Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set

by Hildreth, Scott

  “I will.”

  As the sound of his motorcycle’s exhaust faded away, we carried the plates to the kitchen.

  “I’ll get this cleaned up,” I said. “You cooked it, I’ll clean up.”

  “I can help.”

  “I know you well enough to know it’s eating you up inside about that cousin of yours,” I said. “There’s a computer in my bedroom. Go start digging.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Really?”

  I looked at her and grinned. “Really.”

  She clenched her fist and held it between us. “Good lookin’ out.”

  I pressed my fist into hers.

  Glad I could help.

  Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Five

  Joey

  I’d been up half the night researching. After only a few minutes, I’d found information about my cousin. Intrigued by him, his club, and the thought of finding a relative of mine, I read everything I could find about him and his father.

  There wasn’t a tremendous amount of information available about the club, short of one news story and a video about a botched bank robbery where a member of the MC took a gun from a bank robber.

  Involvement in miscellaneous toy runs, fundraisers, and charity events led me to believe the members of the club were good people, and I was eager to find out more.

  I’d woke up rather anxious, and came to work a few minutes early. Just before they unlocked the front door, Albert walked into the parts department.

  Crap.

  “Where’s Blane?” he asked.

  “I don’t think he’s here yet.”

  He looked at his watch and then shook his head. “Have you got a minute?”

  His face was stern.

  It was always stern.

  Oh my God.

  Don’t fire me.

  Please.

  He was the owner of the dealership, and the general manager. In his late fifties with closely cropped gray hair and always wearing a few day’s growth of beard, he was a tall and very intimidating man. He rarely came around the employees, and when he did, it was never a good thing.

  I swallowed heavily, nodded, and inhaled a short breath.

  “Just got last month’s figures done,” he said “You hit your sales goal, and then set a record. You’re quite a salesperson.”

  I exhaled. “Thank you.”

  His eyes narrowed a little. “Where’d you learn about Harleys?”

  I held my shoulders high. “My father was Billy The Snake Schreiber, enforcer for the Hells Angels. He started it all. And, I’m friends with a few of the members of MCs here in SoCal.”

  He chuckled. “The Billy Schreiber?”

  I nodded proudly. “Yes, Sir.”

  “But your last name’s--”

  “I was adopted.”

  His eyes widened. “I see.”

  He reached into his back pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to me. “That’s your monthly bonus check, and another check for setting a new sales record. We’ll add a plaque on the wall for you back there.”

  He motioned to a row of bronze plaques in the hallway. I found the thought of being added to the hall of fame humbling.

  “And, you’ve earned two weeks of paid vacation,” he said. “Whenever you want to take them, just let me know. One week at a time, though.”

  I accepted the envelope. “Oh. Wow. Thank you.”

  “You don’t have a college education, do you?”

  I set the envelope aside. “No, Sir.”

  “According to your file, you don’t have any management experience. Is that correct?”

  “I don’t. No.”

  He glanced down at the floor, let out a sigh, and then looked up. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  I had no idea what the problem was, but he looked worried.

  “About what?” I asked.

  “Big Hank’s going to have to be operated on, and the recovery is going to be a tough one. Long story short, he won’t be returning. I need a new manager for this department, and I always like to hire within. I’ve been crunching the numbers, and making the purchases, but I can’t keep it up. Not forever.”

  My heart rose into my throat. “I can. I can do it. Give me a chance. Show me what needs done, and I swear, you’ll only have to show me once. I’m a whiz on anything computer related, and I’m a walking calculator. I swear, if you give me this chance, you’ll never regret it.”

  He folded his arms. “You’re twenty?”

  “Twenty-one in a matter of weeks.”

  “You are great at sales.”

  “I love Harleys and the people who ride them.”

  He gave a nod. “It shows.”

  “Please?”

  “The Snake’s daughter, huh?”

  “I sure am. But, I don’t want the job because I’m someone’s daughter. I want it because you think I’m the right person for it. And, I’m the right person for it. I really am.”

  “It’s a tremendous responsibility.”

  “I’m a responsible woman.”

  He cocked his head to the side. After looking me up and down for a moment, he checked his watch. “I’m going to have that kid’s ass.”

  “Back to what we were discussing,” I said. “Your thoughts?”

  “Panhead model was made from when until when?” he asked.

  “1948-1965. It was replaced by the Shovelhead, which was manufactured from 1966-1984. A few Shovels leaked into 1985, but not many. The Evolution, or Evo, replaced the Shovel, and it ran from 1986-2000. Twin Cam followed, coming out in late 1999 in some softies, and it’s still made today, although there’s been some fairly significant changes since the first model.”

  “Damn.” He chuckled. “Walking dictionary, too?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He put his hands on his hips. “Who founded Harley-Davidson?”

  I proudly recited the story as best as I could remember. “In 1901, William Harley and his friend Arthur Davidson had a dream. Through their friend Henry Melk, a machine shop owner, they developed the first engine. It took two years to complete, but in 1903, the first Harley-Davidson was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.”

  “Impressive,” he said. “Six-month probation period. If you meet the goals I set, you can have the permanent job. If you don’t meet your goals, you can go right back where you were as a sales clerk.”

