I stare into the mirror, using a faded towel to dry my red hair. When it's wet, it reminds me that much more of blood, making me think of my mother. That's not to say she died in an accident or anything. There wasn't even any blood that I could see – not from her or my father. They both died relatively peaceful deaths. It's just, her hair was a shade darker than everyone else's, just a shade. Staring into my eyes like this, it's almost as if I'm looking into her face again. I move my lips and listen to her voice in my head.
Everything has a purpose, Emilie. Even dreams. But nobody can interpret them for you. Only you know what's buried deep inside your own heart.
“Ugh.” I get chills up and down my spine, despite the humid heat of the bathroom. Imagining strangers is fine, but when it comes to my own family, it's almost creepy. I turn away and approach the mirror, wiping off the condensation and staring out past the yard and towards the highway. I can just barely make out the stripe of gray in the distance. Darren will have left already, might already be in the process of confronting Triple M. If everything goes according to plan, he'll be back in time for dinner and the only thing that might suffer is some pride. My brother doesn't care if they ride motorcycles or rob banks – we don't unnecessarily climb into other folks' business. What he cares about is if they do it around here, anywhere within driving distance of our hometown. That, and he doesn't want them parading around pretending to be a motorcycle club.
Tim is probably right: I bet they take their cuts. If things get really bad, I could see the boys getting into a scuffle. They killed a lot of men in Bested by Crows, and they fucked around with Broken Dallas. While Seventy-seven Brothers has no affiliation with either club, Darren might see that as a sign of disrespect. I twist my fingers together and try not to be nervous. I hardly see Darren as things stand anyway. Once a month, if I'm lucky. And he lives club business, breathes it in instead of air. This is all he does, all the time. So why is this particular item on the agenda getting my heart palpating and my hands sweating? Maybe because I know he's going to ride with the boys, even though he shouldn't. He hides himself in the back sometimes, but only on business he feels personally vested in. That doesn't happen often. Poor Triple M. They better watch themselves. I almost feel sorry for them.
“Get over yourself, Tease,” I say as I take a step back and move into the bedroom, dressing in a loose fitting shirt and a pair of jeans. When I'm around the guys, I dress like the name implies: corsets, leather pants, dark lipstick. When I'm alone, I'd rather lounge around in a faded gym shirt from my freshman year of high school and my sister's abandoned jeans, just a size too big for me.
I grab my magazine from last night and a pack of cigarettes and head out onto the front porch for some more people-watching fun. Our house is exactly ten blocks away from the clubhouse, along the same street. It's also a historic district, so we get tons of tourists, cameras flashing, eyes wide with wonder. Even our house is a relic from times past. There's a circular placard to the left of the front door. The Marston House: built circa 1719.
I curl up in a chair, cigarette pressed tight between my lips and start watching, flicking my eyes down to the page every now and again, just to pretend I'm actually reading. Maybe, if I'm lucky today, I'll actually see somebody worth looking at.
Beck
Chapter 6
I don't wait around to see what's what. This shit ain't coincidence, and I highly doubt that Seventy-seven Brothers is just stoppin' into town for a nice vacation. I can absolutely guarantee that they are not here for toast and jam.
“I hate being right, Goddamn it.” As predicted, here we go again. Another MC, another tussle. I flip my bike around and use those side streets I just memorized to zip back to the hotel. If Seventy-seven Brothers takes the exit from the highway, it'll take 'em about five minutes to catch up to us. Meaning, we can't really get nowhere, not with everybody spread all about, lounging on the fucking beach and whatever. We can make a stand though. I doubt the two cops that patrol this town have enough manpower to stop us.
When Kent was around, he made friends in weird places. Don't know how the man did it. Guess he had some sort of scary charisma or somethin'. I, myself, was immune from the start, but I was drawn to Gaine and Austin, Kimmi, like we'd been friends forever. Anyhow, whatever he did to keep us out of this sort of situation, it'd be nice to know. Startin' fights with other gangs is not my idea of a good time. Yes, I like to rough fuckers up every now and again, but the danger factor here is too high. One wrong move, one misspoken word, and that could be all it takes.
