Chas's Fervor: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 3)

by Wilder, Chiah

  “Let’s kick these assholes outta the club and get the fuck home. Do we really have to see anything more?” Axe, face taut and fists clenched, pushed back in his chair with his steel-toed boots.

  “Easy, man. These fuckers are out, that’s for sure, but we gotta pick the right time, and this isn’t it.” Chas tilted his head toward the bar.

  Standing by the bar stools, the sheriff and two deputies laughed and flirted with the skimpily clad waitress who looked barely legal.

  “Fucking badges are greasing their palms with more than moolah.” Rock’s lip curled, and his look hardened as he eyed the forty-something sheriff.

  “We gotta bide our time. Jumping in now would be fuckin’ stupid.” Hawk’s jaw tightened when the young dancer picked up her tips from the stage floor. “We’ve seen enough, let’s get the fuck outta here. We’ve got a clubhouse to raid.” With a cruel smile, he stood up from the table. The other members jumped up and followed their vice president out the door. Mounting their Harleys, they rode to the charter’s clubhouse, their blood pumping, muscles twitching, and hearts pounding—a good ass-kicking always hyped them up.

  When they approached the Kilson charter’s clubhouse, they saw a few of the members huddled in a circle to the side of the front door. Hawk and Chas approached them, the gravel under their feet crunching. One of the Kilson members turned. “Hey,” he slurred, “who the fuck are you?” His eyes focused on the Insurgents’ rocker on their leather jackets. “Fuck, you’re one of us. Welcome.” His blood-shot eyes sized them up.

  “Hey,” Hawk answered. “What do you guys have going on here?” He pushed his way between two members.

  Chas, right behind Hawk, did the same.

  “We got a bitch who needs punishing,” the man next to Hawk snarled.

  On a dirty mattress, a young girl, eyes swollen shut, bruises coloring her body, was held down by two members as another member raped her. Her yelps of pain and humiliation fell on deaf ears as the other members yelled, “Fuckin’ whore!” while they waited their turn.

  Many outlaw clubs condoned the punishment of their women, whether they were club whores, mamas, or old ladies. The common form of punishments in these clubs was to forcibly pull a train on the woman after using physical means to restrain her. That usually meant a beating and holding her down while a group of members, or the whole membership, took their turns raping her.

  The Insurgents was one of the outlaw clubs that did not prescribe to this form of punishment. Women in their clubs were there voluntarily, and sex was consensual. Sometimes, at the club parties, brothers drank too much and some things could happen, but if noticed, it was stopped right then and there. The Insurgents did not coerce their old ladies or club whores to strip or prostitute in order to earn money for the club. Any charter engaging in activity not condoned by the mother club, risked hefty fines or expulsion from the Insurgents MC.

  The Kilson chapter not only took part in sexual activity with teenagers, they were forcing their women to work in strip bars, massage parlors, and in prostitution. Punishing the unfortunate woman in the circle by forcing her to pull a train sickened Chas. From the slack muscles on Hawk’s face and the pity reflected in his eyes, Chas knew he felt sorry for the writhing, bruised woman on the mattress.

  Stepping away from the circle, Hawk said in a low voice, “We’re going inside the clubhouse. If we start something out here, they’ll be tipped off inside.”

  Chas and Hawk joined the others.

  “Pug and Razor, stay out here and watch the sonsofbitches. If you hear shit going down in the club, stop what’s going on over there.” Hawk jerked his head in the direction of the members.

  There were six members around the woman. “We can easily handle the fuckers,” Razor snarled, his eyes narrowed.

  Looking at the rest of his brothers, Hawk asked, “We ready to kick some fucking ass?”

  Snickering and cussing, the Colorado group entered the charter’s clubhouse.

  The main room housed around twelve members who were engaged in various activities: snorting coke, shooting up, and fucking. A young woman, wearing only a bikini, came up to Chas. Smiling at him, her bottom teeth crooked, she said, “I never seen you around here. You want me to keep you company?”

  Chas looked at her petite body, long brown hair, and heavily made-up face. “How old are you?”

  Rubbing her hand up his arm, she cooed, “How old do you want me to be?”

  “Your true age.”

  Taken aback by his answer, her eyes skimmed his jacket. “You a member?”

