by Harley Stone
When Deryk saw me approaching, he headed for his bike. Adjusting my course, I intercepted him.
“Deryk, right?” I asked.
He stared at me, obviously unsure whether or not he should answer.
I rolled my eyes. “I just got off the phone with your asshole boss. It’s cold and wet out here and I made enough dinner both of us. Come in, eat, and get warm.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think I should.”
Time to change tactics. “I have a back door, you know. If someone sneaked into my house through the back and you were out here in the front, you’d probably never even know it.”
That got his attention. He perked right up and pulled out his cell phone. “Let me just text Link and make sure it’s all right.”
He had to check with Link before he could eat and get warm? Ridiculous. Folding my arms across my chest, I waited.
“Link says it’s okay,” Deryk finally relayed. “But he’s calling me Bull.”
“Uh… sorry about that,” I said, heading back to my place.
“Wait, why are you sorry?” he asked, following me.
Link
MY OFFICE STILL smelled of Emily and sex. I breathed the scent in deeply and tried to calm down after her phone call. Who the hell had she been going to see that she didn’t want to tell me about? And more importantly, why the fuck was I so pissed off about it?
The shattered glass on my office floor reminded me why. I couldn’t seem to get her out of my mind. Couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d felt in my arms.
Against my tongue.
Around my cock.
Her silky dark hair tangled around my fingers.
The sting of her ass against my hand.
She was every bit the fuck I’d expected her to be, and just the memory of her bent over my desk instantly stood my dick at attention. What the hell was she doing to me?
Determined to get my mind off her, I sought out a broom and swept up the broken glass, setting the old newspaper clippings aside. I should reframe them, but maybe it was finally time to redecorate. Maybe Emily would help me knock the rest of the frames off the wall.
That thought brought on a whole new series of fantasies. What better way to wreck an office than with wild animal sex? I needed to stop thinking about her before I exploded. We had church soon and I had no intention of standing in front of the club with a raging hard-on. Adjusting myself in my now uncomfortable jeans, I sat back down, opened my laptop, and tried to focus on the bar’s financial statements.
I worked for a while, and then Emily called again, demanding I pull Deryk off her due to the rain. The kid was a lot tougher than she was giving him credit for, but I didn’t tell her that. He could use the influence of someone like Emily in his life, and I’d much rather have him watching her from inside her house than across the street.
So, I told her his story.
Knowing Emily had a bleeding heart, it was a dickhead move, but I made it. And the second Deryk texted me asking if he could go inside, I knew I’d done the right thing. No regrets. Not one.
Yes, I replied.
Everything was going along as expected. He’d soon be able to keep an even closer eye on her. In her house. Talking to her. Joking with her. Flirting with her? Well, shit, I didn’t want that. No other man should be in Emily’s house. Ever. The very thought of it had my fingers flying across my phone.
Lay one finger on her, and I’ll cut your dick off and feed it to you, I typed out.
Shit, that got dark fast. My thumb hovered over the send button as I read over what I’d typed. Thankfully, some spark of intelligence kept me from pressing send. What the fuck was wrong with me? The kid didn’t need someone threatening him. He needed a sponsor who believed in him. If I didn’t trust him, I never should have let him follow her. Forcing down the bizarre jealousy raging inside me, I deleted the text and tried again.
Hands off the merchandise, Bull. She’ll be wearing my property patch soon.
My thumb hovered over the send button again.
Was I ready to lay claim to Emily? I chuckled, shaking my head, knowing full well I’d claimed her the second I made her walk out of my club wearing my T-shirt.
I was already fucked. So fucked. Against the wall. On my desk. Maybe we’d try an actual bed next. I’d fucked girls in my office before, but none of them had left an imprint like Emily.
Bull? he asked, interrupting my musings.
Ask Emily, I replied, setting my phone down.
Wasp poked his head into my doorway. “Everyone’s here and ready for church, Prez,” he said.
