Devil's Disciples MC (Box Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  I struggled with thoughts of turning the hose in their direction and spraying them both. It appeared her books were spot-on. Bikers were after one thing and one thing only.

  Sex.

  He wasn’t even beating around the proverbial bush. He went right to the point, and Jennifer offered no opposition to his cheesy come-on.

  I mentally rolled my eyes but couldn’t bring myself to stop watching. While the biker with no name was in the middle of saying something, the roar of motorcycles from the other direction drowned out his voice.

  Two motorcycles careened over the hill. Then, they shot up the street and came to a screeching stop in front of the house. I felt a little apprehensive when I realized one of them was Cash. I quickly recognized the other rider as the neighbor from down the street.

  Cash hopped off his motorcycle and stomped toward the driveway. After edging his way between the youthful biker and Jennifer, he gave the young man a glare.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Tito?” Cash barked.

  Tito puffed his chest and hardened his gaze. “Whatever the fuck I want to, Brother.”

  Cash’s jaw tightened. Then, his fists clenched. “You’ve got no business up here, little man.”

  “Last I checked, Baker was president of this club, and you were the muscle.” He looked Cash over. “I’m wondering if maybe you should relinquish that position. It should go to the toughest man in the club.”

  I had no idea what was going on, but it was clear that Cash wasn’t very happy with Tito’s decision to stop by. I wondered if Cash had somehow laid claim to me, which prevented any of the other men from coming near me or my place of residence.

  I was flattered and confused at the same time.

  “What the fuck are you trying to say, midget?” Cash snapped back.

  Tito’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Are you too dumb to figure it out?”

  Cash took a step back and raised his hands slightly. “If you’re feeling froggy, motherfucker, jump.”

  Fearing the next step from either of them would require an ambulance, the police, or both, I set the hose down and stepped off the porch. “It’s awfully hot out here this morning. Would any of you care for a drink?”

  The neighbor looked at me and grinned a sly grin. “Might want to grab that hose and spray these two before things get ugly.”

  Tito let out a long breath. “My apologies.” He glanced at the neighbor, Cash, and then me. “Sure. I’d love a drink.”

  The neighbor gave a sharp nod. “Whatever you’ve got would be nice. Thank you.”

  Cash glared at Tito for a few seconds, took a step back, and then walked to my side. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Make me a mimosa, if you don’t mind,” Jennifer said.

  Cash accompanied me to the porch, and then opened the front door and gestured inside. “After you.”

  “What was all that about?” I asked as I walked inside. “Can I ask?”

  “Nothing.”

  I opened the refrigerator and grabbed the orange juice. “Were you mad because he was here?”

  “I sure as fuck wasn’t happy about it,” he said.

  Knowing he cared enough to get angry made me feel better about our situation. The argument between the two men seemed juvenile, nonetheless.

  “What does it matter?” I asked. “He wasn’t doing anything but hitting on Jennifer.”

  “What did he say?”

  Thinking of what he said caused me to laugh. “He said he was going to pick her up tonight at seven, and that she should wear clothes that she wasn’t worried about wrinkling.”

  Cash’s eyebrows raised. “Because he was going to toss them on the floor?”

  “Yeah. But. How’d you…Does he say that a lot?”

  Cash exhaled heavily. “Before you and I came in the house, did he know whether it was you or Jennifer that lived here?”

  I looked up from pouring the orange juice. “I guess not. How would he?”

  His jaw tightened.

  “What?” I asked.

  His eyes shifted to the window and peered out at the group. “Nothing.”

  I made Jennifer’s mimosa in silence. When I finished, Cash grabbed three bottles of water from the refrigerator and followed me outside. After I handed Jennifer her drink, Cash offered me one of the bottles. Then he gave one to the neighbor.

  I wondered if the last was for him, and if he purposely only got three, leaving Tito without a drink.

  I didn’t wonder for long.

