Wheelie’s Challenge

by Chiah Wilder

  Determination shining through her, Sofia picked up the phone and called Angelo’s Pizza.

  Chapter Seven

  The flames from the tiki torches danced in the night breeze lighting up the backyard. Hard-hitting rock music blasted from the speakers mounted on the tall chainlink fence, drowning out the normal roar of the river that ran behind the club’s property. Men in denim and leather filled most of the spaces inside and outside the club while women dressed in tight-fitting outfits that left little to the imagination played up to them.

  The smoke and flames billowed from the three charcoal grills, and the aroma of hickory mingled with the sweet scent of pot. Wheelie stood up from one of the long tables next to the fence and threw his plate in a large trashcan then went over to the makeshift bar to grab another beer.

  “It’s been too fuckin’ long, dude,” Breaker said as he came up next to Wheelie. Breaker was the sergeant at arms for the Insurgents’ San Diego chapter.

  Wheelie turned around and bumped fists with him. “That’s for damn sure. Did you take up surfing?” He and Breaker went to high school together in Denver, and had been tight ever since. Breaker had known Kendra, and sometimes they’d talk about her, reminiscing about the times the three of them would hang out pre-Russ. Breaker and Wheelie joined the Insurgents at the same time, but Breaker’s mother got sick and he transferred to the Wyoming chapter. His mom had moved there after Breaker got out of high school.

  “Fuck, no, but I like all the chicks in bikinis. You gotta come out and see me.”

  “I’d like to. Banger wants some brothers to go to help you all out in setting up the club. He thinks there may be trouble with that other MC.”

  Breaker grabbed his bottle of beer, and the two of them moved away from the bar. “The fuckin’ East Bay Dogs. We can handle those assholes. They only care about making and selling meth. They’ve made some noise but we’ve shut them the hell up. I don’t think we’re gonna have any problems with them unless they hook up with the Grim Henchmen. Those fuckers have been shooting their mouths off about expanding from northern Cali to the south. We’re not letting that shit happen.”

  “What shit?” Rock asked as he clasped Breaker’s shoulder. The two sergeant at arms had become real tight a few years before at one of the national charity runs the Insurgents sponsored.

  “The Grim Henchmen coming into Insurgents’ territory in San Diego. We talked about that.” Breaker took a long pull on his beer.

  “And we’re not gonna let that happen. Banger’s talking about aligning with the Angry Disciples from LA. Their prez and Banger got real friendly at last year’s Sturgis, and we’re gonna meet up with them when we go to California.”

  “They’d be a good ally. There’s no way they’re letting the fuckin’ Henchmen near LA. I’m pretty sure they’ll help us if we need them in San Diego.”

  “Any of the other Insurgents’ chapters will help you guys—just put out the word. Besides, you know we’re always there for you, dude,” Wheelie said.

  Breaker nodded then leaned in close to Wheelie. “Is the sonofabitch still in San Quentin?”

  Wheelie stiffened. “As far as I know. They’re supposed to tell us if they cut the bastard loose.”

  “You should check on that. The government always fucks something up.”

  “I just checked a few months ago, but I’m due for another. I’ve been keeping tabs on the fucker ever since he got convicted. I figure he’s got about two years left of his sentence, and when he gets out, I’ll make goddamn sure he doesn’t get to enjoy his freedom.”

  Breaker narrowed his eyes. “Just give me the word and I’m with you, bro. The bastard doesn’t deserve to live after what he did to Kendra. Manslaughter was a crock of shit. A bunch of lazy-ass lawyers struck that fuckin’ deal.”

  “You said it.” Wheelie’s jaw tightened and anger snapped at his nerves. It hadn’t mattered what his mom or he wanted, the DA cut a deal over their objections. Just thinking of it brought back all the pain and rage he’d felt when the DA told him Russ had pled to voluntary manslaughter.

  “That cutie over there is giving you the once over,” Rags said to Breaker as he joined the group. “She must see that sergeant at arms patch on your cut.”

  Rock guffawed and smacked Wheelie lightly on his upper arm. “Rags always has a reason why a chick is checking out a brother and not him.”

