“How?” I asked.
“Because you already fucked her, brother.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Dom turned back to look at me. “It means that if you really gave a shit about her—if she meant anything more than a quick fuck like all the other women you meet—you’d still be with her right now. Or she’d be in the clubhouse, waiting for you out there with all the other old ladies, a drink in her hand, a smile on her face, and soaking through her panties as she watched you.”
And then he left the room.
Motherfucker was turning into Mr. Miyagi or some shit, with his wise old words of wisdom.
Chapter Twenty-eight:
Casa
We set off before the sun had even come up, and despite us drinking well into the night, each and every one of us were wide awake and ready to spill blood for our club, and our brothers. Because that was what this life was all about. We had made our solemn vow to the club when we’d patched in: Brothers for life and my life for my brothers.
The highway sped by as I followed Gauge, the wind whistling against my cheeks as I tried to keep Harlow from my mind. But it was hard, because guilt was a motherfucker and it was eating me away like I was a prime rib at a barbeque.
I’d been ordered to stay away from her until after this shit went down, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make sure that she stayed in town. Ain’t no way I was losing her now. So after Shooter had gone to deal with his Laney drama, I’d gone after Rider and Charlie and asked her to make sure H didn’t go anywhere, at least until I got back. Also asked for some ass play advice since I was fucking curious now too, but Rider had punched me in the ribs and told me to fucking google that shit.
Charlie had messaged me later on letting me know that she’d dropped H off at The Laughing Moose to hopefully pick herself up a waitressing gig that wasn’t connected to me, the club, or Dom, I guess.
Shit for her that I knew Bobby, the new owner. In fact I’d been the one to paint his new sign for the bar. Hated the thought of her working in a bar and having to dress like a slut to get tips all night. The thought of her being ogled and felt up made me fucking furious, but at least working there it meant I could keep a better watch on her without her knowing, and Bobby had been ordered to chop off the fingers of anyone who touched my girl. Felt like a motherfucking stalker or some shit, but it didn’t stop me from doing it. Not if it meant keeping her safe and within reach. Besides, what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her…or piss her off. At least, that was the plan.
Gauge began to slow down, and one by one, Crank, Sketch, and I followed him. The hijack was supposed to go down just outside of Atlanta, but Axle’s truck wouldn’t be there for another half hour or so, so we pulled the bikes just over the hill at the side of the road, well into the trees, and waited.
Gauge lit up a cigar and I eyed him. “You turning into a Mexican drug lord, brother?” I laughed.
“Fuck off,” he replied, giving me the finger, and I snickered and lit a cigarette.
“How long has your woman got before she spits out a kid?” I asked Sketch.
“Couple of months yet. Five I think.” He grinned widely, fucking beaming at the thought. “Can’t wait for it. My own flesh and blood in the world…” He shook his head. “That’s some crazy shit right there.”
Crank leaned over and patted him on the back. “Another you in the world,” he laughed. “Must be a sign of the second coming or something.”
We all laughed, even Sketch. “You should stick around too,” he said to Crank.
Crank looked into the distance like he was watching a sunset, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve thought about it. I’d need a job and shit though.”
“The club will sort you out—we’ve got plenty of businesses,” Gauge answered while puffing on his cigar.
“Thought of maybe setting up something of my own, actually.” Crank said and looked back at us.
“On your own? What you thinking?” I asked.
“Don’t fucking laugh,” Crank replied.
“That ain’t a promise I can keep, brother,” I snorted.
“I’ve been looking into teaching.”
“Teaching?” Gauge, Sketch, and I replied at the same time.
“Yeah, teaching. I’m not a fucking gorilla, you know. I’m all educated and shit!”
I held up my hands in mock defense. “Whatever you say, brother,” I laughed. “I’m just saying that that world may not be quite ready for the storm that is Crank.”
