Devil's Disciples MC (Box Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  “You ran five miles in Chucks?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair and grinned. “Pretty much every day.”

  “What brought you here?”

  “Me and a bunch of friends decided Southern California would be more receptive to our way of living life than Great Falls Montana. I was a pretty wild kid, and spent a lot of time in trouble. Doing dumb shit in Montana gets a kid arrested every time. Doing dumb shit in Southern California gets overlooked.”

  “So, you and your friends moved here?”

  He nodded, sending several strands of hair falling over his eyes. “Four of ‘em. Right after high school.”

  “Are they still here?’

  “Yep.”

  “Do you get to see them?”

  “They work for me.”

  “Oh wow. That’s cool.”

  “Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t. Friends can get annoying. They tend to hold your past over your head just to remind you of it.” He stretched his legs, stood, and extended his arm. “Coffee?”

  I smiled and reached for his hand. “Sure.”

  When I stood, I looked at the Grandfather clock that sat beside the turntable. It was almost one o’ clock in the morning, and I had to work the next day. I didn’t want the night to end, but I felt coffee might not be in my best interest.

  “Does that clock tell accurate time?”

  “It sure does.”

  “It’s almost one.” I gave an apologetic look. “Maybe no coffee.”

  He glanced at the clock, and then sighed. “Would you want to…” He brushed my hair behind my left ear. “Do you want to sleep over.”

  Until that point, I was sure the night couldn’t have been any better. It wasn’t the first time in my life I’d been wrong.

  “Stay all night?” I asked excitedly.

  He did the same thing in the left side of my face. “Yeah.”

  “I would. I have to work in the morning, though.”

  “Well.” He gestured toward his bedroom. “We better get to bed.”

  He must have been expecting to ask me, because he had a brand-new toothbrush for me to use. When we were both done with our end of the night rituals, he walked into his closet and quickly returned with a pair of sweat shorts and a tee shirt.

  He handed them to me. “Might not fit great, but you can wear those to bed if you’d like.”

  I was hoping to cuddle naked, but I accepted his offer. “Okay.”

  I changed into the clothes, and while I did, he went back into the closet. When he came out, he was wearing a pair of similar shorts and a different tee shirt.

  “Are you going to sleep in that?”

  “I am.”

  I’d wanted to ask for a long time, but I hadn’t. I reached a point that curiosity got the best of me, though. “Why don’t you ever take off your shirt?”

  He pulled back the comforter. “Let’s say there’s something underneath there I’m not quite ready for you to see.”

  He’d seen me from the inside out. I took offense to the statement. “A scar?” I asked.

  He climbed onto the bed. “No.”

  “A tattoo of your former lover?” I asked jokingly.

  “Close, but no.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “What?”

  “You’ll find out some day.”

  “When?”

  He patted his hand against the bed. “When I’m ready.”

  He turned out the lights, but left the blinds open, allowing the light from the street to filter into the room. The same cool blue glow that filled my home at night filled his.

  I got in bed beside him, not angry, but not as happy as I’d been during our music session. I played the pouty role for a few minutes, but it did little good. About the time I decided to accept his decision to tell me when he was ready, he repositioned himself.

  “Lay your head here.” He placed his palm on his shoulder.

  I did as he asked, scooting so close to him that every inch of me that was able to be was touching an inch of him. He searched the top of the nightstand blindly, and eventually lifted something. Then, music began to play softly in the background.

  “My playlist,” he said. “It’ll play for an hour. Is that alright?”

  I couldn’t fall asleep without music. I tilted my head to the side and smiled. “It’s perfect.”

  I guessed we weren’t going to have sex, and I liked it that he hadn’t tried or suggested it. I closed my eyes and let his choice of music entertain me while I considered what a life with a man in it would be like.

  The Wind, by Amos Lee started playing.

