Dreamer: Book 7 of The Steel MC Montana Charter

by Michel Prince

  Stepping out in the twilight air, she could see a sliver of light on the horizon. The sun would be up soon and she needed to find the perfect place to shoot. She knew if she stayed inside the fence line, she was on the ranch. Driving past the newer houses with their dark windows only a few had dim lights. Probably for the little kids.

  Her mind tripped back to her first night here. The men singing with the little girl on the couch. All fawning over her in a way she never knew possible. That little girl had nothing to fear beyond broccoli in her life. Meadow could see her grown up, confident that any room she stepped inside was safe. And more over, the only touch she’d ever receive was a caress.

  That wasn’t the way Meadow was raised. Part of what had her running out of the house were the screams and cries of her mother to stop. Not in front of the children. Being handed a little plastic 110 camera when she was little while mommy and daddy talked. The break alone should have calmed her father, but when she came home her mother had a new layer of make-up and dinner set out on a perfectly set table.

  Correction. Perfection. There was nothing less acceptable when she was younger. No minuses on her report card. Gold stars and the perfectly drawn rose to the point where you wondered if you could pluck it from the canvas. Her scholarship from college was expected. Grades, skill, he’d allowed her to indulge in her artistic talents as long as blue ribbons and awards came in. Never red. Or worse, green.

  When she left the house she grew up in, she thought she was free of his judgment. Now she could be carefree. Only the weight of his scrutiny shifted. Her heart taken by Clive, then tossed aside when she was less than perfect. Taking out her camera, she climbed onto the hood of her SUV. Sitting cross legged, she watched as the lavenders and fuchsia clouds turned into pale pinks then gold as the sun crested the horizon. The rise soft as the thin puffs of cotton faded like God’s own fingers pulling apart the curtain of night.

  Every part of her relaxed as she scooted back on the hood of the car and leaned on the windshield. This really was a place to breathe. It was ignorant of her to believe those places only existed in New Mexico. A low rumble of bikes in the distance made her wonder if it would become white noise after a while. Like the stereo systems in the trailer park had become. She was numb to the noise there.

  The rumble became louder, but it didn’t sound like a pack, more a single rider. When she turned to kneel on the hood and pop up over the roof of her SUV, she saw dust pluming behind a dark figure approaching. Her first thought was to snap a shot. Resting her elbows on the roof, she switched between horizontal and vertical shots until the rider came to stop behind her car and dismounted.

  It was the lone black guy she’d seen since she’d arrived. His reflective aviator glasses reminded her a cops in TV shows as he took them off and tucked them away.

  He approached her, a slight limp as he walked. “You’re the rescue from New Mexico?” he questioned.

  She turned to the side and slid off the hood. “I’m not a—what does it matter? Sure, I’m the rescue,” she fussed tired of pleading the case she was a regular woman on a girl’s weekend. “Most people call me Meadow.”

  “Well, Meadow, Dell’s been worried about you and you almost had an entire patrol on your ass for taking pictures.”

  “It’s what I do,” she said placing her camera on her passenger seat. “Last time I checked, the sky was not copywritten and could be captured. Besides, I wasn’t doing surveillance if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’ll give you that,” he said, the deep bass of his voice matching his broad chest and thick muscular frame. “But, it makes people nervous if you don’t tell them. Especially when we’ve got enemies.”

  “Like who? The cops, bet they don’t like you.”

  “Hollywood’s the county sheriff, so they kinda gotta like us.” He smirked.

  “A sheriff? How is that possible?”

  “We keep our noses clean and he’s got the experience.” The man rested his forearm on the top of her car.

  She got a good look at his name, Onyx. Made sense, his skin was the type of black that reflected light.

  “You missed breakfast.”

  Meadow reached for her phone and checked the time. Had she really been shooting for that long?

  “It’s all good. Maggie usually has an early lunch and she’s your neighbor.”

  “I probably should get back. I think I’m supposed to meet with a preacher or something about the wedding.”

