Spike: Satan's Disciples MC

by Zoey Parker

  My stomach felt like somebody had poured acid into it. I was getting too old to party the way I did, and I knew it. Still I did it because it was all I knew how to do. There were times when I would go all week long, drinking and screwing every night, hardly getting any sleep. Riding my bike, playing cards with my buddies, going to the bar or the strip club. Just an entire week of that, night after night, one day bleeding into the next day. I’d never feel the effect, ever.

  Once I hit the big three-oh, everything seemed to change. I couldn’t hang the way I used to. Plus, I inherited an MC.

  “Inherited” wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t passed down by blood or anything. But it was handed over to me just like I was the heir, anyway. It was expected. When Rico stepped down, I would take his place. He groomed me for five years—nothing could prepare me, though. No teaching in the world could get me ready for what I needed to do. I had dozens of men depending on me to make the right decisions, to lead them in the right direction. It would be enough to stress the hell out of anybody. Some nights, I even lost sleep. So if I wanted to party, getting a little drunk, have some fun…who could blame me?

  I heard groaning from the other side of the bed, and I froze. I didn’t want to wake her up. I wondered if I could get away with lying back down, pretending to be asleep. That was how much I wanted to avoid having to talk to her. I didn’t even know her name or remember what she looked like. She was on her stomach, face turned away from me. She didn’t move, so I guessed she was only having a bad dream or something. Good. Let her stay there until I’m ready to leave for the day.

  I felt shitty for event thinking it, but I couldn’t help myself. It was bad enough having to talk to a woman the day after screwing her, but when it was a stranger, there was nothing worse. It was awkward, uncomfortable, clumsy. I wasn’t the best at conversation even on a good day. No way I could get along without making an ass of myself. Better to get showered and dressed, and let her know I was leaving for the day. It was easier than kicking her out and looking like a douche for it. I didn’t wanna be the bad guy.

  That was one thing about me my friends never understood. I was all about having fun with women, doing what I wanted with them, whatever. I couldn’t see the point in hurting them, too. Why make a woman feel like a whore just because she fucked you and you don’t feel like hanging out with her? The worst part was, I saw those same women hanging around the clubhouse all the time, wanting to get back into bed with the same assholes who hurt their feelings. It didn’t make any sense to me.

  I winced when the water hit my head—that was how much pain I was in, that even the shower hurt. I needed to stop drinking so damn much. Even so, when I found a half-drank beer sitting on the bathroom sink, I picked it up and drained it. The hair of a dog and all that. By the time I finished washing up, I felt a little better. The beer probably helped that.

  I went to the bedroom again—the girl was still asleep, which was fine with me—and dried off, then pulled on a set of clean clothes. T-shirt, jeans, socks and work boots. My leather kutte with the patch from my club on the back, the President patch sewn on the front, over my heart.

  When I was finished dressing and the blonde still wasn’t awake, I cleared my throat. It was getting ridiculous, her sleeping. I needed to get the hell outta there—I was running late enough. I didn’t wanna be an asshole, but she was making it tough for me not to.

  “Hey. Hey, are you okay?” I nudged her as gently as I could, wondering if she was even still alive. She was, and she moved a little.

  “Hmm?” She opened one eye, smudged makeup all around it.

  “I asked if you were okay. Are you?”

  “I think?” Her voice was thick with sleep.

  “I’ve gotta go. I have to get to the clubhouse. Do you, uh, need a ride somewhere?”

  She blinked once, twice. She didn’t understand what I was trying to say. Why did she have to make it so damned hard?

  “I’m gonna need you to leave,” I finally said. “I have to get to work.”

  Her face changed. I pissed her off. Of course I did.

  “You’re kicking me out?”

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered, still bending down. “If I didn’t have to go to the clubhouse, I wouldn’t. But I really do have to leave. We have a meeting this morning and I have to be there.” I wondered if she even knew who I was or what the hell I was talking about. There was a chance she had no idea. I didn’t remember anything about what we talked about. She might’ve thought I was talking Greek to her.

  She didn’t. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Okay. I get it. You want me out.” She sighed, and I felt sorry for her. She looked tired, not just sleepy tired, but tired in general. The way I felt.

  “Can I drop you somewhere?” I stood in the doorway, waiting for her to get dressed.

  “Yeah, at home. That would be great. I got a ride here from you last night.”

  You did? I didn’t want to ask, but that was the question that came to mind. When she was dressed, she followed me downstairs and out the front door.

  “Thanks for last night,” I said as we climbed onto the bike.

  “You’re welcome,” she mumbled.

  I wanted to ask what her name was, but there was no way I could get away with it. I decided to ask where she lived, and rode there with her on the back of the bike. It was a relief when she was gone, up the front steps of her apartment building.

  I felt better on the ride to the clubhouse. The raw March air cleared my head. I had a lot more energy, and life looked a lot better in general.