  My eyes opened. It was the song that played the night he hugged me in front of my door. For me, it was a turning point. I wondered if it was for him, too. Before I had a chance to mention the song, and how I would always associate it with that night, he rolled his head to the side and kissed me.

  “Good night, Andy,” he said.

  “Goodnight, Baker.”

  I closed my eyes and grinned. When the song stopped, I decided when Helen grew up, I’d want her to meet someone like Baker.

  Just like Baker.

  33

  BAKER

  My mother and father were killed before I could walk. He was a small-time crook and wannabe bank robber who couldn’t plan dinner, let alone a bank heist. Holed up in a motel in New Mexico after a botched bank job, he decided to try his luck in a shootout with the FBI.

  He soon found out his marksmanship skills and his ability to rob a bank were comparable. When the room was searched, they found the two of them on the floor. His archaic revolver, a half-eaten bag of Doritos, a few empty bottles of malt liquor, two thousand dollars, and a gram of heroin were scattered about the filthy room.

  When their bullet-riddled bodies were laid to rest, I was in Montana, developing a palate for Malt-O-Meal. No one cried, no one cared, and no one attended the funeral. My first birthday was celebrated three months later with a big bowl of home-made ice cream and a two-layer white cake with chocolate fudge frosting.

  When I was a kid, I wondered if I was destined to follow in his footsteps. As I grew older, I learned there were no genes for intelligence, and that the mutations that lower intelligence in mankind were non-specific, and idiosyncratic.

  In short, my father was one of a kind.

  Consequently, so was I.

  I got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my waist, and walked into the living room. My morning trip to the window revealed another sunny San Diego sky. A black Dodge Charger was parked across the street, Alfredo’s truck was at the curb, and the bookstore that doubled as a hipster coffee shop was preparing to open.

  It was almost seven in the morning, and Andy was still sleeping in my bed. Making the decision to have her stay the night wasn’t as easy for me as it should have been.

  My life didn’t have many firsts left in it, and her sleeping over was the first time I’d ever had a woman sleep in my bed. It was also the first time I’d ever been in bed with a woman and not had sex with her.

  I didn’t regret the decision. As I admired the lines of her face, however, I was reminded that getting her out of my house would require that she walk past each of the MC’s men. It was something I’d realized before asking her to stay, but not something I was eager to deal with.

  I turned away from the window and walked into the bedroom. “Andy,” I said softly. “Wake up.”

  She turned from her back to her side. After a moment, she opened her eyes.

  “Good morning,” I said. “How’d you sleep.”

  She smiled. “Good.”

  I smiled and nodded before I turned toward the bathroom. “It’s six forty-five, you should probably get up.”

  I took four steps before she said something. I had doubts I would have made it that far.

  “Whoa. Stop. Hold on a minute,” she said, her voice dry and coarse from the night’s sleep. “What’s that deal on your back?”

  I tensed. It was so
mething that had to be done. It didn’t make doing it easy. I glanced over my shoulder. “It’s a tattoo.”

  “No shit. Devil’s what? What’s it say?”

  I turned around. “Disciples. Devil’s Disciples.”

  “What is that?” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Are you in a gang?”

  “No. I’m in a motorcycle club.”

  “Oh wow. Like Hells Angels?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Why didn’t you just put it on one of those little leather vests? Like all the other motorcycle gangs do?”

  “Club. We’re a motorcycle club. And, I didn’t do that because I’m not like everyone else and this club’s not like anyone else’s.”

  “What makes it different?”

  I walked to the edge of the bed and sat. “Most motorcycle clubs are filled with men that need the club for one reason or the other. They didn’t have enough attention paid to them when they were kids. Their parents got divorced. Someone took their lunch money in school. They tried to join the police force and couldn’t pass the psychiatric exam. Whatever it is they wear their colors on their vests proudly as a deterrent to outsiders. That patch says, don’t fuck with me, I’m a badass, and I’ve got a hundred brothers that will kick your teeth in if you don’t believe me.”

