Reprise

by C. D. Breadner

  “He’s another soldier,” Buck said, measured, careful not to offend. “He takes orders, follows them to a T. We need that, for sure.”

  Jayce nodded. “Great. We’ll get him a patch made, next meeting will be a patch-over party.”

  There were more noises of agreement around the table, and Knuckles was grinning again. Patch over parties were a blast, Tiny loved them. Basically, new members were hazed through alcohol until they did stupid shit and basically pissed themselves before passing out.

  Good times.

  “Rusty,” Jayce went on. “I sponsored him, obviously I think he’s great.” More chuckles at that. “We know my dad basically sent him our way, saw good muscle with a bit of brain to him. Let’s face it, we lack brain.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Knuckles spat out, all mock outrage.

  Jayce grinned wider like it was validation the guy was okay. Tiny certainly read it that way.

  “He doesn’t talk much,” Tiny said. “Hard to get a read.”

  “You don’t talk much either,” Fritter pointed out.

  “With you yapping, who can get a word in?” More laughter, and while Fritter pretended to join in he also flipped the bird.

  “He’s hella smart,” Spaz spoke up when the yuk yuks died off. “He’s some kind of math savant. Human calculator.”

  “Really?” Tiny didn’t know that. All he really knew about the ginger bastard was that he liked blonde women and dark beer.

  “Yeah, Dad said he tutored on the inside.” Jayce chewed his lip. “Math skills don’t always make a guy money-smart, but...we need a treasurer, guys. It’s unfair to put everything on Spaz.”

  Leather creaked from both kutte and chair as they all looked to the youngest member, their tech officer. The little shit hated attention, and just leaned one elbow on the table, hand on the back of his head, pulling up his beanie to scratch his scalp. Twitchy fucker.

  “So we shove a guy in a kutte then a week later he’s handling our books?” Tiny hated to be the pessimist, but it was kind of his thing.

  “Not entirely,” Jayce replied, hand out to amend the statement. “I still want Spaz to look over what’s going on. But the day-to-day stuff I want someone on, just to free Spaz up. With Sachetti, the Castillos, and Mazaris he’s got intel-gathering on his roster all day every day. Then we ease Rusty into handling the whole kit himself. Once we’re satisfied he knows what he’s doing.”

  Tiny shook his head. He wasn’t sure about all that.

  “First thing’s first,” Tank boomed out. “Do we patch him? That’s kind of what has to happen for anything else to be considered.”

  “He threw down like a prize fighter when we met with the Dirty Rats last summer,” Buck said. “He’s a tough son of a bitch. A soldier, from what I could tell. Like Tims. But if he’s got some extra mental skill set we can use, I say we grab him now. Consider the rest later.”

  “Tiny?” His Prez raised an eyebrow his way. “You’re the only one speaking against him.”

  Tiny shrugged. “I’m okay with patching him. I just suggest caution giving him such an important job.”

  “We don’t give him that treasurer’s patch until we all vote on it,” Jayce agreed. “So, double patch party on the way. Now we gotta keep our eye out for prospects.”

  Tank chuckled. “Maybe we should ask Sharon if her kid wants to patch in.”

  There was some surprised laughter, and Fritter was shaking his head. “Um, no. No fucking way. If I suggest that, she might get her hands on my dick and balls in a way I won’t like as much as I usually do.”

  “There’s a couple of young mechanics Mickey had working at the garage,” Buck said, the only serious one in the group. “He hired cons, as you all know. I’ll keep an eye out. A few of them ride, and they’re not all born-agains looking to save anyone.”

  Happy with that, Jayce nodded. “Good. Now, another thing to keep in mind, Tank’s about to become a baby daddy as I’m sure you’ve all noticed.”

  There were whistles and clapping, and Tank’s face broke into a stupidly happy grin.

  “So in about two months we’ll need a new rooster in the hen house here,” Jayce went on. “I don’t expect Grace to hang out and keep sweetbutts in line with a new baby on her arm. This ain’t a paid position, so any thoughts on who we should tell the girls to listen to in the meantime?”