  I had to stop complicating my life. Getting smashed and bringing a woman home wasn’t the way to do that. All I needed was to screw up and get one of them pregnant because I was too drunk to be careful. I shuddered to think.

  When I got to the clubhouse, I wasn’t the first person there. My second, Flash, was passed out on the sofa in the lounge. He didn’t flinch when I opened and closed the door. I did it again, just to see what he’d do, and he stayed still. The second time that morning I had a passed-out person to deal with.

  This was more fun, though. I thought about drawing shit on his face with permanent marker, but he’d probably shoot me if I did. I thought about taking pictures of him and sending them around to the rest of the club. Maybe I’d make a sign for his chest or something.

  Instead of that, I went to the kitchen and found two pans. Then I crept up to him and banged them together as loud as I could, right over his head. I couldn’t make out the words he screamed when he jumped up, but it was enough to see how freaked out he was.

  It took a while for me to stop laughing.

  “Fuck off,” he grumbled, rubbing his hands over his face. “Trying to give me a heart attack or something?”

  “Something like that.” I sat on the sofa, feet up. Flash went to the bar to pour himself a drink. He was feeling it, too. He looked like shit.

  “What’d you do last night?” I asked. “Molly kick you out or something?”

  He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “She’s fucking crazy. Bitching to me about this and that. I don’t need that shit, so I came here.”

  “She didn’t kick you out, then? You came here on your own?” He shot me a warning look over his glass, and I knew I was right. Molly was too smart to let him stay around when he was being an ass. She kicked him out, told him to find someplace else to sleep for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “What about you?” he asked, leaning on the bar. “Where were you last night? I thought I was gonna see you.”

  “Nah,” I said, waving him off. “I did go out, but I went home early. Did my drinking at home.”

  “Alone?”

  “No.”

  “She stay the night?”

  “Yeah. She’s home now. Just dropped her off.”

  “You know who she is?”

  I shook my head, shrugging.

  “One of the club groupies.” We both made a snorting sound. The women who hung around our club, hopi
ng to get in by hooking up with one of the members, always made us laugh a little. They would hook up with anybody just to be part of the action. It was good to feel so important.

  Just then, there was the sound of a honking horn and car tires squealing outside the door. We froze for a second, then rushed to the door. I drew my gun, edging along the wall. Who the hell knew what got dropped at the front door?

  “Cover me,” I muttered. Flash pulled his piece, too, then nodded to tell me he was ready. I was just at the doorframe, and turned quickly, gun pointed out the door.

  Into the face of a little girl on the other side of the glass.

  She shrieked, covering her face. “Shit!” I whispered, fumbling to put the gun out of sight. “It’s a little kid!”

  “A kid?” Flash slid his piece into his waistband. “What the fuck?”

  “Why are you asking me?” I turned back to her. She looked at me through open fingers.

  “See? No more gun. I’m sorry I scared you.” I looked around. Nobody out there with her. I decided to take the chance and open the door, remembering stories of the way soldiers in Vietnam would rig kids and pregnant women with explosives. They knew American soldiers would take pity on them, go near them, try to help them. Then the explosives would go off.

  She wasn’t explosive. She was shaking with fear, though. I sank into a crouch until we were knee level. She only wore a t-shirt and jeans, and even I felt sorry for her. It was too chilly out for a little kid to be half dressed.

  “Where are your parents? Why are you here?” I didn’t want to sound pissed, but I wasn’t used to talking to kids. I wished one of the girls were around, the ones who took care of the clubhouse and the guys. They were better with kids than I was.

  The little girl shook her head. She had pigtails, and they bounced around on her shoulders.

  “No parents?”

  She looked at me with wide eyes. She didn’t look stupid or challenged. She was still afraid. She glanced up at Flash, standing behind me.

  I sighed. I was getting nowhere. I turned to Flash, who shrugged. I turned back to her.

  “Can’t you talk? I just wanna know who you are, why you’re here. Are you lost or something?” No, that couldn’t be it. I heard the car. Somebody in the car tried to get my attention before they drove off. Who, though?

  She sniffled, like she was about to cry. Then she reached into the pocket of her backpack to pull out a folded piece of paper. She handed it to me, slowly reaching out like she was still afraid I would hurt her.

  “For me?” She nodded. I looked around again. “Hey, come inside. It’s cold out here. Come on. We’ll get you something to drink.” I wondered if we had anything. The bar gun dispensed soda and water. Was soda okay for a kid so early in the morning? How the hell did I know?

  I turned to Flash again, and he caught my message. “Come on, kid. I’ll find something for you.” He held out a hand, and the girl took a step back. “Come on. I won’t hurt you. It’s warmer in here.” She looked inside, still not saying a word, but finally trusted Flash enough to step forward. He led her inside, sitting her on the sofa where he’d just been sleeping minutes earlier.

