The Filthy Few (Iron Disciples MC)

by Daniella Tucci

  Finally I must have drifted off because I’m sleeping when I hear the door and the kitchen light turns on. I roll over onto my back and look towards the kitchen. I see him. Just a quick look as he goes from the kitchen to the hall and then disappears on his way to the bathroom I guess on account of the blood! He had a lot of blood on his white tee shirt and some splattered on his face. I feel like I should ask him if he’s alright but I get the idea that would be too intrusive right now. Something serious went down tonight and I’m not sure I even want to know. A few minutes later I hear the shower running. I’ll just stay up watching and when he comes back into the kitchen I’ll say hi.

  That was the plan at least. I fall asleep almost immediately. I wake when I feel the cushions on the couch sink down. I open my eyes and he’s staring back at me. He’s wearing a damp towel and nothing else. His hair is still wet and he still has beads of water dripping down his cheeks from his temples. He smells good. He smells clean, fresh, and all together wholesome.

  This time I need some answers. I’ll have to put my purring motor in neutral and draw him out. Unless I get some straight answers to my questions, this ends tomorrow. I reach out and place the tip of my finger on the letter E on his arm and slowly trace the name.

  “Who is Ethan?” I ask.

  Almost immediately his face hardens. His eyes grow cold and he physically pulls away from me slightly.

  “Who?” I ask again. “I need to know who you are or this, whatever we have ends tonight.”

  “Ultimatums…This is not a good night for putting demands on me Morgan.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t see the blood.” He says.

  I nod. “Yeah…I saw it. And that’s even more reason you open up to me or I’m calling my brother and I’m leaving tonight.”

  “Bye then.”

  “What the fuck? Are you fucking serious Cade? I ask you one damn question and you’re gonna be a pussy about it. Tell me who the fuck Ethan is/was.”

  “You got no right even speaking that name. You need to leave!”

  “Damn right I’m leaving. I’m not staying one more night with a murderer! I bet you killed someone tonight. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “I fuckin’ knew it! How many people did you kill tonight? More than one? I guess that makes you a serial killer then.”

  Okay that was uncalled for but I’m fucking pissed. People say things they don’t mean when they’re mad so I can be forgiven for calling him a serial killer.

  “That’s right, I’m serial killer. You got me pegged. Brilliant deduction Sherlock.” He says bitterly.

  Somewhere in my head a voice is telling me to dial it back before this ends even worse. I don’t really want to never see Cade again but I am so freaking pissed I can’t control what’s coming out of my mouth.

  A sudden thought strikes me. “Did you kill Cade? I bet you did. He was your first wasn’t he? It’s like a trophy isn’t it.”

  Suddenly his whole body tenses and his eyes literally shoot sparks. At that very second I am sure he’s going to kill me too. I clearly leaped over the line here and there’s no going back from here I suspect.

  “You wanna know who Cade was? Fine, I’ll tell you and them I’m kicking your ass out the door immediately!”

  “Cade was my son who died when he was six years old. Now if you have an ounce of respect for the dead, get your fucking ass out of my damn house!”

  I am stunned! I am completely fucking over the top dumbfounded. I am also seriously fucking sorry too. I can’t believe this. It’s like I’ve just spat on his son’s grave and that is the last thing in the world I ever wanted to do. I have to make this right, even if he never speaks to me again I have to make it right and I’m not leaving until I do. As furious as Cade is, I’m not afraid; funny as it sounds. I just have this feeling that he would never hurt me…or any woman despite the current focus of his rage. There must be a way to reel him in. Most women would start crying right about now and while that might work, I haven’t been able to cry since my mother died when I was thirteen. I couldn’t even cry when my father died not long afterwards. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna be able to summon up tears now. On the other hand, I am pretty good at talking down angry people.

  I remember when I was a new stockbroker and I convinced this guy to spend $130,000 of his $500,000 401k on a tech stock for a quick trade. Unfortunately the company missed their earnings for the quarter and the stock plummeted before the open. By the time he had the chance to sell he had already lost over $110,000! Of course I had to call him and tell him the news. That was the worst call I have ever had to make in this business and I was fucking scared. I was sure he would take me to arbitration to reclaim some or all of his losses. A move like that could easily end my career before it even got started.

  He answered on the first ring and the first words out of his mouth were, “What the fuck happened?” And the next fifty words weren’t any better; mostly a long string of fucks, son of a bitch, dammit, with a few creative ones thrown in for good measure. I let him vent for five minutes then when he finally had blown off the major part of his steam we talked strategy and by the end of the call he was apologizing for going off on me and gave me reassurances that he knew I would make back for him what had been lost and much more. Less than a year later I traded his account up to just over a million dollars and he was a very happy guy. That morning I had pulled a major fucking rabbit out of my hat and tonight, if I’m going to salvage the situation I’m gonna have to pull another giant fucking rabbit out of my ass or it’s over between us.

  I had no idea where to start so I started with: “I’m sorry Cade.”

  That little statement right there took a lot of wind out of his sails. I could see from his expression that it was about the last thing he expected from me. Time to build on it.