The club’s Friday night meetings were called church, because attendance was mandatory and what happened once we closed the doors was considered sacred. The meetings were so important we hired non-club employees to man the bar for two hours every week. We’d furnished the room with old wooden pews, and all that was missing was a pulpit. Friday night meetings was the closest our ragtag group of heathens ever got to spirituality.
I walked in to a rowdy bunch, talking, drinking, laughing, carrying on like old friends, which most of them were. Since the club now spanned two generations, there was a hodgepodge mix of old and new, but nobody sat alone. Not here. We all had our own demons to battle, but here, within the walls of the station, we fought them together. That was what made the Dead Presidents so important. We provided structure, discipline, responsibility, camaraderie, and a sense of belonging all while pushing individual freedoms and encouraging members and recruits to be the red-blooded American badasses whose very blood and sweat made our country so damn great.
Pops and a handful of other retired officers congregated at the back of the room, swapping stories about the good ole’ days while they sipped beers. I drifted over and showed my respects to the group.
“How you feelin’ old man?” I asked, sidling up to Pops.
He boxed me on the shoulder. “Still good enough to kick your ass, kid, so you best watch yourself.”
I believed it, too. The old man fought dirty and in all my thirty-four years, I’d never known him to lose a fight.
After saying hello to at least half the club, I took my place at the table in front of the room, surrounded by my officers. Havoc usually got everyone under control, but with him gone, Wasp stepped in and called the meeting to order. He then opened up his laptop and started the roll call. The Dead Presidents had fifty-seven patched members and three recruits. Of those, fifty-five were in attendance.
Eagle read the minutes from the previous meeting then talked about a possible prospect he’d received an email about. Sage volunteered to interview the prospect and we moved on to new business.
When it was my turn to speak, I stood and got right to it. “Brass was caught stealing from the Copper Penny.”
Shock, outrage, and curses went up around the club.
Holding up my hand to silence them, I continued, “Flint and I saw him on video, and then I got his confession. He’s been dealt with and is out of the club, but you all need to know what happened. If he shows his face around here, we need to remind him he’s not welcome.”
“How much did he make off with?” Pops asked.
“Fourteen hundred dollars. We caught him before he could do more damage. I took four hundred and twenty-two dollars from his wallet and made sure he knows he’ll be paying us back the rest.”
Pops nodded.
Transparency—especially about financial matters—was key to the success of our club. Several members contributed over and above their dues, and they deserved to know that their money was being protected and not lining the pockets of thieves.
Several of the brothers started talking amongst themselves, no doubt shocked and disgusted by Brass’s betrayal. I could only remember one other time we’d had to kick a member out, and that was because of a meth addiction. Most Dead Presidents stayed true to self, to our brothers, and to our cause. We knew what was at stake, and we willingly sacrificed ourselves. We may have come out of the service,
but we never stopped serving.
Needing to reinstate order, I picked up the gavel and pounded it on the table a couple of times. The room fell silent.
“Last Friday night we talked about this mess Havoc’s in. Our brother has been in jail for a week now.”
“We should bail him out,” a beer-bellied brother named Buddha called out.
Words of agreement rose from many of the brothers. Glad they were so willing to help Havoc, but pissed that they clearly didn’t think I had the situation under control and needed their guidance, I closed my mouth and glared until they all shut up.
When all eyes were on me, I continued, “Any of you assholes ever known me to be greedy?”
There were multiple murmurs of “no.”
Nobody dared say otherwise. I would call them out for the unappreciative bastards they were. Like most of us, I’d given my time, my blood, and my money for this club and anyone stupid enough to dispute that fact would get their ass kicked.
“You ever known me to turn my back on one of our brothers when he needed me?” I asked.
More murmurs of “no.”
“You think I’m incompetent? That I don’t deserve to be standing up here right now?” Without giving them time to respond, I added, “Havoc’s the club’s right hand and my best friend, so why the fuck do you think I’d leave him locked up?”