  I cocked a playful eyebrow. “Should we discuss wages and benefits first?”

  “Fifty-five thousand a year plus monthly bonus, a 401-k that I’ll match, Blue Cross health insurance, and two weeks paid vacation.”

  Fifty thousand dollars?

  Despite the fabulous offer, I wanted him to know I was a good negotiator. I folded my arms over my chest, took a step back, and studied him. “Make it sixty-five.”

  He let out a laugh. “Sixty.”

  “Seventy.”

  “Sixty-two-five.”

  “Seventy-two.”

  “Sixty-five it is,” he said with a laugh.

  Holy cow!

  I clenched my fist and held it between us.

  He looked at my fist, clenched his, and grinned.

  With a racing heart, and a prideful smile, I pressed my fist to his.

  And, just like that, we made the deal.

  Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Six

  P-Nut

  I twisted the throttle as tight as it’d go. Blaring down the street at 90 miles an hour, I was going three times the legal speed limit. When the shop came into my line of sight, I swerved across the oncoming lane and into the parking lot.

  In a full-throttle run, I blasted past the shop’s open garage doors, locked up the rear brake, and spun the bike into a 180-degree tailspin.

  Halfway through the controlled skid, I released the brake, downshifted two gears, and hit the throttle.

  Now pointed directly at the open doors, the bike shot through them and onto the spotless concrete floor of the shop.

  I grabbed a fistful of front brake and the pr
essed the rear brake pedal at the same time. The bike came to a screeching stop in the center of the shop.

  After whacking the throttle a few times for good measure, I killed the engine.

  Crip was leaning against the work bench drinking a beer. Unless he was taking care of beating someone’s ass, he could always be found in the same spot.

  Against the bench with a beer.

  “God fucking damn you, P-Nut,” he howled. “Don’t come in this shop like that. You’re going to kill someone one of these days. And, I’m sick and fucking tired of you revving that piece of shit up in this shop. It’s un-goddamned-called for. This is the last time I’m telling you.”

  He was the president of the Filthy Fuckers MC, and a former navy SEAL. He was a wise man, a great leader, and someone I comfortably called a brother. Despite holding him in such high regard, I treated him as if he irritated me. In fact, I never let anyone know how I felt about them.

  I considered doing so a sign of weakness.

  I pulled off my helmet, hung it over the handlebars, and reached for my smokes. “That’s what you said the last time.”

  “Well, this is the last time.”

  “Until next time.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I’ll slow that fucker down when I’m too old to control it.”

  He crossed his arms. “What the fuck brings you in here this time of day?”

  “Ever heard of the Selected Sinners MC?”

  “Yep.”

  “What do you know about ‘em?”

  “Decent bunch of fellas, I think. Midwest presence. Kansas, Texas, and maybe Oklahoma. Up and coming club, for sure. President’s name is Bishop. Axton Bishop. Why?”

  I lit my smoke, took a long drag, and nodded. I was damned impressed with his knowledge, but I wasn’t about to let him know.

  “Girl who lived next door is the cousin of this Bishop fella. She just found out. Didn’t know she had any relatives. Long story, but I might be makin’ a run out that way to see him.”

  “Smidge?”

  “Smudge.”

  He shrugged. “I was close.”

  “I’ll start calling you Crop instead of Crip. Suppose that’s close enough.”

  He let out an audible sigh. “Need some club presence on that run to see him?”

  I took a long pull off my cigarette and then blew the smoke in his direction. “Nope.”

  He waved his hands through the plume of smoke, as if coming in contact with it would kill him.

  He shot me a glare. “1,500-mile run is a long one. Going without a chase vehicle or a few of the fellas isn’t a good idea.”

  “1,364, to be exact. And, I ain’t lookin’ to have any of the fellas tag along, thank you very fucking much.”

  “Remind me why you’re in this club.”

  “I love large groups of sweaty men.”

  “I’m being serious. You’re one hell of a rider, I’ll give you that. And you never miss a meeting, a ride, or a run. When it comes time to take care of business, you’re right there, every time. You’re devoted, that’s for damned sure. But you want nothing to do with anyone in this club unless it’s on your terms.”

  I took another drag off my cigarette and considered what he’d said.

  I locked eyes with him. “I’d take a bullet for anyone in this club, you included. Two things in my life are important to me, family, and this club. But, I’m no different than anyone else in this MC. I don’t swap spit with every swinging dick who wears a patch. Don’t know ‘em that well, and don’t care to.”

  “You run with Smokey, Pee Bee, and Cholo. That’s it. Club’s a damned sight bigger than that, ‘Nut.”

  I spit out a laugh. “The patch earns my respect, but friendship comes hard, Prez.”

  “Just saying, you ought to try running with a few of the other fellas. Get to know them.”

  I thought of the prospect that ended up being an ATF agent. Smokey, despite my warning, had befriended him. In the end, he was a cop who was posing as a biker.

  I chose my friends wisely, and only after a long period of them proving themselves. With me, trust was earned over time, and never simply given.

