Savage Lies: Savage Angels MC #7

by Kathleen Kelly

  “Yep.”

  “I’m coming.”

  Kade clicks off, and I’m left sitting in a park with my demons. Kade and I are closer than family, and like any brotherhood forged in fire, he’ll do what I can’t, or worse, won’t do.

  Zeke

  The door to the diner swings open easily, and I go to my usual seat at the counter. Doc is already there. He and Izzy eye me but say nothing as I get comfortable.

  “Izzy, you look nice today. Could I have a burger with the works, please, and do you have anything stronger than coffee?”

  “It’s a diner, not a bar,” states Izzy as she walks away.

  Doc is staring at me with one eyebrow raised and his lips turned down.

  “What?” I ask.

  “What do you mean, what? How did it go? He still the same old bastard he always was?”

  I smirk and nod. “Yeah, he hasn’t changed.”

  “Fuck him then. Leave this town for good, boy.”

  I rock back on my chair and look at him. Doc isn’t known for swearing. “He’s in over his head. It could get him killed.”

  “So? What’s he to you? Why do you care?”

  “Debbie, Leonie, Elizabeth,” I reply.

  Doc raises his hands in the air and lets them drop onto the counter with a bang. “Those girls know what kind of man he is! Don’t you for a minute think they don’t! They choose not to see!”

  I shake my head. “They don’t know.”

  Doc pokes me in the chest and in a quieter tone says, “No, son, it’s you who doesn’t know.”

  Izzy walks back out with a mug of coffee. She puts it down in front of me and winks. I smile at her and take a sip—it’s laced with whiskey. I think I’m in love. Izzy winks again and grins.

  “Doc, I’m cooking you a burger, too,” Izzy gestures to me. “Zeke’s treat.”

  Doc smiles at us both. “Well, that’s mighty nice of you, Zeke.”

  “Seems I didn’t have a lot of say in it,” I reply curtly.

  “You enjoying that coffee?” asks Izzy.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then shut up.” I quirk an eyebrow at Izzy, and her grin completely transforms her face into a thing of beauty. “Don’t mess with me, or I’ll spit in your food.”

  I bark out a laugh, and Doc chuckles. “Your special ingredient?” I tease.

  Izzy says nothing and goes into the back room of the diner to finish our meals, and I hope not to add anything extra.

  “Doc, is it okay if a friend comes to stay?”

  “A woman?”

  “No.”

  “A biker, like you?”

  “Yes.”

  “He a good man?” asks Doc as he looks me in the eyes.

  “Yes, sir, he is. My oldest friend.”

  “I have no problem with that.”

  Izzy pushes back through the doors with a plate in each hand and places them in front of us. “Eat!” she orders.

  I’ve got a side of fries, but Doc has a salad. He eyes my plate but says nothing. Izzy is watching him with her hands on her hips, waiting for him to say something. When he doesn’t, she nods once and heads for the back room. Only to poke her head back through the doors.

  “Don’t share your fries!”

  Doc scowls at her, and she smiles sweetly at him, then disappears.

  It’s getting dark when we finish dinner. As we exit the building, there’s a police car parked out front, and the officer appears to be running my plate.

  I approach him with Doc hot on my heels.

  “Is there a problem, officer?”

  He looks up at me, and I recognize him. His name is Don Sharp, and on more than one occasion, took me to Doc’s to have me patched up. Don looks me up and down and makes a tut-tutting noise.

  “The apple did fall far from the tree, didn’t it?”

  “Officer Sh—”

  “That’s Sheriff Sharp now, son! License and registration.”

  I walk toward my bike, and he places a hand on his gun. Holding my hands up, I say, “My registration is in my saddlebags. Do you want me to get it?”

  “Slowly, and don’t make any fast moves,” sneers Sheriff Sharp.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Don! This is Zeke! He’s Michael Russo’s son! You’ve known him since he was a twinkle in his mother’s eye!” says Doc exasperatedly.

  “I’m aware who he is, and I’m also aware he threatened his father a short time ago.”

  “No, sir, I didn’t.”