  “Um, probably Hack. Unless he told Preacher Girl you’ll be taking pictures. I know he wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “Preacher Girl?” Meadow questioned wondering where the names come from, though she feared guessing where Freaky’s generated from.

  “Before my time, but she does like to quote scripture,” he replied. “Not sure the whole story on that rescue.”

  “You all seem to marry rescues.”

  “Not really, most we transport and they move on,” he said. “Only a couple have stayed. Ones who found a place.”

  “What would moving on look like?”

  “For you, it’d take a little bit extra since Dell found you and you didn’t go through the network,” he explained.

  “Network?” Meadow’s eyes narrowed, confused by the terminology.

  “Dark web stuff. The Hard Road, it’s a site people can send up a red flag. It’s nationwide and we help move people around. Give them new identities.”

  “Does Preacher Girl have a new one?”

  “No, she has Hack and a whole MC to protect her,” Onyx said with a broad smile. “When she doesn’t have enough to protect herself.”

  “I heard that before. About Lil’ Mama,” Meadow said wondering if she had it in her to lift a hand in her own defense. Her mouth, yeah, it needed a better filter, but actual violence, she couldn’t see her balling her fist.

  “All I know is, we’re here as back up if a woman needs it, but most have a built in fight response that is pretty deadly.” Onyx ran his hand over his shaved head. “Lord knows, I don’t want to tangle with them.”

  “Outside of the bedroom,” Meadow snipped, her mouth sticking up for women called Hoez even though they didn’t ask for it. “I’m sorry, that’s was completely out of line.”

  “I like it.” A light laugh came from the man. “There’s a little spunk in you Meadow. Don’t worry about going too far here. But I am going to ask you to head back toward the compound.”

  “Asking means I have a choice,” she countered.

  “Yeah, I was trying to be nice.” Onyx slid his glasses back on.

  Meadow brought her camera up to her eye. Capturing the best shot of the clouds and sun in the reflection of his glasses.

  Freaky grabbed his lunch box and headed out to his motorcycle. Strapping the box to the back of his bike, he decided to head over to the garage and see if he could get anywhere with the boys. The house could wait, he wanted an answer for Blood Sport as soon as possible.

  Baldy, being VP, could be his in if the man had thought about their conversation. Plus, he knew men would come to him if they were leaning toward his side and ditching the job of flipping houses. He still wanted to work construction, but needed a little less work for the money.

  A flash of familiar headlights in his sideview mirror made him think he recognized a pickup following him. With all the club members from out of state that may be where it was from. Though he did worry about an organization, American Citizens for Truth United People or ACT-UP, they’d been doing random drop-ins for a few too many months. In theory, the Steels had silenced them for good. But like cockroaches, ACT-UP still had a few men creeping around. They were vicious and he didn’t want any trouble with the wedding just days away.

  Giving the motorcycle a little more gas, he cruised toward the edge of town, pushing his conspiracy theories down. They lived in ranching country, everyone had a damn truck. He made his way to the Steel MC Garage and Fuel. If he could make it there, without any trouble, he h
ad it made.

  The truck kept pace, then inched closer to him and soon was too close for comfort. He didn’t like the situation he found himself in. Freaky curled his fist forward to get away, only to hear the pipes of the truck’s diesel engine rumble coming closer and closer to his back tire. Were they going to hit him? His eyes glanced between his mirror and the road. His skin raising along his back, muscles tightening. He wanted to see who was in the driver’s seat, but the focus would be too much of a risk with the speed he’d hit. The normal ten minute ride to town would take him barely half that time and yet, the world around him was slowing. The few miles stretching out before him like a bad acid trip.

  One bump to his rear tire and Freaky would be done. He didn’t want it to end this way. Fuck this. A county highway crossing up ahead would give him an extra lane and he shifted to the turn lane and slammed on his brakes. The smell of burnt rubber wafted all around him as he skidded to a stop. The truck, driven by a man with poor reflexes shot past him then laid a few tracks on the road itself, as it broke left and whipped back around to where Freaky sat straddling his bike.