  He extended his left hand, offering the last bottle to his MC Brother. When Tito reached for it with his right hand, Cash swung his right fist into the side of his jaw.

  The punch landed with a crack! The impact knocked Tito completely off his feet. As he came crashing down onto his back in the driveway, the water bottle shot skyward. Appearing almost delirious, he looked up at Cash with wide eyes.

  The bottle of water slowly rolled toward the street.

  Cash kicked it aside and loomed over Tito with his fists clenched. “I’m the muscle of this club for a reason,” he said through his teeth. “Maybe now you’ll have an easier time remembering why.”

  56

  CASH

  Baker stood behind his desk and gazed out at the street. While unidentifiable folk music played, I fidgeted in my seat. I realized he wouldn’t be happy with my decision, but it didn’t change how I felt.

  I never second guessed myself. If I justified doing something, questioning myself later about it didn’t make sense. So, I always stood behind my actions. Punching Tito in the jaw might not have been how Baker would have resolved the situation, but as far as I was concerned it was the only way.

  When the song was over, Baker turned to face me. “Tito’s jaw’s fractured in two places. Nose is broken, too.”

  “Serves the little prick right,” I said.

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers – a surefire sign that he was angry as fuck with me. After an awkward period of silence, he opened his eyes. “It’s bad enough they had to wire it shut.”

  “When Goose wrecked into Ghost on the four-wheeler, it took him what? Six weeks to heal?”

  “That’s what they said.” He pulled the chair away from his desk. “Four to six.”

  “Guess I’ll have six weeks of peace.”

  “God damn it.” He glared at me. “His fucking jaw is broken, Cash.”

  “That’s what you said a minute ago. I heard you, Bake. His jaw’s broken. Fractured is what you said. Two places. Six weeks to heal. Nose broken. Yep. heard it all.”

  “You stubborn prick.” He sat down. “You don’t regret it at all, do you?”

  “Nope. I’d bust him in the jaw again if he did the same shit.”

  “Because he was sniffing around the blowjob queen’s house?”

  “Because he doesn’t know when to keep his fucking mouth shut. He was talking shit about how he needed to be the muscle for the club. Little cock sucker said the position should go to the toughest man in the club, and that you gave the job to the wrong man. He was showing off for the ladies.” I rubbed the knuckles of my right hand. “So, I shut him down.”

  “Goose said you were pissed off because--”

  “I don’t give a fuck what Goose said,” I snapped back. “This has been brewing for a long time, and you know it.”

  “This wasn’t about who’s the toughest, and we both know it.” His eyes shifted to the far side of the room. A few seconds later, he met my gaze. “You need to forget that little twat. We were in high school, Cash.”

  “Right’s right, and wrong’s wrong. I don’t give a fuck how old we were. He was wrong, and he’s never admitted it.”

  “She was a whore.”

  “It doesn’t matter if she offered him the pussy on a silver platter,” I growled.

  “There’s no rule against--”

  “You might not post rules up on the clubhouse walls, but we all know what we can and can’t do. We don’t
fuck with a gal that one of the other fellas is fucking with. Everyone knows it.” I leaned forward and locked eyes with him. “This is the second time. Next time, I might just cut his throat.”

  He shook his head. “Goose said he wasn’t even fucking with your girl. He was dicking with the chick across the--”

  “She isn’t my girl, Bake. She’s some chick that sucked my cock. Add her to the list of two hundred other motherfuckers that’ve had my cock in their mouth. It ain’t about that.”

  “Well, it sure as fuck wasn’t about which one of you two is the toughest.”

  My eyes thinned. “Why do you say that? You think that little prick’s tougher than me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I didn’t say you said it.” I hardened my stare. “I asked you a fuckin’ question.”

  “We’ve all got our strengths, Cash.”

  “Yep. His is hacking into computers, and mine is kicking motherfucker’s asses.” I arched an eyebrow. “Who’s the toughest?”

  “I’d say the two most capable fist-fighters in the club are you and Tito,” he responded. “No doubt.”