  Chas turned around, showing his rocker to her.

  Relief spread over her face. “I needed to make sure. Don’t want to be busted, you know?” She rubbed his arm again.

  “So, how old are you? The truth.”

  “Sixteen. You one of them who likes ’em younger?”

  “No, I like them older. Do you live here, or are you a hoodrat?”

  Bristling, she snapped, “I’m no hoodrat. I’m Shack’s ol’ lady.” Pride beamed in her eyes.

  Chas’s stomach twisted. The fuckin’ sick sack of shit. We shoulda killed him when we were up here the last time.

  “Percy, get the fuck away from him,” a man shouted from nearby.

  “But you told me you was loaning me out tonight. You wanted it. I didn’t,” she responded.

  “Get the fuck away from him. Now!” Shack’s eyes darkened with fury, as he roughly jerked her away.

  “Ow. Why you mad at me? I didn’t do nothing wrong.” Percy’s hazel eyes held fear.

  “I’ll deal with you later.” Shack shoved her away.

  Chas viewed Shack with an icy gaze. “Roughing up young girls the only way to make your cock hard?”

  Taking in the Colorado members, Shack sneered, “Get the fuck outta our clubhouse.”

  “Throw us out with your right arm,” Chas said, his brothers laughing.

  “You motherfucker!” Shack swung at Chas, who ducked then punched Shack in the face before he socked him in the stomach.

  Bowled over and clutching his middle, blood from Shack’s split lip dropped on the concrete floor. Several members yelled and rushed over to him.

  “What the fuck’s goin’ on?” Dustin asked as he pushed through.

  “Seems like we need to be asking you that question,” Hawk said.

  “Let’s everyone calm down and grab some beers.” Dustin pointed at the bar.

  “We’re not fuckin’ calming down, you sorry piece of shit.” Jax’s red face was inches from Dustin’s.

  Dustin, stiff and glaring, said, “Get the fuck outta my face and learn some respect, boy. I’m the president of this club, and if you don’t fuckin’ back up, I’m gonna beat your fucking ass.”

  “Ha! Your old ass is the one that’s gonna get a beatin’, right after we take away your colors.” Jax lunged toward Dustin like a bull in a ring.

  Hawk pulled Jax back. “Calm down, brother. I got this.”

  “At least someone in your group has respect.” Dustin stood frozen to his spot, his eyes glinting with hatred.

  “Speaking of respect, you and your sorry bunch of fuckers don’t have any of it for Banger. He’s the national president, and you assholes do whatever the fuck you want without any respect for his orders. Your club is more than off-course with anything Insurgents. Because of your fuckin’ shit, my brothers and I had to drag our asses to Nebraska a while back to patch up the botched arms deal you had with Liam. I was pissed ’bout that. Kept me from my old lady’s pussy.” Hawk scrubbed his hand over his face. “You were warned back then to clean up your shit. No underage women, no hard drugs, no forced sex. Now, I come here and find a group of fuckers beating up and raping a woman?”

  “How we deal with internal problems is our business.”

  “Banger doesn’t see it that way, Dustin. Not at all. How the fuck old is she?” Hawk said, his voice deadly calm.

  “It’s none of your fuckin’ business. This doesn’t concern you or Ba

nger. I’m gonna ask you to leave my club.”

  Hawk eyed his fellow brothers, turned to Dustin, and said, “We’re going to leave right after we take the club emblem, which you have framed so nicely, hanging on the wall.”

  Red-faced, Dustin screamed, “You’re not taking shit! I’ve been an Insurgent too long to put up with this bullshit. Get the fuck out! I’ll call Banger and tell him to get his coward ass up here next time.”

  “There’s not going to be a next time.” Hawk grinned widely as his fist, decorated with silver skull rings, bashed Dustin’s face, shattering his nose. “Your colors are gone. Your fuckin’ ass is no longer an Insurgent.” Yelling over his shoulder, he said to his brothers, “Let’s finish this shit up and grab the emblem.” As Dustin lunged at him, Hawk smashed an elbow into the side of his skull, high on his temple. The man dropped to his knees.

