The Filthy Few (Iron Disciples MC)

by Daniella Tucci

  “What do you mean? They let him in of course. You think he could get in if we didn’t want him here?”

  “He’s invited?”

  “Hell yes! The Disciples and the County guys have always had a close working relationship with each other. You’ll never have to worry about getting another parking ticket or speeding ticket in this town again.”

  “Wow…I guess I have a lot to learn about bikers. Hey what’s the deal with Cade and his brother?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Isn’t Eddie trying to take over the club from Cade?”

  “That shit’s been going on since before I started hanging around here and it’ll probably be here when I’m six feet under.”

  “How do you guys manage to stay together with all that strife?”

  “You have a momma and a daddy when you was growing up?”

  “Yeah…” I reply, not knowing where he is going with this.

  “They ever fight…argue at least?”

  “They’re human. Of course they did.”

  “They get divorced at the first sign of problems?”

  “I get your point.” So the club’s a big family and of course they don’t get fucking divorce just because mom and dad are fighting.”

  “Now I think you under-”

  Prospect Red stops speaking and freezes for a second, head cocked towards the double wooden doors to the clubs inner sanctum. I think I heard it too; a series of muffled pops.

  Red listens for a second then pulls a black handgun from his waistband. Shit, I didn’t even know it was there. Then he retrieves another, smaller one from an ankle holster and extends it to me. I have never even held a handgun before but I’m not about to make myself look lame by admitting that. I take the gun knowing full well I am not going to shoot it. Stacy looks at me incredulously and I just shrug.

  Suddenly the doors to the inner room explode outwards in a cloud of bikers, smoke, and gunshots. I jump about two feet when a bullet strikes the counter in front of me and skitters off to the side. Groups of leather clad bikers spill out into the common room shooting and ducking. Even above the sound of the automatic weapons I hear shouts and screams of pain. Prospect Red points his weapon, fires three times in quick succession before throwing an arm around mine and Stacy’s shoulders and dragging us both painfully to the hard floor.

  I turn to Prospect Red whose ear is inches from my mouth. I can’t resist getting in a quick barb. “Looks like mom and dad are getting a divorce!”

  He just looks at me without replying and turns back to the battle in progress. I cannot believe what I’m seeing. It’s fucking war and I’m suck right smack in the middle. My heart is in my throat nearly choking me and pounding away like a fucking jackhammer. If it doesn’t return to normal soon I’m that shit’s gonna choke to death. I’ll be the first old lady in biker history to die from her heart in her throat during a shootout. Not the kind of headlines I would have wanted.

  Prospect Red is joined by another biker who is making signs at us to move. Prospect Red nods and turns to me to relay instructions. And that’s when I see it. The other biker had a cut on but it was different; not a lot different, but different nonetheless. I take another look and there it is. Instead of a Filthy Few patch on his left just opposite the side his heart is on is a different patch; Men of Mayhem. Probably means the same, but he is not one of us!

  Our eyes lock for the briefest instant and his eyes widen as he realizes what I have seen. I grab Prospect Red by the cut and force him to look at me. He does, just a fraction of a second before my vision goes red! It takes me a few second to realize what just happened. I can barely see anything, and what I can see has a blurry red haze in front of it. I can feel hot liquid running down my face and down my neck where it disappears between my tits. I wipe my face with my forearm but it does little good. I grab the bottom of my tee and use that to wipe my face down. Lying in front of me with his face in my lap is Prospect Red. I look up and the man who obviously shot him is crawling away from me and firing ahead of him. Abruptly I realize I still have a gun in my hand. That douchebag who shot Prospect Red either didn’t notice or guessed I wouldn’t use it. Soft hands grab my shoulders, pushing me down to the floor. I allow Stacy to push a little but if I’m flat on my tummy I don’t think I’ll be able to shoot this thing. I extend both arms, gripping the gun as tight as I can. I have no clue what I’m doing so it’s gonna be pure luck if I can actually do this thing.

