by Nicole Snow
“Whatever.” The woman shrugged, wiping at her eyes. “I'm Sally.”
She walked toward me, holding out her hand. I took it cautiously, gave it a quick shake. Did a quick look over my shoulder to make sure this wasn't some kinda bullshit trap set by Roman. Not that anybody needed much cause to punch my ass out cold tonight.
“Rabid.” I turned away from her, jumped onto the bar counter, and reached for my bottle. “You want to sit and have a nip of this, or what?”
Sally took the invitation. I pulled out a glass and poured her a sloppy shot, cursed when the whiskey overflowed. She laughed.
At least I was making somebody happy. I welcomed her company, mostly because she was giving me a way to dispose of this shit instead of pouring it down my throat, where it'd make me do even more damage.
“Seriously, how do you know Roman? I've never seen him so pissed.”
“Old flame. We had a good thing before he went behind bars. I heard the club changed, and I thought that meant he'd gotten over his crap too. I was an idiot to come back here.”
I stared at the bottle, contemplating another shot. The idea made my bile churn, and I was man enough to realize I'd embarrassed my ass enough for one evening.
“No, Sally. No you're not,” I growled. “If he doesn't appreciate what you tried to do, fuck him!”
My fist hit the table, and she jumped. I refilled her glass, sloshing Jack all over the counter. I was on a fucking roll, and I wasn't slowing down now.
“Drink up. Be proud of what you did. You're a sucker for love.” Shit – did I really say the L-word? “There's no shame in that. You don't need to feel stupid for tearing out your heart and offering it to this clown. Roman's a slow guy. It takes time for shit to sink in. Must be all that fucking iron he pumps when Blackjack's not having him chase us down. Too much testosterone clouds the brain, that boy bleeds it. The club's been under a lotta stress lately...”
She gave me a weak smile. “What's your story? Are you just a natural at making girls you barely know feel better, or do you know a Roman too? Uh, a female one, I mean.”
“Just another lonely heart.” I shrugged. “Better off drinking to it than spilling tears, right?” Fuck it. I could stand one more shot.
I grabbed what was left in the bottle, clinked it against her little shot glass. She laughed again, and we downed our drinks together.
We sat for a long while after, making small talk, mostly saying nothing at all. It was nice to have a companion in misery for a change. Course, I wasn't gonna tell her I'd created some of my own shit.
Hell, I was still creating it chasing the one chick who wanted nothing to do with me. Fuck if I could let go knowing what the Klamath boys had over her, even if she hated my guts.
“Good luck, baby. Hope to see you again sometime. Try coming by in a few weeks. Maybe by then we'll have sorted through some of our shit.”
“I hope so,” she said. “Thanks, Rabid. I've got a feeling you'll sort whatever's got you by the balls just fine.”
Yeah. Imagine that.
I wasn't gonna say it to her face, but blondie was right. It was time to take my own advice. I wouldn't let her give up on the bruiser who'd turned her away – shit, getting him laid to blow off some steam would be good for all of us.
No contest. I wasn't giving up on Christa – not 'til I had her soft red hair in my fist and my tongue jammed down on hers. I'd claim this chick one way or another, slap my brand on her the minute I was done slapping her sweet round ass.
Fuck – that ass.
She had a butt that was nice and full, begging to be spanked every time it rippled while she walked.
I was a goner just thinking about it. There was no way, no how, no fucking chance I was giving up on squeezing it 'til she squealed. Didn't give a shit how many times she turned it toward me and walked away.
One day soon, I'd have it grinding on my lap, teasing my dick awake for the roughest, purest fuck of my whole damned life. Then I'd grab her little ass so hard my knuckles went white, shove it up and down where it belonged, jacking myself off in her tight, wet cunt.
Quitting wasn't in my nature. I always got what I wanted. Every single time.
I couldn't stop thinking about having her naked, pressed up against me, moaning sin in my ear while I made her body shake like heaven. Her tits, her ass, every wild inch of her wound me up like the tightest spring the world had ever seen.
On second thought, fuck the spring. That shit was too weak.