Crank pondered my comment for a moment before replying. “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking, too. They ain’t gonna let me into a school are they? Not sure what else to do with myself though, brothers. What about you, Sketch? You’re gonna need a job too.”
“Well, you know I’ve got the art shit handled, but I don’t know where to go from here. I want to do more than paint a couple of bikes twice a year and spray some walls in my spare time.”
His words stung, and it must have shown because he had the decency to look apologetic for his words.
“So set something up with the club,” Gauge began. “The Devil’s Highwaymen custom artwork. Set up a studio for painting bikes—like, legit and shit. Well, semi-legit,” he laughed. His cell beeped before he could say anything else, and he pulled it out of his cut and read the message. “Axle’s on his way and he’s got company.” He closed the cell and slipped it back into his cut before climbing off his bike.
“Crank and Casa, you two get ready to chase the strays down. Sketch and I are going to do some shooting practice on the Reverend’s men.”
Crank and I pulled our bikes to the side road just off the main highway, watching the way that Axle would be coming from. Not five minutes later we saw his truck heading our way, a van and four bikes tailing him. A bike pulled up to either side of him, and we watched as they each pulled a gun on him, firing into the windows making them smash, and Axle screeched the truck to a stop.
The van and bikes slowed to a stop, with the bikers getting off their bikes. Three headed for Axle and three headed to the back of the truck, ready to steal our blow. They’d have a real big surprise when they opened those doors, though.
Under normal circumstances, the only way a Highwaymen truck would be stopped was if the driver were dead, but these weren’t normal circumstances and Axle knew we were waiting for him. Unfortunately for the Reverend’s men, they didn’t.
They also didn’t notice when Gauge and Sketch aimed their guns at the backs of their heads and blew big fucking holes in them. The driver of the van was dead the second he pulled those doors open and triggered the detonator we’d set for him. A small explosion echoed through the air, and a cloud of smoke escaped as whoever he was splattered himself in chunks across the highway.
The three bikers heading for Axle ran back toward their bikes, guns in hand and firing randomly around them. Gauge, or Sketch, managed to finish off another one of them before the other two took off and Crank and I set off to follow.
We wanted at least one of them alive for questioning, but we’d kill them all if necessary. They were all dead in the water regardless.
We took off after them, both of us silently picking a biker to chase down. My guy was still firing randomly around him, unaware of how many of us were out here waiting to take them down. When he quit shooting I sped up, guessing that he was out of ammo. His bike was quick, but my custom Dyna Low Rider was a fuck of a lot faster. Engine was barely legal after the work Shooter and I had done to it.
The fucker in front turned away and tried to speed up, as if he could somehow ignore the silver and blue demon bike that was chasing his sorry ass down. I pulled out my gun and aimed at his bike tire, missing on the first shot as he swerved right, but hitting him on my second shot and blowing out his tire.
His bike slid onto its side, and both the rider and the bike skidded sideways with a loud screech and groan of metal. I chased the bike down, ready to blow out the rider’s kneecaps so I wouldn’t have t
o chase him anymore. Because he’d live without his kneecaps, and it would be a suitable punishment for shooting at me, for sure.
He was unconscious, though, but I kept my gun aimed at him, kicking his own gun away from his prone body. Minutes later Axle pulled up next to me, followed by Sketch and Gauge.
I slid my gun into the back of my jeans and grabbed the rider’s feet while Sketch grabbed his arms and we tied him up and loaded him into the back of Axle’s truck. Crank rode toward us, and when he pulled to a stop I spied the blood splatter on his jeans.
“Every fucker is dead except this one, but he’s gonna be wishing he was real soon.” Gauge grinned darkly. “Got all their shit loaded into the truck, ditched the van at the side of the road and—”
I flinched as an explosion boomed through the air and a billow of smoke rippled up through the sky.
“—set it on fire,” Gauge finished. “Should send a message to the Reverend.”
