Devil's Disciples MC (Box Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  “There’s nothing to explain,” I said dismissively.

  “There is.” He lowered his head. “I just don’t know if I want to do it.”

  “Well, I don’t want you to.”

  He looked up. “Do you really want me to go?”

  I didn’t. I wanted him to stay. To hold me. To lay in bed with my head on his chest. To sit and enjoy a meal together and talk about American history. To tell me of his Irish mother and listen to stories about how my father taught me to fish in the streams in northern California.

  “Yes,” I said.

  He took a few hesitant steps toward the door, and then paused. “I want you to know something before I go.”

  A sigh escaped me. “I don’t want--”

  He faced me. “I’ve never been scared of anything in my life. There’s a reason Baker chose me to be the club’s muscle. I’m either been too dumb or too damned tough to know what it’s like to fear something.”

  He swallowed heavily. So much so, I heard it.

  “Until tonight,” he said. “I’m scared to fuckin’ death that I’m going to lose you. The fact I’m willing to admit it scares me, too. You make me feel like there might just be a life beyond this.”

  He raised his clenched fists and studied them. Dried blood covered his knuckles, and a trail of blood that had dried on his forearm blended in with one of his tattoos. His eyes shifted from his hands to me.

  He appeared defeated.

  The pain in my chest worsened. I wanted him so badly that it choked me from breathing. I simply didn’t know if I could live each day knowing that one night he might not come home.

  “I want to find out what that life is like,” he said. “There’s only one way to do it and there’s only one person to do it with. That person’s you.”

  He turned toward the door and pulled it open.

  I wanted to tell him to stop. To turn around. That I was ready to take that journey with him, because I felt the same way.

  But I didn’t.

  Instead, I listened to him start his motorcycle and ride away.

  As the sound of his exhaust faded into nothing, my eyes welled with tears.

  The pain of knowing that I’d never feel him in my arms again began to squeeze me and didn’t stop until I was sure I was suffocating.

  I sucked in a breath. The sudden rush of air choked me, causing me to cough. With the cough came tears.

  I lowered myself to the floor and blubbered.

  I cried until I was exhausted. Somehow, I eventually managed to stand. With swollen eyes and an aching heart, I glanced around the empty home. I couldn’t imagine sleeping in the bed without him at my side.

  I fell asleep on the couch fearing I’d never be able to return to that bed.

  Or, to Cash.

  70

  CASH

  On my back in bed – staring at the ceiling – I held the phone far enough away from my ear that her voice wasn’t deafening. Being shouted at by a woman wasn’t on my list of favorite things to do, but I learned early in life to allow it.

  “Tell me he’s going to be okay,” she said.

  “They said he’ll be fine,” I said. “It’s mostly dental work.”

  “You and those boys were always acting the maggot in school, but I never thought you’d do something so savage to anyone close to you,” she said, her voice thick with her Irish heritage. “Brock Cashton. I’m ashamed of you.”

  “I’m ashamed of me, too, Ma.”

  “You’re not a bogger any longer. You could get away with your foolishness here, but in the city, it’s different. If you end up in real trouble, I’ll come down there and give you a clatter myself. It’ll take more than a dentist to fix it, too. Don’t think I won’t.”

  “I know you will.”

  “Did Graham put you up to this?” she asked. “He was always a cute hoor, that one. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “It wasn’t Baker, Ma. I did it on my own.”

  “Care to tell your mother why you’re always a feckin’ chancer?”

  “I’ve been seeing this girl, and she--”

  “You’re what?” she shrieked. “You’re courtin’?”

  “Not really.” I sighed.

  “I nearly had a heart attack. Who is she?”

  Considering her degree of excitement, I didn’t have the heart to tell her Kimberly wasn’t speaking to me. Hoping that repair of my relationship was possible, I decided to explain who Kimberly was as if she were still active in my life.

  “I’ve been seeing her for about a month,” I said. “Both of her parents passed from a car wreck ten years ago. She doesn’t have any family here, but she’s got some in Texas. She’s beautiful, smart, sweet, and she’s a great cook.”

  “You need to bring her to meet your mother. I’ve been here on me tod since you left.”

  “Ma, I’m trying to tell you what happened.”

  “And, I’m trying to listen to you.”

  “This new guy, he’s always getting drunk and saying dumb shit. This girl I’ve been seeing is biracial. Her father was black, and her mother was white. This new guy found out, and he called her a nigger. That’s why I hit him.”

  “Brock Cashton!” she bellowed. “You can’t beat sense into someone. He’s entitled to his opinion no differently than you. You don’t have to agree with how he thinks, but beating him over his belief makes you the worse man…”

  “Ma, he--”

  “Houl yer whisht,” she snapped. “I wasn’t finished speaking.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “If he believes the color of her skin makes her different than him, all you can do is show him he’s wrong. Is she a good woman?”

  “She is.”

  “Is she polite? Respectful?”

  “She is.”

  “You have nothing to fear. Take her to him and let him see who she is. Let him make his own decisions, will ya? Hatred is a difficult thing to overcome, but ignorance is impossible. I’ll pray he’s filled with nothing more than hate.”

