TANGLED WITH THE BIKER_Bad Devils MC

by Kathryn Thomas

  “He saved my life, Jules.”

  She sighed and continued tearing strips off the napkin in front of her. She finally looked up at me, and I could see the concern in her eyes as clear as day.

  “So, what are you going to do?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Not sure yet. I thought I'd see what Damian thought before I decided on anything.”

  Julia shook her head. “I don't like it. I think this is something for the cops to handle. But I understand why you feel the way you do. Just promise me that if this thing starts going sideways that you'll go to the cops?”

  I nodded. “I promise.”

  She looked at me for a long moment before she laughed softly and shook her head. “So, was he good?”

  I felt my cheeks flushing again as images of the night before flashed through my mind.

  “Honestly? It was pretty amazing.”

  “Well, at least something good came out of all of this,” she said. “You needed to get laid worse than anybody I've ever known.”

  I laughed and threw my crumpled-up napkin at her. She was right though.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Damian

  I paced through the living room, a million thoughts going through my head. Cara had left for work and had dropped Austin off at his babysitter's house – she still didn't know how to explain who I was and what I was doing there to the babysitter.

  I couldn't really blame her. Cara had built a real nice life for herself. She had a nice home, some money, and a really great kid. I knew that me and my kind didn't really have a place in her world. I knew how she'd grown up – knew about her mom and dad – and knew that she'd been exposed to some really horrible shit. All second-hand information, but I was pretty sure it was true.

  And she'd done her best to clean up her life and distance herself from the criminals, druggies, and bad elements. To cut them out of her life. It was a reasonable thing to do. A really good thing to do. Maybe if things in my life had gone a different way, I'd be doing the same thing she was doing.

  But things in my life hadn't gone a different way, and I wasn't doing the same thing.

  Which made it important for me to keep my shit out of her yard. I liked Cara. Respected the hell out of her. And I couldn't let the shit I was involved in bleed over onto her. Which meant that I needed to come up with a plan – a plan that would get both the Kings and the Fantasmas out of her life forever.

  That was why I'd called Crank and had him bring my bike to me. Not only did I want to get out and ride a bit, clear my head, but I also needed to get to Mills. Needed to see where his head was at and whether or not he could be useful in helping get Mendoza off my back – and by extension, Cara's.

  She wouldn't like that I left – and would like it even less if she knew I was meeting Mills – but I had to start getting shit squared away. I wasn't one hundred percent yet – which was why Cara didn't want me leaving the house – but I needed to start getting myself out of her life. The longer she was caught up in this shit, the more danger she was going to be in.

  And I sure as hell wasn't going to let anything bad happen to her.

  About an hour after I'd called him, Crank had called me back and told me he had my bike delivered and that it was around the corner from Cara's house. I'd asked him to stash it there so that her neighbors wouldn't see a couple of bikers hanging out at her house. Again.

  I walked around the block to find my bike parked at the curb, right where he'd told me it would be. And sitting on his bike right next to mine, was Crank. Of course. I grinned and shook my head when I saw him.

  “You gonna be my shadow all day, every day now?”

  He shrugged. “At least 'til you heal up. And prove you can go a day without getting yourself shot.”

  I laughed. “Happens one time and I'm marked for life after that, huh?”

  He shrugged. “Pretty much, bro. Besides, I got a feeling you're going to talk to Mills. Thought you might want some backup.”

  All I could do was shake my head again. Crank knew me well, or he was just one of the most intuitive sons of bitches in the world. But then, maybe after the conspiracy theory I floated yesterday, he figured I'd go and talk to Mills and was tagging along to make sure I didn't do something monumentally stupid.

  Still, it said a lot – and little of it good – that he thought I needed backup at a meeting with the club president. He told me that things within our MC were a little more fractured and contentious than they appeared on the surface. Of course, I pretty well knew that already. But I thought that knowledge was pretty limited. Apparently, I'd been wrong.

  It didn't surprise me though. Crank had always watched my back when we were over in the shit. Just like I'd watched his. We'd managed to get through some hairy situations together. Survived some nasty fights. This was nothing compared to what we'd gone through over there. Still, it made me feel a bit better knowing he still had my back.

  “I want to take a ride for a bit,” I said. “Get my head on straight.”

  “Sounds good, let's do it.”

  I climbed aboard my bike and put my helmet on. Giving him a nod, we started our bikes and rode off out of the neighborhood. We hit a stretch of open highway, and I gunned it. It felt nice to have the wind in my face and the familiar rumble of my bike rattling through my body. I grimaced though, as the rumbling of my bike was irritating my wounds a bit more than I'd thought it would.