Silence.
“Do you think I might have my reasons?” I asked.
More silence.
Glaring at Buddha, I said, “If you think you rank high enough to be privy to me and Havoc’s plans, you come see me after church. But until then, I suggest you sit down and shut the fuck up unless you have something positive to contribute.”
He zipped his big mouth real quick like. Good. I’d deal with him later.
“Now, unless anyone else feels the need to mouth off about shit they know nothing about, we gotta get down to business. I need your help.”
Ears perked up. Gazes followed me as I paced.
“Several of you met Emily, the attorney who was here today. She’s working on Havoc’s case. I’ve seen her in court and she’s damn good.”
“She’s damn fine, too,” Brick muttered from the front pew.
The second the words were out of his mouth, I leaped the short distance between us, coming face to face with the asshole. “You see her walk out of here wearing my shirt?” I asked. It took everything in me not to reach down and strangle the words from his throat.
Eyes wide, he nodded up at me. “Yeah. Sorry, Link. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just sayin’—”
“Stop sayin’,” I growled, then took a deep breath and willed myself to chill the fuck out.
Everyone was watching me. They all knew I had a temper, but for the most part, I kept it reined in. Now I was in a brother’s face over a woman. I needed to get it together.
Heading back to the front of the room, I shook off my outburst and continued, “We need everyone keeping their eyes and ears open for the girl Noah Kinlan raped. Havoc didn’t give us much to go on, but we know she was thin and young. Probably early twenties. Maybe in college. He thinks she was blonde, but it was dark, so he couldn’t be too sure. Someone in this city has to know where she is. I know I’m asking for a lot, but I know that if anyone can find her, we can.”
“Of course we can,” Eagle agreed.
“Who the fuck are we?” Wasp asked, standing to his feet and riling up the group. Wasp had gotten his nickname because much like the asshole insect he was named after, his ability to rally and mobilize our little hive was mind boggling. Nobody could pull a club full of hard-headed independent bikers together like my vice president.
“Dead Presidents!” everyone shouted in response.
“That’s right. We’re the Dead fuckin’ Presidents,” Wasp said. “We don’t let one of our own rot in prison for this bullshit. We’re gonna find that girl and we’re going to nail the fuckin’ dipshit who raped her.”
A cheer went up. Beers were raised in the air.
Pride swelled my chest. “Good. If nobody has anything else, meeting adjourned. Frog, Tap, Morse, you three, meet me in my office.”
Three heads bobbed in response.
“You too, Wasp,” I said before heading out.
***
Morse, short for Morse Code, was a technical guru in his late twenties who communicated constantly, but spoke rarely. He kept the club’s computers working and hacker free, often scouring the internet for people I asked him to seek out. He always came through, but I’d never asked him to find someone with no name or description before. He sat on the sofa in my office, and Frog joined him.
Clean shaven with a wiry frame and no visible tattoos or scars, Frog looked so damn vanilla nobody would peg him for a biker if he wasn’t wearing his cut. This made him the perfect candidate for pounding pavement, searching for a frightened young girl who’d been raped by a powerful mayor’s son. Despite his slight frame, he was one tough bastard, so I wouldn’t fear for his safety. He’d earned his road name thanks to a seven-year stint as a Navy frogman. He’d experienced technical difficulties during his last dive in the service, completing his mission at the cost of chunks of his memory due to oxygen deprivation. They sent him home with a Navy Cross and a disability sticker for his trouble. The service had been his life, and now the club was.
Tap strolled in behind them, hands in his pockets, ball cap on his head. When asked what his road name meant, he would make up some random story that changed with the occasion, but in reality, it was short for Wire Tap. With coffee colored skin and wide eyes, he looked young, but the shit the thirty-one-year-old ex-intelligence officer had seen in the Army had aged him well beyond his years. Tap had trouble sleeping most nights. He perched on the arm of the sofa beside Frog.
