Extreme Measures

by Kimmie Easley

  I spin on the heel of my boot. “Because he fucking deserved it. What’s with all the fucking questions?” I pump my fists, seething.

  He backs away, and I try to regain my composure.

  “Boss?”

  “Yeah, I know. I need to chill.”

  Clint shakes his head. “No, not that. Um, isn’t there usually one of those big, mission busses right over there?”

  I scan the lot and realize he’s correct. The bus is missing.

  The fucking bus is probably in Mexico.

  *

  After the shitty trip in Oceanside, I decide it’s time to meet the brothers back at the clubhouse. I bust through the back door and find Duke sprawled out on a pool table. Val and Tammy are patching up the two bullet holes.

  “He’s gonna need blood,” Val states when she spots me.

  I nod. “Get a call in to Butch down at the morgue. He’ll figure it out. Troy, you, and Hawkeye get on that.”

  Jolene barrels through the swinging door with more hot water and rags. She’s got scissors and some metal tools.

  “Oh, hey baby. You look beat.” She lays the haul on the table opposite of Duke before reaching up on her tiptoes to give me a kiss, pressing her searing lips to mine.

  “Yeah, it’s been a long one. Anything new here on Brendan?”

  She shakes her head, sending her ponytail swishing against her back, and I just want to eat her up using nothing but my tongue.

  “The boy gonna make it?”

  She lifts her bare shoulder. “It’s not looking good.”

  “This whole day is just fucked.”

  “Come on, baby. Let me get you a drink.” She guides me out of the makeshift operating room and to a waiting barstool. She pours a shot of Jameson and cracks open a Shiner, placing it down in front of me.

  I take a long swig. “Where are the families?”

  “They’re in the clubhouse. We moved them out when Duke arrived.”

  “Makes sense. So, everyone’s good?”

  She nods, furrowing her brow. “Should I be worried?”

  I don’t want to cause her stress. Especially since she’s not feeling well. “I’m good, darlin.”

  I’m good.

  “Jolene, we need your hands over here!”

  She grips my forearm, giving it a squeeze before getting back to work with Duke. Damn right, he’s not looking good.

  Now’s a good time for me to wash the funky rot off my ass. I step out of my jeans that can probably stand up on their own and turn the shower all the way to hot.

  The scalding water beads up across my stiff muscles. Everyone’s depending on me and people are getting hurt on my watch.

  I soap up my hands, lathering up my long, thick beard, inhaling the floral scent of Jolene’s fancy soap. I do the same to my junk, and it makes me think of her full mouth wrapped around my hard dick a couple of days ago.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jolene

  I’ve been successful in keeping my secret, so far. But that doesn’t mean it’s not on my mind all goddamn day and night.

  A job offer to work for the DA’s office.

  It basically means flipping sides, and I have no idea where Ronin will land on the decision. So, I think I’ll take my time telling him.

  My phone chimes, pulling me from my thoughts. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Miller, it’s Pastor Klein.”

  “What do you want?”

  “This is the last day I’m in town. I assume Steele will be hunting me down soon.”

  I cock out one hip. “What did you do now?”

  “Let’s just say you weren’t doing your job putting him in his place. So, I had to take some extreme measures.”

  My breathing quickens and so does my heart rate, blood flooding to my scalp. “What did you do, Klein?”

  “Wanna help me celebrate my banner day? I could show you what fire and brimstone really taste like.”

  I weigh out his rash, vulgar innuendo.

  “Yeah, ok.” I confirm before I change my mind.

  “Good Lord, are you being serious right now?”

  “When and where?”

  “The motel off the highway, room eleven. Let’s say now?”

  “I’m on my way. You better not be a letdown,” I say, baiting my hook.

  “Oh, honey. I don’t need a motorcycle to give you the ride of your life.”

  I gag on the bitter, rising bile.

  “I’m leaving now.”

  Click.

  “Hey,” I holler out the door. “All bitches, front and center!”