  My heart is still hammering away, my breath is coming in ragged gasps, and my hands are shaking like a leaf in a stiff breeze. I hold my breath, point the business end of the gun at the douche’s back and yank the trigger twice. Not a fucking thing happens! I look closely. There are a couple small buttons and levers. One button is right by the base of the trigger so I push it. The magazine falls into my lap.

  “Fuck!”

  Suddenly I am showered with glass and booze! All around me, mixing in with someone’s blood is someone’s next bender; well, would have been had it not just got all shot to hell.

  I grab the magazine; give it a quick wipe with the hem of my tee shirt it and unsuccessfully attempt to shove it back into the handle of the gun. First attempt I get it backwards. Second try yields results. I grab the top of the gun. I remember seeing in movies where you can push the top part back toward the hammer and it’s supposed to load a bullet into the barrel. I grab it and shove it back and cry out in pain as the palm of my hand is raked over the sharper surfaces of the gun when my hand slips. This time I grab tighter and I actually do pull it back with a metallic click. I’m pretty sure I have just loaded my gun. I look up just as douchebag turns around to face me again. Clearly by the look in his face he didn’t know I had a gun and cannot believe I am actually pointing it at him.

  Casually he brings his gun up and starts to point it at me. I can hear Stacy hissing in my ear.

  “Shoot the fucker Morgan, shoot him!”

  In an obvious reaction to Stacy shouting in my ear I yank on the trigger again. To my complete amazement there’s a loud boom, the gun kicks back in my hand causing me to drop it on the floor. I look up at the man in front of me and his eyes are bugging out. He was sure I wouldn’t shoot him. He also looks unharmed.

  He gives me an evil look and mouths two words. “You’re dead!”

  His head explodes in front of me, showering me again in blood and brains. This time it hits me and I lean to the side and start heaving over and over again until my stomach aches and there’s nothing left to spew out. I feel Stacy’s arm around my shoulders and her other hand attempting to keep my long blonde hair out of the widening pool of blood and vomit. I realize my hands are empty. I look around but when I don’t see the gun right away I decide to just leave it here. Over the next several minutes I notice that sounds of gunfire are slowly being replaced by the sounds of men in agony, men in hot rage, and women keening over the fallen. I dare glance around the room and immediately wish I hadn’t. The place is a fucking war zone. All around the room are men dressed in their coveted cuts; either that of the Iron Disciples or the enemy club, the Outkasts. My ears are ringing so loudly I can hardly hear anything else. My throat is dry and burns from all the smoke from the guns. I still have the taste of blood fresh in my mouth and it’s making my stomach revolt again. I wonder how long I’m going to taste blood.

  Pretty soon I start hearing the authoritative voice of Cade booming out across the clubhouse. My hearing is still fucked up from the gunshots so I can’t really make out what he is shouting about. He appears to be pointing and directing. Standing attention at the clubhouse doors are two men holding what I believe to be AK-47’s. They look like they’d love to use them too. A couple minutes later three women dressed in blue scrubs begin checking out the wounded. Stacy and I scoot out of the way and eventually find an empty spot on a couch that isn’t covered in blood or a bloody biker. I sit down and Stacy sits right up against me and grabs my hand in hers. Once glance into her face and it’s obvious she i
s totally freaked out! She is definitely not cut out for the biker lifestyle. I on the other hand am getting one hell of a fucking initiation to the outlaw lifestyle and what it’s like to be an old lady.

  A few minutes later Cade spots us and makes his way over. I stand to greet him and once his arms are around me I nearly collapse in relief. He holds me tight, and then begins to gently wipe my face clean. I had forgotten how much gore is covering my face, hair and chest. I can feel my stomach roiling again and I’m seriously hoping I don’t vomit on Cade’s boots.

  It feels so nice to have him fussing over me; I’ve never had that before. After a bit he steps back again to look me over. Not only do I look better I’m sure, but some of the awful smell is gone. I do need a shower though. Suddenly I notice he is bleeding. Here I am unwounded being cleaned up by my man who has been shot in the leg.

