, radiant, and alive.
No, it wasn't just her fingers hanging tight around my waist, driving my dick up harder than the steel rod it became in the thick of battle. Having her so fucking close, pressed up to me like this, did awesome things to the heart. This gal was a feast for all the senses.
Something about her made me feel alive without having to hit the bottle or jackhammer between her legs. Oh, you'd better believe I wanted to shake her to fucking pieces. Bite her, claim her, and mark her as mine. I wanted to pump my seed in every hot wet hole she had, having her like nobody ever had, like nobody ever would again.
But there was more to this shit. Something I couldn't pin down. I'd never been big into philosophy and true love bullshit, so I switched off my brain and rode, enjoying her warmth amid the breeze.
Shit was getting ridiculous. I wasn't about to shelve the partying I was used to, all for some chick I barely knew who just wanted a ride home.
God damn. Maybe it's time you start fucking some variety to get off this redhead fixation...
Easier said than done. The minute we pulled up to her apartment and she hopped off my bike, I was gawking like a moron at her long legs and firm ripe tits again.
“Thanks for the ride. Guess I should thank you for saving my butt too,” she said, reaching up to undo her helmet. “I should've said something sooner. I think you'll understand if I'm a little out of it today.”
“You got every right to be,” I said, standing up and putting her helmet away. “There's nothing you need to apologize for, baby. It's gonna take this club some time to sort out all the shit that happened today. When the dust settles, everybody with a brain's gonna agree we owe you big time.”
“Rabid, no.” She held up her hands, closing her eyes like she was sick at the thought. “I don't want any favors or anyone to owe me anything. I just want to be done with this. I'm trying to live a normal life here.”
Fuck! My heart sank at about the same rate my dick deflated. She didn't want to see me again, or any other brother wearing the bear patch.
Not like I could blame her.
On the other hand, so fucking what? Why the hell was I so disappointed? The chances of ever having this girl were next to nil, but fuck if that ever stopped me before. It was just gonna take some work.
I nodded, trying to look as understanding as possible. “I gotcha. I'll be by for the next month or so to check on you. If you change your mind about anything, just shout.”
I revved my bike, ready to peel outta there and leave her to chew on what I said. But she stopped, put her boot on mine, and tugged on my cut. Her emerald eyes were just like a jaded cat's.
“You heard what I said. I know you're a smart guy, Rabid. Look, I'm not going to go to any authorities about what happened if that's what you're worried about.”
Damn it. She knew us too well.
I wondered how, narrowing my eyes as I looked at her. “Not my call, babe. All the brothers feel sorry as shit for what happened. We're making the bastards who did it pay, and that's the best we can offer. If it were up to me, I'd cut you loose and never come knocking on your door again.”
I snorted in my head. Yeah fucking right.
“Sounds a little too easy,” she said, a snarky smile tugging at her lips.
“Fuck yeah, it is. The club's gonna have a metric fuck-ton on its plate when our leadership's done playing musical chairs. Plus we got the Mexican cartel cutting us to pieces further south. Those fucks aren't gonna go for a truce just because Fang's out. They're not easy like the Devils MC up north.”
Christa nodded, almost like she understood. The girl might be wise as she was beautiful, but fuck if I was gonna leave it at that.
“I trust you, Christa, but the club won't 'til some time passes. You're a civilian. Blackjack and the rest need to make sure we've got an understanding. It's not every day somebody like you stumbles into our world, and I wish to hell it never happened like this.”
“Oh?” She folded her arms, reaching one finger to the bright red cut on her face. “Doesn't this say anything? Our understanding's written in blood on my fucking face.”
Ouch. Those earthy green eyes turned ice cold. I didn't blink. I shook my head, hoping she'd get it if I just worded shit differently.
“It's not like that. Look, we don't know you from Eve. We gotta look out for ourselves too, especially with rival charters who won't be happy to see Fang go. We can't risk any run-ins with the Feds here in Redding. I can't turn you loose with just your word. I gotta make sure our understanding's really as clear as the hurt on your face.”
“Whatever. Once a week. Five minutes. That's all I'm giving you, Rabid. I don't owe you anything. If I was some weak little thing built to go running to the cops at the first sign of trouble, I wouldn't have asked you to drive me home. I'd have asked for a phone and dialed 9-1-1 instead.”
Christ. It's like she caught my balls and gave 'em a twist. Just who the fuck was this chick?
I'd never heard of a part-time tutor who held her ground like this. If I didn't know any better, I'd have guessed she had experience in the MC world before. Maybe a brother, or a father in some club?
“Trust me, baby, five minutes is all I fucking need.”
Oh, yeah. I said it. Didn't even disguise the lust thudding in my chest.
Never mind the fact that I'd love to spend five hours minimum making her howl and dig her nails into my back. The dagger tongue on this chick just fanned the flames, made me shift my legs to hide the massive wood jerking in my pants.
“Good. I'll see you around, then.” She turned, flashed me one last glimpse of that brilliant red hair, and headed for the door.
“Hey!” I yelled to her before she took the handle. “What's your last name?”
She hesitated. I squeezed the handlebars, wondering how I could be so fucking stupid. Think fast.
