Watcher

by MariaLisa deMora

  After that he hadn’t argued, allowing her to retrieve the huge box used for first aid supplies. Heading towards the back room where it was stored, voices rose in a blur of murmurs and shouts behind her, individual words unintelligible. As she’d returned to the main area of the barn, the men quieted, and she knew they had been discussing whatever had happened, the business they felt she had no right knowing. Inwardly fuming, because this was her husband who’d been shot, bled, and come home wounded, she had held her peace. It was the way of the club life.

  Once convinced he was okay, she’d stitched the gash in his scalp, his fingers gripping bruisingly hard on her hips as she tugged the curved needle through his flesh. Something she’d had plenty of experience in over the years. She’d then retreated to the house and waited, knowing he would come to her when he was ready. Her part was hard, the waiting and not knowing, the knowledge that threats circled her man of which she would never know. But the rewards were so worth it, she thought now, stretching and feeling the pleasant soreness between her legs.

  He had been nearly frantic in his lovemaking. Had burrowed his face between her thighs, insistently plying her with intimate kisses and caresses, pushing her to fly again and again. Flipping her to her stomach, pulling her ass to meet his hips as he drove himself home inside her. Pounding into her, his grunted oaths filled the air. “Love you, Juanita. I love you. Love you all my life. Love you long as I’m breathing. Never doubt. Always love you.”

  Staying connected, he had eased them into the mattress when he was done, nestling behind her as tight as he could manage. One hand cupping her sex, the other captured her shoulder. Only then did he tell her what happened. Even then, she knew it was a sanitized version. Every word spoken sounded deliberately detached, carefully chosen so as to not expose any fear. Not letting on he’d been worried in the least. Just another day.

  Gradually, his words had slowed, and when he shifted, pulling her more underneath him, she went with it. Happy to take his weight, allow him to pin her to the mattress because each breath was a miracle tonight. Finally asleep, his hands relaxed, and she’d captured his wrist, wanting to hold onto the safe feeling as long as she could. Keep him in place behind her, around her, and in her heart.

  ***

  Watcher

  “Are you certain this is what you want to do?” Raul’s voice sounded scratchy on the secure line Opie had set up for them. Scratchy, and tired. Because of it, Watcher tried not to read anything into the question. Tried not to have any second thoughts.

  “Yeah, Diamante need to go the fuck away.” Watcher forced confidence into his tone, tried to make the steel in his spine sound through his words. “Nip it in the bud out here.”

  Bernie hadn’t been wrong when he’d talked about the macho wannabes who had smashed up the Southern Soldiers’ bar. Those men had been Diamante, patched into the newest chapter right in his backyard.

  In a roundabout way, it sounded like Diamante had also been behind the incident out on the highway. A chance encounter, one of their hangarounds had seen him parked on the side of the road. Turning around at his first opportunity, the man was hoping to make a name for himself by offing a national of the Soldiers. Watcher’s return fire had clipped the guy, and he’d eventually wrecked, but ghosted from the accident scene. The truck had been stolen, so the only thing they had was a whole list of dead ends. All of this told as a story at a bike rally in Florida, traveling word of mouth back to him, making his stomach roll at the idea of the sheer randomness of it all.

  The Diamante chapters were a young club, in every sense of the word. A mixed bag of American and rice burner bikes allowed, observers were as likely to see patched members riding crotch rockets as more traditional cruisers or bobbers. Kids, punks mostly, who didn’t have any sense of what the life was about. Hadn’t seen the inside of a real clubhouse, so they made up their own, taking over rundown buildings, spraying graffiti on the outside, making themselves feel like the big man in town. Set up like a Ponzi scheme, they were drawing a huge amount of government interest. By charging support clubs monthly rent on patches, the more patches a chapter rented, the higher they were on the list for nationals. RICO was a frequent visitor wherever they copped a squat, with seizures and indictments coming left and right. All the kinds of shit Watcher had been diligent in avoiding over the years, focused as he was on his mission. And now, one of their chapters had set up camp in Watcher’s town.