“Damn straight,” I agreed. “Better get out of here before the cops show up, though. Two explosions in less than ten minutes…Someone’s coming to check it out.”
Gauge nodded. “Aye, let’s get back to the clubhouse.”
We all saddled back up and took off toward home, leaving the burning van and several dead bodies in our wake—sending a message to the Reverend and the Razorbacks that we were coming for them, and they should be very fucking afraid.
Chapter Twenty-nine:
Casa
We dragged the unconscious body of the Reverend’s man down into the club basement. Place was soundproof and airtight. Loved the smell down there. Reminded me of death and vengeance—two of my favorite smells.
Sketch chained the guy up, arms raised above his head so his body dangled, his feet barely touching the ground, and then Crank and I stripped him of everything but his dirty tighty whities while Dom fetched a bucket of ice-cold water and threw it over him.
Motherfucker woke up with a real big start then.
I laughed as he gasped for air and pulled at his restraints, the direness of his situation registering on his face when he saw the tiny bloodstained room he was in. He looked up to his hands and shook at his chains, blinking against the dim lighting emitted from the bulb hanging from the ceiling.
“Hi,” Shooter rumbled as he stood directly on front of him.
“Shooter,” the guy replied, his attention drawn to Shooter. Horror flashed through his eyes as he noticed us standing around watching.
“Good, you know who I am. That makes things quicker for me. Now it’s your turn. What’s your name?” Shooter asked, cracking his knuckles.
“Nox,” he replied quickly. One side of his face was filled with road rash from his earlier crash. Looked painful as hell, but he’d barely registered it.
Shooter crossed his arms and stared down at Nox. “The Reverend—”
“Ain’t telling you nothin’, Shooter, but you already knew that,” Nox replied, lifting his chin defiantly.
“Fuckin’ hate being interrupted,” Shooter said, giving a nod to Dom, who was standing directly behind Nox.
Dom grabbed the set of chains off the wall next to him. They rattled noisily and Nox writhed in his restraints to see who and what was behind him. Crank and Sketch each stood on either side of Nox and grabbed one of his arms, holding them out wide, and without hesitation Dom swung the chain against Nox’s back. He roared in pain, his back arching to get away from the stinging metal as Dom swung again. Shooter held up a hand to Dom and took a step toward Nox.
“You ready to talk yet?”
Nox’s head hung low on his chest, but he raised it to look into Shooter’s face. “Do what you have to do,” he replied. “I ain’t talking, motherfucker!”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Dom replied with a laugh that sent chills down my spine.
Shooter sent a fist into Nox’s face while Dom sent one into his back, and Sketch and Crank slammed heavy fists into his ribs. I watched my brothers beating the life out of the man in front of me, flinching only when the blood splattered against my face.
Eventually Shooter stopped hitting him and the others followed suit. Nox was alive, but in bad shape. But it was nothing compared to what would happen to him if he didn’t speak up like Shooter asked him to.
Shooter spat on the ground at Nox’s feet. “Give him some time to think over my proposition. We’re not in any hurry.”
We filed out of the room one by one, and I pulled the heavy metal door of Nox’s final home shut and locked it before following my brothers. Back upstairs I blinked against the brightness and headed to the bar.
Rider sat down next to me and Devlin, one of the club whores, poured us both a drink. I took it and threw the whiskey to the back of my throat, enjoying the burn of it sliding down and hitting my empty stomach.
“Everything go okay out there?” Rider asked.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Everything go okay with H?”
“Yeah, she got the job—starts tonight actually. You going to head over there?” He motioned for Devlin to pour us another drink, and she did willingly.
I’d had every intention of going to see H as soon as I got back, yet now that the opportunity was there, my steam had run out and I wondered if I should. Fucking woman was screwing with my head. I’d never felt so unsure of myself in all my life.
“Not yet,” I said, instead of admitting what a pussy I was.
Rider laughed like he already knew.
We sat in silence for several minutes; the only sound was our shot glasses slamming on the bar. Eventually Rider broke the silence.
