Fury

by Cat Porter

  I strode into the metal shed, an old seed warehouse we kept for storage between shipments and drop-offs. Plenty of shit lay buried in the ground here. Butler leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed, his hair damp with sweat. My men, eyes on me, had gathered around the prisoner. Creeper tugged on his chains, and my pulse beat hard at the sound.

  I got in his face, two inches from his sweating, foul-smelling skin. “You fucking kidnapped a baby? One of mine?”

  His red, glassy eyes flared as he twisted in his shackles. Moans and growls escaped his taped mouth.

  “Such a fucking bad move, you shit. You’re going to feel how bad, then Butler’s going take you back to the One-Eyed Jacks. You don’t betray your own club and other clubs over and over again and not pay the price. Am I right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right!” My men hooted their agreement.

  I took in a breath, my chest lightening at the potency of communal anticipation, the fierce smell of blood in the air.

  I removed my gloves and nodded at Catch. “Show him what you got.”

  Butler had taken off, leaving Creeper behind at our safe house. He’d let us know when he’d be back to take the prisoner to the Jacks. The man was designing his presentation for Jump.

  “You good?” I asked Catch later that night in our lounge, pulling him from a potential threesome with two petite brunettes before he got his dick out. My men were thrilled that we’d taken down our target. The holy trinity of adrenaline, testosterone, and job satisfaction always demanded a celebration.

  “For now, yeah.” Catch drained his beer, leaning against a wall by my office door. “I have something for you. I found this on Creeper.” He handed me a torn and blood-stained business card.

  Alejandro Calderón

  The Calderas Group

  Denver, CO

  “Found plenty of business cards and a bunch of crazy shit in his pockets and on his bike. From what Butler said, he started out as a petty thief, pickpocketing, breaking into cars. Old habits die hard.”

  I tapped the edge of the creased beige card. “I’ve heard of this guy. You get anything on him?”

  “Me and Den did a little research after Butler left,” said Catch. “This Calderas Group is Salvadoran mob parading around as a Latin American import-export business—coffee, wines. But back in the eighties, they were the Executioners—”

  “The most powerful Salvadoran gang in Denver.”

  “You’ve heard of them?” Catch asked, wiping at his mouth.

  “Yeah, the Executioners were big time back in the day.”

  “They got their shit organized in the nineties, transforming themselves into this “legitimate” commercial corporation. Word is they still have ties with a major player in Mexico.”

  “Which means, they’re still heavy into crack, cocaine, weapons, like they used to be in the good old days.”

  “Yep.”

  “You asked Creeper about him?”

  “I convinced him to share.” Catch’s eyes gleamed with a satisfying memory. “Seems this Calderón was at the Broken Blades. He’s looking to spread his organization’s wings outside of Colorado. New opportunities for all and all that corporate bullshit.”

  The ache at the base of my skull pounded. The Blades had been weakened over the years, and now Notch was flirting with a crime organization from Denver? An organization that was trying to control territory right next to mine? Push against mine?

  Fuck no.

  Catch gestured at one of the girls to bring him a fresh beer. “Calderón has got choice routes out of the old country through New Mexico to Colorado,” he said. “And don’t tell me he hasn’t heard of the Blades’s underground warehouse and meth factory which isn’t too far away from us. Everyone’s salivating over it. We’re salivating over it. If the Blades hook up with them, that could be a real problem for us in the long run.”

  “Fucking Notch.”

  “You got to give him an A for effort,” Catch said.

  “He’s going to be getting an F and in more ways than one.”

  “Looking forward to that,” muttered Catch.

  I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good work.”

  His back straightened. “Thanks, Prez.”

  One of the girls brought him a beer, and Catch slapped her ass, laughing as she strut away, heading back to the couch where he’d left her earlier. She sat in the other’s girl’s lap, spreading her legs for him. Catch chuckled. It was a dark sound. He was drowning himself tonight—in violence, in booze, in sex. But his eyes told me the raw sting remained, still burned.

  “Go, enjoy your party.”

  “Yeah.” Catch swallowed a mouthful of beer and strode off.

  “Prez!” Den came up to me, his teeth scraping across his lip.

  “Where’ve you been holed up? You deserve a break. What’s with you?”

  “I caught interference in the area today.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’ve been trying out this new detection equipment since this whole thing with Creeper started—”

  “Yeah?”

  “Someone was out there today. I picked up on them and then they disappeared. Been following up, trying to trace it, find it, but I can’t.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “They were out there, Prez, and they were watching us.”

  44

  Urgent beeping in the dark slammed into my rush, cutting in on my driving rhythm.

  An emergency text from Drac. Dammit.

  I pulled out of the girl and, reaching over her, grabbed my blinking cell phone on her nightstand. My dick groaned as she groaned underneath me, smashing her face in the crumpled sheets, her ass remaining in the air.

  The One-Eyed Jacks had taken Catch and beaten him, but now he was back at the Farm.

  What the fuck?

  It’d been almost five months since Jill and Catch had broken up. Tonight, he’d gone to Meager to visit his daughter and his mother. How did he end up tangling with the Jacks?