  “And this Devil’s Disciples club isn’t like that?”

  “Not at all. We’re not in it for recognition. Actually, quite the opposite. We’ve got the tattoos to prove our loyalty to one another. To prove our lifelong commitment.”

  “So, it’s a forever thing?”

  “It is.”

  “I guess that’s okay.”

  I drew a long breath and then looked at her. “It’s an outlaw club.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We’re…” Considering what she’d told me about her ex, telling her any version of the truth wasn’t going to be easy. I couldn’t tell her everything. But, if we were going to have any kind of a future together, I had to tell her something. “We’re. We don’t always follow the rules and regulations that the rest of society does.”

  “Bikers never do, do they?”

  I chuckled. “Probably not.”

  She nodded slowly.

  There was a high probability that she had no idea what I was taking about. As much as I wanted to end the conversation, I knew I had to elaborate.

  I looked her in the eyes. “We break the law.”

  Her eyes thinned. “On purpose?”

  “Sometimes.” I let her chew on my response for a few seconds, and then clarified. “Actually, quite often. Before you ask, I’m bound by an oath not to discuss what we do. But, I can tell you this: I’m a good person, and other than what I’ve got to do to honor that oath, I’ll never lie to you, and I’ll never hurt you. Ever.”

  She looked away. After a moment, she met my gaze. “I know you’re a good person. You prove it to me all the time.”

  Her gaze fell to the floor. For a moment, she stared blankly, and then looked up. “So, this is a lifetime commitment? This club?”

  “It is.”

  She shifted her eyes to the bed. “I want to think about all of this. It’s a lot to take in.”

  I stood. “Take you time.”

  I finished getting ready while she brushed her teeth and changed into the prior night’s clothes. After a silent cup of coffee and a slice of dry of toast, she asked if I’d walk her out.

  I had two options. Taking her down the stairs, which would bypass the clubhouse, or taking her down the elevator, which would lead her right through it, in front of any of the early risers. It was Cash and Ghost that normally showed up early, and my guess was that they were downstairs.

  So, I chose the latter.

  If we were going to take even one step in the direction of a relationship, there were a lot of things I was going to have to take ownership of.

  One of those things was her.

  I pushed the front door open and gestured toward the corridor. “After you.”

  We walked side by side to the elevator. Together, we took a tense ride down one story. Our reasons for the tension we felt were different, but I rode knowing they were both the product of my life’s choices.

  When the doors opened, I stepped out first. As we passed by the entrance to the clubhouse, Cash met my gaze. His jaw clenched tight. Ghost gave a silent nod, and Reno did the same. All three of them knew my position regarding manners, and I hoped Cash didn’t make a fool of himself before we got out of the hallway.

  “Mornin, Boss,” Ghost said.

  I gave a nod. “Morning.”

  Reno cleared his throat. “Morning, Boss.”

  Another nod. “Reno.”

  “Morning, Prez,” Cash said.

  It didn’t surprise me that he had to say it. He had no idea that I’d told Andy, but he felt the need to get under my skin, because I’d got under his.

  I turned to face them. “Fellas, this is Andy. Andy, this is Reno, Ghost, and Cash.”

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Two likewises and one grunt followed.

  I walked her to the entrance of her building, all the while wishing things between us hadn’t got awkward. But, they had. Before I could apologize, say goodbye, or ask when I may see her next, she hugged me.

  When she pulled away, she looked at me for an instant, and then turned around.

  “I need some time to think,” she said over her shoulder.

  My lips parted, but I didn’t speak. Frozen by fear of the unknown, I stood statue-still and watched as she disappeared through the doorway.

  34

  ANDY

  I couldn’t breathe.

  It had been three miserable days since Baker told me that he was a criminal – and that he may have to lie to me to protect the oath that he’d taken.

  The ache in my chest stood as a reminder that I once had a relationship with a criminal and a lair, and it ended poorly. Although I didn’t feel a relationship with Baker would be plagued with the same exact problems, I feared what might happen. What it boiled down to was whether I was willing to take the risk or not.