  The levity of the moment calmed down Wheelie’s anger and he chuckled. “I don’t think he’s doing too bad. I saw Pippa hanging all over him.” Pippa was a hoodrat who’d become a regular at club parties for the past six months. “She seems to have a thing for you,” Wheelie said to Rags, who beamed while nodding.

  “I’m gonna go check out the little lady,” Breaker said, making a bee-line to the curvy dark-haired woman. Soon his arm snaked around her waist, and he led her back into the clubhouse.

  “You gonna play some pool later on?” Rags asked Wheelie and Rock.

  “Nah, I’m gonna cut out in about an hour. Andrew’s out tonight and I wanna make sure he gets home at his curfew.” The crease between Rock’s brows deepened.

  “Is he still being a pain in the ass?” Wheelie asked.

  “More than I’d like, but Clotille would say no.”

  “Don’t be so hard on him. Just remember how you were as a teenager,” Rags said.

  “I do and that’s why I’m hard on him.” The three men laughed. “I don’t want him to do half the shit I did at sixteen.”

  “I guess if I had a son I wouldn’t want him doing the shit I did either,” Rags said. “What about you?” He looked at Wheelie.

  “Actually, I didn’t give my mom a hard time when I was that age, but my sister made up for it.” Wheelie turned away and scanned the crowd. He didn’t want to talk about his past.

  “We got a goddamn saint in the club,” Rags said and Rock laughed.

  “I didn’t say I was a saint. I just didn’t want to make my mom miserable. So, are you gonna play pool later?”

  Rags nodded. “I was thinking of it.”

  “Hi, handsome.”

  Wheelie felt fingernails scratching up his back, and he spun around and met Brenda’s grinning face. “Hey.” He took a step back.

  “From the look on your face, I can see you’re surprised to see me.” She glanced at Rags. “Hi there.”

  “Hey, Brenda. What the fuck are you doing here?” Rags asked.

  “Tigger invited me. I wanted to see how you guys party.” She reached out and touched Wheelie’s forearm.

  Rags moved in closer. “We party pretty hard and wild.” He nudged Wheelie with his elbow. “Right?”

  “Yep. Did you lose Tigger?”

  “He’s around somewhere. Anyway, I was hoping to bump into you. I mean, I’m not with him. I just came to the party at his invitation.”

  “In the biker world, that means you’re with him. At least for the party,” Rags said.

  “What if I wanna be with someone else?” She took a step forward and pressed her palms against Wheelie’s chest.

  Before he could do anything, Tigger staggered over. “What the fuck are you doing with my woman?” He stood holding his elbows wide from his body with his chest thrust out.

  “Last time I looked, you already had a woman—Sofia.” Wheelie leaned back.

  Tigger’s nostrils flared and a vein in his temple pulsed. “How the fuck is it your business?” Spit shot from his mouth.

  Not taking his eyes off Tigger, Wheelie wiped his face then stared at him while clenching one of his fists. “Move on and stop trying to impress a woman who’s not all that interested in you.”

  “Fuck, dude,” Rags said behind him.

  Blotches of red stained Tigger’s face and head. “You’re just fuckin’ pissed ’cause Brenda’s with me.”

  “Not really.” Wheelie took a long pull on his beer, his gaze still fixed on Tigger’s. Glancing behind Tigger, he could see Brenda’s eyes shining and her face spread with excitement from the two men
fighting over her. This has nothing to do with you. It’s all about Sofia.

  “Leave it alone, dude,” Bones said, grabbing hold of Tigger’s arm.

  He shook away from Bones’ grip. “Leave me the fuck alone! This asshole’s got something to say to me.”

  Wheelie sneered. “I don’t have shit to say to you. You’re the one who came up to me.”

  A savage grin split Tigger’s face. “I guess I did.”

  Wheelie saw his arms flex and before he raised his fists, Wheelie threw down his beer bottle, and it broke in a blast of foam and glass shards as he ducked Tigger’s first swing. Wheelie knew Tigger was a good fighter, and he, along with most of the brothers, suspected he took steroids, so he kept his gaze on Tigger’s fists and legs.

  Back and forth they went, ducking blows and circling round and round. Brenda cried out, “Be careful, Wheelie,” and for a split second it distracted him, and that’s all it took for Tigger to punch him in the face.

