King slid his seat forward and dropped the gravel. “Meeting in session. There’s bad news to talk about guys. It’s about The Defilers.”
A groan resounded across the table. Some guys got that ice-cold look in their eyes, others grinned devilishly like they knew we were always headed to a war which they’d been waiting patiently on.
Jackal remained unmoved. It seemed like my brother wasn’t paying attention, but I knew better—he was.
King continued with his husky voice, “Shit isn’t good. They’ve been selling on our turf again. I don’t like it, no one does, but we turned a blind eye before. Now they’ve gone and killed a dealer close to home. In Rapid Valley.”
“Who?” Jackal asked.
I wondered if it was my brother’s affinity for drugs which caused him to ask. But then I forgot that he was probably not the ideal customer for these guys, who mostly sold meth and crack and all the real nasty shit. Jackal was into weed and mind-altering substances like acid and shrooms. As far as I knew, he was off the shrooms and acid too. He straightened up some, but there needed to be a lot of straightening in order for Jackal to be considered as straight edge as King.
King probably thought he was new school from the types he used to roll with. But we all knew him as the classic old school biker. He rose to greatness after the death of King Sr., who was the founding outlaw biker type, straight out of Nam and creating a rebel brotherhood. King Jr. was around those guys, but when he was inducted, a lot of the older guys left when King Sr. died. In his mind, he was anything but the norm. His father and his veteran buddies were the rock that had long ago been washed away.
King Jr., now known as just King to us, was the only rock we needed. There was no one who came close to keeping us all together.
“Some guy named Warner,” King said.
Jackal shrugged.
Cole slammed his fist against the table. It was a sturdy table, made especially for hot heads who liked to punch it. Even with the old timer’s huge fist, it didn’t rock. “They’ve been coming into our turf stirring shit up for a while now. I’m sick of it. You let a rabid dog eat your scraps, sooner or later they’re going to want to come in the house for their fill.”
Time to put the rabid dog down? Is that what he wanted?
The Defilers were like nothing King Sr. or King Jr. had ever known. They started to get our attention when they came in from West California. They called themselves a motorcycle gang, but the truth was, these guys didn’t play by any rules. They didn’t have a charter. They were a gang, a bunch of prison gangsters who happened to roll on bikes.
They dealt in nasty drugs, weapons, prostitution. They beat women. They murdered without any thoughts of the consequences. There was no outlaw justice. The Defilers were bad news, but we let them slide, because we knew once these two bulls locked horns there would be no avoiding a full-out war.
Boots turned to his old friend, King. “They need a warning.”
Flicking my hand over my chin, I said bluntly, “I don’t think they’re going to listen to a warning.”
Boots practically jumped from his seat. “Then we need to strike first,” he yelled.
Cole’s fingers tightened in their vise. “Hit ‘em hard before they can hit us. A preemptive strike.”
Ramos eyed everyone around the table carefully. “That would mean war. And these guys don’t fight fair. It’d be down to the last man.”
“Are we ready to do that?” I asked.
“They’re not giving us a choice,” Cole said, standing from his seat and then sitting his ass back down as Boots held him back.
I wasn’t about to jump out of my seat, but my jaw was set hard, my fist tightening. Cole was right. “Sooner or later we’re going to have do something about this. These guys don’t play by the rules. Whether we want to or not, we need to deal with this problem.”
King’s hand shot up to silence us. “We’re The Blessed Bastards, remember? They might not have rules, but we do. These guys haven’t done anything except murder some nobody on our turf. A nobody not even affiliated with us. If we want them to move back, we give them a warning.”
Jackal finally spoke, “Give them a warning so they can shoot first? I don’t know if I like that idea, King.”
He shrugged his great shoulders. “All right, then what’s the alternative?”
“Go to war,” Boots said, “squash them before they spread like a bad case of the crabs.”
“These guys gotta go,” Cole said, folding his arms and sneering.