I hop off my bike and burst into the back door of the restaurant, sweating up a storm but trying my best to keep my calm. No need to get these touristy folks up in a tizzy. Luckily, my instincts are dead-on as usual – the lovebirds are still a nestin'. Austin sees me first, standing up from the table with pursed lips and eyes locked on mine.
“We got a problem, Pres. A big one.” I put a cigarette into my mouth and light up. Think there's a no smoking thing going on in here, but fuck 'em. What are they going to do? Arrest me? “To be precise with y'all, I'd say we had, I don't know, seventy-seven of them.”
“Fuck,” Austin snaps, making Christy jump. Poor little blonde belle. I wish we could've welcomed her and Amy under different circumstances, into the world we used to know, where everything was quiet and all our jobs were kept secret behind closed doors. I know it don't sound perfect, but it was nice. It worked. “Where are they?”
“'Bout five minutes out. And they've got all the cavalry onboard. I don't remember how much I told you about Seventy-seven Brothers, but they always ride with seventy-seven members when they're out on club business. Always. But that ain't all of them, so we better play real nice here.” I glance over at Gaine as he rises from his seat. “No shots fired, you stupid motherfucking asshole.” My friend's face flushes, but he doesn't argue. He knows you do stupid shit when you're in love.
“Gaine, sweep the halls and grab anybody you can find. I split the group in half, so there should be at least twenty-five people still here in the hotel. The rest will be out by the beach most likely, so start makin' some phone calls.” Austin copies me and sticks a cigarette in his mouth while I grin like a fool and slap Mireya on the back. She scowls at me.
“Finally acting like a real President there,” I whisper, watching as Austin turns to Amy with a look. Splitting the group in two, one for leisure time, the rest on guard duty. I love it. Our two Southern belles have already caught the drift and follow Gaine out of the restaurant and into the lobby. Me, I check my weapons one more time and head back outside, fetching one of my pistols from the lock box on the back of my bike. “Please don't kill anybody today, sugar tits,” I tell Melissa when she steps out into the sunlight, blinking rapidly as her eyes adjust to the brightness.
“Don't tempt me, Evans,” she whispers, moving up next to me and pausing with a hand on one hip. Even after all the shit that went down with Bested by Crows, we never had a security talk. And you know, maybe that was my fault. I should've brought it up before, but we all been through so many changes as of late that my brain's scrambled up like this morning's eggs. Still, we're better prepared here, now, than we were for Broken Dallas and Bested by Crows at the hotel. We'll get the hang of it eventually, I guess. It's adapt or die at this point.
I touch my .38 reverently and then tuck it into my pants. I ain't gonna use the damn thing, but it's there just in case. No such thing as being over prepared.
I close my eyes and listen to the sound of engines in the distance, like the roar of a jet plane taking off. It is that fucking loud, but it's also a thousand times more pleasant. There's a life, a voice, to the sound of those motors running. I lick my lips and taste salt and wind, opening my eyes and scanning the street. I've looked it up and down twice already, but like I said, no such fucking thing as being over prepared. If I know where to stand, how to hide, how to move, I can take on any threat. This is the magic behind the scenes, the things Gaine, Austin, and Kimmi won'
t ever know about me. I should be teaching them, maybe, but it's hard. I don't know if it's something I could even instill in them or anyone else. I was raised like this. It's a part of my DNA.
I stretch my arms above my head, leather vest crinkling as I pull my cig from my mouth and yawn, tossing it down to the pavement with a sigh. No ladies and no rest. Some vacation, right?
“What'd you do last night?” I ask Mel, knowing that nobody but me would bring this shit up right before a confrontation. That's how I roll, though. Like a fast hog down a slow hill. Don't make no sense, but that's me. Pretty sure the universe has been trying to figure out what to do with me forever and a day.
“I sat in my room and I read a book,” Melissa says, which is the absolute last thing I ever thought I'd hear her say. I glance over, at her face which is still pretty but etched with fine lines. She's tired, I know she is. And grieving. But she looks better today, just a smidgen. “Amy gave it to me, and I swear to God, it's the hottest sex I've had in years.” I grin at her, nice and wide.