  “I’d say Wendy.” All eyes turned to him, and Tiny shrugged. “She’s been here a long fucking time. Have you seen her ever get jealous? Start a cat fight? She knows what’s what. A lot of the girls already answer to her anyway, no disrespect to Rose,” he was quick to add on with a nod at Tank. “Rose has the management bit down. Wendy’s got the mom kind of authority. They do what she says and come to her with their problems.”

  “Wow,” Tank said, a certain twinkle in his eye even though he wasn’t smiling. “Someone’s been paying more attention to the Land of Women than I ever would have guessed.”

  Dismissively, Tiny shook his head. “Whatever. Wendy’s my candidate.”

  “I think she’d like the little bit of status, actually.” Fritter nodded, considered, then added, “Yeah, Wendy.”

  Knuckles sighed. “I don’t know. Something just doesn’t sit right and—”

  “With Wendy?” Fritter looked to Tiny. “He said it all. She’s been here longer than we fucking have. Could have been someone’s old lady by now.”

  “Exactly.” Knuckles was quick to jump on that point. “Young things coming in here for a taste of something wild? They get it, they go on their way and start shoving out babies with the next guy not wearing a kutte. No matter how fucked their situation is that gets them here, this isn’t the goal.” Knuckles was driving a finger down hard into the table to make each point. “Wendy moved right in at sixteen for Christ’s sake, starting out as Mad Dog’s main slam.” Knuckles looked to Jayce, suddenly worried he might be stepping over some kind of line.

  “It’s okay,” the Prez said, with some humor. “We all know what Dad was like.”

  “Something hasn’t been sitting right with me lately, that’s all.” The club’s main assassin slumped back, hands resting on the arms of the beaten wood frame of the desk chair he’d ended up with years ago.

  “Is this still the whole thing with Neenie?” Tiny asked, trying to be patient. The goth-tastic girl had OD’d months ago, and Wendy had been the one to come and get help.

  “Neenie said Wendy didn’t like her, never had. And she never took that fucking Oxy knowingly.” Knuckles recited it like a cop being asked to spout off the Miranda.

  “So the woman’s been quiet until now, Wednesday Adams shows up and she decides to start slipping drugs to girls?” Tiny shook his head. “That seems really far-fetched.”

  “That’s my gut.”

  “Then you ate something weird because your gut is off.”

  “Okay,” Jayce cut into their banter. “Sorry Knuckles, but I gotta side with Tiny on that. We care about Neenie. We could have thrown her out, but we’re letting her stay, ain’t we?”

  Knuckles nodded. Not happily.

  “I think Wendy’s the right choice for the reasons Tiny said. She knows the score, basically designed the sweetbutt life in Markham. I think giving her a bit of status is only fair. But let’s talk to Rose,” he added, eyeing up his VP. “If she thinks something is weird there, we reexamine.”

  Tank nodded. “I’m good with that.”

  “All right. That’s it for now, remember we leave tomorrow at 8am sharp, bound for Hueneme again. And don’t forget to keep those busy social calendars clear. Day after tomorrow we got the grand opening of the Circus.”

  There were laughs around the table, and a surprising amount of anticipation. The Red Rebels’ strip club had undergone a major overhaul with Tank’s old lady at the helm. It was a slow process, but the gut-and-glam routine had upped the place’s credit a lot. With the new decor, pimped out to look like a travelling side show tent, and the possibility for rotating talent and
theme nights, the legitimate earnings for the club might really start to take off.

  There had been major problems, of course. When friends and business associates of the Red Rebels started getting hassled by outside criminal elements, it was hard to keep a contractor on the site. But the hard, specialized work had been done, and the club had pitched in for the finishing work. Tiny had grouted all the tile in the bathrooms, kitchen, and staff shower stalls himself. It was confirmation he was too old for so much fucking manual labor.

  And with Mazaris and Dirty Rats running rampant over their turf, kicking up dust, it might have been insane to consider opening the place. But the club was unanimously of a mind that hiding and cowering in the basement would only invite more trouble.

  They wouldn’t be cowed. Not in their own fucking town.

