Indulge

by C. D. Breadner

  Her blood nearly froze in her veins. “What are you talking about?”

  Now his smile was sickening. “My friends here will provide a safe place for you to stay. You’ll have to make sure that you show your appreciation for their hospitality, though. They will be protecting you, by the way.” He leaned in closer, smile still stuck in place. “Because when your boyfriend’s friends find out what you’ve done, they’re going to kill you.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Buck and Knuckles were stacking boxes of “muffler pipes” in the warehouse, working up a sweat and sharing more than a few curse words.

  Buck was infinitely glad Knuckles agreed to talk to Gertie, but his brother had also advised him he’d just answer her questions. He’d told Buck that only Gertie could decide it was time to change, and it had to be a decision she made for her own well-being. That was a bitter pill to take. Forcing a better decision on someone was human nature. But clearly Gertie couldn’t control herself, and the evidence of that was frightening. He had no idea how to handle it, and maybe that meant she did have to hit bottom before straightening herself out.

  Now they worked quietly, Knuckles letting him digest all that, the conversation taking place in the cargo truck on the way back. Now Knuckles hefted the last crate onto his pile, wiped his forehead and nodded to Buck. “You wanna ask me anything yourself, go ahead, man. I don’t mind, really.”

  Buck dropped his ass onto the open end gate of the truck, sighing like an exhausted old man. “Nah, it’s good.”

  “Really. It doesn’t embarrass me. I got no shame, you should know that,” Knuckles said with a chuckle, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. “This is my only vice,” he muttered around the smoke as he lit up. “This and pussy, of course.”

  “Of course,” Buck chimed in, rubbing his hands on his thighs.

  “Out with it. If you’re going to try to talk your girl through this, you should know what you’re dealing with. Now, everyone’s different. But you can’t piss me off with your questions.”

  Buck puffed out a long breath. “I don’t know. I mean … does it ever go away? One day will you just wake up and not have that … urge?”

  Knuckles was shaking his head before Buck finished. “It’s always there. It’s part of the personality, man. You don’t grow out of it. As time goes on, relapsing just seems like such a waste of everything you’ve done. Not to say it can’t happen. Relapses happen and the thing is to just get up the next day and try harder to do better this time.” He shrugged. “People making you feel like shit for it does no good, because it’s not their life. It’s only yours.”

  Buck was chewing that over when Jayce was in the doorway suddenly, face unreadable. “Board room, right now.” With that he spun sharply and strode away.

  Buck looked to Knuckles, who was frowning and stepping on his cigarette butt. “Something’s up.”

  The board room was strictly for club business. Behind two heavy oak doors was a long convention table with old-school leather chairs. The tabletop was marked from decades of Rebels pen marks, cigarette ash, random slashes from blades, and divots from heavy rings hitting during votes and celebratory table-pounding. The leather of the chairs was just as weathered, and it even smelled like hallowed ground.

  He dropped into his seat, literally at Jayce’s right. His Prez was staring straight ahead while the crew assembled and settled. Rusty was the last one through and he shut both doors before scurrying to his spot.

  “Just heard from G-Dog,” Jayce began without segue. “He named his Sunshine mule, the one bringing the shit back into the US from Canada.”

  Buck frowned, but before anyone could say anything Jayce was going on.

  “Now, you’re likely wondering why. I know I was curious as to why he’d want to open up. Turns out, it was a pretty fucking good reason.” Now the Prez’s eyes swung to Buck, and the SAA was perplexed by his expression. The man was furious but almost apologetic.

  Buck waited a moment, then shook his head. “What’s going on, man?”

  Jayce nodded, then studied his hands intensely. “He gave us the method, the times, the dates of his last three shipments. I don’t think he’s playing with us.”

  Tank was frowning too, so he just finally said what everyone was thinking. “Out with it man. What are we dealing with?”

  “His mule knows us. That’s my problem. His mule is close. And this is fucking betrayal, and I hate to be the one to say this. Because this is going to hurt one of my brothers.”