  *

  “You really think this is gonna work?” Jessa asks me from the passenger’s seat of the Suburban.

  “It’s got to work.” I think of the contrary, and that is not an option.

  “Why are we doing this again?” Tammy chimes in from the back seat.

  “Because it needs to be done. And because I fucking said so.”

  “Ok,” Jessa props her elbow up against the window. “Are you wearing the piece?”

  I give an uncomfortable nod, driving down Main St., landing just past the city limit sign. I pull into the motel and park in an available spot down from room eleven.

  I survey each girl’s face. They nod, confirming they understand their assignments. I glance in the visor mirror and pop my lips, checking my dark, flashy makeup. I smooth both palms over my hair, and I adjust my boobs for better cleavage.

  “Get him, girl.” Jessa arches a trimmed brow.

  I hop out and quietly close the door, strolling lightly down the paved walkway. I’m trying to keep myself composed as my heart beats through my lace top.

  I tap my knuckles against the faded green door with a shiny eleven hanging crooked.

  “Very punctual,” the man says from inside, barely cracking the door. “Nice to see you, Ms. Miller.”

  “Can I come in, or what?”

  He steps out of the way, revealing he’s wearing nothing but a thin, motel towel.

  “By all means, come on in.”

  “Thanks,” I respond dryly, taking a piece of wadded up paper towel, and sticking it in place of the lock.

  Klein must notice it doesn’t close because he spins around, stepping toward the lock.

  I have to take extreme measures.

  Real measures.

  I shimmy my jacket down my arms, shaking my tits in his face. “Hey, can you help me here?”

  His eyes get big, round, filled with anticipation. “Of course.” The damage from Ronin’s wrath still lingers in shadows of blue and purple.

  I try to ignore the pitching in my queasy tummy when he grazes my skin. He lays the jacket across the foot of the bed, and I take a seat in the chair.

  “Why so far away?” He pats the seat next to him.

  I spot the Bible on the table. “What are you preaching on this Sunday?”

  “The importance of tithing.” He moves in my direction. “You should come hear me speak.”

  I force a smile, the kind that bunches up my face real tight, making my cheeks hurt. “Yeah, today’s performance depends on that.” I toy with the hem hanging loosely around my neck.

  He prepares to drop the towel, sitting directly eye level with his junk, sending me spiraling out of the chair.

  “Hey, what’s your hurry?” I unbutton each clasp on my blouse before slowly unzipping my skirt, slipping it down my long legs, standing before him in nothing but a thin, purple thong and matching bra – thanks to Wal-Mart.

  He gawks at me with his chin practically on the floor. I spot his woody, which pops the towel, sending it to the floor.

  I’m not impressed by his short, pencil-thin dick.

  Why am I not surprised?

  I guide him to the bed, laying him sprawled out on his back. I’m ready to give the signal, so I turn out the lights.

  I step out of the way when the bitches bust through the jimmied door. They all have pillow cases filled with canned vegetables. They go to town working over the poo
r bastard.

  Jessa holds a weapon on the bed, and Patsy talks up the idiot in the motel lobby, keeping him good and occupied.

  After I slip my clothes back on, I sit in the chair. Watching, my chest swelling with exhilaration and elation.

  It may seem too extreme, but his sexual advances alone leave me smirking, justified.

  *

  “Holy shit! I can’t believe we fucking did it!” Patsy tops off the round of shots, and I suck it back without waiting for the toast.

  “What’s with you? You had an easy job,” Bonnie mouths off.

  “Just keep the alcohol flowing,” Jessa says before I have to. “Ok, everyone, raise your glasses high in the air.”

  Tammy plants a tray of cut limes and salt shakers on the table.

  One shot too late.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ronin

  I give her ass a firm smack, leaving behind a solid, red handprint. “Morning, babe. What time is it?”

  “It’s late. You slept hard. It’s almost eleven-thirty.”

  “Shit,” I say, raking my fingers through my beard.

  “You needed it. It’s all good.”

