The Filthy Few (Iron Disciples MC)

by Daniella Tucci

  “Fine, call him and invite him over. We’ll pretend to talk business but then I’ll introduce him to Cabe and then your friend can ask him questions.”

  “Great, what time shall I ask him to drop by?”

  “Well, since he was up all night why not come after three?”

  “I’ll call him after nine.” She replies.

  The stock market is all over the place and extremely volatile. When her friend Corey shows up at three I would have sworn it wasn’t even noon yet. Fortunately Cade walks into the living room as Stacy is introducing him to me.

  “Stacy tells me you’re in a motorcycle gang.”

  Corey deliberately uses the word gang instead of club on purpose. Motorcycle gangs are basically groups of people who ride motorcycles and anyone who pays their dues can join.

  On the other hand a motorcycle club is very exclusive. It takes years for a person to go from person to hanger on, to prospect, to fully patched member. It is especially hard if you are trying to get into an outlaw club. Few people have any clue the level of commitment required to belong to an outlaw MC. It makes the till death do us part marriage commitment seem inconsequential. Most outlaw clubs require a lifetime commitment where the club supersedes every other aspect or commitment in your life. In the military they often say god, country, and family, but in the outlaw MC community it’s the club, the club, and the club; everything else takes a distant fourth place. Motorcycle clubs are the one place where equal rights for women are still back in the dark ages. Women can never belong, even if you reach the coveted Old Lady status. You belong to your man, but you have no rights in the club and the club will always come first.

  “It’s a club Carey,” Cade replies, intentionally miss-pronouncing Corey’s name. Let the battle of wills begin. “So what do you do for a living?”

  “Army intelligence.” Corey replies, fixing Cade with a steely glare.

  “Army intelligence? Isn’t that kind of an oxymoron?”

  “I’ll tell you what one isn’t; bikers and third grade educations. Don’t those go hand in hand in your world Carob?” Corey fires back, deliberately calling him the wrong name again.

  I’m beginning to wonder at the wisdom of bringing Corey here to sniff things out. It’s clear he not only has no respect for bikers, but he seems to really dislike them in general. Things could get real ugly here in a hurry. Maybe I should do something to cool down the two sparring bulls before they lock horns. On the other hand I’m kind of enjoying this. Corey is a strong willed and fearless individual and it warms my heart to see him taking Cade down a peg or two. And for the thousandth time I wonder why I dislike the guy (Cade) so much? It seems like there is more to it than just the whole thing about the Filthy Few patch. On the other hand I can’t see myself liking a murderer. I am very curious to hear what Corey will have to say about him later. But for now I’m just going to enjoy my front row seat at the fights.

  Then Corey notices the bullet hole in the wall. This should be interesting.

  Corey points to the hole. “Cleaning your gun again?” He asks.

  Ouch! That has to sting a bit. Accusing another gun enthusiast of an accidental discharge while cleaning his own gun is fighting words if there ever were any, but Cade handles himself perfectly.

  “Just cleaning someone’s clock actually! I just taught a man a very hard lesson about pulling a gun on an unarmed man. He definitely won’t be doing that again; or anything else for that matter. So if you think you can waltz in here with your fancy military training and push me around why don’t you draw your own weapon and I’ll send you off to join the other guy.”

  Corey laughs. “If I thought I even needed a gun against you I wouldn’t be much of a man. You should be the one pointing the gun. Not that it would do you any good but at least it might help you feel a little better about your chances!”

  Stacy and I realize at the same instant that the two men have just crossed the point of no return. They’re not going to back down from each other without blood being shed. As fast as I can I swing my legs off the couch in an effort to get between the two angry men? Fortunately at the same instant Stacy steps in between the two men. She faces her friend, placing her hands on his chest and pushing gently.

  “That’s enough Corey. If you two want to go Raging Bull on each other that’s fine but not now and not in front of me and Morgan; and certainly not in our house. Even if you did kick his ass you’d be torn apart in court for starting something in a man’s house. Come on Corey back off!”

  To my utter surprise both men back down and take a step back away from each other. I also realize something from the exchange. Yes Cade is a killer of some sorts, but Corey is no less of one either. The only difference may be what motivates them and for me that makes all the difference in the world. I just have to figure out what motivates Cade.

  I make a hasty speech about being in pain and needing rest while Stacy pleads too much work to do and too little time to do it. Sixty seconds later she’s ushering Corey out the door and promising to call me later tonight.

  Cade walks over and sits down on the edge of the couch by my knees.

  “Are you really in pain?” He asks. “Or were you just trying to prevent WWIII?”

  “A little of the first and a lot of the last!” I reply. “I thought you guys were going to kill each other.”

  “What the hell was he here for anyway?” Cade asks.

  Things got so serious so fast we totally forgot to pretend he was here for investment advice. No point lying now. Cade will see right through it.

  “I asked Stacy to bring him because he’s like this human lie detector. Plus he’s a really good judge of character.”

  “How can someone with so little character of his own be a good judge of other’s character?” He asks.

  “What? He’s a good guy. He’s been in Army Intelligence for like twenty years and is a decorated officer. He has great character Cade.”