“They’re no good. Cole is right,” Boots agreed.
“These guys are trash,” Jackal said, “but Ram is right. We need to understand that if we do something, they aren’t going to surrender and they’re not going to play fair.”
King puffed his chest and stared at the table while deliberating. We all waited for him to speak. We all let it sink in, then for him to spit out the answer like he always did.
“We’ve been at peace for a long time. Peace feels nice, doesn’t it? War, it’s nothing to be taken lightly, especially with guys like these who won’t stand down. I say we don’t attack. We attack without warning, a real pussy move, and we show every other club that we’re afraid. They’ve done nothing to warrant it, and as far as I’ve been here, The Bastards have lived under a fucked up, but working system of judgment when it comes to bringing the hammer down. We ain’t attacking first. We’re not actin’ like a bunch of threatened pussies over a little thing like this.”
Boots kicked one of his famed boots to the side, looked it over, and then nodded at King. The others simmered over the idea. I could see some real confusion, a mixture of emotions. No one was quite sure how to act, not even Cole, who shouted for war the loudest. His fists unclenched, his jaw slacked, now he gazed over King like a gargoyle turned to stone.
“We take a vote?” Boots asked.
“Like always, we vote,” King said.
He banged the gavel. I noticed he really liked to do that. I didn’t blame him, but every time it made me flinch. Half of the time, it wasn’t really necessary.
“Bringing to vote on whether we should—” King paused. He let out a heavy sigh and thought over his words carefully. “Go to war with the Defilers or not. Let’s hear the Yeas.”
“Yea,” Boots said, then looked like he’d gotten mud on his fancy boots.
Cole’s lips trembled, but he didn’t say a word.
I looked to my brother and Ram. I was most interested in Ram’s position, since I was sure he ran into The Defilers and knew them more than anyone. I’d like to pick his brain about them in the future. Ram looked vacant, like he was meditating.
Jackal rose his hand, “Yea.”
Eyebrows rose around the table. Everyone looked to see if there were more votes. I couldn’t remember the last time a vote took so long or was so divided.
Follow my brother? Have his back? No, we were all brothers now. I was my own man. My brother, thankfully, understood that and didn’t expect me to follow him. We both rode our own paths, which was exactly how we both wanted it.
“Is that it?” King asked, wielding the hammer halfway to the table.
No one else spoke.
“Let’s hear the nays.”
“Nay,” I said.
“Nay,” the others, Cole, Ramos, King, and Grimes said.
King slammed the hammer again. “The nays have it.”
Usually we would be ready to toast and get back to partying, but there was a thickness to the air no one could cut through.
King sighed, then said, “Look, I know this was a hard vote. We’ll keep voting on this issue, but for now, nobody treats The Defilers any differently than if they were another crew. We’ve got a legacy to uphold, a long history, you all remember that. The issue isn’t over, I know. Don’t think I’m blowing this over.”
“They’ll have to wait,” Cole said. He shoved his seat back. “We done? This is too serious for me. I’ve got to go finish getting loaded and laid.”
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“Yeah, we’re done,” King said with a huff as he stood from his chair too. I noticed a wince from his bad knee.
He waved us off.
Still in a somber mood, we got up from the long table and started for the door.
King, with his big, goofy grin, waved and yelled at our backs, “Go, get your groove on. Go fuck and be merry, my children.”
Fuck and be merry.
That was excellent advice.
King, like always, held all of the answers.
* * *
Back in the bar, Ash was gone. I really hoped she didn’t run off. I was pointed in the right direction by the prospects watching the bikes. “She’s in your room,” a lanky blond that looked just shy of eighteen told me. I made a note to remember him. My room...that was a good sign. When wasn’t that a good sign? The girl I wanted was already where I intended to take her at the end of the night.
I went to the housing complex, a mini hotel on the compound, hallways filled with rented-out rooms for members that went to the third floor. It was difficult not to bound up the steps when I thought about what awaited me.