  Now there was a shifting around the table, everyone obviously wanting to know who he was talking about. Tank and Buck exchanged a look. The VP was just as lost.

  “The mule is Gertie, Buck.”

  Now his head snapped back to the Prez, a cold confusion giving way to the urge to laugh. He gave in to the urge. “What? Jesus, Jayce. What the fuck?”

  Jayce didn’t smile. The room was so silent Buck thought everyone might have left. He scanned the room to see, but the Rebels were staring at him with similar stunned expressions.

  Shit. This wasn’t just his leg being pulled then.

  “I’m sorry, man.” Jayce’s voice was soft, but Buck could still hear the fury in it. “I ain’t even going to ask you, because of what Spaz just had waiting for me when we got back.”

  Now Buck had eyes for their intelligence officer. The kid gulped, hands gripping the table edge. He shook his head. “Shit, Buck I’m so sorry.”

  Before Buck could say a word Jayce was snapping out, “Just say it, man.”

  Spaz nodded. “Okay. We’ve been monitoring the email in her office. It’s really easy to get into. We wanted to make sure her affiliation with you wasn’t hitting the radar of the management there -”

  “Say it,” Jayce roared, hand slapping down palm-first onto the wood.

  “She got fired. Today. Random drug test. She had Oxy in her system, man. They had to let her go.”

  There was sweat on the back of his neck, and his stomach was rolling like he’d just enjoyed some bad shellfish. No, this was the part where he woke up, relieved it was just a booze-fuelled nightmare.

  So when the fuck did he get to wake up?

  “No,” he muttered, running his hand through his hair. “No way. She tried that shit once and got fucking sick, man. There’s no way.”

  “Then someone faked a drug test just to get her fired?” Spaz said, saying it in a stilted, lumbering pace like he expected to get hit for it.

  Buck took a shuddering breath, then tried again. “Doesn’t mean she brought their shit into the country.”

  “They explained it quite thoroughly. She’d go to Vancouver for work, send it back to herself in the interoffice mail then drop it off for G-Town.” Jayce’s voice cut like glass.

  “No,” Buck insisted. “They’re full of shit. Trying to get to us.”

  “It’s fucking working,” Jayce said firmly. “He’s got no reason to lie.”

  “So let’s say we believe this -” Tank started, sounding like a peace maker.

  “We do,” Jayce cut in, but Tank kept rolling.

  “- why the hell are they telling us this? If she’s fired, she can’t help them. So they tell us this just to be pricks?”

  “They have something to stick us with,” Jayce answered. “So they will. Rub it in our faces a bit. See how we handle it.”

  “So how do we handle it?” Fritter drawled.

  Buck’s stomach pitched at that. He wasn’t waking up. This was happening.

  “She’s out,” Jayce replied evenly, eyes on Buck now. “We don’t see her. She comes anywhere near Markham again, she’s escorted out of town. We don’t know what she’s told people.”

  “She didn’t know anything.” Jesus, was that his voice? So thin and pathetic?

  “You sure?” This was from Tank, sounding a lot more sympathetic.

  Buck nodded. “She knew when we were leaving and when we were coming back. Didn’t even tell her where we were headed. All I told her was to be wary o
f G-Town and Gypsys.”

  Jayce had the hairy eyeball on him the whole time, but he seemed convinced when he nodded. “All right. But I mean it, she’s out. Gone. Right?”

  He was so fucking confused and shocked Buck could barely form an answer.

  “She’s out,” Tank spoke for him, which of course wasn’t good enough for Jayce.

  “Buck?”

  He had no other option, of course. He swallowed painfully, nodding. “Yeah. She’s out.”

  Jayce nodded again. “Take off your kutte.”

  Buck felt the burn in his eyes, and he knew Jayce was within his rights to kick Buck right out of the club. Gertie was Buck’s responsibility. To the club’s mind, Buck screwed up.

  He stood, not looking any of his brothers in the eye. The kutte slid down his arms and he laid it out on the table in front of Jayce before sitting back down, his eyes wet. This club was all he had. He was terrified it was about to be wrenched away.

