Biker in Black_A Motorcycle Club Romance

by April Lust

  So maybe I was raising eyebrows among the brass with my questions. Maybe people were talking. As far as I was concerned, I didn’t give a shit. Franco was the best friend I’d ever had, and I felt like shit for not having tried harder earlier to get some serious answers. But now I was done laying low. With the knowledge from Erin about her sister, it was past time I kicked up the dust. The smog of silence was killing my soul.

  But Slim, our esteemed President, him I had not yet talked to. And now I knew he had been there that day. He was likely the only one who really knew anything. Fuck, he was probably involved in it. I determined that tonight would provide some answers. The way I saw it, even if he were the Pres, he owed me honesty. For Franco.

  When I rolled up on my bike, the compound was mostly dark. Damn, this place was turning into a ghost town. It was a fucking shame. I was a little surprised Slim even used his office anymore. I hadn’t been here in weeks. I might have gotten a little nostalgic, but this was not the time to dwell.

  I let myself into the main building, which was still dark, and flipped some switches for light. Looking around, I saw nobody was in there. I headed back to the hall off the bar and saw from under the door that the Pres’s office did have light. I rapped on the door with a knuckle, calling out, “Yo, Pres, it’s Torch.”

  “Get your ass in here and sit. Shit.” And we were off to a great fucking start.

  I went in, shut the door behind me, and took in my options before choosing to avail myself of the more comfortable couch, rather than one of the chairs facing the desk. This might have thrown him off; he was sitting at his desk, leaning forward on both elbows, looking about ready to rail into me from a beleaguered position of authority. I was not going to take that shit. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  I decided to set the tone on a more even keel. “Yeah, sure, I’d love a drink. Johnnie Walker, if you got it.” I knew he had it.

  He looked at me a minute, pursing his lips. “You watch yourself, Torch.” Still, he got up, fixed me the drink, and brought it over to me at the couch. He took the armchair, and we studied one another for several seconds while I sipped.

  He looked tired. His salt-and-pepper head of long frizz was tied back in a low ponytail, his mostly gray beard hanging down off his chin a few inches. His eyes had dark circles hanging underneath, and the lines on his face seemed more deeply ingrained, especially the ones between his brows, like he spent all his time lately frowning something fierce.

  Erin had not been far off; the man scowled an awful lot. Didn’t used to be like that. There was a day not so long ago when his laughter had rung out loud and often. I guess it’s lonely at the top, especially when you lose your best friend. I knew something about that, myself.

  Remembering that, and the way Slim had forced us into this indentured servitude for Danny Fletch, I steeled myself. I was not here to give this man compassion or pity.

  “I overheard some shit about you earlier today, Torch. You need to know. That shit you pulled last week with Owen is comin’ back to bite your ass.”

  This was news, though I can’t say I was too surprised. I had figured there would be some blowback at some point. I guessed we had reached that point. “Lay it on me.”

  “I overheard Danny Fletch and Owen talkin’ in Fletch’s office at Centerfold. Owen wants your new woman, and he wants you dead. Fletch’s worried about body count. Owen said he’d settle for a trade—your head or your woman’s bod.”

  Wow. Shit. I had not thought Erin would play in on the blowback, but I guess I had overestimated the complete shit-ball that was Owen. “You got anything more than that?”

  “I don’t know if you understand what I just said. You get what he wants? Not just a onetime use. Owen is not fucking around. He doesn’t want to just fuck Erin and be done. On the DL, Torch. Plain language.” He leaned in. “Owen is a sick fuck. He’s talking about takin’ her for a sex slave.”

  My jaw literally dropped, and my eyes widened. No way was this shit was for real. “So A) he puts a hit on me; or B) he wants…” I couldn’t even say it. It was unthinkable. We were in 2017, right? In America? What. The. Fuck.

  “Yeah, he wants. And he’s not fucking around.” Slim looked at me hard, like he was trying to impart some further knowledge and understanding with his eyes, which his mouth was unwilling to say.