“You know, so the club can keep tabs. Make sure your property's all protected from any fucks who wanna retaliate over Fang. We won't dig into anything we shouldn't. Promise.”
I did a quick X over my heart. Crossing my chest meant more than any civilian doing it. My Grizzlies MC patch was inked on my chest underneath the shirt and the leather. When anybody wearing the bear made a promise like this, it fucking meant something.
“Kimmel,” she said, flinging open the door.
I watched her disappear. Question time was over. Fine by me because that last piece was all I needed.
Bike purring, I headed for the highway, ready to rejoin my brothers to clean up the battlefield and then lock down our clubhouse. Ours, not Fang's.
For now, I had everything I needed.
Christa was gonna be a challenge, all right. I could feel it in my bones. Taming her was gonna be as big and bad and beautiful a task as remaking our whole MC after all the dark times.
Fuck if I didn't love the chase. It wasn't a question of if I'd find out what kinda panties she wore to compliment that blazing hair.
It was when, where, and the answer was fucking soon.
Two months later, on a bright summer day, something hit me in the face. Shit kept coming like a heavy rain, pungent and bitter as napalm.
I snorted out Jack. Somebody dropped the bottle that was splashing me in the face.
I jerked awake, listening to Red yelp next to me. My fists were up, ready to punch whoever the fuck was rou
sing me like this. The big shape I aimed for caught my hand like a wall with fingers, squeezed, and crunched my knuckles.
“Ah, fuck! Let go! What the hell's wrong with you?” My eyes fought to adjust.
Not like they needed to. I knew who it was before I even saw him. Only one asshole in the clubhouse with a grip like that, the big bastard Blackjack appointed to be our new Enforcer, Roman.
“You already know.” He reached to the silver watch attached to the wrist about to break my hand and tapped it. “Three minutes.”
“Shit! Fuck!” I kicked my legs against his knees.
Roman never smiled. The fuck rarely showed any expression at all, but I could tell he was enjoying this. He let me squirm for another twenty seconds before he finally let go. I went flying back, fell all over Red, shaking out my hand to bring the blood flow back.
Goddamn it. I'd been chewed out by Brass and Blackjack for being late to church the last couple times, but I was used to their shit. The new guy was something else. He was already gone by the time I was up, grabbing my clothes off the ground and throwing the whore's on the bed.
“Rabid, baby, what's going on?”
“You're gonna get the fuck out and shake your ass elsewhere. Club business.”
I'd said everything I needed to. I dressed quickly, not stopping to give her another look. If it hadn't taken me so damned long to fall asleep last night, I wouldn't be rushing around like this.
By the time I got into the meeting room, all the brothers were waiting. I took my usual spot next to Brass, who shot me a come-the-fuck-on look. All the more serious now that he was my friend, my brother, and the VP of the whole club.
“Glad you could drag yourself in here late, son.” Blackjack looked like a scorned emperor, his long gray hair flowing down his shoulders. “Pull up a fucking chair and stay awhile.”
“It won't happen again, Prez. Late night.” Fuck. I sounded like a goddamned kid coming in after curfew.
“Yeah, make sure it doesn't,” he growled. “One more time and I'll sit you down for a heart-to-heart with Roman.”
The bulldog Enforcer across the table flattened his hands on the wood. All the brothers laughed.
He was a good choice for scaring the pants off any asshole outside the club, but I wasn't intimidated. I'd hit bigger fucks before and won. Never mind the fact this guy was in prison while all the drama in the club was going down.
Bastard probably had about a hundred special ways to tear my head off on Blackjack's order. Fuck it. The officers had good reason to bust my balls, and it was up to me to make sure I never found myself at the receiving end of the gorilla's fists.
“Okay, now that all the jigsaws are in place, let's talk business.” Blackjack slapped the bear claw he'd inherited from Fang down on the table, a kind of symbolic gavel. “Brass – you want to deliver the latest on the cartel?”
He nodded, stood up, aiming a laser pointer at the big map of California pinned to the board behind the Prez. “We're holding the line in Sacramento. The heavy shit the Devils sent from Montana gave 'em a few surprises they didn't expect. If all goes well, we might be able to call it our territory and mean it by autumn.”
I would've laughed if it weren't so damned serious. It was surreal to see my bro treating this shit like an honest-to-God business meeting. Of course, no boardroom outside the military ever let the pins and flags stuck to their board represent human lives.
Blackjack turned to face us. “Listen well, boys. Every one of you are gonna be helping on the runs to SoCal as soon as we've got our old charter in the capitol locked down. We're not fucking letting up when the Mexicans are on the run.”
A couple guys flinched, turned their heads down. Mainly the prospects, who were new to this war business.
Not me. Shit, tearing down the open road and chasing those terrorist, head chopping fucks sounded pretty good right about now. They'd given us hell for the past couple years, creeping north into our territory like weeds.
“I'm ready, Prez.” I didn't hide my enthusiasm as my fist hit the table.
Blackjack grinned and chuckled. “Keep it in your damned pants, son. You heard Brass. We won't be ready for the runs 'til autumn. Maybe September, if we're lucky.”