  I stared at the Christmas flier, and wondered if anyone would even show up. I hoped so, but considering the successes of my year, I had my doubts. About the time I was ready to take it down and toss it in the trash, the door swung open.

  Mort walked in, took one look at me, and paused. “Who shit in your breakfast cereal?”

  I tried to put on a smile. “Excuse me?”

  “You look like shit, Kid.” He took a step toward me. “Everything okay?”

  I forced a crooked smile. “I’m good.”

  “You look like you got shot at and missed and shit on and hit. Wanna talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  He took another step, paused, and looked me over. “Let’s give it a try. I don’t know if you realize it or not, but you’re uglier’n a stack of turds when you’re upset,” he said lightheartedly.

  I laughed. “Thanks.”

  He sat down. “Don’t be upset if I look away. You’re hell to look at right now.” He glanced at the pictures and then at me. “What’s his name?”

  I covered my face with my hands. “Baker.”

  “Not surprising.”

  I peeked through my fingers at him. “You knew he was going to do this?”

  “I had no idea what he was going to do. Hell, I think he’s a pretty nice fella. But I saw the way you were lookin’ at him a couple of weeks ago.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Like you wanted to eat him.”

  I lowered my hands. “Well, I don’t want to eat him right now.”

  “Want to tell me what happened?”

  “I can’t really.” I lowered my head until my forehead went thump against my desk. After sulking for a few seconds, I looked up. “I don’t feel comfortable telling you about it.”

  His face went stern. “If he did something to hurt
you, say the word. Me and my two best friends will pay him a visit. Mister Smith and Mister Wesson. I’ll see if his ass can outrun a bullet.”

  “No. He didn’t do anything.”

  He inched closer, studying my face the entire time. “What then?”

  “What do you know about relationships?”

  He grinned. “I’m like an aeronautical engineer.”

  I scrunched my nose. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m got some damned good theories, but I’ve got minimal success based on hands-on experience.”

  “Have you got time to talk?”

  He pushed himself away from the desk and flopped his forearms against the chair’s armrests. “Does a one-legged duck swim in circles?”

  After thinking about his response, I laughed. “You make me smile.”

  “You make me smile, too, Kid. Except for today. Let’s see if we can change that. Get to talkin.’”

  I looked away. After taking some time to devise a way to say what I needed to, I shifted my eyes to Mort. “I’ve really only been in one relationship, and the guy had certain character traits. He hurt me bad in the end. Really bad. I said when it was over that I’d never put myself in that position again. I found out last weekend that Baker has those exact same traits. Now, I’m scared of what might happen.”

  He let out a laugh. “You’re worried about what might happen?”

  I nodded. “Uh huh.”

  He slapped his hands against the sides of his belly. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “You wouldn’t know it by lookin’ at me, but there was a day when this belly of mine didn’t exist. I looked about like that Baker fella. Thin and muscular. Didn’t have a lick of common sense, either. The year was nineteen and sixty-eight, and the place was Khe Sanh, Vietnam. The North Vietnamese Army had just launched the Tet Offensive. I was seventeen at the time, and I tell ya.” His eyes drifted toward the window. “I saw more death in two months than any one man should have to see in a lifetime.”

  He cleared his throat and continued. “I went to take a shit, and it happened just like that. Before I got my pants pulled up, explosions were going off, enemy fire was whizzing by my head, and people were dead or screaming for the good lord to take ‘em all around me. Brady Wiltshire and Sergeant Tom were by a fuel tank with some of the rest of my platoon, and they were shot to pieces. Every one of ‘em was alive, but they weren’t going to be for long if they didn’t get some medical attention. It was darker than the inside of an elephant’s ass, and the enemy was crawling around our base camp like ants on a candy bar. Their only hope was me, and I was a scared seventeen-year-old kid.”