No, dammit, I was more like a ticking time bomb, and when I went off, the whole fucking world would know, and so would she. That's how I got my name.
I've always been that way, dead set on getting my way first, second, and third. And God willing, I always would be. I'd spit fire and foam at the fucking mouth, psycho and rabid as all shit, before I ever let something I set my sights on slip away. And I'd already let Christa walk about one mile too many outta my grasp.
When I reeled her in, I was gonna pin her down and fuck her 'til my heart stopped. Just one night having her in my shadow was all I needed. Soon as I got her under me, that sexy, infuriating woman was never, ever going anywhere else as long as she lived.
Standing up, it was easier to head for my room. My boots crunched over the mess of glass and whiskey dribbled all over the floor. Whatever prospect cleaned this shit up had his work cut out for him.
A small hand slapped my chest in the hall, and next thing I knew, someone with a sugary perfume was hanging around my neck.
Red.
Everything I didn't fucking need was summed up in that word.
“Where've you been hiding, baby? Don't tell me you're into blondes now.” She tugged my shirt down and started to stamp her lips on my chest, heading toward my face, fast and aggressive how I liked.
Took all my might to turn away from the temptation. But whatever the hell Christa planted in my skull was starting to sprout. Fucking anybody but her was settling for less – and I wasn't gonna surrender to that shame.
“Get the fuck off. I need my sleep. Go find another brother to ride tonight.” Growling, I pushed her away, trying not to hurt her as I shoved her to the wall. Bitch held on awfully tight.
Red's mouth dropped open. She shook her head. “Don't do this, Rabid! It's her, isn't it? I've heard the rumors going around the club – you're chasing that bitch with the busted face like a baby!”
Busted face? You're goddamned lucky I don't give you one for saying that, I thought, all my evil senses sparking to life.
Rage throttled my heart. I flexed my fists, forced myself to hold them down, despite how bad the Jack in my veins wanted me to wrap them around her fucking throat and squeeze 'til she thought twice about insulting my woman.
“You don't know shit. How many times we need to go through this? My business – none of yours! If I want your sloppy fucking cunt, I'll ask for it. That's all I ever wanted from you, Red. You're a club whore. You're nobody's old lady unless they fucking say so – and you'll never be mine.”
Pure hurt swelled in her eyes. Anguish. Heartbreak.
Too harsh? Maybe. But I had to get her off my ass, get her the hell away before I did something stupid, something that would cost me Christa for good if it kept up.
Her lips quivered, and she covered her breasts, suddenly ashamed of the see-through nightie I liked her to wear when we'd fucked. Shit, I couldn't even stand seeing it now without being disgusted, imagining how much better it'd be draped over Christa's big round tits.
“So, it's true...” She shook her head, horror shining in her round face. “I hate this club! I hate all the fucking changes since Fang died. It's making you stupid, Rabid, you and everybody else. It's making you soft. There you go, just like Brass, chasing some bitch who doesn't give a shit about you or this MC. She doesn't even fucking love you! Why can't you see it? Why!?”
Red flew forward, slapped both hands on my chest. Good thing my motor skills were coming back. I grabbed her wrists and shoved her against the wa
ll, pinned her down 'til I saw the jealous rage in her eyes turn to fear.
“You fucking hit me again, I'll tear that flimsy top off and kick your ass out on the street. You can call a cab with your tits hanging out. You and me – we're fucking done, Red. Deal with it. Find someone else who wants your skank pussy or leave this clubhouse for good. You're lucky it's me.” I clenched my teeth, getting up in her face. “Any other full patch brother would've picked you up and thrown you in the fucking dumpster by now.”
I let go, listening to her sobs in the distance as she crumpled to the floor. Several doors swung open to see the commotion. I never looked back.
Let them deal with that shit. I was gonna bury myself in bed and sleep off the hangover. Tomorrow, I'd wake up a new man. I'd sit down with the Prez and tell him everything about Christa's debt.
Then, when the Oregon fuckers were dealt with, I'd ride back to her apartment. Whatever happened next, I couldn't say.