  “What aren’t you tellin’ me, Slim?”

  He noted my use of his name instead of his title and raised his eyebrows a little. “Respect, Torch. Watch it.” He looked at me hard for several seconds longer and then finally answered. “I know some stuff, but it’s not for general consumption, Torch. Fletch and Owen, they are planning some shit, and you gotta be aware. And maybe it’s best if you and your woman get gone. Not forever, but for a while, ‘til shit gets sorted.”

  I nodded my head, seeing his line of thought, and the lightbulb flashed in my head. There was a way that this all made sense. “I see what you’re sayin’, Pres. I see that line of thought. But there’s more you ain’t tellin’ me, and at this point, I want explanations.

  “How far are you dug in with Fletch, Slim? Don’t bullshit me. I know some big shit is goin’ down. I’m not stupid. I know you’re involved, too. What I don’t know—yet—is how involved you are, and in what capacity. But I know there’s some serious dirt Fletch must have on you. I want to know why the MC is payin’ for your shit. And I want to know what went down with Franco on that fuckin’ porno lot out of town in February. You owe me—fuck, you owe all of us—some serious explanations. I’ve about had it, man.”

  His face was getting red, and his eyes were piercing in a tight, angry lock, and his jaw was clenched, but I was on a roll.

  “So maybe now you heard I’m askin’ questions, kickin’ up what is sure as shit goin’ to fuck up your little game with Fletch, so you want to run me out. You think this Owen shit and sex-slave thing is the easiest way to get rid of me for a while, too, huh? It’s too bizarre. It’s almost laughable. But I ain’t laughin’, man. And I don’t buy it.” I stood up and over him, and I declared, “You do not threaten me or my woman, and think you can just run me out of town. Now start. The fuck. Talking.”

  He stood up and growled, “Sit your ass down, Torch. You remember who you’re talking to. I am your President.”

  “Then act like it,” I flashed back.

  He shook his head. The man was angry, but he was a master at cool. “Fuck. This is so fucked-up. First of all, you need to check your tone, and check your presumptions at the gate. You are a member of this MC, and a brother, so I’m gonna give you just one pass for the shit you just pulled, but you gotta know, that shit does not fly. I am your President, and you gotta remember that. Regardless of what you think you know is going on.”

  “Pres—” I hated myself for going off like that on him, too, and I totally saw his point. But I was fucking angry, about everything from Franco to the Centerfold gig and the loss of fraternity at the compound and with the MC in general. It just felt like everything involving Damned Angels had been losing. But he had a point. I really should not have let it out like that on him.

  Slim got it, and he got me. He knew where I was coming from and where I was at. He was a big enough man that he could see from my perspective, and he didn’t wait for the apology. “Torch—fuck, man, this shit is real, and you need to get that.” He looked me in the eye again. “I was not lying about Owen wanting you dead and your woman under lock. That’s real, and he’s dead serious. I swear to you. I would not make this shit up. So you needed to know, and you need to be careful, and I’m serious when I say you should think about skipping town for a while.

  “The rest of it—I get that you got a right to info about Franco. I know that. But that gets tied up with shit you do not have a consideration in, so you gotta understand that the thing that is driving this clusterfuck is bigger than Franco. And I know that’s hard to hear, but that’s my reality, and that’s what I gotta live with.”

  He paused, and I could tell
he was wavering on whether or not to let me in. “I’m not gonna share it with you if you are gonna make the smart choice here and get yourself and your woman out of town. There’s no point in you knowing, then. So you gotta make that decision now. If you’re gonna go, you should just go. And we’ll sort it out, and then you can come back. We can have full honesty then, and we will.”

  I looked in his eyes, which were fierce and so tired. He was my President, my brother, my friend. And he was fighting. I could finally see that, looking outside my own narrow self. And all of a sudden, I understood that whatever the bigger that was going on was, he needed help. He was near to drowning in it, even if he didn’t see it that way.