  “You trying to tell me that a man of The Lord is lying?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Doc replies sarcastically.

  “Doc! Please keep out of it! Did you threaten your father?”

  “No.” I can feel the nerve in my jaw start to tick, and I clench and unclench my hands while I try to remain calm.

  “One look at you, and I can tell you are trouble.”

  “How do you figure?” I ask.

  “What with your bike and your cut. It’s obvious you’re no good, never were.”

  Doc steps forward, face flushed, lips curled back in a snarl. I place a hand on his chest and give the barest shake of my head.

  “Can I do anything for you, Sheriff?” I ask.

  “Need you to come down to the office so that I can take your statement.”

  “Am I being charged?”

  “No. But let’s clear this up tonight, now. Then you can go on your merry way.”

  “He hasn’t done anything wrong!” yells Doc.

  The sheriff straightens and looks Doc in the eye. “And you’d be smart to keep your trap shut, Doc.” His hand drifts back down to his gun, and the Doc looks openly shocked.

  “Doc, be calm. I’ll see you later. Go home.”

  “Go home! This is ridiculous! He can’t,” Doc leans closer to the sheriff, “by law make you do anything! Not if he’s not going to charge you!”

  I grab Doc by the arm and move him away from the sheriff and quietly say, “Doc, if I don’t make it home tonight, I want you to call the last number I dialed in my phone.” I take it out of my pocket and put it in his hand. “His name is Kade. He’ll know what to do. Now, calm down and let me get this over with. You know how my old man is.”

  Doc nods and puts it in his coat pocket. “Okay.”

  I walk back to the sheriff, and he opens the back door to his cruiser.

  “Can’t I follow you on my bike?”

  “It’d be better if you didn’t.”

  “What the hell is going on?” demands Izzy, coming out onto the sidewalk.

  “This has nothing to do with you, Isabella Finemore,” replies the sheriff as I get into the backseat.

  “Like hell, it doesn’t! He’s a good customer and a great tipper. Unlike some people in this town.”

  “Let it be, Isabella!” grounds out the sheriff.

  “Zeke, are you okay?” I nod at her. “Can I have his bike’s keys? Leaving it here it could get damaged or stolen.”

  The sheriff gives her a withering look then slowly nods. I reach into my pocket and hand over the key to her.

  “You scratch her even a little bit, and I won’t be happy,” I say without a smile.

  “Don’t worry, I learned how to ride from my brother. She’s in good hands.”

  No one but my MC brethren have ridden my bike and handing her over to Izzy, even if she is trying to do me a solid, doesn’t sit well.

  “I promise,” Izzy says as if she can read my mind.

  The sheriff slams the back door and gives me a smirk as he walks to the driver’s side to get in. I watch their faces as we drive toward the Sherriff’s Office. It’s a small town, and everyone knows that when the sheriff wants to talk to you, very little talking gets done.

  Doc

  With trepidation, I watch as the sheriff drives away. He used to be a good man once, but he’s been in the job too long, knows how to wrought the system and take advantage of those less able. I shake my head and see the same concern plastered across Izzy�
��s face as she too watches them drive away.

  “What do we do?” Izzy asks without looking at me.

  “Get his bike off the street. Knowing the sheriff and his goons, they’re probably fixin’ to do something to it.”

  Izzy shakes her head. “Damn shame.” Her eyes go to the bike in front of us. “Can you watch the diner while I move it around the back?”

  “I can do that. You sure you know how to ride it?”

  Izzy scowls at me. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”

  I chuckle at her and go inside. I’m impressed as she gets on, hitching her dress up, exposing a fair amount of skin and a tattoo that I’ve never seen before. Taking the phone out of my pocket, I look up the last number called and hit dial.

  I don’t hear it ring, but a deep male voice answers, “Hey, Zeke, you okay?”

  “This is Doctor Ernest Green, to whom am I speaking to?”

  “Is Zeke okay?” asks the voice.

  “I’ll get to that, but first I need to know who’s on the other end of the line.”

  “My name is Kade Cantrill. Is Zeke all right?” This time the voice is angry.