“Shoulda let me come in there and help you out with those lady blue balls, my friend. What, you don't like me anymore?” I give her a faux pout as Triple M'ers start to pour out from the building, walking nice and casual but with muscles taut and drawn. I know they're still wary of Austin as the Pres, especially since it kind of just happened and nobody fucking talked about it. I get it. But I also know they see in him what I see. Otherwise, they wouldn't be here. We've had a handful of deserters, but less than I can count on two hands, so I know this can work. All we have to do is find our little niche in this community. We might not be able to get back what we had before, but we can find something new. It's all about riding out the storm. And if there's one thing I know we're all good at, it's fuckin' ridin'.
“Let's make this a peaceful exchange. We're not in their actual territory, just close to it. Nobody owns this beach.” Austin comes out of the building with Kimmi by his side. I don't see Gaine or Mireya, so I figure they got stuck babysitting again. I try not to grin too wide. “And we're not here to start trouble. We're just passing through.” I watch as Austin takes a deep breath and pulls himself together as the first bikes come around the corner.
Seventy-seven Brothers isn't riding hard, just leisurely sliding into view. Doesn't surprise me. What's the rush, right? They are more than a match for us. If they wanted to mow us all down, they could. I'd make sure they lost a lot of blood first, but it would be inevitable.
At the helm is a man with three 'V' shaped sergeant stripes on the front of his vest. Sergeant at arms then. I don't look for their President. Believe it or not, most of the time you never see the stupid fuckers. Austin, Kent, Tray – they're anomalies. Presidents of clubs too small to matter much. When you've got a club this big, the President is kept behind locked doors. Besides, why get your hands dirty when you got others to do it for ya?
The bikes pull up in front of us, a much more cohesive unit than our mixed bag o' tricks. Everybody looks perfect, polished. Their rides are so fuckin' clean, they look like they belong in a Goddamn showroom. And they're all American built choppers. Every last one of them done up in silver, white, and blue. Hot damn.
I glance over at Austin, but his face is neutral, carved from stone into a pleasant enough expression. Shoot, he looks like he's about to take a stroll on the damn beach.
The men in the other club cool their rides down, pausing right there in the center of the road. God help anybody who comes down here now. We ain't movin'.
“Are you Austin Sparks?” the Sergeant at arms asks, climbing off his ride and pausing in the sunshine, dark hair reflecting back the sun like a mirror. His cool, blue eyes sweep the group, and a smile lights his face. It's not entirely unpleasant, but there's something creepy about it, too.
“I am,” Austin says, taking a step forward and holding out his hand. The man looks down at it and moves forward, grabbing hold tight and shaking firmly. “What can I help y'all with?” The sergeant at arms takes a step back and glances over his shoulder, letting his eyes move down the row of men straddling their choppers. None of the others bother to climb off. I take it they don't plan to stay long. That's a good thing, though. I sniff the air and taste a hint of violence on the back of my tongue. If we stay calm, handle this thing well, maybe we'll be alright. I take a wide stance and wait with my chin up, a slight smirk on my face.
“Well, you see. We're here to ask you a few, small favors. Now, it's up to you to decide if you're going to do them for us. You say no, we say okay. But then there's a game changer. See, then the favors become fervent requests. And after that, well. You don't really want to know what comes after that.” The man smiles with his small teeth. I don't like the look of 'im. Not one fucking bit. He's got pale blue eyes and a sense of entitlement. In another life, this man would be an ex-frat boy, working a nine to five and cheatin' on his wife. He hardly looks like he could be the Sergeant at arms for an MC as big as this one. Guess looks can deceive.
“We'll see what we can do. What exactly did you have in mind?” Austin asks, keeping his stance relaxed. His sandy hair ruffles a bit in the breeze but otherwise, he's completely still. The man facing him glances over his shoulder again, takes another look at his men.
“It's real easy,” he says, turning back again, letting his attention fall to the Triple M'ers on either side of Austin. “Hand in your cuts, gather your people and take a hit.”
“Excuse me?” Austin asks, dropping his arms by his sides. Aw, shit. I move forward, but not a lot, just enough to make the other side nervous but not spook the crap out of 'em.
“Take a hit from me to make up for the disrespect you've shown us by coming through here without permission, for committing thefts against communities we consider ourselves a part of, and for the deaths of the men you've taken on your way here. Three simple things is all we ask. And when you're done, you can leave.”