  “I’m sticking with you, Pres. Tell me. Let me in. Let’s bring down whatever the shitstorm is. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

  He looked at me another moment, shook his head, sighed, and gave me a brief chin up. “You are a stand-up man, brother.” He went to pour himself a drink, and I retook my seat on the couch.

  “Okay, Torch. Tell me what you know about it, so I can figure where to start.”

  “I only know that you and Franco were both at the porno lot the day he went down. Erin dropped her sister off in the lot, saw you two at the door to the warehouse. Her sister never showed back, so something—whatever it was—happened that day. To both Thea and Franco. I don’t know the details beyond that, but I know that much.”

  “Okay, Torch. Yeah.” He nodded his head, squaring his thoughts. “So, they did the shoot. Since we were just security for Fletch, we weren’t in the room. He had us standing guard in the hallway at the door. Which was fucking freezing that day. Fucker. But he said it was a closed set, no watchers. So we didn’t know what was goin’ on ‘til after. But fuck, Torch. That was some sick fucking shit they were filming in there. That girl…” He shook his head, heavy with regret. “But we didn’t know that, yet. We just thought it was regular porn. So we stood there.”

  “Wait a minute. Who all was in there?”

  He grunted. “Right. Danny Fletch and Michael Owen were both in there. The girl. And there was a camera guy. There had been a lighting guy and a woman there earlier, doing costumes and makeup and shit, I guess, but they left before they started taping.

  “We were probably standing out there an hour and a half, hearin’ all kinds of noises from the girl, but that’s kind of par for the course, right? I mean, I figured they gagged her, so, you know, just a lot of high-pitched noises. Those eventually stopped.”

  He shook his head. “Finally, Owen came out. He didn’t look at us, just left the building. We waited a few more minutes, and then Fletch poked his head out, looked at us, and said, just to Franco, ‘You. Get in here.’

  “So Franco goes in, and I can hear ’em get into it. Franco yells, ‘What. The. Fuck.’ And Fletch starts laughing. Like, hysterically. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with that motherfucker, but…Doesn’t matter. Fletch is laughin’, and then there’s a gunshot. And I had no idea what happened, or what the fuck was goin’ down, but I grabbed my gun and pulled the safety and went in there. And god, Torch. You can’t unsee that shit.” His eyes were gone; he was back in that warehouse in his mind.

  I gave him a minute, giving him a chance to pull himself back. “So Fletch shot Franco? Right there and then? That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “It does when you know what they had been filming. The girl, Torch. Completely mutilated. Face, body, everything. There was blood everywhere. And I could see Franco was gone. Shot in the face. His head was…” He was choking up. Hell, I was, too.

  “And when I got in there, I was ready to shoot Fletch, and I almost did, but he already had me in his sights and he reminded me of why I couldn’t shoot him. Fuck. Fuck, Torch. I wanted to, so badly. I wanted to shoot that motherfucker, for Franco, for the girl, for all of fuckin’ humankind. But I couldn’t. Because, if I did, that would mean—”

  He cut himself off, looking down, shaking his head with the slightest movement. When he did raise his eyes, they were red and holding back tears. I had never seen this man cry. Not ever.

  He took a minute. “He has my baby girl. Owen has my Carly, Torch. I gotta find her, and I gotta get her back, and then I gotta kill that motherfucking son of a bitch. But I can’t die first, and I can’t let anything else matter more. That is what the fuck is goin’ on.”

  Holy. Fucking. Hell. The clusterfuck just went apeshit out of control.

  Okay, this was way worse than anything I had imagined. And it completely made sense why our Pres was keeping us tied to Centerfold. Shit.