Damned good chance it involved kicking down the fucking door and giving her a kiss she couldn't ignore, clenching her hot ass 'til there was absolutely, positively no goddamned doubt in her head about who she belonged to. This time, I wasn't taking no for an answer, and I sure as fuck wasn't gonna let her run from me again.
Blackjack called church early the next morning. I was up and moving, listening to the commotion in the halls, before Roman could get on my ass.
I caught Brass in the hallway, grabbing for his cut before he could fly by. “Hey, bro, what the hell's going on out here?”
He spun around and looked at me. Next thing I knew, he held up a blood stained patch attached to a piece of fabric, about the size of a palm. No bear on it – it wasn't ours. The furious looking eagle was strangling a serpent on a desert backdrop. I couldn't place the symbol with any known MC.
“Uh, am I supposed to recognize this thing?”
Brass smiled and slapped my shoulder. “Not unless you've been fucking around south of the border. This shit used to be attached to a living, breathing cartel boss. Just got word this morning – one of the Oregon boys killed the motherfucker yesterday and took this off him as a little trophy. Beheaded the sick sonofabitch, same thing they've done to plenty of our guys in the old charters south. Our brothers up north caught those sneaky bitches trying to creep into Klamath, and then circle around and hit us in the soft spot, all the warehouses we've got north.”
I didn't say a damned thing. My bro didn't wait for me to either. He took off, marching into the meeting room. Several loud roars broke out when I heard him slap it down on the table.
Dragging myself in, I was totally fucking numb. There was a ringing in my ears like a magnum firing next to my head.
When Blackjack started talking later, it just confirmed my worst suspicions. Everything he said was like a dagger driving into my guts. I had to fold my arms just to make sure I wasn't really bleeding out all over the goddamned floor.
“They fucking did it, Prez. Oregon reeled us a fish we haven't been able to snag for months. Believe me, I'm just as surprised as anyone.” Brass looked more uncertain than when I'd seen him in the hall, his voice low and dark as he looked at our leader. “Where do we go from here? Is this a sign we can trust Klamath again?”
“It's a sign, all right. We'll treat them like our brothers unless there's a good reason not to.” Blackjack spoke after a long pause, deep in thought. “I'll be straight: I didn't expect shit after the phone call to Rip – especially not after we roughed up their VP. Only question on my mind was when the bullets would start flying in this club again. Rip's a disrespectful little cocksucker, don't get me wrong. But until this morning, when Brass brought us the news, I was ready for war to bring this club into line.”
I looked up, my fists balled like iron. “And now? You're telling me we're not shredding those asses for carrying on Fang's fucked up legacy?”
Blackjack shook his head. Shit happened in slow motion, driving the dagger in my guts deeper, harder. I wanted to fucking puke.
“We can't kill them when they're giving us their full cooperation,” he said. “It's not perfect. Rip's playing phone tag again. The jackass won't give me the specifics I'd like about how exactly they ambushed the high ranking asshole that patch right there represents.” He pointed to the bloody patch, and everybody stared at it. “Shit's not important. I'll get the truth soon. What's important is what that thing there means. We took down an Ace in the cartel. One down, four to go. Intel says trying to decapitate their leadership's the best way to finish the fuckers off. The boys who'll take over if we kill the rest are so young and dumb they'll run back to Mexico with their tails between their legs.”
Blackjack paused. A couple guys coughed, and the prospects shuffled nervously in the corner. Everybody was weighing the heavy shit settling on our shoulders. But unlike the other guys, I was being crushed, held under, and drowned by my own club doing this about-face.
“I can't ask Klamath to submit or die over their cat-and-mouse bullshit when they've given us this,” Blackjack continued. “Obviously, I don't trust them – not completely – but I'd be a damned fool if I didn't consider the possibility I was wrong.”
My heart dropped like an elevator. Shit. Fuck.
If Redding was about to kiss and make up with southern Oregon, then that meant Ed was off limits. Blackjack wouldn't do shit to rock the boat. The best I could hope for was a slow, half-assed attempt at getting Christa's debt forgiven, if he'd hear me out at all.