“You have got to be motherfucking kidding me?” Austin says, his voice this frigging close to violence. “You want our jackets? You want to fucking punch me? In front of my club?” Murmurs and snarls break out on our side. Respect. It goes a long way in this life, especially for people like us, people who choose to view life from a different angle. We don't collect fancy cars or houses, horde money, make investments. We travel the road, collect sights and sounds instead. Respect and pride are practically currency here. And now we're being asked to pay a massive debt?
I lick my lips and get ready for shit to start. They aren't going to kill us, not unless we take it to that level, but this is going to hurt.
“What's it going to be, Mr. Sparks?” the Sergeant asks, lifting his chin up and waiting in the peaceful silence of a summer afternoon. I look over at Kimmi's stern face, let my gaze move back over to Mel's stoic expression.
“I'm sure you already know what my answer's going to be,” Austin growls. It's then that I expect the blows to start, for weapons to be drawn from pockets, for yet another fuckin' scuffle. I don't expect to hear a shot fired, a burst of sound that shakes me to my core. A spray of wetness that splatters my face and drops Melissa to her knees.
Somebody just shot Melissa fucking Diamond. From behind.
Beck
Chapter 7
My mind rips to shreds as I explode forward, sliding to my knees on the ground next to her. She's still alive, that much I can tell, even as my eyes scan the buildings around us looking for a shooter. But whoever it was only fires the single shot.
“Oh, come now, Mel. You can't go like this,” I growl out as I touch her cheek. She's coughing and groaning, bleeding out from her midsection. I touch my hand to the wound, try to stifle the bleedin'. But I ain't gonna be able to do much for her. I have to get her to a fuckin' hospital.
I look around, snatching the attention of a fellow Triple M'er. I have to help Mel, but I also can't leave my other friends high and dry.
“Put pressure on her wound,” I snarl at the man; Christopher is his name. He's been in the club as long a
s I have. I know I can trust him with my friend. I pass Mel over and rise to my feet, blood surging hot and fiery through my veins. My vision blurs a bit as I pull the gun from my pocket and raise it up, aiming it on the first man in blue and white that I find. Fucking pussies. I don't expect a lot from people, but I demand some Goddamn pride and dignity. I thought Seventy-seven Brothers was at the very least a respectable club. Not anymore. Not any-fucking-more.
I line my shot up and fire, just once, moving onto the next guy in line. Anybody that has a gun, I'm going to shoot to kill. Sorry, didn't want it to go this way, but I was pushed. I lock onto that cold calmness that comes when you're drenched in shit and ain't goin' nowhere. It's that shield that falls into place that protects the heart, at least for that single moment in time. What nobody bothers to tell ya is that once you're alone in bed at night, the feelings you got rid of before come rushing straight back, slamming into you and knockin' you silly. They all move in at once – with a motherfucking vengeance.
A smile tweaks my face as I fire off another round, drop another man. A split second later, I'm jamming my elbow into a man's face as he comes up beside me, a wrench in one hand. It's the Sergeant. Well, hot damn. I force my gaze to stay off the spot I left Melissa, turning to the guy with the blue eyes and the ugly smile. I don't bother to level the gun on him; he's too fucking fast, getting into my space as I drop my weapon to the ground and reach out to intercept him, throwing him against my bike hard as I can. He comes right back at me, nearly a foot shorter but a hell of a lot tougher than I'd have given him credit for.
I don't get the chance to deck him one that he deserves because there's another guy on my right, two more on my left. Shitty thing about numbers: seventy-seven to twenty-five, even forty-four if we were all here and able-bodied, doesn't make good odds. I slip the hammer from my pocket and swing it around, hitting a blonde in the side of the head with it. The crack that follows is fucking sickening. I just grin wider, keep that smile on my face as long as I can. It can protect me the way nothing else could. I kick out and smash the other man hard as I can in the kneecaps. Dropping down, I slam my body into the Sergeant as he comes at me again, wrench still clutched firmly in his hand. When he falls to his back on the pavement, I don't hesitate in drawing my knife, falling to my knees in front of him. Having military training comes in handy sometimes. Every once in a great while, you get to kill the bad guy.
Needing Me, Wanting You Page 4