  “Where’s everyone at? What about the boys?” I watch her cleaning up for the lunch rush. Her cutoffs are just short enough. The top rides up past her belly button, making my insides spring to life.

  As Jolene swishes by, I snake an arm around her curvy hips, tugging her down on my lap. “They’re all busy. Clint had them on the road by eight. Everyone else is set up over at the bar. We’re all alone here.” I wiggle my eyebrows.

  I drag my lips along her perfectly carved neck when a knock at the front door sends her back up to her feet.

  “Who do you think it is?” She pulls the curtain back over the diamond-shaped window. “Babe, there’s a bike out front. They’re leaving.”

  I scramble for the living room, bolting out the brick entrance, nearly tripping over a package resting on the welcome mat. I ignore the stubbed toe and race after the bike barefoot, slowly coming to a stop when the man rounds the corner. When I turn back around, Jolene is holding the box in both hands.

  “Ronin?” She stumbles backwards with big, gaping eyes.

  “What is it? Babe, are you ok?” I ask, tilting the open box in my direction.

  I’m not ready.

  I recognize the Thrasher t-shirt that Brendan was wearing the morning I dropped him off for community service.

  It’s ripped to shreds and covered in blood.

  I’m not ready to turn and face Jolene. Her skin is stark white, and her mouth is hanging wide. She drops the box to the floor. I let it fall, and I gather her up in my arms.

  “Sshh, it’s ok, darlin. He’s a tough kid.”

  Shoving her palms into my chest, she pushes me backwards. “Look at that amount of blood. Oh my God, Ronin. What if he’s dead?”

  I cradle her frowning face in my hands, seeing the worry in her troubled eyes. “Baby, listen to me. He’s going to be ok. They won’t hurt him, nothing more than surface deep. You have to trust me on this.”

  Jo stares at me, hard. She shakes her head in disbelief. “You have to find him. You have to do it now. They are going to kill him if they don’t get what they want.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “This isn’t right. This is bigger than the club. And don’t you dare tell me that nothing is bigger than the club. I don’t want to hear it. This is a boy, and he’s family. Babe, he’s your brother. You can’t leave him to die, and at the hands of the Diablos. Over what? Guns?”

  My nostrils flare with anger. “How many goddamn times do I have to say it? This is my goddamn club, and I won’t take orders from anyone, and that includes you.”

  She snaps, with hurt agitating in her stare. I know I’ve gone too far when she recoils. She turns her back on me and storms away in silence. Leaving me with a bloody shirt and my fucking thoughts.

  “Let’s ride,” I shout. Moments later my rubber tires burn up the asphalt, my body buzzing with vibrations, rocking shit loose in my head.

  Jolene would barely look at me when I told her I was leaving. It wasn’t our typical goodbye. She gave me her cheek, right along with her cold shoulder.

  And now, I drag on a blunt as I wind my way down the mountain. The night air is crisp against my face. I’ll probably have a wicked case of wind chap by morning. We make constant trips up and down the hill, doing recon on Keller.

  No one has seen hide nor hair of him since Brendan went missing.

  And now that he has the gun action back, the kid is of no use.

  Jolene’s right. He’s running out of time.

  I toss the stub of fire to the pavement and thunder down the highway until I receive a text message with a simple address. We take a detour, traveling through some rough patches, three towns over. Once we arrive on the scene, I see Jonesy, the Diablos’ Sergeant at Arms. He appears to be with a wife or a girlfriend.

  The young redhead drips off his side, indicating the latter.

  No sign of Brendan.

  The couple walk from the upstairs apartment, strolling hand in hand, acting as if they’re not about kidnapping and beating up young kids. I struggle for air, forcing my esophagus open with a hard swallow when they stop beside a red Mazda.

  My stomach sloshes when they suck face for an eternity before she gets in alone, driving away. Jonesy turns, climbing the stairs two at a time.

  It’s my window.

  I check my weapon and prepare for battle. Seven minutes later, Jonesy is flat on his living room carpet with Billy squatting on his back, pounding his face into the floor.

