HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “Okay.” I shook my head. “So, what’s your question?”

  “What should I do with him?”

  It wasn’t an easy question to answer. I picked at my cold food for a moment and thought of what our options might be. I had no idea what brought about the series of events that led up to him being in the box. Knowing that would be crucial to developing an accurate response.

  “What event or events brought him to you?”

  “Club business, can’t say.”

  “But you having him isn’t club business?”

  “Club don’t know about it.”

  “They have no idea?”

  “None.”

  “Not even Crip?”

  “Nobody. Just Smoke, but that was off the record. He knows as a friend, not as a brother. Brother half of him is dumb to the fact.”

  “Okay. So, the federal agent did something to the club or one of its members. In an effort to protect your brothers, you kidnapped him, and kept it to yourself. Probably because you didn’t want to ask permission – or you didn’t want to be denied permission. Now, you’ve got him in a box in the desert. Oh, and you can’t decide what to do with him. Is that close?”

  “You’re pretty damned good, except for the desert part. He’s by the desert, not in it.”

  I grinned. It wasn’t planned, and I know I shouldn’t have, but I did. I was in love with a modern-day version of my father. Percy was doing whatever he must to protect his brethren, and he wanted no recognition for doing so.

  “We have two options. Kill him, or let him go. That’s it.”

  “Kind of what I figured. I can’t keep him forever.”

  “Yeah. He’s not a kitten.”

  “Smoke said the same thing. Except he said puppy.”

  “Does Smokey want to kill him?”

  He seemed to consider my question for a while before responding. He shoved the dollar bill into his pocket and met my gaze. “Yep.”

  “And, you don’t.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You don’t have to. If you agreed with Smokey, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I want to talk to him.”

  His nose wrinkled. “Smokey?”

  “No. The guy in the box.”

  “No can do.”

  “Why?”

  “You’d be an accomplice or whatever.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I already am.”

  His eyes fell to the table. Slowly, his eyebrows raised. “Good point.”

  “So, can I talk to him?”

  “What good’s that going to do?”

  “Do you trust me?” I asked.

  “Sure as fuck do.”

  “Then I need to talk to him before I give an answer.”

  “Let’s get this shit washed, then. If we haul ass, we can get there before dark.”

  Talking to an ATF agent who was being held captive and was undoubtedly angry, dehydrated, and close to death wasn’t how I planned on spending my evening.

  Being the Ol’ Lady of a 1%er was going to be interesting, that was for sure.

  Chapter Two Hundred

  P-Nut

  The storage container was amongst a few dozen others that were stored behind a construction company that a Hells Angel owned.

  I unlocked the padlock and paused before I let it fall open. “You sure you want to do this?”

  “We’re in this together,” she said. “If you want an answer, I need to talk to him.”

  I liked her response. She was in it for the long haul, there was no doubt. To think I had a woman helping me with the decision on what to do with an ATF agent who had the potential to threaten the livelihood of the club spoke volumes of my respect for Joey.

  It was a new territory for me, but it felt right.

  I pulled the door open.

  She peered inside. “It smells better than I expected,” she whispered.

  “I wipe the fucker off with Baby Wipes pretty much every day, and he takes baths with that antibacterial pump soap. I might not be a pro, but I damned sure ain’t a novice.”

  Agent fucktard was sitting in his chair at the end of the container. With his long growth of beard and unwashed hair, he had somewhat of a mountain man look going on. My guess was that we had 30-45 minutes before sundown, and I hoped whatever Joey had to do could be resolved before then.

  “That’s him. He looks like shit but don’t let that fool you.”

  “Are we going in together?”

  I gave a nod. “Follow me.”

  I stepped into the container, and she followed right behind me. Halfway to where he sat, I gave fair warning. “One fucking word without being asked a question, and I’ll shove a zucchini squash up your ass.”

  He nodded.

  He’d been exposed to me and my ways for long enough that he knew better than to fuck with me. When we got close enough that he could see clearly, he exchanged glances between us.

  Eventually, he fixed his eyes on her.

  “Quit looking at her, you fucking turd. I’ll spoon your fucking eyes out and feed ‘em to the vultures.”

  He looked away.

  “He doesn’t tip the chair over?” she asked.

  “Welded to the floor.”

  “And the sports cup with the four-foot long straw. Did you fashion that?”

  I grinned. “Made it myself. It keeps him from banging around. If he tips it over, he can’t get a drink until I get back, so he knows better than to thrash around in here. I just set it on the floor at his feet and he leans over when he wants a drink.”

  She looked at the restraints on his wrists and then on his feet. “Pro job on the restraints.”

  “Thanks.”

  She grabbed the folding chair that was leaning against the wall, unfolded it, and sat down. “How many years were you in the ATF?”

  He swallowed, and then answered. “Two, with training.”

  “How many as an active field agent?”

  “Seven months.”

  “Have any regrets?”

  He looked at me.

  “Don’t look at me, you piece of shit,” I snarled. “I’ll put Tabasco in the tip of your dick again. Answer her question.”