  Carly had always been a little on the wild side, getting herself into drugs and shit. Jesus, she and Thea had a lot in common, from the sounds of it. But if what the Pres was saying was true, and Carly somehow got taken up by Owen, like a sex slave, and Owen was also talking about the same shit with intentions toward Erin, then the Pres was not talking out his ass. He was being dead honest. And fuck, his heart must be breaking every minute to think of his little girl in that situation. I’d be fucking lost and furious, too.

  “Pres, you gotta know. I got your back on this, however I can help. Whatever I can do. What do you know? Do you have a plan?”

  “That’s what I’m workin’ on. Carly’s been gone a long time already, over six months. I don’t even know if Owen still has her, or if…No. I’m not going there.

  “What I do know, from what I’ve overheard and from some bugs I managed to place in Fletch’s office, is that Fletch knows Owen trades in sex slaves, human trafficking. They don’t talk about it openly, though, so it’s not something I can pin down. But there are references.

  “I gotta find out where she is. I gotta get her back. I gotta believe she’s still…” He couldn’t finish the thought. I didn’t need him to.

  “We’re gonna find her, Slim. We will.” I looked at him fiercely, and I could feel my jaw clenching. This game with Owen was off-the-charts dark.

  “But what I was meaning to get clear to you, is that Fletch’s got this on me. He knows I’m under his thumb as long as he’s got intel on my girl, and he’s holding it over my head. That’s why I couldn’t shoot him at that scene with Franco and the girl. The fucker made me dig a fucking grave that day, for the two of ’em. So now I’m implicated, too, in that sick fucking scene. I’m fucked. But I still gotta get my girl back. And that can be my only priority. You got me? You understand now?”

  “Yeah, man, I got you. Loud and clear. And I’m with you on that. Completely.” I raised my arm to him, and we clasped hands, full eye contact. It was a grave trust, and one I would never back down on.

  “How are you sure, first off, that Owen has her, Pres?”

  “I got word back then, sent to me from her phone, a text from Fletch that said she’d been taken. Resulting from her ʽdrug debt’ to him, as he put it. And that he’d sold her off to a special business partner to make good on it. I pieced together from a lot of shit since then, that that guy is Owen. No question.

  “I’m pretty sure Owen doesn’t know who I am, though. She only had me in there as ʽDad.’ And the text was from Fletch, not Owen.”

  “Okay. Why haven’t you shared this with the rest of Damned Angels, though? Why keep us in the dark? Seems like the more ears you got, the sooner this can all go down, we get her back, and take Owen and Fletch down?”

  “The knives, Torch. As soon as I learned of Owen’s sick thing for knives, I knew I couldn’t risk my baby girl like that. The more people who know, the more chance of something slipping. I need this to go one way, and one way only. I can’t think…” And he shook his head.

  I could see that. I had to give him that. I’d be lost and confused with gargantuan worry, too.

  “Torch, here’s the only way I can figure it: I need us to appear to be under Fletch’s thumb. All of us. Like you thought—hell, like everybody thinks—that we’re all just security for the ass king of porn. I trust all our brothers in Damned Angels, Torch, but there ain’t no way that all of us can a
ct. So as real as I could keep it was the way it had to be. That’s why I couldn’t talk about it. If they don’t know they’re pulling the wool, then they can’t misstep and blow the cover, right? It’s the only way to play it, for now.”

  “Yeah, I get that. You’re right about that.” I took a moment. “Thinking this through, though, Fletch knows you’re Carly’s dad, now, right? That’s what he’s got on you.”

  “Yeah. He does. He put two and two together when he saw that the phone number is the same. So he’s holding that knowledge over me, but I’m pretty sure Owen doesn’t know, ’cause he don’t look at me differently, with any special knowledge or anything. So Fletch’s got me on two counts: Carly, and now Franco and the girl.”

  I stood up, “All right, Pres. All right. But you gotta know, you got me, and I’m all in with you. We do whatever we can to get into Owen’s sick fucking world, we find her, and we get her out.” I headed to the office door, getting ready to ride home to think and plan how best to sort this shit out. As soon as fucking possible. I needed space to think.