“From the moment I saw Charlie, I knew she was the one,” he said. “She walked into this club like she owned the fucking place. Walked right up to me, told me she’d seen me around town, riding my bike and wreaking havoc. She grabbed my hand and led me to one of the back rooms, kicked out one of the whores and a brother, stripped me naked, and told me to lay down.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
He turned to look at me. “I laid the fuck down, brother, because when a hot-as-hell woman strips you naked and tells you to lay down, you do just that!”
“A-fucking-men!” I laughed.
Rider took another shot and laughed. “Fucking changed my life that moment.”
“Yeah?” I grinned.
“Fuck yeah. She wrapped her hands around my cock and told me that it was hers now before grabbing my hand and pressing it against her pussy and telling me that it was hers too. I almost threw her off me, brother.” He laughed and took another shot of whiskey. “But then she climbed on top of me, slipped me inside her tight body, and looked down at me, and I knew she was fucking right. No woman had ever spoken to me like she did. But no woman had ever looked at me like she did, either. Not sure what made me fall in love with her more, to be honest. We stayed in that room for three days straight. Fucked her every which way, and when I came out I felt fucking reborn. Nothing mattered anymore. Not other pussy, not what people thought about me, nothing. Only thing I cared about was making sure that this feisty fucking woman stayed with me for good.”
“Well, it worked.” I laughed, raising a glass to him.
“Damn straight. Knocked her up as soon as I could, just to be sure, though. Wanted hundreds of little Charlies and Riders running around the place.” His face turned sad and his smile fell. “Course, life had other plans for us, but that’s another story.”
I frowned, wondering what that story was but knowing he wasn’t about to tell me right then. “So what’s this story-time all about?” I asked instead.
“My point, you cocky little fucker, is that you need to go claim that woman of yours. Don’t worry about all the other shit, don’t overthink it, just do it. Because nothing really matters without an ol’ lady to call your own.”
I pulled out my cigarettes and lit one. “Brother, I’ve got women coming at me from all angles, tits and pussy and ass to fuck. Women cooking me food, cleaning my clothes, and doing just about anything else
I ask of them. So what’s to say I even want an old lady?”
Rider stood up with a laugh and patted me on the shoulder. “You think any of us wants an old lady? Nah, fuck that. We’re all free fucking men, but what we want and what we need are two different things, brother. I need Charlie like I need the air I breathe. I swear, once that woman walked into my life, every other need ceased to exist. I was connected to her whether I wanted to be or not.” He started to walk away from me and I scowled at Devlin, who was watching me with a flirty smile.
I turned around to Rider. “Sounds worse than a prison sentence!”
He laughed. “It is. But it’s the best fucking prison sentence I ever had.”
He knocked on Shooter’s door and went inside, and I stared into the almost-empty clubhouse, wondering why I was still there and not chasing Harlow down. Wondering what was holding me back.
Me.
I was holding me back.
That was it.
“You need anything, baby?” Devlin asked.
I turned back to look at her. She was attractive for sure—perky little tits, big ass ripe for slapping, and a mouth like a vacuum. I’d had her more times than I could even remember. Blowing my load now would be just what I wanted. Fucking Devlin till she screamed my name and clawed at my back, yeah, that was exactly what I wanted. I stood up and she walked around the bar toward me. Her hand reached up and popped open the top button on her see-through shirt, revealing plump tits that I wanted to bury my face in.
I put a hand on her waist before sliding it down to her ass and squeezing it. She groaned and licked her lips before leaning in to kiss along my neck, but instead of letting her, I stepped aside.
“Sorry, girl, you’re just not what I need.” I stubbed out my cigarette and let go of her.
I walked away from Devlin and headed out of the clubhouse, toward my bike. Toward Harlow. Toward my old lady.
Chapter thirty:
Harlow
Ride or Die 2 Page 21