  My hand went to my straining, unsatisfied cock. Nothing like a case of blue balls at two in the morning. I yanked off the condom. Samantha sat up at the sound of the snapping rubber, a hand in her messy hair. She was a new hanger-on who’d caught my eye at our local bar last night.

  “Gotta go.” Getting out of the bed, I snatched up my clothes from the floor and got dressed again.

  “You’re leaving?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, um, it’s not that late.” She pushed her long red hair away from her face, her full tits visible in the hazy candle light. “If you get done, you should come back tonight. You know, if you want.”

  I only let out a grunt as I slid my boots on.

  My aching, unhappy cock twitched at the invite, but I knew damn well that getting some sleep in my own bed if I got the chance would be more important after this new headache with Catch.

  I got on my bike and headed to the Farm where grim faces greeted me in the clubroom. Drac inspected a bloodied and bruised Catch who was stretched out on the sofa.

  “Is he alive?” I asked.

  “Oh, he’s alive all right,” replied Drac, his tone weary.

  Led, a Flame from Reich’s Ohio chapter, stood next to Catch, his arms crossed.

  “What the hell are you doing here and why didn’t I know about it?” I asked him.

  Led shifted his weight. “I’ve been over at the One Eyed Jacks in South Dakota. Came down with Nina, Reich’s sister-in-law. Nina’s Butler’s old lady now. Catch showed up at their clubhouse, there was trouble, and I brought him back here.”

  Butler hooked up with Reich’s sister-in-law? What the hell?

  Catch sat up, clutching his middle, his one good eye caught my hard gaze. “Prez—”

  “What did you do?” I asked
him, my tone sharp. “Why the hell were you at the Jacks’?”

  “I was with Becca at my ma’s house. Then Jill came home.”

  “And?”

  “And I saw that she’s fucking pregnant. I flipped out.”

  “You flipped out, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on her, and —”

  “What the fuck for?”

  “She’s friends with Grace now, and Grace is a Jack.”

  “What are the Jacks going do to your ex, Catch? Poison her? Poison her against you?” My voice boomed and everyone winced.

  “She’s been hanging out with Boner, their SA,” Catch spit out. “I saw her belly sticking out, and I figured she got knocked up with his kid. What the fuck, right? First me, then him? So, I took her over there and found him, and he tells me she’s his old lady now. You believe that shit? She’s Boner’s old lady.”

  “That’s bothering your ego, is it?”

  His bruised and cut face reddened, his jaw jutting out. He was a ball of angry confusion. “Yeah, okay? It fucking is!”

  I towered over him. “Not four, five months ago, Jill stood right here and told you, told all of us, loud and clear, that you two were over, then she walked the fuck out. What don’t you get about that?”

  Silence.

  “When a woman tells you she doesn’t want you no more, you believe her. When she walks out on you, you fucking believe her!” My harsh words seethed from the pit of my black soul and crackled through the room.

  Catch averted his gaze to the floor, his jaw pulsing. The industrial light fixtures buzzed overhead.

  “What you don’t do is go chasing after her at her new man’s clubhouse,” I said. “A man who happens to be a respected officer of a club we are friendly with.” The blood pounded in my head. “Back it up—define took her over there.”

  “I, uh...”

  I shot Led a look. “What did he do?”

  “He dragged her over to the Jack’s clubhouse on his bike,” Led said. “Girl was barely dressed. Pulled her in by the hair like some cave man. Lock went up behind him, pulled a shotgun on him to get him down, and he let her go. Then Boner had his way with him.”

  “Good for Boner,” I muttered.

  Catch glared at me, wiping at his blood smeared nose. The hurt, misunderstood boy.

  I slanted my head, returning his glare. “You expect me to applaud your fine example of manliness this evening?”

  “I—”

  “You put a pregnant woman in danger, the mother of your own child?”

  Catch’s head swung to the side. “Kid’s not even his.”

  “What?” said Drac.

  “Jill’s new baby ain’t Boner’s. She’s a surrogate mother for Grace. Grace can’t have kids, and Jill offered to have her and Lock’s baby.”

  Drac wiped a hand down his face. “Aw, shit.”

  “So, you were wrong,” I said.

  “I was wrong,” said Catch.

  “I’ll bet Jill tried to explain, but you went off.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I did,” Catch said, his voice low. “In front of my mother, in front of Becca. In front of all the Jacks.”

  “Feel good?”

  “No.”

  “You apologized?”

  Catch let out a rough breath. “Every which way Boner and Lock wanted.”

  I clenched my teeth against the anger churning in my chest, boiling up my throat.

  I glanced at the large clock hanging over the center of the room. 3:32 am. “First thing in the morning, you call your mother and apologize and talk to your daughter. Then you call Jill and apologize. This is called being a man. Owning up to when you’re wrong. Making shit you fucked up right. Looking out for the people you love.”

  I squatted down next to him. “You got some growing up to do. That would be controlling yourself. You’ve got good instincts, but you can’t go off the rails where women and children are concerned. You save up that fire for when your brothers need you, when you’re called.”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  I rose to my feet. “Go ahead, throw him his pity party.”