I could taste her on the tip of my tongue. I could feel her trembling beneath me. Her pussy wrapped itself around my cock head, hugging me, pulling me deeper. That sweet prize wanted me. I burned, wanting to deliver all of my pent-up horniness deep into Ash.
I would take her hard. Fuck her so hard she wouldn’t have any choice but to beg for more. I wanted to smother myself with her sexy pussy, drive my cock to the hilt in her sweet juices, bend her to my will and have her trained, for her to obey every one of my sexual commands.
Ash, you’re too good to let get away. We’re too good for petty bullshit, I thought as I swung open the door.
My girl was already curled up in my sheets. She had a long day, but it wasn’t over with. I was sure once I climbed in with her, I could bring her back, have her more awake than she thought she could get in the middle of the night.
Thrust into her right away, a voice told me, but I wasn’t a complete monster. I remained at the foot of the bed, filing this sweet image away for later. It was a nice scene, something that was always missing from my reckless life.
Curled in my sheets, folds swerving up her curvy body, her hand resting on my pillow with her tender cheek beside it, she almost looked too serene for me to fuck. Almost. She barged into my room, slept in my bed, made herself comfortable in the tiger’s den...what did she expect, a snuggle?
Her eyelids fluttered. “Oh, hi,” she said. “I passed out for a second.”
“I’m glad you knew where to go.”
Ash’s eyes went wide with what I thought was nervous excitement. I dropped to the bed. My hands grabbed her ankles, pinning them to the mattress. She slid back. I pushed onward to meet her lips.
“No, Red.”
No?
Could I be wrong? Could she be even crazier than I thought? Why would she show up in a Bastard’s bed if she wasn’t expecting a long, hard pounding?
That beauty turned her lips away from me.
And I became the beast once again.
I snarled and broke away.
“What?” Her cheek remained turned to the side. She still didn’t move her ass out of my spot.
I wanted to remind her who I was. I wanted to give her a vicious fuck, jackhammer her with my cock and get all that teenage rebelliousness out of her. I was over that type of shit. I wanted an old lady. I wanted a woman I could respect and make a home with.
“I’m sorry. Roxy told me I could sleep here. I can go sleep somewhere else.”
“I don’t understand you,” I said, letting my muscles flare with my mind. I wanted to go out for a ride, a fast ride, and let it all blow off so I wouldn’t explode and say something stupid. That wasn’t an option now.
Before she could respond, I got the hint, she didn’t want to fuck me. She was over me. I was being turned down by that beauty. For some strange reason, it stung. I wouldn’t have cared if it was someone else, but since I thought we shared something back there on Devil’s Peak, it actually hurt.
“You must be fuckin’ out of your mind. What are you doing in my bed if you don’t want to fuck me? Do you think you’re special? Think you can come around here just because you’ve got a pretty, wholesome face and get special treatment? You’ve got a lot to learn, babe, if you’re still here tomorrow.”
“I won’t be here tomorrow,” she said as she stared me down.
Christ, even with her spitting venom back, she looked beautiful. It was the way the moonlight streamed in through the windows, lighting her angelic face.
“Don’t play games with me, Ash. Keep my room for the night. I’ll have someone drive you home in the morning.”
Her lips quivered. Yet, she said nothing. I wasn’t going to stand around like a fool and wait for it. She was bad news and I was over it.
Disappointed, overwhelmed with rage, I threw open the door, slammed it, then went to find a spare bed. Once I put my head down in one of the guest rooms, I knew I made a difficult decision, but the right one. It was no trouble falling asleep.
* * *
Ash
I wasn’t done crying.
Whimpering into Red’s pillow, when I smothered it with tears, his distinct musk permeated my senses. I had to throw it against the wall and sleep solely on the mattress.
Eventually I stilled my racing thoughts and passed out. The next morning, I woke alarmed that I had slept late in Red’s bed.