  Jayce pulled out a knife from its sheath on his hip. Without looking up he slid the blade under the corner of Buck’s Sergeant’s patch, picking away at the stitching.

  The relief was instant. Buck breathed deep, and he felt Tiny cup his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

  “Ain’t kicking you out of the club,” Jayce said as he worked. “But this went unnoticed, unsuspected. Can’t have that in my Sergeant.”

  Buck was nodding, wiping at his eyes and keeping his gaze on the tabletop.

  “But she could have gotten closer. Could have learned more. And that would have put us all at risk. So we all owe you a bit of hurt in my eyes.”

  Buck kept nodding, knowing what that meant and surprisingly, he’d been expecting that. Each of his brothers was going to get one unanswered shot in on him. And Jayce wouldn’t let any of them pull any punches, either.

  “Onto other business,” Jayce continued, sliding his kutte back. “New Sergeant. I’m thinking Fritter’s up to it. All in agreement?”

  There was, again, only one response. Everyone offered up a “Yay,” except for Fritter who looked a bit stunned himself.

  “All opposed?”

  The room was silent and the patch was tossed down the table. Buck pushed his chair back, meeting Fritter behind the president’s seat. Fritter was rolling his head back and forth, expression one of absolute discomfort. Buck just shook his head to silently show he was cool, clasping fists and doing the shoulder-pound with the guy before moving to the seat that Fritter had vacated between Tank and Mickey. Fritter took the Sergeant’s spot, still appearing to be uneasy.

  “We can also assume that G-Town has been told who lifted their Thebaine shipment,” Jayce said. “I think we can expect retaliation. I also wonder if we won’t hear from their business associates. They seem like enterprising people. They might want their shit back.”

  Discussion continued around him, but Buck was still numb from the shock. His hands were tightened into fists, and all he could think about was Gertie. The image of her sleeping in his arms, breathing through her mouth softly. Her brow puckering in the dream she was going through. The feel of her the last time they’d made love, wrapped in all her warmth and softness.

  Lying to him. The entire fucking time.

  Yeah, he was pissed. But he was pissed because he was hurt. Grievously. He would never believe she’d intentionally become involved with him, just to turn around and do this. It was a long and weird way to break a guy’s heart. But she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him what was going on? When she was meeting those assholes alone?

  That was heartache. It was breaking through his coldness.

  Buck jumped when Jayce slammed down the gavel. People were filing out of the room. That meant the next order of business had come. And Buck couldn’t even give a shit.

  Spaz took his cell. He’d be issued a new burner with a new number, no way for Gertie to call him. He handed his kutte over too, knowing that it wouldn’t do much to help protect him from what was coming next.

  Thankfully, he was numb. Buck moved to the pool table, leaning back against it and meeting Jayce’s eye. His president was the first one to step up.

  The Rebels didn’t have a boxing ring. About four years ago it went up in flames when someone fell asleep smoking on it, right after banging a sweet butt. Thankfully no one got hurt but the damn thing burned fast and they hadn’t gotten around to replacing it. So this was apparently where the capital punishment would take place.

  The room was unnervingly silent. The radio and TVs were off, the women nowhere to be seen. And for once all his brothers weren’t mouthing off and cracking jokes.

  Jayce’s shot cracked his jaw. The only thing Buck really knew was he was suddenly staring at pool table felt, stars scattered against his vision.

  He straightened and turned to face the next Rebel. Tank. Shit, this was really going to hurt. Tank hit like a falling tree. The VP had a hand on his shoulder, lining him up, then he delivered another jaw shot. The other side.

  Fucking lefty.

  At least the ringing in his head was in stereo, he felt more balanced. Next was Knuckles. The freak delivered a gut shot, which was shitty but at least it gave his head a break. Tiny gave him a kidney shot before Mickey returned to his face. Mickey looked the most torn about the whole thing.