  I unfolded the paper, almost afraid to read what it said. Whose kid was she? I hadn’t ever met her, so she wasn’t one of the guys’ kids. I thought for a split second one of them was dead, and this was a message that they had been murdered. We had enough enemies out there that it could’ve been anyone.

  Only it wasn’t one of theirs. According to the note, which I read with wide eyes, she was mine.

  I looked up at her, staring. My kid?

  I read the note again, and again. It was from Rae. Rae? I searched my memory. Jesus, it had been years since I saw her. Maybe seven? Eight? She was a junkie, or started to be. Before I dumped her—I didn’t deal with junkies—we had been sort of tight. I had liked her.

  She’s your daughter, the note said. My daughter? I didn’t even know Rae was pregnant. Shit, had she been using when she was pregnant? I looked at the kid again. She looked healthy enough. Maybe a little skinny.

  Her name is Gigi. Sort of a cute name. Sort of a cute kid. I looked at her again, this time looking a lot harder. Shit. I couldn’t miss how much we looked alike. It was obvious. Same dark hair, same eyes, same nose. I was all over her face.

  I motioned for Flash, handing him the note when he reached me. He read it, then stared at me.

  “Is this for real?” he asked, looking over at her. She sat alone, hands in lap, crying a little. I could tell she was trying to hold it back. Brave kid.

  “I don’t know. I gotta talk to her.” I walked to the sofa, and she went still. I thought she might be holding her breath, too.

  “Relax, kid. I won’t hurt you.” I sat down on the other side of the sofa, looking at her. She was shaking. “You cold?”

  She thought about it, then shook her head. “You’re scared of me, then. Right?” She thought about that, too, then shook her head again. “What are you scared of?”

  She opened her mouth, and I waited for her to speak. When she did, all she could say was, “I wanna go home. I have to go to school today.” It was a whisper, almost too quiet to hear.

  “You have school? Where’s your school?” I could leave her there.

  She thought about it, squeezing her eyes shut. Then, “I don’t know where it is.” She trembled, chin shaking.

  “Do you know what it’s called?”

  She shook her head. Of course she didn’t. She was a little kid.

  “How old are you?”

  “Seven.” I did the math. Yeah, that added up. Son of a bitch. Rae never even told me she was pregnant.

  “Do you know where you live?” Again, a head shake. Hadn’t her mother even taught the kid their address? Weren’t all kids supposed to know that? What kind of mother was Rae? I looked at the skinny, underdressed kid and got a few ideas.

  She burst into tears. I didn’t know what the hell to do. I looked at Flash, desperate for help. He shrugged. He didn’t have any more experience with kids than I did.

  “It’s okay. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.” I reached toward her to pat her on the back, but she flinched away. Crawling to the corner of the sofa, she drew her knees up to her chest and held them in place, arms wrapped around them.

  I looked at Flash, then got up and crossed the room to him.

  I leaned toward him, whispering. “We need to find Rae, fast.”

  “Jesus, I haven’t seen her in years.”

  “Yeah, no shit.” I glanced over at Gigi. Still crying.

  “Any ideas?”

  “None. Kid doesn’t know, of course. Call up a few of the guys and hit the streets. Start asking questions. I hate to say it, but maybe start with the dealers. They might know.” Flash snickered in disgust. I couldn’t disagree with him.

  “You gonna be okay here with her? All alone?”

  “We won’t be alone for long.” The girls would be in soon, and they’d take care of her. Good thing, too, because I needed time to think. “Don’t waste time out there, either. I want her outta here as soon as possible. This is bullshit. A kid in the clubhouse.”

  “Got it.” Flash left, talking on his phone. Gathering some of the guys to hit the streets. When I got my hands on Rae, I would strangle the shit out of her for what she was doing to me. Leaving a kid on the doorstep.

  I watched as Flash rode away, the sound of Gigi crying filling my ears.

  It looked like I was a daddy.

  Chapter Three

  Jamie

  It was dinnertime by the time I pulled up in front of the clubhouse. The building was ominous, reminding me of a hulking warehouse. I wondered if anybody lived there, and what the conditions could possibly be like inside the building. A little girl was in there. Not just a little girl, but Gigi. I couldn’t imagine it.

  A row of bikes sat out front along the wall leading to the door. They were all roughly the same. I had never understood the appeal of motorcycles. I liked a little mor
e metal between myself and the road. Maybe it was the crash I once witnessed as a kid. A man wiped out on his bike not fifty feet from where my dad had stopped our car at a red light. The man on the bike ran the light and was hit by a car in the intersection. After almost twenty years, I still hadn’t forgotten the way he flew through the air, and the sickening thud as he hit the ground. Something like that was enough to get a kid away from motorcycles for their entire life.

  My hands were shaking, I realized. What sort of men were inside the building? Who were they? What did they do besides ride their motorcycles? I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know. The club members were notorious for getting into trouble—bar fights, vandalism, disorderly conduct, plus rumors of other even less savory activities. I shivered, not wanting to go inside. They weren’t exactly my cup of tea.