  Fuck, that hurt! For a second his vision was fuzzy and pain radiated through him, but then the adrenaline kicked in, numbing the discomfort. With a loud growl, he spun halfway around while looking over his shoulder then kicked Tigger right below his sternum. The biker keeled over and Wheelie stood back breathing heavily.

  After several seconds, Tigger rose to his feet.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” Banger asked as he broke through the crowd that had gathered around the two men.

  Tigger’s eyes bulged as he tried to speak, but nothing came out. With trembling lips, he sucked in several deep breaths.

  “What the hell did you do to him?” Skeet said, rushing over to his friend.

  “He’ll be fine. Just got the wind kicked out of him,” Wheelie said. He’d learned that move in Taekwondo, and it’d served him well in many fights.

  “You were wonderful,” Brenda gushed.

  “Get your fuckin’ ass in my office. Now!” Banger yelled at Wheelie.

  “Good luck, dude,” Rags said under his breath as Wheelie followed Banger, an impassive look covering his face.

  The door groaned when Banger slammed it shut. “Stay the fuck away from Sofia and Tigger. You’re one step away from me throwing your goddamn ass outta the club!”

  Wheelie stood in front of his president with his legs planted wide. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Tigger got—”

  “Bullshit! You’ve had a hard-on for his woman for too long. Bury your cock in one of the club girls and stop this pussy teen shit. She belongs to Tigger. No more fuckin’ discussion on this.”

  Wheelie’s jaw tensed as anger ripped through him. “Just so you know, there’s no damn way any man takes a swing at me and doesn’t get one back … even a brother. Tigger made the first move. Are you done with the fuckin’ lecture?”

  “Just stay the hell away from him for the rest of the night.”

  “I’ll do one better. I’m outta here.” He spun around, opened the door, and walked straight to the parking lot, rage burning through his veins.

  “Wait,” Brenda called out to him.

  He kept walking, ignoring the clack of her heels on the asphalt.

  “Wheelie! Are you mad at me about what happened? Please stop.”

  He took the keys out of his pocket and swung his leg over the bike. Brenda came up to him panting. “I’m not mad at you. The fight had nothing to do with you, at least for me. Go back to the party. Tigger’ll wonder where you are.”

  She pushed away the hairs clinging to her forehead. “He’s too drunk to even know who I am. Are you coming back?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I hope I didn’t fuck anything up between us.”

  He didn’t have the heart to tell her there was nothing between them. She was just a waitress he talked to at the diner. “You didn’t. I’ll see you at Ruthie’s.”

  “Or later tonight.”

  He jerked his head, pushed the starter button then took off, the road scurrying underneath him.

  When he turned down the quiet street in Sofia’s neighborhood, he cursed under his breath but kept riding, stopping a few feet away from her house. Wheelie killed the engine and stared at the soft yellow light seeping through the shade by the living room window. She’s probably sitting on the couch with her legs under her cute ass watching one of those corny romances she loves. He chuckled softly. And eating popcorn. For fuckin’ sure.

  For reasons Wheelie couldn’t explain, he wanted to make sure Sofia was all right. When Tigger called Brenda his woman, a tsunami of emotions flooded Wheelie: Anger. Sadness. Disdain. How can that fucker disrespect you like that? Doesn’t he know how lucky he is to have you. Wheelie threw his head back and looked at the twinkling stars. Banger’s right—this is just ‘pussy teen shit.’ He took out a joint and lit it, inhaling deeply as his gaze stood fixed at the illuminated window. The rage coursing through his veins slowly subsided. After a long while, he got off his bike and walked it in neutral until he was a good distance from Sofia’s place, then he jumped on and headed back to the party.

  * * *

  Wheelie cracked open his heavy eyelids and quickly shut them again. A cruel sunbeam pierced them, making his brain pound viciously. His mouth was dry and sticky with thick saliva as he groaned and pulled the sheet up and over his face.

  A loud knock on the door went through his head like a goddamn hammer.

  “Yo, dude. Is it okay if Panther tries out your bike?”

  Another loud bang on the door.

  “Stop hitting the fuckin’ door,” he croaked, his throat felt like sandpaper. “Just come in.”