  “I fucked up!” A giant understatement. “I…I like you Cade. I really like you; you understand? But I have no experience with your world. I don’t know what kind of person you are. I wanted to believe you’re a good person because how could I have these strong feelings for someone who kills people. What’s that say about me? It didn’t enter in my mind that you could have very good, valid reasons for every time you have killed. When I look at it I just see it in black and white. Killing bad. For me there’s no gray in the color spectrum. But you have challenged my beliefs. You’re making me see that…that I need to understand before I judge and I am so very sorry for judging first.”

  My heart is hammering away painfully in my chest. I can feel my body quaking inside with fear. Not fear of him hurting me, but fear that this is the last night I’ll ever see him and I can’t have that. I have to win him over tonight. That’s the only acceptable outcome. I can tell my talk is having an effect on him. The hard line that was his mouth is beginning to soften. The narrow slits of his eyes are opening and his steely gaze is softening.

  “I am sorry about your son. The very thought breaks my heart. But you can talk to me Cade. I am no stranger to loss. I lost my mother on her birthday. She was 42 years old. I was just thirteen. On my fourteenth birthday my father died in a car crash and I went to live with my mom’s sister and her husband. It was fine and we got along pretty well but they weren’t my mom and dad and I never felt more alone. Sadly that feeling of loneliness I felt that day never goes away. I can’t drink, snort, smoke, or fuck it away; it just stays there. Believe me I have tried.”

  I’m finished talking. If he remains unmoved after what I just said then maybe I have misjudged him after all. At first he just stands there silent and watching. He has now adopted a poker face and it unreadable. Just at the point where I am sure he’s never going to open up, he starts talking.

  “I married at a very young age after my girlfriend got pregnant. I was 18 and she was four months shy of her 18th birthday when we finally went to the store to get a pregnancy test. Then we kept if for 3 weeks before having the courage to
do the test. When we found out we were going to have a baby we were both very excited. But as the reality set in about how much our lives were going to change forever, we began to wonder if keeping the baby would be a disaster. We talked about it and decided, even though we wanted to have a child and start a family, this was way too soon. We were too young to raise a child we thought. Unfortunately in our state and at that time, you couldn’t have an abortion unless your parents signed the permission slip for under age mothers. That pretty much tied our hands. If we waited until she turned 18 it would have been too late for the procedure; we were going to have a baby like it or not.

  Once we accepted the fact that we’re having a child together, giving it up for adoption was just not something either of us could stomach. My biggest fear was that when she had the baby I wouldn’t love it or even grow to love it. That really scared me. Despite what anyone said, I was sure I wouldn’t love him in the beginning. I could not have been more wrong! I was there for the 24 hours of labor and there when he came out. He was so beautiful and I felt so much love for him I just started crying. I barely remember cutting the umbilical cord and the doctor putting him in my arms. I just cried and cried. In fact after a bit the doctor asked if I was okay. I was more than okay Morgan, I was in love! I couldn’t get enough of him. I just wanted to hold him all the time. It was the best experience of my life and when he died it was the worst.

  From day one Ethan was like a miniature athlete. He rolled over earlier than most babies, focused and smiled earlier, stood at a very early age and learned to walk way before he was a year old. He was three when I took the training wheels off his bike. When he was five he was racing and beating kids several years older than he was. He was tall, coordinated, and very driven to win. Where he got that I’ll never know. I’m a big strong guy but not an athlete. One afternoon he was racing his best friend around the driveway. They’d done it a million times but on the million and oneth time…well he lost control and went off our driveway, between the rose bushes and out in the roadway where a car…where a car…a car h-hit him.”

  In the dim light I can see tracks of tears running down his face, and down his neck. The poker face has been replaced with one that is pure, unfiltered and non-diluted anguish. I have this feeling that I was wearing that exact same expression the day my mother died. They say a picture says a thousand words, but his face right now says them all. I have never seen someone in pain like this… Suddenly it hits me. I have seen this. When my mom died I remember seeing my dad completely lose it. He was trying to keep it together for us kids but one day it was too much and it all came out. And the expression on his face was exactly like the one on Cade’s and now I understand him. I feel terrible for accusing him of killing his own child. No wonder he reacted the way he did; he had every right to.

  “I’ll never forget running out of the house and down to the street where my little boy lay bleeding on the pavement. There were several people gathered around him but no one was doing anything. He wasn’t moving and his neck…his neck was at an awkward angle. There was a pool of blood around his head. I remember scooping him up in my arms. I remember the helpless feeling. I knew he was gone. I could just tell there was no life left in him.”

  Now Cade pauses and looks me straight in the eyes. “He was gone Morgan, my baby was gone and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do about it. I sat there on the street cradling my son for the last time and screaming at god, begging god, pleading with him to give my boy back. Take me instead I cried, but god didn’t listen. And there’s not a day in my life that I don’t wish I could take his place. He was too young to die. He was only six years old.”