  Chapter Five

  It was dark, Firefly reruns were on her TV, and those two facts almost stopped Mallory from answering the door when the bell rang at quarter past ten on a Thursday night.

  She knew who was at the door, but she answered anyway.

  Hal leaned on her door jamb, hands in his front jeans pockets, thumbs through the belt loops. His jacket was open, the Henley underneath unbuttoned a little bit to show the leather cords around his neck with various dangling metal pendants.

  She sighed, crossed her arms, and didn’t invite him in. “It’s kinda late, Hal. What do you want?”

  “Mallory,” he drawled, smiling slow. The handsome fucker had a great smile and even as tired as she was it still made her stomach quiver to see it.

  “No,” she said, firmly. “Not tonight. Where’s Gail?”

  “On her rag and bitching me out every ten seconds,” came the irritated reply.

  “Poor thing. Goodnight, Hal.” She moved to close the door but his hand came up to stop it.

  “Mallory, come on. It’s been a while. I brought some pot.” The second part was added on like a bribe.

  “Hal, this is dumb. Go be with your girlfriend. Bring her chocolate.”

  “Come on. I know you’re missing me, I can tell. You’ve been a little wired lately. Tense. You need some loosening up.”

  She swallowed. It was true; a good fuck mellowed her out. But she’d decided this was the day she was making a change, and that included not screwing around with a band mate who was pretty much half her age, who also had a girlfriend besides. “You’re right. I need to relax. Leave the pot.”

  “That wounds me, Cherry.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  He chuckled and reached in his back pocket, pulling out a Ziploc. She ignored how the shirt strained across his chest. Lean, nowhere near husky and big, but there was still a lot of lovely to him that she could plainly remember, even with his shirt and jacket on. “Just got this. It’s good shit. Then we can fuck. I know you like it when you’re high.”

  She did. She really did. Inhibitions were gone, brain was off. There was just sensation and release. It was a glorious thing, and with Hal it was really, really good.

  Shit. Her resolve slipped. Just a bit.

  “I’m missing you. A lot. Let me in. We can both feel a hell of a lot better.”

  She huffed. “Fine.” She stepped away from the door and stalked back to her sofa. She heard the door close and lock as he came into her small apartment, and she flopped back in the same spot she’d been watching TV in. “Just the pot. We’re not fucking.”

  “Of course not.” He knew she was full of shit and his smile was annoying. He dropped the bag on the coffee table and shrugged out of his coat. Her eyes ran up his lanky form, and as much as she hated him most of the time she knew that was part of the attraction. Hate and love were the most heightened of all emotions. She hated him to the point of wanting him. How fucked up was that?

  He moved past her to the kitchen, going for where the bong was hidden. Traitors that they were, her eyes were locked on his ass in those beat to shit jeans, his stride confident and cool. He came back with the glass bong in hand and ready, sitting next to her on sofa close enough that his hip brushed against her leg.

  He loaded up the bowl then handed her the bong and his lighter. After a split-second decision making meeting with herself she took the offering, lit up the maryjane and took a hit. Then she handed it back to him, holding her breath until it burned and only then exhaling.

  “Told you it was good,” he mumbled, lighting up for himself.

  Mal stared at the TV, unsure of what was happening on Firefly. Oh wait, no. This was just a commercial for car insurance. Yeah, she was pretty sure there were no geckos on Firefly.

  The thought made her giggle, then cover her mouth. Holy shit, that stuff was potent. “Shit,” she said out loud. “Where’d you find this stuff?”

  “V’s new dealer,” Hal said, sounding weird because he was holding his breath while he spoke.

  “Fuck. I hope there’s nothing in it.”

  Hal shook his head and breathed out a plume of pot smoke. “Nah. This guy’s been selling for years, never been caught. He keeps his supply clean, from what I’ve heard.”

  Her head was light, so incredibly light. Even her limbs felt like they were about to float away. “Fuck. Was it expensive?”

  “Little bit more than the last guy, but nothing crazy. You like it?”

  She had to smile, knowing she likely looked a little stupid. “Yeah. I do.”