  As Hawk beat Dustin, Chas fended off a member who rushed toward Hawk. Noticing the man slipped his hand under his cut, Chas charged. The .22 revolver shone under the overhead lights. Chas zeroed in on the man’s wrist and slid his hand under it. In a flash, the man’s arm was pinned behind his back, and Chas pulled him down, taking the gun before the guy crashed into the floor. Blood splattered around him as Chas pistol-whipped him.

  The musty smell of sweat permeated the room. Shouts reverberated off the blood-spattered walls. Pop. Pop. Pop. The staccato shots punctuated the chaos.

  As Chas moved toward the emblem on the wall, a big, burly charter member sucker-punched him and he crumpled on the floor. What the fuck? His brain screamed as he gasped for air. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black boot aimed at his gut. Taking out his knife, he sliced the member’s shin. Blood flowed. Another slash to the other shin. The man went down. Breathing better, Chas propped up on his knees and bent over the man. In a single movement, Chas slashed his throat, the man’s last exhalation sounding like a balloon releasing air.

  Since most of the charter members were stoned and drunk, Chas and his brothers sustained minimal injuries: black eyes, bruises, and cuts. Jerry had the worst injury, a large cut next to his left eye. Holding his t-shirt against it, he staggered toward the framed emblem. Chas caught up to him as he pulled it off the wall.

  “Hey, man, did you get shot?” Chas asked as he broke the glass and took out the cloth emblem.

  “Fucker nailed me with his kill-light.”

  “Fuck. Let me help you outta here.” Chas knew a kill-light—a large industrial flashlight—could crush a skull. With an arm around Jerry’s waist, Chas guided him outside.

  The cold air brought a rush of renewed energy to Chas as he helped Jerry over to his Harley. Glancing over at the six crumpled charter members, he laughed aloud. Pug and Ruben took care of the assholes, all right. Wonder where the woman is?

  “Did you get it?” Hawk asked as he came over to Chas.

  “Yeah. It’s all folded and waiting to be handed over to Banger. Where are the women?”

  “We could only find five of them. The one out here,” Hawk gestured to the spot where the crumpled members lay, “isn’t around. Fuckin’ pussy Shack took his ‘woman’ and ran. Coward!” Hawk’s eyes flashed with rage. “Couldn’t stop him ’cause I had two fuckers I had to fight off. Fuck!” He raked his loosened hair with his fingers. “I didn’t want her to end up with him.”

  Chas clasped his hand on Hawk’s shoulder. “You did your best. There was so much shit going on. Don’t be hard on yourself, man. You can’t blame yourself for not saving her.”

  With a tight face, Hawk stared out into the night. “But I do.” He spat on the ground.

  “We gotta get Jerry to a doctor or something. One of the fuckers clobbered him with a kill-light.”

  Hawk spun around. Jerry sat on his Harley, his head in his hands. “Fuck, let’s go. The women who are here don’t wanna leave. They wanna stay, keep saying they love the bastards.”

  “We gonna let them stay?” Chas asked, as he walked toward his bike.

  “Not much choice. They won’t go, and we can’t force them. Let’s head out.” Hawk honked the horn of his Harley several times.

  The Colorado members jumped on their bikes and revved up their engines. Dustin, standing in the doorway, shot daggers at the Insurgents. “You can fuckin’ bet this shit ain’t over. You think I’m accepting this? Fuck no. There will be hell to pay for what you did.”

  With a big smile plastered on his face, Hawk said, “Sounds like a hell of an invitation. As of now, you and your sorry-ass pussies are no longer Insurgents. It’s a damn good thing none of you were packin’ a back tattoo, ’cause we’d have burned it off.”

  “Fuck you!” Dustin yelled as the Colorado members headed out into the inky darkness.

  While they rode, Chas kept checking on Jerry, who kept slumping further down. Speeding up to Hawk, Chas motioned to stop.

  At the next rest stop, they pulled over. Chas walked over to Hawk and said, “Jerry’s losing a lot of blood. I’m afraid he’s gonna pass out. We gotta get him some help.”

  Hawk took out his cell phone and dialed. After he was finished with his call, he looked at the group and stated, “A couple of members from our charter in Kearney are coming. One’s bringing a car to take Jerry so he doesn’t have to ride bitch. I told ’em to call their doc to be ready to patch him up.”