  Everyone took their turn. By the end he was cotton-headed, bleeding, and aching on every inch of his torso. But they still hadn’t hurt him as much as Gertie did.

  Knuckles was suddenly there before Buck could pitch onto the floor once Rusty was stepping away after delivering the final gut shot. The tall fucker hitched an arm around him, and to his own embarrassment Buck slung his arm around Knuckles’ shoulders to keep himself upright. Knuckles’ helped him through the clubhouse, across the lot, and up the stairs to his dorm.

  Not a word was said. Knuckles deposited him on the comforter, turned on the lamp, and got him his Aspirin. He even left him with the bottle and a glass of water before shutting off the lights for him. Buck’s head and body ached while he stared up at the ceiling; his understanding of the world was reeling.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  No one knew where she was.

  Gertie was on the back of a bike, arms around a man she didn’t know out of necessity because otherwise she’d tumble off the back. And on the highway that wasn’t a good idea.

  Yes, the highway. They were headed for Hazeldale, which barely ranked higher for scuzz factor in Gertie’s mind than Markham. But no one asked her for her preference.

  Someone had her keys and was going through her apartment at the moment, too. They took her phone, her purse, and shoved her off to this biker named Bark who currently held her life in his hands.

  She was too scared to weigh her options of survival. All she could think of was how everything was crumbling around her. Her job, her life. And undoubtedly she was about to lose Buck as well.

  Gertie knew well these were the people she was supposed to avoid, but when a handgun was in your ribs there wasn’t much opportunity to kick up a fuss and fight back. The G-Town guys handed her over, just gave her to the Gypsys like she was a used car.

  They stopped in front of a sagging-roof building in Hazeldale, closest side of town to Bakersfield. It had metal siding and a tin roof, huge garage doors on the front that looked like they hadn’t moved in decades. Bark dropped the kick stand for his bike and waited while she climbed off.

  With heavy feet she stood and waited for the next instruction. There was a lead ball in her chest, and Bark avoided looking at her. He’d been very quiet the whole time, and now he took her by the arm and pushed her ahead of him to a heavy steel door. It was unlocked. He reached around her and pushed the door open then steered her into a dark room.

  It smelled like stale beer and body odor. There were mismatched tables and chairs scattered around, a pool table with torn felt parked in the centre and a bar in the far corner. Next to the bar was a low stage with a pole. The keepers of that pole were lounging out on a living ro
om set that was new in about 1967.

  The light was oppressive and dim. The place smelled like dismay. This was not a happy place. She’d always visited the Rebels clubhouse during a party, but she doubted it ever felt this dismal.

  Bark pulled her past the women who were occupying the dingy furniture and their eyes raked over her. None of them were pretty; they all looked hard and outright scary. And they immediately seemed to dislike her as well.

  Bark pulled her down a dark hallway. Here the smell went outright musty in nature, and it seemed there were no windows or outside doors down here. It stunk like the place had been closed up for years in the heat.

  Bark pushed open one door out of the many in this long dark hallway. The room was pitch black and Gertie felt the urge to slam on the brakes. Bark gave her no such freedom, using both hands on both of her upper arms to maneuver her inside. The door was shut forcefully, making her think he’d kicked it closed. When the light came on Gertie blinked and Bark let her go.

  He had yet to say anything to her. She watched him pass by her, headed for a closet on the far wall, across a mattress and box spring that rested on the ground, topped with tousled bed covers. He had shorter hair than the rest of them but still wore the spotty beard that marked him as not a metrosexual. He was medium height, but the danger that rolled off him made him seem bigger, wider than he was. More so than Buck. She’d had the same impression of him but Bark was scary-dangerous-looking. In a psychotic way. His eyebrows were nearly peaked they were so severe. He had very nice lips. It might seem strange she noticed his lips at all given her circumstances, but that’s how nice they were.

  Gertie stood where he’d left her, rubbing the wrist he’d manhandled her around by. There were no windows here, she was right. It was a hole of a room, low-ceilinged and just as gloomy as the rest of the place.