  “Calm down, son. Zeke is staying with me. I’m an old family friend.”

  “Old man, you better answer my fucking question,” replies Kade with irritation.

  “He just got arrested and told me to ring you if he doesn’t come home tonight, but the sheriff is a… well he’s a…”

  “He’s a what?”

  “Well, son, he’s a fucking bastard is what he is.”

  I hear an intake of breath and then some muffled conversation.

  “Son, you there?”

  “Where are you right now?” asks another voice.

  “I’m in The Countryside Diner. Who’s this?”

  “My name is Dane. Zeke is one of mine. This sheriff, will he harm him?” This man sounds like he’s barely controlling his anger, and for an old man like me, I’m fighting the urge not to hang up. I allow myself to sit down as my legs suddenly don’t feel so good.

  “Probably. He’s always protected the preacher. Can’t see he’d change his ways now.”

  “Fuck. What’s your name?”

  “Doc Green,” I reply timidly.

  “Doc Green, we were coming by road, but now, now we’re headed to the nearest airport. We’ll be there tomorrow. You tell that sheriff we’re coming, and if one hair is displaced on Zeke’s head, the Savage Angels are going to rip that fucking town apart.”

  I suck in a breath, confident this man means business, but before I can respond, he’s hung up, and I’m left sitting there trying to make the fear in my stomach subside.

  Dane

  I’m six-foot-six and have the body mass to match. These fucking little economy seats are made for midgets. Worse still, I’m sitting next to a little old lady who keeps touching my leg as she talks to me about her family. Either I’m slipping in the scary department, or this woman is very lonely. On the other side of me is a businessman who is trying to mold himself into the window and keep as far away from me as possible. I look at him and smile, his eyes widen, and he tries to move further away.

  This is hell when I die. This is what my hell is going to look like. I lean forward and look to my left where Kade is on the aisle, his long legs are stretched out into it, and he’s asleep. Fucker. Looking up, I see Dirt walking toward me, shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, would you mind if I had a word with the gentleman beside you?” Dirt asks, holding out his hand to help her up.

  “Oh, no, he’s been the perfect gentleman! So sweet,” she replies as she gropes my knee again.

  When she vacates, I try and extract myself without disturbing those around me too much. From the dirty look I got from the woman in the seat directly in front of me, I failed. I smile at the old lady and follow Dirt back to where he came from.

  “Seems like you’ve got a new woman. Should I let Kat know?” asks Dirt, barely containing his amusement.

  I know as my Sergeant at Arms that he will always have my back, but right now I could pummel him into the carpet and feel good about it. So instead of answering his question, I give him a hard look, no humor to be found anywhere around me or in my being.

  Dirt holds up his hands. “Okaay. I got you a seat with more legroom.”

  I pull him into an awkward embrace. “Thank fuck.”

  Dirt pulls away and looks up at me. “That fucking bad?”

  “You have no idea, brother.”

  I stretch up, and my hands hit the ceiling. I groan in discomfort. Normally, if I have to fly, I take my wife, Kat’s private jet, but seeing as we were already on the road, a commercial airline was the best we could do, and all the business-class tickets were already sold. Thankfully, there was an affiliate club that offered to look after our bikes.

  “Lead the way,” I command.

  Dirt smiles, the scar running down his face becoming more pronounced. “This way. You know it’s only two more hours and then we land.”

  “Well, it’ll be two more fucking hours where I feel like I’m a sardine in a tin can.”

  The seat he takes me to has more legroom, and no one is sitting in any of the three chairs.

  “Why is it when we checked in, we didn’t get these seats?”

  Dirt shrugs. “You look mean.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” says an older airline hostess. “But you will need to sit down so we can get the drinks and snacks out to people.”

  The smile she gives me is as plastic as the snacks she’s about to hand out, but I do as I’m told and sit by the window. Dirt takes the aisle seat, giving me plenty of room.

  “Has someone arranged for transport?” I ask.

  “Yeah, Judge said he had it handled. Our biggest problem is getting in and out without any of the other MCs finding out. We’re going to be close to some enemy territory.”

  “Close but not in, right?”