  “Where’s my brother?”

  “Who the fuck are you?” He spots, craning his head to get a better view.

  Crushing my boot against the back of his neck, I ask again. “Where’s my brother?”

  “Fuck you.”

  I allow more weight, applying pressure. “I’ll ask one more time. Where? Is? My? Brother?”

  “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t fucking tell you.”

  I pluck the silencer from my pocket and screw it onto the barrel, pointing it directly at his skull.

  “Anything else you have to say?” I ask, refusing to let up.

  “How does it feel to lose the gun trade?”

  Blast!

  *

  I sit on the Diablos’ clubhouse like I hadn’t just killed a key, charter member. Blood is still splattered across my boots and jeans, but not enough to make me give a shit.

  If Brendan’s still alive, he probably only has a matter of hours left.

  Clint, Stoner, and Billy smoke in a huddle off the road to conceal the orange glow from the ash. But not me, no, I watch. My stare is glued on the fucking shit hole.

  There’s no sign of Brendan… or Keller.

  *

  I’m seeing double when my jeans puddle around my ankles, giving my dick a good scratch. It was a long night on surveillance, and it feels good to stand up for a change.

  I try to leave Jolene in peace. She’s sound asleep with sweet, parted lips. Her hands are folded neatly under her left cheek. Long, dark lashes contrast with her pink cheeks.

  She doesn’t move the whole time I’m in the shower, so I let her sleep off the empty wine and tequila bottles, heading to the bar to grab my own bottle, Jameson. I don’t bother with dirtying up a glass, swigging straight from the fifth.

  I scan the packed room, filled wall to wall with cots and air mattresses. Kids color and play with toys while teenagers sulk with cell phones and tiny buds stuck in their ears.

  My heart swells with pride, looking at my large family, dependent on me.

  Me and my queen.

  “Hey, big guy.” Jessa slips up behind me. “A little early to be day drinking.”

  “Not if you’ve had a day like mine.”

  She shoves a shot glass under the pour. “Cheers to that,” she says before tossing it back. “I’m guessing there’s nothing good happening on your end.”


  I sigh, slumping my heavy shoulders forward, shaking my head. “How’s she doing?”

  I don’t like the way Jessa’s expression fades.

  She twists her lips and wrinkles her dark brow. “She’s been real under the weather the last couple of days.”

  “What do you think it is? Does she need to see a doctor?”

  “She won’t go. Not yet, anyway,” she says, and I know she’s right. “Maybe, give her a little time. Jolene’s got a lot on her plate right now.”

  I bob my head and guzzle from the half-empty bottle. “And Val?” I watch my mother scratching, tweaking, shuffling back and forth to the laundry room.

  I knew she couldn’t hold out long.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Jolene

  He’s been here. I can feel him. He’s showered, and I pick up the damp towel, placing it to my nose and inhaling.

  My insides vibrate with thoughts of him.

  I pull on yesterday’s clothes but take a minute to wash my face, brushing my grimy teeth and tangled hair. I pinch my cheeks for some natural color, forgoing makeup for the day.

  This is me. Love me or leave me.

  I stroll into the kitchen and find it empty, prompting me to check the clock on the stove.

  11:19

  I should have been up hours ago, but the Nyquil did a real number on me last night. I drain the pot of coffee and sip it as I cross the yard strolling over to the clubhouse.

  Prospects are appointed at all corners of the lot, along with a few strategically placed on the roof for leverage. And every, single one of them is carrying and ready to do what it takes to protect their club – at all costs.

  “Mornin’, boys.”

  My greeting is followed by a round of ma’ams and Ms. Millers.

  Stupid kids have no idea what they’re in for.

  Ronin is in the office, resting in the desk chair, leaning back with his head pressed up against the wall. He sees me, and his eyes sparkle with excitement… which appears to be liquor induced.

  He’s in a bad place.

  I step to his side, and he coils his massive frame around my hips, his arms swaddled around my waist and head resting on my tummy.