Rage shot through me. The stabbing sensation in my guts turned to fire, and I was ready to try lighting up the room like a goddamned dragon.
I wanted to turn the fucking table over. My muscles flexed, tingling with the same adrenaline I'd felt every time I risked my life facing bullets for these colors.
“What's going on over there, Rabid? You look like you got something to say. Lay it out. You know we don't hide bad blood between brothers anymore.” Brass folded his arms. He'd been studying me the entire time.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Just then, I hated my best friend for calling me out.
I stood up. Blackjack's full, dark eyes beamed over me like floodlights, and all the brothers waited to hear what the fuck I had to say.
“You want the truth? I think letting Klamath off the hook's a serious fucking mistake. Unless that deceitful shithead they call their Prez is gonna tell us every last bit about how they magically captured a cartel boss and killed him, we're making a lotta fucking assumptions here.” My throat was so fucking tight I had to fight like hell to keep from shouting. “Look, I'm happy as anybody about this damned thing. Wherever it came from, it means progress for every brother in this room.”
I reached for the blood stained patch, picked it up, and gave it a good shake before letting it fall back to the table like a soiled leaf. “Thing is, I think we were desperate to score a big win when we've been tangling with these fucks for more than a year. We're so shocked and surprised, so stupid with relief, we're letting our guard down. We can't do that. Not 'til we're sure the Oregon crew's full of real brothers instead of crafty fucking wolves.”
“He's right,” a voice boomed. Turning my head, my eyeballs almost popped out like a fucking cartoon when I saw it belonged to Roman. “This shit's too convenient, Prez. Don't fucking like it. Don't trust it. They knew we were about to make demands or go for the throat. That's why Ed was here in the first place, and now he drops this off for our Veep with a piss poor explanation? Doesn't add up worth a damn, and you know it.”
“Yeah? You two really wanna have an out-and-out fight in this club after we just got done killing each other over Fang? Fuck that!” Asphalt shot up, his face lined with anger. “We're goddamned lucky it's a dead cartel boss' patch and not a bomb showing up on our doorstep! If the Oregon crew really wanted our asses dead, there's way easier traps they could set besides this. I'm willing to give these guys the benefit of the doubt. It's not like anybody at this table has any proof to call their story bullshit.”
Blackjack leaned bac
k in his chair, gray hair folded around him like a lion's mane. Roman and I locked eyes. There was a brotherly understanding, coupled with a desire to knock Asphalt's dumb bald head against the wall.
Brother or not, I was sick of his cowardly, endlessly contrary shit.
“Rip, Ed, and his boys aren't the men I want in this MC,” the Prez said slowly. “They're the club's past. Brutal. Fucked up. Selfish. But if there's a chance, I don't need to spill more Grizzlies blood when the bastards are cooperating, I'm taking it. We have a chance to reset things here before more brothers get hurt. If we start executing every asshole walking on the dark side, right after they did us a big favor, we'll be on our way out like Fang's crew. This is the mother charter now. It's up to us to grab national by the balls and lead by example.”
“You boys hear that?” Asphalt grinned, looking to me and then Roman. “Thank fuck the Prez has a brain in his head. If you guys had your way, we'd be letting the cartel walk all over us while we fucking kill each other.”
Smug motherfucker! That shitty, arrogant grin on his face reminded me of everything I was losing with this sick new truce – everything threatening my girl! And no, I didn't give a single fuck that she wasn't officially mine yet.
She would be. Mark my fucking words.
And I was gonna mark them in blood too.
I hopped on the table and went right for Asphalt. He saw me coming when we collided. Hell opened up and yawned.
Soon, the room was filled with crashing, fighting, screaming brothers. I swung for the fucker's face, must've busted his lip a couple times over before he finally got his senses back and kicked me off him. I hit the wall, fell, and rolled. Saw Roman on the floor next to me, two full patch brothers, and three prospects trying to hold the giant down while he roared every vulgar name in the dictionary.
Asphalt swung his bloody knuckles at my face. Would've been a direct hit if Brass hadn't ripped me off the ground and slammed me into the nearest wall.