Wasp joined us, closing the door behind him. He leaned against it and I stood in front of my desk.
“You want us to find her,” Tap said, watching me.
“I do. I have faith in every man out there, but this is your specialty.”
“We’re like your fuckin’ hound dog A Team,” Tap said.
I chuckled. “The three of you are a goddamn force, and I know you’ll do everything in your power to help Havoc.”
All three nodded.
“You’re gonna have to filter all kinds of bullshit, so I want you to send leads to Wasp. He’ll dispatch someone to check them out so you can keep working. You hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Prez,” Frog said.
Morse and Tap nodded in agreement.
“Good. You need anything, just ask. We need to find this girl.”
Emily
DERYK WAS AN eater, as in, he ate all the things. And since I didn’t want to be seen as a rude host who allowed him to chow down alone, I stuffed my face right alongside him. We polished off the salad, the ravioli, some left over wonton soup from the restaurant by my work, chips and salsa, and then I whipped us up some gooey chocolate chip cookies, which we munched on in front of the television. He wouldn’t tell me what kind of shows he liked to watch—insisting that it was up to me—so I loaded up the first episode of my favorite series, Jessica Jones.
“How long have you been a Dead President?” I asked, settling back on the sofa with a cookie.
“Since Monday.”
I choked on my cookie.
“Sorry.” Eyes full of concern, he watched until my airway cleared and I could breathe again. “You good?”
“I’m good,” I said, taking one more deep breath. Five days? Sure, I didn’t want a bodyguard, but if Link was going to saddle me with one, it seemed like he’d at least choose somebody with a little more experience. Then again, maybe he figured the kid was safer for me as a woman than any of the flirtatious bikers I’d met at his station. Maybe he’d be jealous if anyone older and more experienced was with me. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or irritated by the thought. “Just surprised me. How long have you been guarding me?”
“Since Wednesda
y. Link left me at the office after your meeting.”
That answer sent goosebumps up my arms. Maybe he wasn’t as inexperienced with guard duty as I thought. Still, the idea of him following me for two full days before I spotted him didn’t exactly fill me with confidence in my self-defense skills. “Okay. I’m gonna let that slide, but now that we’re friends, if Link ever sics you on me again, you need to come clean and let me know.”
He chuckled. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks, Deryk.”
“Bull,” he muttered.
“What?”
“The name’s Bull now.”
Of all the ridiculous nonsense. “Link might make you call yourself that when you’re with him, but you can be Deryk here.”
“Nah, it’s cool,” he replied. “Everyone at the club has a road name. I want this.”
Grown men calling themselves silly names. I didn’t get it. “Why? What’s up with road names.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I cocked my head at him. “That’s a bullshit answer.”
“I really don’t know. I also don’t know what I’m supposed to tell you and what I’m not. Lots of sh-stuff is considered “club business” and we’re not supposed to talk about it.”
“Nicknames?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “Hardly confidential information.”
“All I know is that last night I was playing pool with some guys and they were talking about it like having a road name is a big deal. Like an honor.”
“But, Bull?” I asked. “Don’t you want something cooler?”
“There are worse names within the club. Frog. Rabbit. Zombie. Brick. Bull’s not a half-bad name.”
“Rabbit?” I giggled, wondering which of the bearded scary guys I’d met went by Rabbit. Since I’d been taking their official statements, I’d only gotten their legal names. “Aren’t road names supposed to make the guys sound tough? Scary even? If I got in trouble, I sure as heck wouldn’t be calling some guy named Rabbit to come save me. Who names a biker Rabbit?”
He chuckled. Or, at least, I think that’s what he did. His laugh sounded rusty, like he hadn’t used it in a while. “I hear what you’re saying, but you should see this guy. He’s all over the place. Constantly moving and doing something. Swears he got the name because he fu—” Color flooded Bull’s cheeks, reminding me he was still pretty young.