  “He might be a little of both.”

  She chuckled. “So might you, you feckin’ eejit.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Apologize to your friend, and hope all isn’t banjaxed. Does this lass have a name?’

  “Kimberly.”

  “Bring Kimberly for dinner, will ya?”

  “First things first, ma. I need to apologize to Reno.”

  “Well, listen to ya.” She laughed. “You’re not an eejit after all.”

  For a man who didn’t apologize, it sure seemed I was doing a lot of it lately. I stood over Reno’s bed truly embarrassed about how I reacted to his remark.

  Both eyes were black, his lips were swollen, and it appeared he was missing every tooth that a smile would reveal.

  But, he wasn’t smiling.

  “All I can do is apologize. I’m not making excuses, Brother, but I blacked out. I was mad as hell, don’t get me wrong, but I never should have done this to you.”

  He rose to his elbows, took a sip of water, and gazed down at the floor. “I get drunk and thay thit I thouldn’t. This ain’t the first time.”

  “Little kids and drunks are the two most honest fuckers on the planet, Reno. You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it. I’m not here to blame you for--”

  “I was raithed differently than you,” he interrupted. “I’ve heard your thstories about Belfatht, and about how they treated the Catholics. How your mother uthed to tell you bedtime thstories and thit. Well, I grew up different. A black family moved into my grandfather’s neighborhood. He burned a croth in their yard. Went to jail for it, but he went proudly. It wathn’t nineteen fifty, either. It was about ten yearth ago. In my family’s eyes, blacks are nig—" he paused. “I was raithed lithenin’ to it, but I don’t want to believe it. I’m thorry, Brother.”

  “She ain’t speaking to me right now,” I explained. “If she decides to one of these days, I’d like for you to give her a chanc
e.”

  He nodded. “I’ll do it. Duth tshe know what I thaid?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t tell her.”

  “Can you not? Not tell her?”

  Making up with her – if that time came – would come a lot easier if I could explain what actually happened. Protecting her from Renos family’s hatred would be far more important, though.

  I gave a sharp nod. “I’ll keep it to myself.”

  He sat up. “I’m sorry, Cath. I truly am.”

  I extended my clenched fist. “Not as sorry as I am, Brother.”

  He pounded his fist against mine and grinned.

  “You might want to keep from smiling until they get some teeth in that mouth of yours. You look like hell, Brother.”

  “Feels worth,” he said. “It’s hurth like hell.”

  It sure does.

  71

  KIMBERLY

  A night’s sleep did nothing to ease the pain. On my second pot of coffee and wondering how in the world I would make it through the day, I sat at the kitchen table and ran through my thoughts, hoping I’d made a mental mistake in asking Cash to leave.

  Despite my burning desire to fix things, I couldn’t change the fact that Cash was a violent man. That violence exposed him to risks. Those risks meant me potentially losing him permanently, and that wasn’t a risk willing to take.

  Ridding myself of him now would be far easier than having him taken from me without warning. I’d gone through it once with my parents, and I couldn’t handle it again.

  Jennifer’s pounding at the door reminded me that it was no longer four am. Not necessarily wanting to hear her advice, but wanting someone to speak to, I walked to the door and unlocked it.

  I pulled the door open. “I should give you a key.”

  She nudged her way past me. “Not a good idea. I’d be over here eating Cheetos on the couch while you and Dolla Bill are fucking.”

  “I don’t think either of us will have to worry about that,” I said.

  Saying it drove another stake into my already aching heart. I turned toward the table and shuffled to my seat.

  Halfway through fixing her cup of coffee, she spun around as if she had a revelation. “Are you wearing the same shit you left in?”

  I sat down. “Last night?”

  “Those are the same clothes, aren’t they?” She sipped her coffee. “The new outfit?”

  “They are.”

  She sat down across from me and scrunched her nose. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I took a sip of my coffee and realized it was tepid. After pushing it aside, I answered her. “I slept on the couch.”

  “Why?”

  “I couldn’t make it to bed, I was sad.”

  “I’d be sad, too.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry that guy said that stuff.”

  “What guy?”

  “I don’t know what their names are. The one who said that crap. The guy Dolla Bill busted up.”

  Initially, I was shocked that she knew what happened. Then, I realized Tito probably told her everything.

  “You know about it?” I asked.

  “Well, the ambulance drove by my house,” she said. “Twice.”

  “I forgot about that.”

  “About what?”

  “The ambulance.”

  “Surprised Dolla Bill didn’t kill him,” she said.

  She obviously knew more about the situation than I did. Curious as to what she knew, I stood and walked to the sink. After rinsing my cup, I poured another cup of coffee.

  “Why do you say that?” I asked on the way back to the table.

  She gave me a look of confusion.

  “Why did you say you’re surprised Cash didn’t kill him?”

  “Tito told me what happened. If he’d have said that shit to me, I probably would have killed him.” She glanced toward the bedroom and then looked at me. “Wait a minute. Where’s Dolla Bill?”

  “He’s gone. I asked him to leave.” I raised my brows. “What did that guy say? I never heard.”