  Cade looks down again, and sags to his knees, head and shoulders bowed in agony. Then slowly like an aged tree he falls forward onto the floor, his face buried in his arms. His body shaking with each gut wrenching sob. I can’t believe I brought this man to his knees with my cruel insensitivity! I can’t sit here and watch this awful train wreck. It’s a struggle but I manage to get off the couch and crawl over to him. I’m not sure how he’ll react to my touch but I can’t just leave him there in his pain. When I reach him I pause for a minute, not sure how to proceed. Finally I just do what comes natural and just go to the ground next to him, draping my skinny arms across his broad, muscular shoulders. For an instant he stiffens and I wonder if I have trespassed one time too many. Then he relaxes and allows me to offer what tiny comforts I’m able. After a minute or two I put my mouth next to his ear and just whisper sweet nothings. I feel so inadequate here. It reminds me of when my dad finally broke down about my mom and I remember feeling so inadequate then as well. It was such a horrible, helpless feeling; kinda like how I feel now.

  I can feel his body beginning to relax. It seems my words are the anesthesia he is looking for. His quaking is reduced to slight tremors, then complete relaxation. My lips are touching his right ear and when he turns his head to face me I don’t move when his lips come in contact with mine. At first they’re just touching and nothing more. I can feel his warm breath on my mouth as I am sure he can feel mine. It’s such an intimate feeling, sharing air like this and it’s beginning to give me goose bumps that begin on the back of my neck and down my spine. Pretty soon I just have to kiss him. This time when our mouths make contact they stay connected. That first kiss sends sparks down my spine and straight into my pussy. Our tongues start that intricate dance, touching, winding around each other like a pair of dark red snakes. Our lips are locked, pressed together with an unbreakable and somewhat painful force. His breath, like mine comes in short staccato bursts from his nostrils as our passion builds.

  Powerful arms circle around my body. He rolls to his back taking me with him so I’m perched on him with my hips grinding on his. The he grabs me and rolls me over. Madness and passion seize me in and I let it take me to places I have never dared go. This time when he enters me I let go. The tight grip I keep on my emotions, I let go. I cry out in ecstasy with every powerful thrust of his hips. So this is what it is to really fuck! I concentrate my focus on every nerve and every feeling Cade is creating in my body. I had no idea the night would end like this. When he finally shudders with his own thunderous release I wonder in the back of my mind; did we use protection.

  After a few minutes he does something he has never done before. He picks me up and carries me into his bedroom. I never really put any thought into what his room may have looked like but I would not have pictured this. There is nothing here. Well, there’s a bed and one dresser and a closet. But nothing that gives the room any life. There’s nothing on the walls and very little color to the place. It looks a little depressing. Maybe he just doesn’t spend much time here. But all those curious thoughts flee my mind as he gathers me into his muscular body holds me in his powerful arms. This is a really nice place to be I say to myself as sleep finally takes me. Yup, a really nice place to be.

  ELEVEN

  Chaos and Family

  I wake up to chaos! Cade is no longer sleeping next to me and I can hear angry voices coming from somewhere in the house. They’re muffled enough to where I can’t tell if Cade is talking or someone else and I can’t really make out any of the angry words. Quietly I dress and then slowly open the bedroom door and peer out down the hall. It seems like the voices are coming from the room Cade calls his office so I tip toe down the hall to the stairs and slowly ascend. When I reach the top of the stairs I can make out some of what’s being said and I can definitely recognize Cade’s voice among what must be at least two or three others. I listen for a minute then am shocked when I hear a loud moan.

  “Looks like he’s coming to.” Says a voice filled with anxiety.

  “Where…am…I?” Asks a groggy voice.

  “My place.” Comes Cade’s distinctive reply.

  He also sounds very worried. Clearly someone is hurt or sick or something. I wonder why they haven’t taken him to the hospital.

  “He should be in the hospital!” Says a very familiar voice.
>
  Oh fuck! That’s Eddie in there. What the hell is Eddie doing with Cade and the others? Answer…he is part of the club. Shit and he doesn’t even know what nearly happened here.

  “Thanks for that brilliant observation little brother. Are you volunteering to take him there yourself?” Cade asks.

  “You know I can’t.”

  “As can no one present here.” Cade says. “Anybody know a doctor or nurse or someone good with a needle and thread?”

  “I did a needlepoint of a horse when I was in the fourth grade, does that count?” I ask under my breath.

  “Just…just d-drop me outside…ER…an you go. I won’t s-say a word.” Pleads the injured man.

  “Fuck Kurt, why’d you have to go and get shot?” Someone asks. “Marty yelled run and we all ran; except you apparently.”

  “Wanted…to t-take the…shot.” The wounded man says.

  “We all wanted to take the shot bro,” Someone says. “But we were spotted. If we had just stayed there for the shot we’d all been shot to hell and not just you? You shoulda ran!”

  “Hey,” Cade says sternly. “Don’t chide a dying man or question his actions. It’ll do no good.”

  “Sorry bro.” Says the voice doing the chiding.

  “It’s okay…I…fucked up.” Says the dying biker.

  With each word he stammers out, he seems to be getting weaker and weaker. Pretty soon they won’t have to argue anymore about who should take him or where they should go. He’ll be dead in ten minutes.

  Suddenly I hear a door open and close. Two voices begin talking much louder than the others.