  But the good feeling of being back aboard my ride outweighed the discomfort I was feeling. As much as I did enjoy being around Cara, it was nice to be out of her house – if only for a little while. Ever since coming back from the war, I'd never been comfortable being confined or closed in. I was never truly at ease unless I was out in the fresh air under a wide-open sky.

  I had no idea why that was, but it was a thing. I just needed fresh air, an open road, and the wind in my face, and things seemed okay. Or at least, more tolerable, anyway.

  We pulled off at a roadside diner. I needed to stretch out a little bit and give the holes in me a break. Aside from that though, I needed to throw something in my belly. It was growling as loud as my bike. We walked in and took a seat in a booth at the back of the diner. The crowd was pretty sparse, but a few old timers sat at the counter, drinking coffee and chatting up a storm.

  “What'll it be, boys?”

  An older woman whose tag said her name was Grace stood before our table, order pad and pen in hand. We hadn't looked at the menus yet – I supposed we just looked like the kind of guys who knew what they wanted. And we pretty much were.

  “Double cheeseburger, fries, and the biggest, coldest coke you have back there,” I said.

  “Two,” Crank added.

  “Thank you, Grace.”

  “Comin' right up,” she said and bustled off, coming back a moment later and setting our drinks down in front of us.

  I took a long drink – draining nearly half the tall glass in the process – the cool liquid soothing my road-parched throat. Setting my glass back down, I leaned back in the booth and sighed.

  “So, tell me,” Crank said. “This talk you're gonna have with Mills – you gonna bring up that theory you floated to me yesterday?”

  I shrugged. “Not sure yet.”

  He looked uncomfortable as he fidgeted with his straw. I could tell that something was on his mind – maybe nothing more than not wanting to start an inter-club war, but there was something he was holding back.

  “What?” I asked. “Spit it out.”

  He shrugged. “I dunno, man. I thought about it all night and still just can't wrap my head around the idea that Mills set you up to get killed. It still sounds way out there to me.”

  Admittedly, it was pretty far out there. There was no question, though, about the fact that there was no love lost between Mills and I. Our relationship was contentious – at best. We had profound philosophical differences about the direction of the club. And the fact that as the club's VP, I was able to drum up enough support to block
some of his maneuverings pissed him off to no end. But I wasn't going to let this club become what he so desperately wanted it to be – a gang of thugs and outlaws.

  “I know how it sounds, man,” I said. “And I know it sounds nuts. But there's a lot of shit that's just not adding up in my head. You know?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I know it seems like that, but I think it's more likely that Mills fucked up. Underestimated Mendoza and his boys, then set out to get you killed.”

  “I wish I could be as sure of that as you, man. I mean, I was there, and something about that whole scene just smelled wrong.”

  Crank took a sip of his coke and looked at me. “Not saying it didn't smell wrong. You know I trust your instincts as much as you do. I just… I just don't know that you're reading the situation right.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, I might not be,” I admitted. “I'm just kind of all fucked up in the head right now.”

  “Understandable, bro.”

  Grace dropped our food off at the table. Crank and I tore into our meals with gusto.

  “Just do me one favor,” he said around a mouthful of burger. “Don't go in there with guns blazing, man. The last thing you want to do is go to war with Mills. Not if you don't have all of your ducks in a row. You need some proof, bro.”

  I nodded. “Don't worry, Crank. I'm gonna play this smart.”

  “Good. You know I got your back no matter what, but I'd prefer you be chill about this until you have something solid.”

  I figured that Crank was going to have my back, but hearing him say it took away some of the lingering uncertainty and made me feel a bit better. I had no idea how this whole deal with Mills was going to play out, but I would certainly do my best to play it smart.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Damian

  We rolled past the gates and into the parking lot of the clubhouse, and I felt the knot in my stomach constricting. I didn't know exactly what I was walking into – and not being at one hundred percent made me more than a little nervous.

  We walked through the garage and into the main room of the clubhouse. It was set up a lot like a bar – tables and booths all around, with a long oak bar along one wall. Unlike some clubhouses I'd been in, ours was actually kept pretty clean. One of the only things Mills and I agreed on, was enforcing a “clean up after your own ass” rule.

  A clean, tidy clubhouse seemed like a contradiction for a grubby, rough around the edges, MC, but that's how we rolled.

  “Damian,” Mills said as he stepped out of the MC's meeting room.

  “Mills,” I replied with a nod of my head.

  He walked over and pulled me into a tight embrace, pounding me on the back. It was as if he was doing it on purpose, knowing I was still hurting. I winced but wasn't going to let him see me in discomfort. Show no weakness.

  “It's good to see you, man,” he said.

  I stepped back and looked at him. His smile just looked fake to me. Everything about him looked false. But I had to put myself in check, realizing I was probably prone to seeing the worst in him. I took a breath and nodded again.