  He’d watched them for weeks, gathering intel, trying to lay a plan together. They were all over the map, however, making it hard to narrow down his targets. The club moved members and officers in and out like they were changing linens at a rent by the hour motel, and the here-today, gone-tomorrow aspect was daunting. Through it all, however, there seemed to be two members who returned time and again, and he’d focused his attention on them. Lalo and Chismoso. Cousins from Mexico, born in a village not far from where Juanita had grown up.

  A village directly in the middle of Raul’s territory.

  “You hear the shit they pulled in Florida last month?” Watcher had, and he was certain Raul had, as well. Diamante had roped a prospect from another club, the dominant in the area, and had dragged him to death behind a bike. The authorities had picked the guy up in pieces, using twenty-three different body bags. Pictures of the destruction left behind every incident with Diamante had circulated through all the clubs, but everyone was tiptoeing around what needed to be done. No one wanted an event that would bring even more government scrutiny to bear on the community as a whole. No one was willing to step up and do what they all knew needed to be done. Silence from the phone, so Watcher asked a different question. “You think they’ll stay north of the border, amigo? Think again. These assholes don’t discriminate who they fuck over. You hear what happened to Skeptics in Chicago?”

  “I did. Bones has lost control of a very lucrative warehouse.” Raul now sounded resigned, and Watcher would take it as long as it meant he got what he needed, but he wanted to set things straight first.

  “Two warehouses. They’ve locked him out of half his territory, even if he can’t admit it aloud. He’s hurtin’, man. I suspect he’s on the phone with Mason right now.” Fuck, hadn’t meant for that to slip out, he thought, and Raul jumped on it, like Watcher knew would happen.

  “Which is why you are on the phone with me.” At least he could hear the humor in Raul’s voice, which would mean the man wasn’t too pissed. “Tell me what is planned. I will see if I can assist. I already told you I would, Watcher. I am only…what do you say? Busting your balls.”

  “Fuck you.” Watcher’s shoulders dropped two inches, and only then did he become aware of how tense he had been. “But you’re right, there’s a campaign planned in Chicago, and we’ll want to coordinate with Mason and Bones so we all keep our targets suitably distracted. So—” He pulled in a breath, propping one hip against the desk, looking over to where his officers stood, listening. “—here’s how it’s going to go down.”

  Club. Family. Honor.

  Watcher leaned back into the sectional couch, draping one arm across the back and the other propped on the arm, hand holding a coffee cup. He stared across the room at the extremely nervous boy sitting in the armchair nearest the door. When Mela had let the kid in, that was as far as he made it, looking like his legs would collapse if he had to take another step forwards under Watcher’s scrutiny. Jesus, he thought. My Bella can really pick ‘em.

  Instead of doing what he wanted to do, which was lean his head back and sigh, or the other alternative, get the fuck out of the room, or the best alternative, pick the punk up and throw his ass out the door, Watcher instead tried to be civil. “So, you go to LC high?”

  The kid quivered in place, head shaking back and forth so fast Watcher thought his features blurred for a moment. Jesus. “No, sir, Mr. Otey, sir. I go to Arrowhead.”

  Slightly impressed, because Arrowhead Park Early College was a tough program to get into, Watcher said, “Nice. What college ar
e you aiming towards?”

  “Well, I hope Harvard.” The kid’s head did that shake thing again, and Watcher had to stifle a laugh. “I’m on the medical side of Arrowhead.”

  “Jesus.” This one slipped, and Watcher saw the kid’s eyes widen, and his hands twitch like he wanted to cross himself. “Good on ya, kid.” Mela had chosen to not do college until this fall. She’d instead spent her years after graduating bouncing between her father’s house in Chihuahua and the one here. She also hadn’t ever brought a date home, nor had one pick her up. When it came prom time, she’d opted out of the experience entirely, staring him into silence when he tentatively tried to suggest he could get a prospect to take her. So Bella and Mela would be hitting the local campus at the same time, his two girls in lockstep like they’d been nearly since he’d brought Mela home, the six-year difference in age didn’t matter to either of them.