  “There’s two kinds of killers…make that three kinds. One kind kills of necessity, one because of pathology, and the kind Corey is.”

  He pauses so I ask. “And what kind is Corey?”

  “He kills because he likes it. He’s just fortunate to be in a job that affords him the opportunity to do just that or he might have become a serial killer or something.”

  “What the hell? You can’t be fucking serious Cade!”

  “I am also a good judge of character Morgan and I know his type. I see them all the time in the motorcycle world. Most are military types that eventually find themselves in outlaw clubs because the military ceased to need them in the capacity they were accustomed to. With the end of the war in Iraq and he troop withdrawals area clubs were inundated with ex- military types looking to belong to an outlaw club. It’s a natural fit. They get the brotherhood they are used to; the comradeship that can only be found in the military or a motorcycle club. They also get the chance to exercise their violent tendencies in many clubs.”

  “Clubs like yours?” I ask.

  “Clubs like mine and much worse. There is a place for violent people in my club. We have to protect our people and our way of life and sometimes that comes at a price. There’s a reason I was never a Sargent at Arms while I worked my way through the ranks. The Sargent at Arms is a position for the most violent member, along with the members who perform the club’s security. That’s not for me though.”

  “Really? ‘Cause it sure looked like it a minute ago.”

  “Defending your home and seeking out violence are two very different things Morgan. I don’t seek out conflict of any kind but I can certainly handle it.”

  Could it be that I have completely misjudged him? I am seriously beginning to wonder about my first assessment of the man. Before my mind can turn to the day’s business I feel a hand brush my bare thigh and it’s no accident. I suddenly wonder the wisdom in wearing shorts; especially ones that barely cover my butt cheeks! I turn off my tablet computer that is resting on my lap and consider se
tting it aside. But maybe it should stay in my lap. It is the only thing protecting my nether regions from his soon to be roaming hands at the moment.

  I close my eyes for a second and consider my options here. Fuck or no fuck? Fuck me or no fucking me? What the hell do I want from this man? And by the fucking way, he still hasn’t addressed the Filthy Few patch issue either. Or maybe he has, I don’t know. What I do know is I have precious little time here. The longer that hand stays on my skin the stronger the tingly fuck me feeling is getting. I put my left hand on top of his as it begins its onward trek towards the hem of my shorts.

  “That’s far enough buster,” I say without thinking.

  “Buster?” He says. “I have been reduced to buster? That’s not very flattering.”

  “Geeze, since when do badass motorcycle guys worry about a girl flattering him? Or is your ego that fragile?”

  “You never let up do you?” He asks. “You’ve got more defenses than Fort freaking Knox Morgan.”

  “Damn fucking straight! And you’d have a better chance getting in to Fort Knox tonight than my Balenciaga’s from Barneys!”

  “You’re what, from where?” He asks, genuinely surprised.

  “My shorts from Barneys New York; never mind. I still have some questions that need answering…buster!”

  He removes his hand immediately and scoots back away from me as far as he can without sliding off the couch. His expression is like a scorpion or something just bit him in the ass.

  “Wow…you’re gonna give up that easily?” I ask with a small smile to take the sting out of my words.

  Immediately he puts his hand back on my leg, but this time he’s slid his fingers underneath the thin fabric of my shorts.

  “I didn’t say I’d give away the farm either.” I say, putting my hand back on his and stopping his forward motion.

  “How about just a couple of sheep then? I am one hell of a farmer you know.”

  “I know you wanna plow me; that much I do know.”

  This time his hand is much more insistent as it moves farther up beneath my shorts. With my hand on his I try to exert enough pressure to stop his forward motion but clearly he’s not going to let me stop him.

  Now he leans forward and places his lips on the nape of my neck. When I open my mouth to breathe a heady mixture of his very masculine scent rushes in and makes my head spin. Everyone has their own smell that is particular to them alone and Ethan is no different. What is different is the effect it has on me. Taking a deep breath with him this close to me is very much like downing a shot of strong liquor on a hot day and on an empty stomach. It goes to my head so fast my guards drop before I even realize what’s happening; not that I am very motivated to stopping him either.

  His mouth moves up my neck pausing at my jaw just beneath my ear. My skin is so sensitive to his touch I swear I can feel the track left by his mouth as it moved across my skin from the bottom of my neck to my ear. It’s on fire, but not painfully so. It’s more like a very intense sweet sharply tingling sensation. All I really know is my skin is alive and I don’t want this to end.

  I take a deep breath and turn my head so that my mouth will meet his, and when they finally do the reaction is immediate. What were tender, sweet explorations have become rough but not painfully so. His hands are insistent, driven by animal like passion and the raw, basic need to just fuck me! They’re everywhere at once powerful, gentle, and satisfying. He seems to know what my body needs before I even do. By the time he is tearing at my panties I have lost all sense of time, space, and bodily control. I just feel things I have never experienced before. We’re on the couch, what’s left of the coffee table, the floor, and upside down hanging, spinning, pumping, up, down, side to side, every way, position possible.