  Hal grinned then set the bong down. He turned towards her, hands going to either side of her hips as he leaned in. “You stoned already?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All happy, warm and fuzzy?”

  She just nodded, caught up in his beautiful brown eyes, the shape of his mouth.

  “How about wet?”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s not that good.”

  He smiled wider then leaned in to kiss her. His lips were warm and full, cushioning hers as he increased the pressure, pressing her head back into the sofa cushions. Her hand came up, sliding around the back of his neck, reaching for the tie in his hair that held it all back. With a few rough tugs it came free, letting his hair tumbled down over her hand. She grabbed a bunch of it and pulled, breaking the kiss just as he moaned. He liked her pulling his hair.

  They just stared at each other as her head spun. On one level she could feel her hand in his hair, but most of her seemed detached from it. Talk about fucking spaced.

  “There’s something in this shit,” she mumbled, ignoring the thrill she got as he ran a warm hand up the outside of her bare thigh, tucking into the cotton shorts she was wearing.

  “I think you’re right.” He sounded totally unconcerned. His hand kneaded at her leg. “Your ass looks great in these shorts.” Now his hand slid up and to the inside of her leg and her eyes closed on a gasp. “I bet you’re not wearing underwear.”

  He’d win that bet. She’d had a nice hot bath before changing into these sleeping shorts with the matching cami. It barely kept her tits in place but it was comfortable.

  “You really shouldn’t answer the door wearing this,” he added, head tucking under her jaw to kiss her neck.

  Again, thrilling and intense, but also removed.

  “I knew it was you,” she answered, breath hitching as his teeth nipped at her collarbone.

  His hand brushed over her mound and she groaned, back arching. Okay, that she felt.

  He chuckled, moving to his knees on the floor in front of her, shoving the coffee table back to make room. Leaning over her lap Hal palmed her breasts over the cami, eyes on her face.

  Her nipples peaked. He pulled and pinched at them, making her legs twitch and writhe at his sides. Her brain was completely on vacation, hands clutching at whatever they could. One went for the arm of the sofa, the other was over her head, pulling at the piping that decorated the cushion.

  “Holy shit,” he mumbled. “Fuck, you’re so turned on.”

  She knew she was, and it was alarmingly desperate. The small voice of reason that was still shuffling around in her head was te
lling her it was chemical, from that really fucking strong pot, but her body was freaking out and overriding reason.

  “Hal,” she panted when he took his hands from her breasts. “Fuck. Hal, I need...”

  “I can see, Cherry. I can see.”

  With quick tugs he pulled off her shorts, then hunkered down in a fast move, mouth closing over her clit. She cried out, hands grabbing his hair now, the orgasm racking her body and making all parts of her shake. Her legs were up, on their own power, but when the orgasm stopped she let them drop to his shoulders. He was looking up at her, totally stunned. “Cherry, you’re fucking drenched.”

  He always had to go down on her, otherwise she was too dry. That was just the way of life for a woman who’d hit fifty. He gave great head, so it was no hardship. But she’d never climaxed just from one lick.

  The passions had been sated, and she was trying to get her bearings. It had been good, really fucking good, but supernatural on a level she wasn’t sure she was comfortable with.

  He licked his lips, wiped at the stubble on his chin, then reached into his pocket. “You still good, Cherry?”

  Testament to how buzzed she was, she nodded, not arguing that he was still calling her that.

  “Good, baby. Good.”

  She watched him open his jeans, pull out the condom, and roll it into place. At the sight of it a fire lit off, a smaller one, but it was there. She wanted that. She wanted his cock in her while she was as out of her mind as she had been when he was playing with her tits.

  “Give me the bong,” she panted, hand out. He was on it, handing it over then the lighter, ready and at attention as she administered another hit. The light-headed happy came on her in a wash again, no delay, and he took the bong from her hands before she could drop it.

  In one movement she pulled her top off, then reached for the hem of his Henley. He raised his arms and she pulled the shirt free, sighing at the sight of him, hair falling over his shoulders, the necklaces clicking as they took their place on his chest. His eyes were on her chest, of course.