  “Wait. You asked Dolla Bill to leave? When? Why?”

  “Last night. After the fight.”

  “Because of all the blood?”

  “Because I’m tired of the violence. In the month I’ve known him, he’s broken Tito’s jaw, and then he beat that guy last night until his face was distorted. There was blood twenty feet away, on the fence. It wasn’t pretty.”

  She shrugged. “He deserved every bit of it.”

  “According to who?” I snapped back.

  “According to me. And, to Dolla Bill, I guess.”

  “Well, I didn’t hear what he said or did, or whatever. I don’t think it matters.”

  “What do you mean it doesn’t matter. Dolla didn’t tell you anything?”

  “No, he tried to, but I wouldn’t let him. I just asked him to leave.”

  She sprung from her seat. “What? You didn’t…you didn’t ask him to leave, like ‘ask him to leave’, did you? You broke it off? Over what happened?”

  “I uhhm.” The reality of it all sank in. I choked on my emotions, and quickly caught myself before I began to cry. “Yes. I broke it…I broke it off.”

  “Before you found out what happened?”

  “I saw what happened,” I said. “I was there, remember?”

  “He called you the ‘N’ word, Kimberly. That’s why Dolla beat him up.”

  I was flattered and frustrated at the same time, but I wasn’t relieved. I stood and turned toward the window. “If I beat someone up every time I was called that, there’d be a line of bodies from here to San Clemente. When I was a kid, I was called that every day. When my parents were alive, my black father was a constant reminder to the kids at school that I wasn’t Puerto Rican. I’m glad he stood up for me, but I’m not pleased about how he did it.”

  “Are you going to call him?” she asked.

  I turned around. “No.”

  “What?” She gasped. “Why not?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do this. It’s not worth it. With his temper, one of these days it’s going to be him in that ambulance, and I can’t fathom that.”

  She put her hands on her hips and gave me a look. “You can’t imagine losing him?”

  “Having him taken from me.”

  “But you’re okay with asking him to leave? That’s okay?”

  It wasn’t okay. It hurt. My chest was on fire, my legs were shaking, and my mouth was dry. I looked like a raccoon, felt like death, and wondered if I’d ever sleep again without waking up yearning to feel his body next to mine.

  “It’s not okay,” I said. “But it’s how it has to be.”

  “You need to get some sleep. You’re delirious. Good thing that douche wasn’t over here, because if he’d have said that shit in front of me, you’d be asking me to leave.”

  “With you, it’d be a one-time thing. With him, it’s standard procedure.”

  “How do you know that?” she asked. “You’ve known him for a month.”

  “In a month, this has happened twice. Tito has his jaw wired shut to prove it. If I was just ‘fucking’ him, it’d be one thing. But I’m not. It’s more than that. I’m falling in love with him.”

  I cleared my throat, and then began to cry. “I was falling in love with him.”

  72

  CASH

  It had been a week since I’d spoken to Kimberly. The text messages I’d sent had gone unanswered, and the hand-written note I’d left asking her to call hadn’t produced a response.

  The thought of losing her consumed me. I ached, but I tried no to show it. The men in the MC may not have been my only love, but they were my first. It was time for me to focus on something other than my heartache.

  With Reno still in recovery, and us incapable of changing the window of opportunity, we voted to raid the drug dealer’s home with the five remaining men.

  Although he was only a month into his six-week recovery time, Tito refused to participate in the robb
ery without being able to speak. Much to the surprise of the club, and to his doctors, he chose to remove the wires that tied his mouth shut.

  Left with a series of steel fittings fixed to his teeth – but with the ability to speak clearly – he looked like he had braces. He was yet another reminder of the bad decisions that caused my relationship with Kimberly to fail.

  Using a glass cutter, Goose scored a section of the sliding door’s glass, affixed the suction cup handles, and nodded toward Baker. While we huddled under the pool deck’s canopy, Baker tapped the glass lightly with a plastic mallet. On the third strike, the four-foot round section pulled free.

  As Baker set it aside, Tito went through the opening. After double-checking the security system’s output on his phone, he gave the nod of approval. I followed, and the remaining men trailed in one by one, after me.

  Ghost sat watch in the driveway, with the SUV ready for a quick getaway.

  I glanced around the gaudy mansion. Luckily, the owner had left random lights on throughout the home, making it easy for us to see our way without drawing attention to the fact we were there.

  Gold-framed oil paintings of unrecognizable men – undoubtedly mentors of the home’s owner – were on every viewable wall. Ornate furniture, most of which appeared to be hand-carved, filled what portions of the travertine floor that weren’t used as a means of perusing the mansion.

  The blueprints of the home that Tito obtained through the county’s records department were spot-on. Knowing what rooms were where, however, gave us no idea of where the eccentric heroin dealer kept his valuables.

  Wandering aimlessly through a ten thousand square foot six-bedroom home – hoping to find the safe, strong box, or a hideaway – had my butthole cinched so tight it could have crushed a walnut.

  “This place is insane,” I whispered.

  “Nice artwork,” Goose joked, motioning to a painting of a man holding a gold-plated AK-47.