  “Okay.” I relaxed into my chair and crossed my arms. “Which one’s tougher?”

  He rolled his eyes and then looked right at me. “You.”

  “Are you saying that because you think I am, or because you think it’s what I want to hear?”

  “Because it’s the truth.”

  I stood. “Good. Then you can repeat that statement in front of that broken-jawed motherfucker in Wednesday’s meeting. You know, when he brings in the beer for losing that race.”

  “I wasn’t done,” he hissed. “Where the fuck are you going?”

  “You might not be done.” I said over my shoulder. “But I am. I’m going for a ride.”

  Baker was still babbling when I walked through the door, but I didn’t hear a word he was saying.

  My mind was on other things.

  Things I hadn’t thought about since high school.

  57

  KIMBERLY

  I had mixed emotions about what happened between Cash and Tito. I didn’t know for certain what drove Cash to do what he did, but I had my doubts that his actions were a direct result of Tito simply showing up at my house.

  On the surface, Cash’s reaction seemed extreme. Then, when I considered that he wasn’t overly angry before he hit Tito, and that he acted indifferent about it afterward, it left me to wonder what drove him to act so violently.

  Jennifer’s pounding at my door brought me out of my state of deep thought and thrust me back into reality. With reluctance, I set my glass of wine aside and rose to my feet.

  The pounding continued.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m coming.”

  “I’m outta wine,” she shouted. “Open up!”

  I pulled the door open. Jennifer was leaning against the side of the house. Her hair looked like a rat’s nest, her feet were bare, and she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  She looked at me and then belched. “Got any wine?”

  I looked her up and down. “You look like you’ve had enough.”

  She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  She pushed her way past me and stumbled into the house.

  Quite possibly depressed about her cancelled date, and obviously drunk, she looked like baked shit. I gestured toward her bare feet. “Where are your shoes?”

  “Who knows,” she murmured. “All I know is that Dolla Bill is a thief.”

  She shuffled to the living room and picked up my glass of wine.

  “Don’t drink that one, I’ll get you--”

  Before I finished speaking, she’d downed the half-full glass of wine and flopped onto the couch.

  I lifted the empty glass of wine from her limp grasp and set it on the coffee table. “Why did you say that? About Cash?”

  “Because. It’s eight o’clock.”

  I waited some time for her to continue, but she didn’t. “What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.

  “If it wasn’t for him,” she muttered. “I’d be riding Tito’s dick right now. Dolla Bill stole my dick. He’s a thief.”

  I sat down across from her. “You don’t know that you’d be riding anything.”

  She gazed blankly at me. Inch by inch, her body leaned to the side until she was flat on her back. She gazed up at the ceiling. “You can’t prove that I wouldn’t be.”

  I studied her. Her dress was covered in orange handprints. “Your dress is filthy,” I said. “What have you been doing?”

  She lifted her head and looked herself over. “Drinking wine.” Upon seeing the neon-colored filth, she brushed her hand against her dress a few times. “And eating Cheetos.”

  “You’re covered in orange dust,” I said with a laugh.

  She stared to the ceiling. “I ate the whole bag. I was too sad to get a napkin.”

  “I’m sure he’s still going to be interested in you when the swelling goes down,” I said reassuringly. “You’ll probably be out with him tomorrow. This weekend for sure.”

  She titled her head to the side and gave me a glassy-eyed look. “It’s broken.”

  “What’s broken?”

  “His jaw.”

  “Tito’s?” I gasped. “It’s broken?”

  She shifted her focus to the ceiling. “In two places.”

  “Oh. Wow. Don’t they have to wire it shut or something?”

  “They already did. They’re checking it in two weeks, but it sounds like it’ll be six before they unwire it. He’s on a liquid diet. And, he’s got to carry wire cutters in his pocket just in case he needs to vomit.”

  I wrinkled my nose at the thought. “Why would he need to vomit?”