Fuck. That meant I'd have to find some other way to take my mind off Christa and whip my ass into line before then.
“Yeah, don't get too excited, brother.” Brass smiled at me. “This isn't gonna be as easy as getting Twinkie's lips on your dick after a couple shots.”
More bawdy laughter. I glowered. Didn't he realize I hadn't taken that blonde bitch for weeks? Last time I did, I had Red's face between her legs while I fucked my favorite from behind, and I was still thinking about Christa.
Even two moaning whores under me couldn't wipe that chick outta my skull.
Fuck you, brother, I wanted to growl back. But showing them they were getting under my skin would only make it worse.
“Seriously. Without the guns and guys from the Devils, we'd be fucked right about now,” Brass continued. “We're working on getting our own house in order, and it's slow going.”
Several guys growled, lowered their eyes. “Fucking Prairie Pussies,” Asphalt whispered.
Blackjack's fist banged the table, and everybody fell silent. “Don't make me come down there, brother. I told you all last week that term's banned at church. The Devils proved themselves, helped us pull our nuts off the stove before they caught fire. Without those 'pussies,' we'd be sitting in Portland, listening to Fang's bullshit, because the cartel would own everything up through Klamath.”
I wanted to whack Asphalt on his bald head. Once for being a dumbass, twice for being a bro and taking the heat off me.
“Oregon,” Roman growled out a trademark one-liner. “They still giving the Devils trouble getting down here, or what?”
The Prez looked at us like he'd just swallowed horse piss in his glass instead of coffee. “Rip's a difficult asshole to get in touch with these days. I'm thinking about sending a couple prospects up there with Roman to deliver a message next week.”
The big man nodded slowly. He never turned down a chance to throw his weight around. Hell, you could say the same about half the guys in the room, but visiting our brothers in Klamath was almost like going into enemy territory these days.
“What about the Portland crew?” I asked. “They're closer than we are, and we know those boys are loyal.”
“Klamath's not on talking terms with them either. I tried going through their channels last week.” Blackjack picked up the bear claw and sighed, his frustration adding depth to his natural wrinkles. “We haven't seen the last bad blood spilling between brothers in this MC. I'd love to have Rip come to his fucking senses and talk to me, man-on-man, accept the new national charter like everybody else.”
“Bullshit!” Brass spoke up. “You know that's not gonna happen, Prez. We can't have our routes choked off by a bunch of fucking turncoats between us and our buddies further north. The cartel will be all over us if they find out. If Rip and his men won't stop being bitches, then we'll replace them with somebody else.”
The room went quiet. Blackjack was never more severe, deep in contemplation, staring at that fucking bear claw with the full weight of the President patch on his chest. He looked up.
“You're right, Brass. That's why you're wearing the VP patch. Everybody here has their place. A good crew in Redding doesn't cut it. We've got the best, with the biggest balls, and I'm not afraid to let them swing loose. If it hits another charter in the face, then it's for a damned good reason.”
Shit. Nobody could even breathe. We were seriously mulling more war within the MC. And going after the Klamath Grizzlies, justified or not, was bound to have serious ripple effects through the whole organization. You don't just smoke an entire chapter without putting your neck under the axe.
A lot of the charters downstate and beyond were happy to go along with whoever was in charge. But some of them were sure to be missing Fang's ways, e
ven if they didn't spit in our faces, openly defying us like the bastards just north.
“One week, brothers. That's what I'll allow before we send some guys up there to send them a message that'll make their fucking ears ring.” He held up the bear claw. “Do we need to vote on this?”
The darkness in everybody's eyes said no. I knew mine had the same killer shit swirling around. We were ready for blood, ready for war, ready for whatever was coming. Letting this club slip back into its old evil ways wasn't an option. It would mean the absolute death of us.
“All right then. Church is adjourned. Stay on your toes. I'll be calling your asses back here if there's any word.” The bear claw hit the table, and brothers began to get up.
We all froze when somebody started pounding on the door. Roman moved first, walked over, and ripped it open. An older guy with a big beard and a pot belly I'd never seen before came strutting in, our two prospects standing helplessly behind him.
Useless fucks. They only got guard duty when all the full patch members were occupied. Or maybe not so useless – the patches on the stranger identified him as a brother right away, and when he turned, I saw the big OREGON bottom rocker on the backside. Another turn revealed the name patch on his front, right about a V. PRESIDENT tag – Big Ed.
“You're Blackjack?” He headed for the Prez and stuck out his hand. “Our Prez, Rip, sends his regards.”
The new silence in the room was like a volcano getting ready to blow. I stood with Brass, trying not to grind my teeth. Roman's posture said one wrong move would place the Oregon fuck's head between his fists, and he wouldn't stop 'til it fractured.
“What? No fucking notice before you dropped in?” Blackjack snapped. “You realize we're at war down here, right? You should've told my crew you were coming. There could've been a nasty accident if you were mistaken for a cartel infiltrator.”
Big Ed laughed. Loud and arrogant, the same way some of the dirty old bastards who served Fang used to sound. That shit instantly set me on edge.
“Come on! I'm here, aren't I? Prez says you've been wanting to get in touch. We're all brothers here.”