  “So moving out east?” The quiet in the room was oppressive. He glanced towards the kitchen, then the hallway leading to the bedrooms, mentally pleading with any of his girls to come save him.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Otey, sir.” The kid could nod nearly as fast as his shake, and Watcher focused on his hair for a moment. It didn’t move. Not an inch. The kid’s head was flopping around on the end of his neck like a fish on a dock, and his hair wasn’t moving. That’s not natural, Watcher thought.

  Elbows to his knees, the kid leaned forwards, making Watcher jut his chin out, getting an inch closer so he could hear whatever it was the kid was about to say. “Mr. Otey, I want you to know I respect Isabella.”

  “Yeah, you fuckin’ better,” Spider’s voice came through the window right before he flung the door open. “She’s got a hundert brothers who’ll have your ass you disrespect her.”

  The kid looked between them, and Watcher saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. In a tentative voice, he questioned, “Mr. Otey?”

  His attention flashed between the two men when Spider grunted in amusement at the same time Watcher muttered, “Jesus.”

  This time the kid did cross himself.

  “Yeah. That’s me.” Watcher took pity on the boy and leaned forwards, putting down his coffee cup and adopting the same pose, trying like hell to pull out whatever it was the kid needed to say. “What’s your name, kid?” Surely this wasn’t the Edwardo Bella had been sweet on. Please God, say it’s not.

  “Walt,” the boy said, and Spider choked, the sound of his laughter coming out strangled.

  “Okay, Walt.” Watcher let a beat of silence fall, then deliberately lowered his voice to rumble the question, “What did you want to say about respecting my baby girl?”

  “Um.” Walt’s eyes sliced to Spider, then back to Watcher. His words came fast, nearly tripping over themselves on their way out of his mouth. “Just that I respect her. She said her curfew is midnight, and I’ll be sure to have her home by then, sir. Safe and sound.”

  “That it?” Watcher jutted his chin a bit more, making sure the kid was done speaking. When Walt nodded, he sighed. “That’s good, Walt. Good plan. Because her Uncle Spider there behind you isn’t kidding. You know who I am?” Walt nodded, again going so fast his features blurred. “Then you know she’s got a hundred men who would hunt your ass down and cut off—”

  “Daddy,” Bella scolded from down the hallway, and with that, he knew this was a set-up so the kid could reassure him.

  With a grin, he continued, “—your access to the Internet, and then how would your homework get done? You’d have to kiss Harvard good-bye.”

  Spider’s voice was awestruck when he said, “Holy shit, Bella. Hey, Watch, lookie at our girl.”

  Twisting off the couch, Watcher stood, and as he did so he registered that Walt had also risen to his feet to watch Bella enter into the living room. Blonde hair pulled back into a bun low on her neck, it contrasted beautifully with the dark skin courtesy of her mother. Bella had on a shimmery gold dress which barely reached her knees, long legs ending in…

  Watcher frowned. “You ain’t wearin’ those shoes.” He paused. “Or that dress.” Spider laughed, not bothering to swallow his humor this time. “It didn’t look so short in the pictures you sent me, Bella. Did you take shears to that skirt?”

  Juanita walked out behind their daughter, followed by a laughing Mela. Both of them came immediately to him, one to either side, arms around his waist. “Have a very good time with Walt, bebe,” Juanita told Bella, getting a grin out of her.

  Watcher muttered, “Not too good. Think about Harvard, Walt.” Spider laughed again.

  Mela gave Watcher a squeeze, then reached to hand her sister a flower box. “Boutonniere, Bella.” Wrinkling her nose at her father, Bella took the box and fumbled it open, managing to only stick herself once as she pinned it to the boy’s shirt. Watcher saw with relief that what the boy held was a wrist corsage, so he wouldn’t be going anywhere near anything that would require Watcher beating Walt’s head in right here on the spot.