  Trusting people exposed me and those I cared for to risks, and I wasn’t in the risk-taking business.

  “Let me ask you a question, Boss.” I said, my tone sarcastic.

  He took a drink of beer and then gave me a condescending look. “I’m all ears.”

  “Other than club business, when was the last time you rode with Bones?”

  He glared.

  “Big Larry?”

  He took a drink of beer.

  “T-Bone? Lightning?”

  “I can’t ride with everyone,” he growled. “I’ve got a club to run, ‘Nut.”

  “I can’t ride with ’em all, either. But I’ll ride with the ones who prove themselves.”

  “Your point is what?” he asked.

  “My point is that you and I are lot alike, but for different reasons. You don’t like people, and I don’t trust people. End result’s the same.”

  He finished his beer and tossed the empty bottle in the trash. “Suppose I’ll give you that. Let me ask you a question, ‘Nut.”

  “I’m all ears,” I said mockingly.

  “You trust me?”

  “Trust you? Absolutely. Just don’t like you,” I said with a laugh.

  “Don’t care much for you, either,” he said dryly. “You want some company on that run to see Bishop?”

  I shook my head. I hadn’t even mentioned it to Smudge yet, but I was sure she’d want to go. The thought of just the two of us going was exciting, and I was actually looking forward to it.

  “Doin’ this one alone, Boss. Nothing against you or the club, but I’m taking the girl on a fact-finding mission, and she’s pretty sensitive right now. Tough patch in her life. She’s kind of like me, she ain’t too trusting.”

  His eyebrows raised. “Something need taking care of?”

  “Already took care of it.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  I considered simply saying no, and then decided to tell him the truth. I got little recognition out of being one of the good guys, and needed all the help I could get.

  “Stepdad was beating the shit out of her, and I didn’t know it. Tough little bitch, that’s for sure. Found out he’s been beating on her for years. Saw her at Biggs a week ago, and her eyes was damned near swelled shut. So, I took care of him.”

  “Her stepdad?”

  “Yep.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch.” He crossed his arms over his chest and inhaled a long breath through his nose. “I’ll pay that motherfucker a visit.”

  “Already taken care of.”

  “He still walking?”

  “Yeah, but he looks like someone stuck his head in a garbage disposal.”

  He looked down at the floor and shook his head. After a moment, he exhaled and looked up. “You said you saw her at Biggs. She the new girl there?”

  “She’s the new girl in parts, yeah.”

  “That’s Smidge?”

  “Smudge, god damn it.”

  “That’s her?”

  “Sure is.”

  “Jesus jumped up Christ. She’s a fucking looker. Peeb and me went in for fork seals. God damn. How old is she now?”

  “Same age as your Ol’ Lady,” I said.

  He shook his head lightly. “She single?”

  I shrugged. “Ain’t sure. Smoke and I are thinking she might be gay.”

  “One way to find out,” he said.

  I coughed out a laugh. “Not like you in that respect, Boss.” I turned toward my bike. “I don’t fuck youngsters.”

  “If you aren’t fucking her,” he said. “Someone else will be. Think about that.”

  I raised my right hand high in the air. “Appreciate ya, Boss.”

  If I’m not fucking her, someone else will be.

  Oddly, that was all I thought about on my ride home.

  Chapter On
e Hundred Seventy-Seven

  Joey

  The sound from his exhaust shook the windows of the house, giving warning that he would be walking through the door any minute.

  Crap!

  I was close, but I wasn’t finished with our celebratory dinner.

  He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and let out a howl. “Holy fucking shit it smells good in here. You cooking again?”

  “Yes. Chicken.”

  “That’s not normal chicken. That smells good.”

  “Chicken adobo. It’s Filipino, I think. It’ll be done in just a few. Sorry, I wasn’t sure when you were going to get home.”

  “I sent you a text and said I’d be here at 6:00.”

  You sent me a text?

  It wouldn’t seem like much to most women, but the thought of him caring enough to send me a text message all but floored me.

  “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t see it.”

  He came into the kitchen and walked up behind me. While I turned on the burner for the rice’s water, he rested his chin on my right shoulder.

  Then, I felt his breath against my neck.

  Oh God.

  “Damn, that smells good,” he whispered.

  He rested his hands against my waist and peered over me. I knew his gestures were innocent, but my knees went weak nonetheless. I struggled to keep from collapsing, and reached for the bowl of vegetables with a shaking hand.

  “It’ll be done in just a minute,” I murmured.

  His chest pressed against my back. “Can I taste it?”

  His warm breath against my ear caused goosebumps to rise along my upper arm.

  My knees did the wobbly thing. Again.

  My interaction with men had been limited to minimal kissing and a mountain of blowjobs that led to nothing else. The intimacy of a gentle touch and whispering in my ear were new to me. My body – and mind – were reacting favorably.

  But.

  I knew his intention wasn’t sexual.

  “Test it?” I muttered.

  “Taste it.”

  “Sure.”

  As I fumbled to grab the spoon, he released my waist with his right hand. His muscular chest pressed against my back. My eyes fell closed momentarily. When I opened them, I gasped at the sight of him reaching into the skillet of hot food.