Dehydrated, groggy, with a heavy head, I crawled out and waded my way downstairs, unsure of how to leave. True to his word, Red arranged a ride for me in the morning. He was nice enough for that much.
His younger brother, Jackal, short, slick hair with a wicked grin, waited for me on his bike. They both had strong, firm jaws, the same streaked auburn hair, and the same defined noses, but other than that, they bore little in common. His brother was much more energetic, always smiling, and he wasn’t as bulky, built more like an assassin than a tank.
“Hop on, I’ll take you back.” He tipped his head to me good morning.
I squinted at the early morning sun burning my eyeballs. I tossed an arm to shield myself as I slowly headed for the back of the bike.
“This isn’t like my brother at all. You must’ve really pissed him off.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
Jackal shrugged. “He’ll get over it,” he said, trying to be nice, but it was an empty gesture. He didn’t really know what was wrong. The rest of the drive back we were silent. Not even the vibrating beneath me nor the adrenaline-pumping speed could lift my spirits.
Red would never contact me again. He wasn’t the type to get over it. He was one stubborn ass.
As the exit to my apartment drew near, I grew more relieved, still with a heaviness of regret, but there was some relief that I wouldn’t have to continue this charade. I could go back to my life before, solve the case, and try something else. This could be left behind for something more familiar. I wasn’t really supposed to live here, to breathe this foreign air, to be riding on the back of a motorcycle with an outlaw.
It was a nice vacation, but nothing more. I understood that as Jackal dropped me off. It seemed like Red knew as well, because he was effectively dropping me off forever without another word.
“Thanks,” I told Jackal.
He gave me a goodbye nod, revved his engine, and took off.
Glass still covered my living room. A flowery breeze brushed by gently, confusing me how nice it felt, since it was coming out of the broken sliding door. Would Red attempt to fix it now? I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. He helped enough by throwing my ex through it.
There was no use in trying it myself right now. I locked my bedroom door and crashed in my bed. I didn’t get much sleep the night before and my mind was swept up in turbulent emotions, changing from one extreme to the next. In my own bed, I succumbed to exhaustion.
My cell phoned rumbled next to my head, jostling
me awake. I grabbed it with one finger and pulled it to my buried eyes, peeling them from the cushion.
Work? I’d forgotten all about my cover story. I would need to get ready for work in an hour. Damn, damn, damn.
There was no time to call off. I’d feel bad leaving Francis short a waitress in such a short amount of time. Besides, I wasn’t sure if the photos I took of the compound the night before would be enough for Wyatt, who I really needed to call sometime soon.
Wyatt could wait. Francis couldn’t. Having two jobs really sucked. This was beginning to all really suck.
Getting dressed into my wholesome black and white outfit complete with my apron, my eyes kept darting to the busted-up mess in my living room. Since I was going to be away from The Bastards for a while, I grabbed my concealed carry revolver and strapped it to a holster wrapped around my lower back. With the apron, and the poofy white shirt, it would never be noticed.
The Taurus .357 magnum is a fine weapon, one that I knew most women, and men, couldn’t handle. The first time I picked it out, I thought smaller would be easier to shoot, but boy, was I wrong. Having a smaller gun with such a powerful round like a .357 meant there would be a lot of kick back, enough to send the gun flying out of my hands. The first shot almost ripped my arms off.
I kept training with bigger guns with easier bullets to handle, like .22s, then moved myself up gradually. When someone tells me I can’t do something, I do it. Now it was mine. A great accomplishment to wear it, to know that I could handle such a powerful gun after a year of intense training. I spent a lot of time at the shooting range, a jolt of excitement after long days in an office.
I had to snicker when a bunch of guys from work would see me with the gun and tell me that I wanted something different. Maybe when I first started out that would be wise advice, but then I would place myself in front of the targets and fire, and they would see my form, see my steady rate of fire, and see the target blasted in the center. That would shut them right up.
In Bed With The Outlaw Page 8