  “If he’s as sad as I am, he’ll probably vomit tonight. I’m sure I will sooner or later. I’m devastated. I’m sure he is, too.”

  “That really sucks. Cash must have hit him pretty hard.”

  She tilted her head to the side. Her eyes caught up with her a few seconds later. “You were standing there. You saw it,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm. “He knocked him all the way across the driveway.”

  “Yeah, he kind of did.”

  “Have you heard from Dolla Bill?” she asked.

  “Not since they left.”

  She obviously had Tito’s phone number, or she couldn’t have found out everything she knew about his condition. I, on the other hand, didn’t have Cash’s number. I found it odd that we hadn’t exchanged numbers, but I didn’t want to overstep boundaries and ask him to do something that made him uncomfortable, either.

  She pinched the hem of her dress between her thumb and forefinger and lifted it off her thighs. “I don’t have on any panties.”

  I coughed out a laugh. “That’s kind of random.”

  She wafted the hem up and down. “I was going to wear this tonight.”

  “You were going to wear that? On the motorcycle?”

  “If I got my way, we would have never left the house. I was going to lure him inside with the cleavage. We were going to fuck until he was hungry, and then I was going to feed him a pussy sandwich.”

  I scrunched my nose. “A pussy sandwich?”

  She glared back at me. “You know what I mean.”

  “Sounds like you had it all planned out.”

  She forced a sigh. “I did until Dolla Bill fucked it up.”

  I was reluctant to try having a meaningful conversation with someone who was inebriated, but the drunken woman sitting across from me that was covered in Cheeto dust was my only option.

  “Why do you think Cash hit him, anyway?” I asked.

  She gave me a crazy-eyed look. “Because he was pissed.”

  “I know, but I’m wondering what about?”

  “I’m sure it has something to do with drugs or whores. It always does,” she said flatly.

  The more I heard her talk of such things, the more I felt that her books were filled wit
h nothing but fabricated lies meant to satisfy the desires of the hordes of women who read them.

  “I’m sure it was something other than that.”

  “What else could it be?”

  I realized reasoning with her was going to be impossible. Becoming increasingly frustrated that she was drunk and impossible to talk to, I gazed blankly at her. The contrast of tan flesh against the side of her black dress caught my attention.

  I gestured in her direction. “You’re kind of falling out.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She forced a long, exhaustive sigh. “Nothing matters.”

  The sound of a motorcycle’s exhaust caused my heart to rise into my throat. I tried to hide my excitement as I rose to my feet.

  Jennifer remained horizontal, seeming impervious to the familiar sound.

  “I’m sure it’s Dolla Bill,” she said flatly. “I’ve reached a point I’m about to give up. It’s not worth it.”

  I glanced out the window, and then at her. “What’s not worth it?”

  She tried to sit up, but only made it part of the way. Resting on one elbow and looking back at me with drunken eyes, she blinked a few times. Then, she shook her head. “Huh?”

  The house began to shake. I turned toward the window. The sun had already set, but it wasn’t dark enough to hide the outline of Cash’s face as he pulled into the driveway.

  I had questions I wanted answered. Getting rid of Jennifer, however, was going to require a stretcher or a wheelbarrow. Feeling slightly frustrated, I opened the front door just in time to see him lift his long leg over the seat.

  He hung his helmet on the handlebars, looked at me, and grinned. “Good Evening.”

  The front of his black tee shirt said, Zombies Eat Brains, Don’t Worry, You’re Safe. I laughed to myself and waved at him like he was a passing float in a parade, and then felt foolish for doing so.

  I swallowed a lump of nervous energy and grinned. “Hi.”

  “Dolla Bill! You’re a thief!” Jennifer screeched.

  Oh, Lord.

  “Jennifer’s here, and she’s drunk,” I whispered.

  His jaw was covered in a five o’ clock shadow. Looking sexy as hell in a pair of jeans that hugged him in all the right places, he sauntered up the walk. “What’s she yelling about?”