  As they waited for the Kearney members, Chas and Axe watched Jerry, throwing water or beer in his face whenever he started to drift off. After what seemed like an eternity to Chas, the charter members arrived, loaded Jerry in the car, and within a half hour, Jerry was on a bed, the doctor stitching him up. Once morning came, the group would take off for Pinewood Springs, the cloth emblem waiting to be presented to Banger and the other brothers.

  Chas went outside to breathe in the cold air. Picking up his phone, he dialed Addie’s number. No answer. He tried again. No answer. Heat pricked at Chas’s skin as his eyes narrowed. Where the fuck is she? It’s past eleven o’clock on a Thursday night. He dialed again. No answer. Fuck! Irritation stung his skin as he imagined Addie on a date with another man. What the fuck was the name of that nerd I saw her with last week? If she’s with him, I’ll break his goddamn neck.

  Taking out a joint, Chas lit it and pulled the smoke in deeply, held it for a few seconds, then exhaled. Premium pot did it for him every time, and he needed to relax. It pissed him off that he was mad as hell about Addie not answering her phone. Women called him, and she hadn’t bothered to call him yet, so he’d weakened and called her, and she didn’t even fucking pick up.

  Maybe it was better she hadn’t because he didn’t want to get involved with her except for fucking, even though the connection he felt between them was electric. It’s just lust. She’s a challenge, and I like her body. She’s just a woman. And in the biker world, women were pretty much expendable. They didn’t rate on the same level as the brothers, so why was he so focused on Addie? The last thing he wanted was another involvement with a woman. Brianna had been more than enough for one lifetime. He found the librarian sexy and pretty, and he wanted to have some fun with her, but that was at far as it should, and would, go.

  Female laughter and pounding rock music filtered outside the club. If he had any brains, he would march right back in there, grab a big-titted redhead, and fuck her senseless. Taking another hit, he exhaled slowly. Who am I kidding? I can’t wait to see Addie again, and kiss her. I had a good time a few nights ago, talking and just being with her.

  Taking out his phone, he dialed. Again, no answer. Staring at the screen, his muscles twitched.

  I really want to hear her voice.

  * * *

  Hoots, hollers, and whistles greeted the Colorado members when they entered their clubhouse after their trip to Kilson, Nebraska. Chas held up the emblem, and the brothers stomped their feet and banged their fists on the tables and bar.

  Banger walked up to them, drew each of them in a bear hug, and smiled, the skin crinkling around his eyes. “You done good. Dustin called me, cussing up a storm.” He laughed as he recalled the incident. “I told him I don’t talk to anyone but Insurgents, and then I told him to fuck himself.” Banger burst out laughing.

  “Let’s fuckin’ party!” one of the older members yelled.

  Although it was eleven o’clock in the morning, party time was any time for the MC. The booze flowed freely as the club whores strutted around, swaying their hips to the pulsating rock music. The whole club was in a good mood, and the returning warriors wanted nothing more than to celebrate.

  Cherri ran over to Jax and threw her arms around her man. Pulling her head back, Jax kissed her deeply before he scooped her up in his arms and headed to the rooms downstairs to give his old lady some overdue loving.

  Chas turned to Jerry, who wore a massive bandage over his left eye, and asked, “You up for this, or you want me to help you to your room?”

  Jerry’s fingers touched his bandage. “It looks a lot worse than it feels. I’m good. I need some beer and some pussy and nothing more.”

  Chas chuckled, grasping his brother’s shoulder. After he threw back a shot of Jack, he strode out to the parking lot and called Addie. No answer. What the fuck? The previous night, his anger punched his gut each time he heard her voice message. But that anger had been replaced with worry as he heard her voice message once again. A stab in the gut told him something was off. He dialed the library.

  “Pinewood Springs Library, how can I help you?” a cheerful voice greeted him.

  “I need to speak with Addie O’Leary.”

  “I’m sorry, but she’s not in. Would you like her voicemail?”

  “Not in? Where the fuck is she?” Chas growled.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  “Where the fuck is she? I don’t like repeating myself.”

  “I can’t really tell you details about her. It’s the privacy thing—”

  “Get the old lady on the phone.”

  “What?”

  “What’d I tell you ’bout repeating myself?” Chas wanted to strangle the woman.

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