  He looked at her. “I’ve got quite a few.”

  “Care to share?” she asked.

  “Speak freely?” he asked.

  She gave a nod. “Sure.”

  “I took this detail, and I wish like hell I wouldn’t have.” He swallowed hard, leaned forward, and wrapped his lips around the straw. After taking a short drink of the water, he continued. “I thought it would be different. Criminals running dope. Trafficking women. Murdering anyone who got in their way. Once I got accepted to prospect, I saw that wasn’t the case.”

  “Why didn’t you walk away?”

  “Pressure, I suppose. Desire to succeed. Something. Those aren’t excuses, they’re observations.”

  “Okay.” She looked him over, and then looked at me. “Did you really put tobacco in his dick?”

  “Nope. In it.”

  She fixed her eyes on him. He looked to the side and raised his eyebrows.

  “Did you poke squash in his butt, too?”

  “Cucumbers.”

  “Oh wow.”

  She cleared her throat. “Okay. Here’s where we are. You’re going to die. Tomorrow. You’ll be tossed off a bridge. It’s going to be ruled a suicide, because you’ve got PTSD. Your wife will get nothing, you’ll be a statistic, and nobody will care. Life will continue, and about the time you start pushing up lilies at the cemetery, your wife will be screwing one of your ATF buddies. He’s probably comforting her now while she gives him a blowie in the park. Now. Convince me in fifty words or less why you shouldn’t die.”

  He took a drink and then stared at his feet.

  So far, Joey was impressive.

  He took another drink, looked at her, and sighed. “On my God, my country, and my Corps, I swear these words. I will testify that I planted Meathead’s pistol, and that I’
ve been wandering the desert aimlessly this entire time. I’ll claim PTSD got the best of me. Meathead will go free, and you’ll never see me again.”

  She looked at me. “He did it in forty-nine. We need to go outside and talk.”

  I looked at him. “One fucking peep, and the tarantulas are coming out. We clear?”

  He nodded.

  “You’ve got tarantulas?”

  “Got ‘em at the pet store in Temecula. Big fuckers.”

  She shook her head.

  We walked out of the container, and to the side.

  “Didn’t you say Crip was a SEAL?”

  It seemed an odd question, but I responded nonetheless. “Yep.”

  “Call him.”

  “About what?”

  SEALs and Marines are both in the department of the Navy, so Crip should know the answer to the question.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Which is?”

  “If a Marine swears on God, Country, and Corps, is it the truth or a lie.”

  My eyes shot wide. “That’s what we’re going to go off?”

  “I’ll tell you after he responds.”

  I pulled out my phone and called Crip. He answered on the third ring.

  “Brother Nut. What can I do you for?”

  “Quick question, Prez.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “If a Marine swears on his God, Country and…” I looked at Joey. She mouthed the word Corps. “Corps, is he lying or telling the truth.”

  “He swore on all three?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is he a veteran? A real Marine?”

  “Yep.”

  “He’s telling the truth.”

  “Would you bet your life on it?”

  “I have, and I will.”

  “What percentage of the time?”

  “From a Marine vet? 100%, why?”

  “I’m asking the questions, not you,” I said. “That’s all I got. Bye.”

  I hung up and turned to Joey. “He says we’re golden.”

  “Let him go.”

  “Just like that?”

  She nodded. “Just like that.”

  “You think I should trust him?”

  “I think we both need to learn to trust. If this goes the way I think it will, it’ll do us both a lot of good. If it doesn’t, I’ll be your alibi.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll be your alibi. Whatever he says you did, I’ll say he’s a liar, and that you were with me. I’m pretty sure we can get Josh to agree to give the same testimony, considering how afraid of you he is. All we need to do it get rid of this trailer.”

  “Container.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “You want to tell him, or you want me to?”

  “You can. He’s probably got an attachment to you.”

  “Motherfucker better not.”

  She laughed. “Come on.”

  As the sun began to lower itself behind the distant mountains, we walked around the trailer and stepped inside.

  “Well, we did rock, paper, scissors, and I won,” I said. “She wanted to put a bullet in your head, and I wanted to believe you. So, tomorrow, after you and I agree on some terms, I’m going to let you go.”

  I expected him to cheer, start crying, or somehow show the joy that I was sure that he felt. Instead, he simply sat and stared.

  “What you got nothing to say?”

  “You said not to say anything unless I was asked.”

  “Speak free or whatever you said earlier.”

  He took a drink of water, looked at Joey, and nodded. “Thank you.”

  “For fucking what?” I asked. “She wanted to kill you.”

  He looked at me. “You won’t regret this. All a man has is his word, I gave you mine. It’s all I’ve got.”

  “Listen, motherfucker,” I said. “I don’t want to swap spit, make s’mores, or sing kumbaya. You’re being freed because she believes you. If it was up to me, I’d be shoving veggies up your ass until you were 64 years old. I’ll be back tomorrow, and if you spill that cup, you’ll be walking to Temecula a pretty thirsty man.”