  “Oh my god Cade, you’ve been shot! What the fuck happened at your meeting? Where’s a nurse? You need medical attention.”

  “It’s just a flesh wound.” He says. The slug went in about a half inch deep into my thigh and passed completely through. It burns a bit but is perfectly harmless.”

  “Yeah I’ll be the judge of that.” I reply, moving to unbutton his jeans.

  “Oh no you won’t, especially not here in front of everyone. Now see if you can scare up a drink for you two and the second I can break away I’ll come check on you again but it’s likely to be hours, and then I can only stay a minute. There’ll be work to do tonight; dirty ugly work to do.”

  And just like that he’s gone back into the middle of the clubhouse where he continues directing the masses. He does leave me with two clean hand towels and urges me to work on Stacy. She too is a mess. I kneel down in front of her and dab one end of the towel into a large mug of clean water that someone was kind enough to leave at my side. Pretty soon the white towel looks like someone washed it in hot water along with a pair of new pink panties. Every so often I use the time and close proximity to sneak in a kiss. Now that she is her beautiful brown self she is more desirable than ever. I try my best to just focus on her and not the chaos around us but it’s hard. I am dying to ask Cade what happened in the meeting and why everyone just started shooting each other. And the bigger question is, is his brother responsible in some way. Even though the other bikers were wearing Outkast’s cuts, maybe his brother enlisted in their help somehow.

  The Clubhouse Attack From Cade’s Point of View

  The moment I walk into the meeting room I know something is wrong. I can’t put a finger on it, but I know in my gut something is wrong with this picture. It’s like a sixth sense or something you develop from years of eating, breathing, and living violence. Your body has a natural alarm system that picks up on things that your conscious mind cannot. Even before I noticed people fidgeting around I know something is up. The second I enter the room my hair on the back of my neck is standing up; that and the hair on my arms. I know without a shadow of a doubt that something is wrong. Shit’s gonna go down; I just don’t know what and where. This sixth sense has saved my life on more than one occasion so I listen to it and I trust it until the rest of me catches up to what my psyche has already picked up on.

  I know the guys sitting around the table; I know them well. They have been my brothers for more than a decade. We’ve partied together, fought together, and bled together on more than one occasion. The bond between us is solid and before today I would have thought, unbreakable. There is nothing like the bond that develops between men who risk their lives for each other. There’s nothing quite like it. And that is why I am mystified by the feelings that are swirling around in my head.

  I take my seat between Shooter my Sargent at Arms and my beloved brother Eddie who is our VP. On one side is my most trusted officer and brother while on the other is my actual brother who is the man here that I cannot trust one bit. However, there’s no fucking way he’s gonna try anything at this table with my brothers present in force. So why the fuck do I feel this way. It’s the reason after two minutes that I excuse myself claiming need to empty my bladder and hurry to my office to throw on my Kevlar vest. I almost never wear the thing, and certainly not in my own clubhouse. So why the hell am I putting the damn thing on now?

  I put my cut back on and return to the meeting in progress. No one seems suspicious about my brief absence, not even my brother. The topic on the table the moment is our current problems with the Outkasts MC. My sources tell me they’re on a patch-over binge. Over the last four months they have successfully patched over two small clubs and one fairly sizeable one. From what we can tell, they have just grown their ranks by about 90 members. That’s a pretty fuckin’ sizeable increase. That’s just an estimate. We don’t know their current roster, but with these new brothers they’ve added to their ranks, they have to be getting close to our own numbers.

  The current debate is about what to do about it. Shooter is advocating going at them directly. By attacking small groups of the newly patched over members we may get some of them to rethink their decision to join the Outkasts. It’s not a bad move and one we have used successfully. Right now we have the guns and the cash to take them on in a small scale. A long war would be extremely tough.

  The other idea on the table is to go on a patch over binge ourselves. There are several smaller clubs we could probably pressure to become the newest Iron Disciples. That would certainly be the easiest way even though these pressured patch over’s often end up with hurt feelings at best and many opt out all-together. Not every club forcing a patch over will allow the other club’s members to opt out. Many outlaw clubs still enforce the blood in blood out in for life attitude.