  Slade clapped a hand on Catch’s shoulder. Den handed Led and Slade a beer. Drac gave me a glass of bourbon, and I drained it in one shot, but it did nothing to alleviate the pounding ache over my skull. I was tempted to go back to that girl’s bed and finish what we’d started. A good hard fuck, a good quick fix. But no matter how much my frustrated cock and high adrenaline level fed that urge, I didn’t have the energy to get back on my bike. I was exhausted.

  “Refill,” I said, licking my lips. Drac poured me another. Leper crept into the room and sat at my feet.

  I gestured at Led with my glass as I rubbed the dog’s head. “Did he really say that Butler has a new old lady and she’s related to Reich?”

  “Yep, that’s what the man said,” Drac took a swig from the bourbon bottle.

  I didn’t like that. I didn’t like that one bit. Butler “related” to Reich? “Related” to his club?

  “I want to know about any business between the One-Eyed Jacks and Reich,” I said. “Anything.”

  Drac glanced over at Led. “He’s spending the night. I’ll get something out of him.”

  Catch stretched out on the sofa next to Den, a beer bottle in his hand, a scowl etched on his busted face.

  Catch wasn’t going to let this drama die. Somehow I knew this wouldn’t be the end of it.

  And I was right.

  45

  “We didn’t miss Allen’s first set, did we?” asked Grace, hanging her fringed leather hobo bag from her chair. Settling into their seats at our table at Pete’s Tavern, Grace and Lock glanced up at the small stage where a solo guitarist was jamming on B.B. King’s “The Thrill is Gone.”

  “No, you didn’t miss it,” I replied.

  Grace had invited me, Tricky, Boner, and Jill to come to Pete’s tonight to listen to The Dwellers, a group of local musicians. Grace knew the bassist, Allen. Actually, it turned out Grace also knew Eric. Once upon a time, she had managed Pete’s and helped promote many local bands, one of which was Cruel Fate who had gone on to big commercial success.

  Grace and I spent more time together and had become friends. She’d had a crisis period recently when her first gestational surrogate had a miscarriage, and we’d all helped her through a bout of depression and self doubt. Then Jill had offered to carry her and Lock’s baby.

  Meanwhile, Boner and Jill had gotten together. I didn’t know details, and I didn’t feel the need to inquire. They seemed really connected and happy together, and that was a wonderful, beautiful thing.

  I’d learned Tania was moving back to Meager full time. Whenever she’d been in town we kept missing each other between both our work and family commitments. From what Grace and Jill had told me, Tania was now back in Wisconsin packing up the last of her belongings then heading back here. She’d stayed longer in Wisconsin than expected though. Had she tried to patch things up with her husband? We’d find out soon enough.

  I looked forward to seeing her again, even if I wasn’t sure how she’d handle seeing me on her home turf after years of being out of touch. But I knew that Tania and I had one of those friendships that didn’t waver over the passing of time, out of touch or not. We would pick up where we left off.

  I sipped on my beer. “You two cut it close. Allen’s up next. So, what happened?”

  Lock’s smug grin was our answer, and we all laughed.

  Grace blushed. “Can I help it if I’m married to a demanding, bossy man?”

  Lock let out a deep laugh. “I’m the demanding one?” Grace shoved at his chest.

  The guitarist finished his set, and the applause broke out in the old bar. The lights lowered, and The Dwellers took th
e stage filling the bar with their moody jazz music.

  Tricky slid an arm around my shoulders as we listened, planting a quick kiss on the side of my face. He’d become very affectionate in public lately. Very attentive. It was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable, as if something had suddenly shifted between us that I wasn’t on board with. I’d made it very clear from the beginning that I didn’t want any kind of commitment. Light and easy was good for me. It was enough, and he’d agreed.

  I was certain Tricky enjoyed his fair share of women at bars and parties and other clubs whenever he roamed throughout the country on runs. Women always noticed him wherever we went, and he enjoyed the attention, and I didn’t mind it at all. He didn’t mind our age difference and I certainly didn’t either. We didn’t ask each other too many personal questions, and neither of us had a problem with booty calls. All good. I was at that time in my life when my lust hormones were in overdrive. Getting it from an attractive younger hardbody like Tricky whose one aim—aside from getting laid—was to please a woman who knew what she liked could not be missed.

  Tonight, he’d wanted to come pick me up on his bike, but I told him I’d meet him at Pete’s as I had to work late on inventory at the shop which was just around the corner. That was only partly true. I avoided riding on the back of men’s bikes.

  Being on a motorcycle only made me think of one person. Finger. Being with him, riding on his bike. The two of us breaking free, being free. A wedge of disappointment lodged in my heart and blocked my throat the one time I’d gotten on the back of Tricky’s bike, and I’d never done it again. Anyway, it wasn’t my place—I wasn’t his official girlfriend, let alone his old lady.

  But something was different this evening. Tricky was irritated, and I’d sensed it the minute he strode into Pete’s and found me at the table Grace had reserved for us. He’d kissed me, taken my hand in his and hadn’t let go, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the tiny F scar on the inside of my wrist.