  “Yeah, but I still don’t like it. Why’d you come, anyway? Between Kade, Rebel, and me, we could have handled things.”

  “Cabin fever. With Kat and the twins, I hardly have time for myself. Not that I’m complaining, it’s just nice to get my teeth into something. Lately, I feel like a businessman, not the president of an MC. It’s all employees and profit charts. Hell, I had a woman come to the house to ask me which drapes I wanted to hang in the refurb of the casino. Why the fuck would I care? Shit. Sometimes, I think it was easier to run guns and shit.”

  Dirt chuckles. “Ahh, the ever-changing face of the Savage Angels MC.”

  “Yeah, but no one gets killed now. Even Carlos comes to the house for dinner occasionally.” Carlos Morales is the local sheriff in our hometown, Tourmaline. He’s a tough bastard, but he can see we are trying to go straight. Occasionally, he rides us to let us know he’s in charge, but we donate a fair amount into the local community, so he’s not as hard as he used to be. If it weren’t for my wife, though, I doubt he’d be coming to the house. That woman has mended more fences for us than anyone. Being a household name has worked wonders for us in many areas, not that I drop her name at every business meeting, but most people know I’m married to Kat Saunders, a band member in The Grinders.

  “You ever wish it was back to the way it was?”

  “Nah, we lost too many. The way we’re going is right. I know you don’t always agree, but we haven’t lost anyone in three years. That’s a fucking miracle right there.”

  Dirt nods. He’s old-school and would probably prefer to be doing all the illegal shit. This is the better way—no prison, no loss of life.

  The hostess returns, and I take a beer and a packet of pretzels. She kindly gives me two packets. The rest of the flight is much more comfortable, and no one is groping my leg.

  We checked no baggage, so we disembark and head for the car rentals. Judge has organized a Chevrolet Tahoe—nice and big. Rebel goes up to the counter to get the keys, and I can see him waving his hands around, and I look at Dirt who r
aises an eyebrow at me. When Rebel comes back to us, he looks anything but happy.

  “We have an issue.”

  “What?” I growl.

  “They only have a Ford Fiesta.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I yell.

  “No fucking way!” says Dirt.

  “This is bullshit,” replies Kade.

  Rebel takes a step back. “I fucking know! But this,” he holds up the key, “is all they have left.”

  I glare at the skinny man behind the counter who puts up a sign that says he’ll be back in five minutes and scurries away. Pussy.

  “From one fucking tin can to another,” I mutter. “Fuck it, I’m driving.”

  I am the tallest and the president of the MC, so although they may not like it, I don’t care.

  “Shotgun,” says Kade quicker than the other two.

  “I’m behind Kade,” Dirt says as he hits Rebel in the shoulder.

  “Just fucking great!” replies Rebel with a scowl at him.

  We walk out to the rental cars and find our small, red Fiesta. Jesus, it looks smaller than I remembered they looked like. With a groan, I head for the driver’s door. I unlock the car, and that’s when I hear the sound of Harleys filling the air.

  “Fuck, we don’t have any weapons,” Dirt says with a worried look on his face.

  “Maybe they’re not here for us?” suggests Rebel.

  Dirt shoots him a glare with a shake of his head.

  “Reb’s right. They might not be here for us.” But my gut is telling me they are.

  My men come and stand with me as a dozen Harleys swarm around us. No weapons, no backup, this could get fucked-up very quickly.

  Doc

  Izzy comes with me to the Sheriff’s Office. It’s one of the most significant buildings in town. I’ll never understand why they painted over the red brick and made it gray. The brick had a bit of style, but this makes it look imposing and bland. Maybe that’s the point.

  We enter the building and find a deputy rocking back on his chair as he talks on the phone. I know just about everyone in town. I used to be one of five doctors who looked after everyone. Now, with the broader population, there are many more, but I still know a lot of the townsfolk. This young man’s name badge says ‘Tinker’ which means he’s related in some way to the sheriff. Probably a nephew or a cousin. They married into the Sharp line about twenty years ago. The deputy places his chair flat on the ground and holds a finger up to us, indicating he won’t be long.