  Rather than having a blood in blood out way of conducting club business the Disciples just make the process to getting patched in the most difficult and longest period as a hanger around and prospect. Nine out of ten prospects fall by the wayside before they’ve put in the usual three year time period. It’s a difficult three years at that. You are basically at the beck and call of any fully patched members 24/7. You gotta really want it!

  Back to the business at hand. I already know without asking which method of dealing with the Outkasts he prefers; the bloody one. Shooter will vote with him as well on this one. Just about any other time he votes the way I vote, no questions asked. The debate is heated and at this point I have no idea how the vote is going to go. If I was really convinced about taking one side over the other I would have lobbied for enough votes to get my way before even walking in the door. This morning I just walk in.

  My brother is fidgety for some reason and he keeps glancing around the room like he’s looking for something. Twenty minutes into the meeting I have identified seven other brothers who are out of character. Like my brother, they are…nervous. My brother and these guys are fucking nervous about something. Are they worried about the upcoming vote? Not likely. So what the hell is going on? Something is or I would not have put on my vest. I sense something bad coming, no doubt about that. Maybe I’m jumping the gun here. Maybe there’s no immediate problem. It could be the problem will happen during a patch-over party or a raid on the other club; impossible to say.

  The debate over the Outkasts problem is long and getting downright boring; another unusual meeting. Most issues are put to vote in the first twenty minutes. This one has been going on for almost an hour. Finally my eyelids cannot stay fully open anymore. I am just too tired, and that’s why it takes me so long to react when something really wrong does happen! Suddenly my brother stands up, along with seven or eight other brothers and they all take off their cuts. At first I think they’re quitting or just protesting our decision. That’s when I notice that under the Disciples cuts they are all wearing Outkasts cuts! They are fucking attacking us right in our own inner sanctum. Then it’s chaos!

  Guns come out and suddenly there are seventeen angry bikers shooting it out like the OK Corral! It’s so fucking surreal that I can hardly believe its happening. In fact I don’t even fire my first sh
ot until the guy across the table from me fires his first shot. He hits me square in the chest knocking be back head over heels. I go down hard but the vest has saved my life. He thinks I’m dead so he doesn’t expect my next move. I manage to hang on to my own 9mm so I just aim and fire at his boots. The second he hits the floor I put two into his face from about three feet away. The noise is horrendous! I have been in a number of gun battles but have never had so many people shooting it out in such a small enclosed space. It’s a fucking nightmare! Brother shooting brother. Now I know why those guys were so nervous. They were about to betray their brothers. None of them are getting out of here alive though. At the first sound of shooting there’ll be a hundred loyal Disciples pouring into the clubhouse. I can’t believe it. These guys are throwing their lives away to switch with my brother to the Outkasts MC.

  As I struggle to my feet bodies are falling around me. I’m having a hard time breathing right about now and I feel like I’ve been caught between the hammer and anvil. If my sternum isn’t cracked I’m gonna be surprised. That fucking bullet would have gone clean through me if it hadn’t been for the Kevlar. The instant my head clears the table a bullet hits the hardwood surface sending painful splinters into my face and narrowly missing my eyes. I duck and cover.

  When I come back up the second time the door to the inner sanctum is wide open. Two Outkasts are leaving through it. I bring my gun up, focus, and squeeze off two shots in rapid succession; tap tap, your dead! The guy on the right falls but the other disappears out into the main clubhouse. I don’t feel bad at all about shooting an enemy in the back; not after he betrayed his club. I hurry around the table and pause to see who I shot. I grab his long brown hair and turn his face up so I can see him. It’s Stone, the clubs treasurer. I remember his patching in party. He was a good guy. I wonder what the hell happened and why he would betray his brothers. If I am going to have any chance at keeping this club together I need to find out what caused these members to turn and see what I can do to make sure no one else has any thoughts in that direction.