  “Glad I'm still around to be seen,” I said.

  He motioned us over to a booth, and one of the prospects was there a moment later, laying down fresh, cold beers for us.

  “Thanks, kid,” I said as the prospect scampered away like he'd seen a ghost.

  Mills picked up his beer and raised it to us. “Glad to have you back with us, Damian.”

  Crank and I raised our bottles and tapped them against Mills'. I had nothing to say, so I remained silent. Needless to say, I was skeptical about Mills being glad I was back. We all took a pull from our bottles and put them back down on the table.

  “Anyway,” Mills said, “I'm sorry I didn't make it to the hospital when you were there. There was a lot going—”

  “Yeah, don't worry about it,” I said. “I had to bail out of there early anyway.”

  “I heard somethin' about that. What happened?”

  I recounted the story of Mendoza's men showing up and everything that came after. Mills listened to me without saying a word, but I got the impression that he wasn't entirely surprised by what he was hearing.

  “That son of a bitch,” Mills hissed. “Mendoza and his boys are gonna pay for this. For all of it. Nobody takes a shot at a King and gets away with it.”

  It was about the response I'd expected from him. Mills' first response was to resort to violence. That was just his way. And while yeah, some situations might call for a violent response, not every single one did. And this was a situation that required some thought and planning rather than a blind reaction. I looked at Crank, who was sipping his beer, careful to keep his expression neutral.

  “We need to respond, yeah,” I said. “But the situation is a little more complicated than that.”

  “What do you mean?” Mills asked.

  “The woman who saved my life,” I said. “She's the one Mendoza snatched up. She's the one who's been keeping me safe these last couple of days. And I'm getting a vibe that he's gonna make another run at her. We can't let that happen.”

  Mills looked at me and scratched at his thick beard, seeming to be contemplating the situation. He was a large man. Maybe an inch shorter than me, but a good fifty pounds heavier. He had an ample midsection, but thick arms. Mills may have been a bit flabby, but he was still strong as an ox. He had long dark hair that was shot through with gray – he'd come through the ranks of the Kings with my dad, so he was a little bit older.

  Which could help explain our starkly different views on things – we came from different generations and tended to see things differently.

  “She your old lady?” Mills asked.

  “Nah, man,” I said. “But she's good people. She lives a clean life. And she's helping me out of a bad jam. Taking care of me. I owe her. She doesn't need all this shit rolling down on her.”

  “So, what does that have to do with us?”

  “She's in Mendoza's crosshairs because she helped me, man. I owe her and I want to get Mendoza off her back.”

  He nodded and sipped his beer. “And how are you planning on doing that?”

  “We need to draw him out. And put two in his head.”

  Mills took a long pull of his beer, and I could see something in his face shifting. It was the first time I'd ever put somebody up for an execution – I'd always done my best to steer the club away from that sort of thing. But this situation was different and called for extreme measures.

  “Wow,” Mills said. “I think getting shot made you grow a pair of balls, Damian.”

  I looked at him evenly. “Yeah, I want my pound of flesh for putting four bullets in me,” I said. “But this isn't about me. This is about protecting an innocent. An innocent who did me a real solid.”

  “So, do you have a plan?”

  “The only thing I can come up with is for me to set a meet with Mendoza. Lure him somewhere on the pretext of talking about what happened last night. Maybe offer to make some reparations or something.”

  Mills shook his head. “The spic is a sharp one. He'll see right through that shit.”

  “You got any suggestions?”

  He shrugged. “Why not use the girl as bait?” he asked. “If he was as hot for her as you say, why not offer to give her to him in exchange for him taking the bounty off your head?”

  I shook my head. “Absolutely not. She's already had too close a call for my liking. I'm not gonna put her in harm's way on purpose. We'll find another way.”

  Mills sighed. “Like I said, that wetback is sharp. Whatever you come up with better be good because if it ain't, he's gonna see right through it and smoke your ass right there on the spot.”

  I got the feeling that having Mendoza smoke me right there would be Mills' preferred outcome. But I held my tongue and tried to keep myself focused on the task at hand – getting Cara out of this mess.

  “I'll figure something out,” I said. “But I need to know that the Kings are gonna be
there to help when I need it.”

  Mills looked at me with a stunned expression on his face – as if it were crazy that I would even have to ask and he was offended that I had. It was a small bit of overacting if you asked me, but whatever.

  “You even gotta ask, brother?” Mills said.

  I shrugged. “Probably not. Thought I'd ask anyway.”

  There was a tense moment of silence as we stared at each other. I wasn't sure what was going through his head at that moment – but there was something there, bubbling just below the surface. Crank was looking uncomfortable and remained silent as he had throughout the meeting. But I knew he was taking everything in and processing it all.