  Pictures and more pictures, Mela happiest when she was hiding behind the camera as usual. Spider getting in on the action by sneaking into a couple of the shots, and then it was Watcher standing with his arm around his baby girl, staring at the camera held in Mela’s hands. Blessed the day she came to us, he thought. Watcher looked down at Bella, remembering again how it felt to hold her slippery body, all the emotions swelling in him at the moment she came out of Juanita and into the world. “My miracle,” he murmured, bending to brush a kiss against the top of her head. “When did you grow up, baby girl?”

  “Daddy,” she said softly, giving the same tight squeeze Mela had moments before. “I’ll never grow up.”

  “You see to that immediately,” he ordered, and she laughed.

  ***

  “God, I love her,” Mela breathed as the door closed behind Bella and her date.

  Watcher smiled at his oldest child, the daughter of his heart who had come to him second, after his daughter of the body had been born. A girl who had grown into a beautiful woman, one he hoped would never doubt her place in his life. “She loves you, too, honey.”

  He and Raul had decided way back on the first visit Mela’s parents had paid to them, that with what had happened to her, Mela would have a definite say in where she lived. After Raul had solidified his position, when given the choice, she opted to stay in the States with Watcher and the people who had become her second family.

  “I’m so glad she’s over her bad boy phase,” Mela muttered, cradling a coffee mug to her chest, picking up the remote to turn on the TV.

  “She had a bad boy phase?” He threw himself into the chair the kid had used, reaching with the toes of one foot to hook a leg of the ottoman and drag it closer so he could prop his feet up. “When was that?”

  “You remember, Papa.” He did, but he hadn’t ever gotten a complete story out of either girl about their massive fight. A fight which ended in Bella holding a grudge for an unheard of two weeks. Normally his Bella was as sweet as they come, slights real or imagined gone in minutes, but she’d held onto her anger from the fight for a long time. “The douche.”

  “Which one was that?” He stared at the guide she had on the screen, watching as the selector flew down and down, pausing at the sports channels for a moment, then settling on one of the dramatized bike shop shows. His girl knew him well. “I can’t remember.”

  “Edwardo Suches, the wannabe.” She shifted forwards to toss the remote to the coffee table, settling back by tucking her feet underneath her on the couch. Juanita fussed in the kitchen, probably getting ready to plate his supper. He’d made it home after everyone else had eaten, but in time to suffer through Walt’s unimpressive entrance. Mela rested her head against the back of the couch. “The one who wouldn’t come to the house. She always had to meet him somewhere. He’d call, and she’d pick up and be gone in a flash. He didn’t treat her like she mattered. I’m glad she finally had enough.”

  “What happened, do you know?” His Bella had cried for
two weeks, and he’d listened to Juanita comforting her quietly one night, murmuring about Edwardo, so he assumed the kid had broken it off with her.

  “I don’t know. Edwardo was gone for a while, and when he came back to Las Cruces, he was different. Even more of a douche. Had changed from being a rocket jockey to riding a panhead. Got himself new ink and a new vest, but had the same old douche attitude.” Watcher’s ears perked up at vest, because he hadn’t been aware Bella was interested in a rider. She’d ridden on the back of his bike since she was big enough to hold on, and even before that cradled in front of him, her little legs straddling the tank. She’d even ridden with some of his older members, but shied away from any of the men closer to her age. Mela continued, “She didn’t expect him to drop her like he did, but that wasn’t the worst. Pinche cabron hurt her, Papa.”

  Watcher froze, holding himself in check, forcing his stare to stay on the screen, not seeing anything, only red. “Whadda mean, he hurt her?”

  His tone must have given away his rage, because she sounded way more careful when she answered, “Long in the past, Papa.” In a clear distraction tactic, she asked, “What are they doing with that exhaust system?”

  “Mela.” He swung his head to look at her, watching her lips press tightly together. “This Suches, he hurt her?”