  I turned to Joey. “You ready?”

  She gave a nod.

  We walked out of the trailer, and closed the door. As I locked it, she looked at me and laughed.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Tarantulas? Tabasco? Cucumbers? Now I know why they named you P-Nut.”

  I doubted she did, but I entertained her anyway.

  “Oh yeah? Why?”

  “P for Percy, and Nut because you’re crazy.”

  “But you love me anyway?”

  “With all my heart,” she said.

  We strapped on our helmets, hopped on the bike, and rode toward the sunset. In a matter of minutes, it was pitch black. The clear sky was filled with stars. In the distance, I noticed one shoot across the sky and flicker out.

  And, while the ATF agent undoubtedly thanked his lucky stars that Joey made an appearance in his life, I did the same.

  Chapter Two Hundred One

  Joey

  Albert called me in for a meeting. Certain my managerial duties were coming to an end, I walked to his office and knocked on the door.

  “Enter.”

  I pushed the door open.

  “Close the door behind you, please.”

  Crap.

  I pulled the door closed.

  “Have a seat.”

  I sat down.

  “I’ve decided to cut the six-month thing short. There’s not much sense in continuing.”

  “I thought I’d been doing a good job. I’ve increased profit by 11%, reduced Blane’s hours by 10 per week, and in turn, decreased payroll by 6%. I’m sure in time it will get--”

  He raised his index finger, and cut me off. “I’m cutting it short because I’m giving you the job.”

  Holy cow.

  “Oh. Wow. Permanently?”

  “That is correct.”

  A cheesy smile formed despite my best efforts to prevent it. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I know I won’t.”

  “Do I have all the freedom in the world to make changes that I believe will make improvements?”

  “You’re the boss. The buck, as they say, stops with you.”

  “What if you disagree with my decisions?”

  “I won’t second guess a manager,” he said. “Unless the sales figures go below the benchmark.”

  I knew that would never happen. “No matter what?” I asked.

  He gave a sharp nod. “No matter what.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Undermining a manager’s decisions doesn’t make for an effective manager. I’m an asshole,” he said. “But I’m an intelligent asshole.”

  I stood. “Anything else?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Again. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Joey.”

  I walked through the door, and to the parts department. Blane was on his phone. I purposely walked behind him and glanced at him. He was updating his Facebook status.

  “When you clock out tonight,” I said. “Take your stuff with you.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Anything you want to keep. I reminded you of the company’s policy on Facebook. You signed the employee manual. Yet, you continue as if you don’t care. You’re officially fired.”

  He shot me a condescending look. “You can’t fire me.”

  “I just did.”

  “You’re not even the manager. My dad outsells every other salesman in the--”

  “I am the manager. Go get a job working for your dad. You’re done working for me.”

  “Fucking bitch,” he snarled.

  “Keep it up,” I said. “And that guy who bought the tank console will be paying you a visit.”

  He clenched his jaw, looked at the timeclock, and then at me. “Fuck you. I quit.”

  “As long as you leave, that’s all that matters to me.�
�

  He stomped to the timeclock, took out his card, and punched it.

  “Have a nice life,” he said over his shoulder.

  Believe me.

  I intend to.

  Chapter Two Hundred Two

  P-Nut

  Joey’s eventual acceptance of my kidnapping the ATF agent proved to me she was in it for the long haul. There was no doubt in my mind that she’d make it through the thick and the thin. I needed to make her feel the same way about me, but had no idea how to prove myself to her.

  “Yours is better,” I said.

  Her fork clanked against her plate. “It is not.”

  “Damned sure is.”

  “This place is the best Italian in San Diego.”

  “According to the reviews. How many of those people have eaten your lasagna?”

  “None.”

  “Precisely.”

  She lifted her fork to her mouth and took a bite. After swallowing, she smiled a shy smile. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Everything. For bringing me here.”

  “You shouldn’t have to cook every night.”

  “I like to cook for you.”

  “And, from time to time, I like to take you out so you don’t have to.”

  “From time to time, I’ll accept the invitation.” She took a drink of wine. “This wine is making me loopy.”

  “That’s what wine does.”

  She leaned forward, glanced over each shoulder, and then met my gaze. “I want to suck your dick,” she whispered.

  I let out a light laugh. “You’re drunk.”

  “Drunk and horny.”

  “Well, there’s not going to be any dick sucking in here, and it’s pretty tough on the sled, so you’ll just have to wait.”

  She rested her chin against the palm of her hand and gazed into my eyes for a long moment. “I’ll suck your dick in the street.”

  “In the street?”

  “Yep.”

  I took a drink of my beer and studied her. She was adorable. Not because she was willing to perform oral sex on the hot asphalt, but because everything about her, when assembled, defined perfection.

  She was flawless.

  “I might take you up on that one of these days, but right now we need to finish our meal.”

  She sat up and let out a sigh. “Okay. But the offer stands. Now, and always.”