  When my brain finally catches up to my body again we’re on the recliner. How we got there with my broken leg I’ll never know. But now completely satiated I curl up into his powerful body, close my eyes and let myself fall hard; to sleep and possibly to love? But that can’t be. I barely know the man. I’ve just let him hijack my body twice but it’s far from getting to know the person who sports a badge declaring himself a killer. As I’m falling I promise myself I’ll get to the bottom of that before it’s too late; it it’s not too late.

  NINE

  Cade’s Better Half

  I’m just starting my morning routine that consists of drowning myself in coffee when Stacy shows up for work. We both decided she can assist me better here than at the office with Jason. The plan is for me to stay with Cade one, maybe two more days then I’ll go home where I’ll work from there another couple days before returning to my office.

  It’s a business as usual kind of day until Cade plops himself in the recliner. He doesn’t say anything and doesn’t seem to have any agenda either. He just sits there watching us work. I tolerate it but I don’t like it. Maybe I’ll do the same to him and just show up at his shop and kick back on one of his bikes and watch how he operates. He’s quite for the first couple hours before curiosity gets the best of him.

  “That guy just bought twenty-five thousand shares of Cisco? Where the hell does he keep them all? He must have one hell of a basement.”

  “You don’t actually hold the physical shares. The names and how many just appear in your account.”

  He thinks about it for a few more minutes, then the second I get off a call he asks another question.

  “So when you sell the shares you don’t actually have who sends the check? The dude who bought them from you?”

  “You don’t actually get a check or any physical money. It just shows up in your account. And the brokerage that holds your account puts the money in it for you.”

  He thinks on that for a few minutes before ambushing me with more comments.

  “So you’re basically spending 80 hours a week buying and selling nothing really, and your clients aren’t getting anything either. That guy who bought Cisco, how does he know you gave him the best price? Maybe some guy down the street is having a twenty percent off sale on his Cisco. Do you give refunds?”

  “We don’t set the price Cade, the market makers on the floor of the exchange set it and everyone pays that price until there’s no more offered at that price then it moves up or down to a new price.”

  “Do you realize how crazy that sounds?” He asks, shaking his head. “No good can come from what you’re doing.”

  “Really? ‘Cause that last phone call I made to the guy who bought all those shares of Pfizer, I made ten grand and it took all of five minutes to make it. What do you know that offers that kind of money?”

  “You mean other than gun running and drug muling of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Nothing does, I suppose.” He concludes. “I just think you spend a hell of a lot of time doing…I don’t know what. I feel like Alice and I just fell down the rabbit hole and you’re like, the mad hatter and Stacy there is the Cheshire Cat.”

  “Well at least you haven’t called me the Queen of Hearts. That’s a definite plus.”

  “Oh…I forgot about her.”

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I do have work to do.”

  “Yes yes, go make those rich folks even richer.”

  “Where do you get of criticizing my way of life?”

  “Have I ever said anything about your murderous ways? You still haven’t given me a plausible explanation for your Filthy Few patch.”

  He opens his mouth to reply then shuts it immediately when there’s a loud knocking on the door.

  He disappears down the hall and the moment I hear the door open I can tell it’s not going to be a happy visit. I hear whispers first, and then Cade, who doesn’t swear much for a biker, lets loose a respectably heated invective littered with curse words.

  “Son of a fucking mother bitch ass shit fuck. I am gonna fucking find that mother fucker and shove his fucking dick up his own ass and fuck him with it till he shits his mother fucking ass; then I’m gonna skin t
he shithead alive!”

  Whoa. I’m not even sure some of those words even go together. I should know, I practically have a masters degree in swearing. I don’t know what happened but I’m glad it’s not me he’s pissed at right now. He is gonna go off on someone and I’m glad it’s not me.

  “Did you hear that?” Stacy asks. “Holy crap and I thought you swore a lot.”

  “Hey…before you get all starry eyed he’s an amateur. I mean, who says mother bitch ass? That doesn’t even make sense!”

  “Wow, I never pegged you for the jealous type Morgan.”

  “Shut your fucking trap you sideways fornicating little ho! There…how was that?”

  “What’s with the sideways bit?”

  “Oh come on, haven’t you heard that saying about Asian girls having a sideways pussy?”

  “I assure you mine is definitely vertical.” She replies. “I can show you if you want proof.”

  “Maybe later.”

  Cade walks in the living room and over to the kitchen. A tall lanky biker with a blond Billy Idol hair style follows him in. His cut doesn’t quite cover the fact that he has a black pistol tucked in his waistband. Trouble is coming! Well, more like trouble is here. The look on his handsome face could melt iron. I hear the clink of glass and I know without seeing that they are sharing a drink. I motion Stacy over to me.

  “I’ll handle the phones. I want you to snoop. I want to know if I’m in any danger by staying here tonight. Something really bad happened and I need to know if I’m going to be in the middle of a biker war.”

  “Got it.”

  My phone rings immediately and it’s back to business. By the time I can finally breathe again it’s three in the afternoon and Cade and Billy Idol have stormed out.

  “Alright Stacy, out with it. What the hell is going on around here? Am I in any danger?”