  Heavy footsteps thundered through him as Klutch walked in.

  “Where are your keys?”

  “Top of the dresser. Can you close the damn curtains?”

  Klutch’s laughter resounded through the room as it grew dimmer. “You really tied one on last night. I’m gonna guess you don’t wanna go for a ride this afternoon.”

  All Wheelie wanted to do was stop the merciless throbbing in his head. Since he’d stopped drinking so much a few years back, the hangovers were horrific whenever he did overindulge.

  “Ask me when I’m showered and have a pot of black coffee in me.”

  “I’ll check back with you. It’s almost noon in case you were wondering. Later.” Klutch slammed the door and his guffaws faded as he walked down the hallway.

  “Asshole,” Wheelie mumbled under his breath. Normally, a biker would rather cut off his leg than let anyone ride his Harley, but when a president asked, the members turned over their keys. He threw off the sheet, opened his eyes halfway, and pushed up from the mattress, groaning with every movement. Gripping the nightstand for balance, he stood up then weaved his way over to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The cool water cascaded over him, soothing his aching muscles and calming the ever present axe jabbing at his head.

  After a long shower, three aspirins, and a pair of sunglasses, Wheelie walked into the great room and plopped down at one of the tables. The scent of whiskey and beer permeated the place, and he watched swaying club girls tossing empty beer cans and bottles into large black trash bags as they tidied up the room.

  Hog came over and placed a beer in front of Wheelie and his stomach soured. “I don’t want this,” he said. The prospect swiftly took it away from him. “Bring me a large mug of black coffee.” Hog tilted his head and walked toward the kitchen.

  “Feeling like shit, dude?” Animal asked as he and Rags came over to the table.

  “Something like that. What the fuck did I drink? It couldn’t have been Jack and beer.” He picked up the coffee Hog put in front of him and took a sip.

  “Everclear—190-proof. Straight,” Rags said as he stretched his legs out.

  “No wonder I feel like shit,” Wheelie said, leaning back in the chair.

  “I figured you would when I saw you pounding down the shots. I assumed something was eating at you. The last time I saw you drink that shit straight like that was when your sister
died.” Animal crossed his arms against his chest. “You got something you wanna talk about?”

  “Was it what Banger told you after the fight with Tigger?” Rags asked.

  “No way I’m getting shit-faced over a goddamn lecture and an asshole brother.” Wheelie blew into the coffee.

  “Tigger took the first swing. I told Banger that when he came back out to the yard,” Animal said. “Tigger, Skeet, and Cruiser can be real jerks. They’re not as tied to the brotherhood as they should be. I know Tigger and Skeet got real tight in the pen, but I’m not so sure if they’re in the club for the brotherhood or for the image.” He waved Hog over, who put a bottle of beer in front of him. “I’m just not convinced they’re true brothers.”

  “Me neither,” Rags replied. “Rosie fixed a damn good sandwich. I think I’ll have another one.”

  “Where the fuck do you put it, dude?” Wheelie said.

  Rags shrugged then waved over the club girl. “It’s my genes. My dad was a string bean and my mom’s been the same weight forever. Same with all my sisters and brothers.” He handed the empty plate to her. “Another sandwich, honey. Please.”

  Rosie chuckled. “I wish I could eat without worrying about my weight.”

  Rags smacked her playfully on the back side. “You don’t need to worry about shit. You look real good.” The three men watched her tight butt as she sashayed toward the kitchen.

  “Now that’s a fine looking ass.” Admiration laced Animal’s voice. The two men bobbed their heads in agreement.

  “You gonna give me something, sweetcakes?” Tigger’s loud voice filled the room.

  “I’m making a roast beef sandwich for Rags. You want one too?” Rosie asked.

  “I’m not hungry for a sandwich.” He leaned in and planted a kiss on her cheek while he squeezed one of her tits.

  Wheelie cocked his head then shook it before diverting his attention away from Tigger.

  “Speaking of the asshole,” Animal said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  Tigger looked over at them and grinned. He squeezed one of Rosie’s buttocks. “I’ll catch up with you later.” He ambled over to the table and pointed at Wheelie. “What’s with the shades? Feeling like shit?” He chuckled as he pulled out a chair and sat down.