  Putting his kick stand down, he dismounted his bike. Standing with his Desert Eagle drawn, waiting on the son-of-a-bitch who’s Uie proved he was a threat.

  The truck slowed, coming to a full stop in the middle of the road. Sure enough inside the cab was three members of the ACT-UP. Outdated camo from some Army-Navy surplus store was the first giveaway for the fucktards. Wannabe soldiers bent on some new world order BS that had nothing to do with making any but their limp dicks hard.

  “What the fuck are you up to?” Freaky yelled.

  “We were just having a little fun,” the twenty-something disenfranchised pencil dick responded.

  “Well, I’m not having fun. You’re pissing me off. You shouldn’t take on something you can’t handle. Get the fuck out of the pickup and confront me like the men you thought you were.”

  “Nah, we don’t want a fight with you.” The guy behind the wheel mocked Freaky.

  Snatching the door handle, Freaky opened the door, grabbed the guy’s shirt and yanked him from the seat. “Didn’t your mama tell you safety first?” Freaky said as the man lay splay on the ground with Freaky’s gun pressed squarely between his eyes. “Buckle up, it saves lives.” With a hard thwack, he knocked the kid dizzy with the butt end of his gun, then holstered his weapon. Three was a bit much, but two, he could handle two.

  The other men got out of the pickup and circled him.

  Pisstivity trumps fear any day and Freaky had taken on more than this back in his day of the military. One stepped to his left and Freaky swung his fist, sending the guy stumbling back against the cab of the truck. His nose spraying blood on his outdated camo hoodie. Then he pivoted on his leg and kicked out, knocking down the second guy. Catching the third guy by the neck, he choked him into a sleeper hold downing him.

  Out of breath, he looked around and noticed Steel and Tiny with their Ol’ Ladies sitting idle on the road. He wondered what they thought of him taking care of these guys himself. Though they men were slightly knocked out, they were stirring awake.

  “Never been in a Montana traffic jam,” Tiny hollered toward Steel. “These are way more entertaining than the ones back home.”

  “Agreed,” Steel replied. “But I gotta get to the clinic to see Red, so you mind moving the debris field, Freaky?”

  Freaky kicked at the men with is steel toed boots. “I want you three to get back into the pickup and get the hell out of here. Go back to where you crawled out of and stay there. Don’t think having a little fun with one of us will do you any good.”

  The three men tried to gather themselves, catching sight of the extra set of bikes had them scrambling inside the truck and soon, they peeled away from the spot.

  “Anyone we should worry about?” Tiny asked.

  “Nah…” Freaky shook his head. “They like to poke their head in every few weeks to let us know we might need to have Brick set a few more bombs and blow their asses away for good.”

  “Yeah, we get a few ACT-Ups around our compound,” Steel replied. “Can’t fix stupid.”

  The men swerved around Freaky.

  He made his way back on his bike and settled into the soft leather seat. Feeling better than he had in a long time, he needed the talk with Baldy now, and he would be complete.

  Pulling up to the gas station, he saw Baldy, Hack and Cass were getting on their bikes. When they caught sight of him, they dismounted and walked up to him.

  “Heard you were having a little trouble.” Cass grabbed his hand and pulled him into a shoulder bump.

  “Nah, it was a couple-three guys from ACT, they thought they would have a little fun and follow me around getting too damn close to my bike. I took care of them then sent them on their way.”

  “Seriously? All three of them. You were damn lucky you didn’t get your ass beat.” Hack shoulder bumped him.

  Baldy grabbed his hand and did the same in a hug. “Glad you’re good man.”

  “Never better. I can handle a few post-pubescent wannabees. They weren’t very big.” Freaky stretched his fingers, then curled them into fists. “I wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

  “What’s up?” Cass asked.

  “I think we should really think about running guns and making us some real money. I’ll still flip houses, but we need some income coming in on a regular basis and I think it’s a good source. I’d like to think I have you three on my side when it’s time to vote.” Freaky wasn’t sure if he was stepping over boundaries by coming to these three, but it was worth a try.

  “I don’t know. It’s kind of dangerous, don’t you think?” Hack smoothed his hair back with his hand.

  “Please, we’ve handled harder projects, and Lord knows we’ve all had to make a supply run in country that wasn’t exactly slick.” Freaky caught sight of Baldy, the only man in this circle to not serve, crossing his arms. “Look, I think it would be some easy money. What do you say?”

  “I’ll have to think about it. Let’s talk about it at another time. Maybe after the wedding.” Hack sat down on his motorcycle. The man, beyond stressed about the days ahead he couldn’t fault him, but the other two had to have an opinion.

  Cass nodded his head. “I think that’s a great idea. I kind of want to say yes on the matter. But I’d like to talk to Lil’ Mama about it and see what her opinion is. Mouths to feed, butts to diaper, I may be on the road, but she’d be the one taking the hit if shit went south.”

  Baldy reached out and shook Freaky’s hand. “Man, I’d like to think we could vote on this after the wedding. I’m going to talk to Lil’ Bit about it as well. She’s got two votes in my mind. Sending a husband and brother out there.”

  Cass nodded in agreement to that. His little sister had been around MCs longer than most of the Ol’ Ladies and had a perspective he hadn’t considered.

  “That’s all I can ask. Thanks guys.” Freaky got on his motorcycle and waved to them. “I gotta get to the house on Birch before Brick decides a few crossed wires will demo faster than his hammer.”

  9

  Meadow decided to head over to the clubhouse for dinner. She was hungry and didn’t want to sit in the trailer all night again. Maggie had brought her food, accompanied by a lovely woman named Camille. She struggled with words, but the older woman was able to communicate. From what Maggie indicated, it was a vast improvement from when she arrived with Annie last fall. Meadow then had to discern who Annie was, and quickly learned it was Cream. The woman she’d seen when she first arrived pulling a blond haired man on her lap.

  With Maggie, proper names were used as naturally as the road names. Red was her son Josh, and his wife Roadkill’s real name was Novalee. The proud grandmother claimed all the kids on the compound. Lil’ Mama, or Amelia’s, three with Pete, Casanova. And Brian and Kristy’s newly adopted son, Beno. She had noticed Baldy and Lil’ Bit were overprotective of the young man, but hearing his history and h
ow he came to be their son, she didn’t blame them.

  Camille was the one who interested her the most. Walking with the aid of a cane, she was engaged in the conversation and Maggie fussed around without a second thought to her friend being disabled. There was no give when it came to Red’s mother, Meadow learned. She met people where they were at and expected them to do the same.

  But tonight she wasn’t going to hide away. She knew she had to get to know the people better and in a way, it would come out in her pictures during the wedding. Capturing the truth of the brotherhood and friendship bonds that had brought all these people together.

  She needed to decide what to do next after this. She had only committed to one week with this Steel MC, following the wedding. Porsche was right about Clive, and the distance was good for Meadow. It allowed her time to truly reflect on the world she’d deluded herself into creating.

  Combing her long hair, then pulling it into a ponytail back away from her face, she was ready. Her light blouse and dark jeans completed her outfit. Throwing on boots she felt put together enough. Her eyes cut to her camera, but she stamped her foot. “No, Meadow, leave it,” she spoke the words aloud to stop herself from using her own crutch. “Interact with people.”

  When she pulled up outside the clubhouse, her palm itched from not being able to snag her camera from the passenger seat. She swore the bikes around here were like bunnies. Every time there were a dozen more, like her going to the trailer alone had left them unsupervised and breeding.

  Going into the large dining area, she found most of the people. Steel and Dell were sitting at a table with several other people. She recognized a few, but many were strangers that melded together in a mix of leather and paisley printed kerchiefs. Walking up to the serving area, she found a plate. She put a sandwich, some cut up fresh veggies and a scoop of potato salad to complete her dinner. Now to find somewhere to sit.