Devil's Disciples MC (Box Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  His eyes were like that of a wolf. Looking into them, you realized what lied beneath couldn’t be trusted. Nevertheless, I gazed into them, considering how I wanted to respond.

  “If we’re being honest,” I said, “I guess I’ve got something to admit as well.”

  His brows raised.

  “I don’t trust you, either,” I said flatly.

  Saying it was a huge risk, but one I was willing to take. The smell of his cologne was grinding on my last nerve. My PTSD was setting in, and I was as irritable as a caged rattlesnake. Expressing distrust in a man who’d saved my life wasn’t something I was going to sit still for. If he didn’t like it, he could try to get to his gun before Goose put a bullet between his eyes.

  He laughed a low but very genuine laugh. Apparently, he wasn’t accustomed to people being honest with him.

  “You have balls of brass, Mister Rasmussen.”

  He was either stupid, or he was trying to trip me up on my fictitious name.

  “Steel,” I said with a smile. “And, my name’s Tiddlewood. He’s Rasmussen.”

  He glanced at Crip. His gaze went cold. “He reminds me of a DEA agent.”

  “You remind me of Ricky fucking Martin,” I said dryly. “But I bet you can’t sing a song to save your ass.”

  Manos winced.

  Alacrán laughed out loud.

  Manos joined him, laughing like a mad man. Eventually, they caught their breath.

  I cleared my throat. “Rex and I are business partners,” I explained. “The funding is his. The business venture is my idea. Either you do business with both of us, or we don’t do business.”

  He shifted his attention to Crip. “How do you earn your money, Mister Rasmussen?”

  “I rob banks,” Crip responded.

  Alacrán leaned against the back of the couch and spread his arms over the top of the cushions. “Robbing banks is for amateurs and fools,” he said. “There’s no money in robbing banks.”

  “I don’t walk in with a shotgun in my hand and a bandana covering my face,” Crip said, sizing Alacrán up as he spoke. “I go in at night, when they’re closed. Disable the alarm. Crack the safe. Clear out their reserve. Go home and drink a cold beer.” He raised his glass and grinned. “So, in short, I beg to argue your claim.”

  Alacrán looked at me. My guess was that he wanted reassurance. Before I could think of something slick to say, he stood and extended his right hand, palm up.

  “Give me your cell phones.”

  “Don’t carry one,” I said.

  His face contorted. “You don’t carry a phone?”

  “Not on a deal like this.” I hiked my boot onto my knee. “If you do, you’re a damned fool.”

  He looked at Manos, and then at me. “I’m a fool?”

  “If you’ve got a cell phone in your pocket, I’m afraid you are.”

  He glared at me like I’d called his mother a whore.

  “It doesn’t matter if it’s registered to you, or a burner,” I explained. “The feds can trace it. They can pinpoint your location, determine your travel patterns, and zero in on you for a raid, all based on the location of that phone, which they can trace by satellite.”

  His eyes thinned. “You seem to know much about the federal government, Mister Tiddlewood.”

  “I spent ten years in Afghanistan, killing Taliban soldiers. The CIA would give us their exact location, and we’d put a bullet between their eyes while they were planning their next move over their cell phones.” I nodded toward Crip. “He saved my life one day when I was pinned down by a bunch of fuckers who weren’t carrying cell phones, and we’ve been friends ever since.”

  He glanced at each of us, absorbed what I’d said, and then nodded. After taking his seat, he reached for his pistol.

  My asshole puckered so tight my eyes squinted.

  Holding the pistol by the barrel, he slammed the frame of the grip onto the cell phone that was sitting on the table.

  Fragments of plastic flew across the room. For good measure, he smashed it again, sending the battery flying into the air. It tumbled to a stop between us, on one of the many area rugs.

  “The US Federal Government is the biggest criminal on the planet,” he growled.

  “You won’t get any argument from me on that statement.”

  He shifted his attention to Crip. Slowly, his eyes thinned to slits.

  Crip, obviously tired of the bullshit accusations, stood. He took off his vest and set it aside. He removed his tee shirt. He unlaced his boots and set them beside the vest. Then, he unbuckled his belt, lowered his jeans, and tossed them on top of the shirt.

  I looked at him like he was nuts.

  What the fuck are you doing, Brother?

  He sat down.

  As naked as the day he was born, he crossed his arms and stared back at Alacrán. “If I was a cop, I’d be wearing a wire. If you think there’s one in that pile of clothes, feel free to toss ‘em in that fireplace. I’m keeping the vest and boots, though. Can’t ride out of here barefoot.”

  Wearing a slight smile, Alacrán looked him over. “The tattoo on your arm,” he said, gesturing toward Crip’s bicep. “The Marines?”

  The SEAL Trident resembled the Marine Corp Eagle, Globe, and Anchor. It was a good guess, but inaccurate.

  “US Navy,” Crip said. “That’s a SEAL trident.”

  “You were a SEAL?”

  “I was.”

  Alacrán gave a nod. “You can get dressed, Mister Rasmussen.”

  I clapped my hands together. “Are we doing business, or parting as friends?”

  “We’ll make three deliveries,” he responded. “Based on the price you mentioned. Payment will be expected at the time of each delivery.”

  It wasn’t what I’d hoped for. I had my doubts Alacrán would risk coming to the United States for the delivery, unless the funds weren’t produced at the time of delivery. Then, he certainly wouldn’t come announced.

  “Sounds good to me,” I said. “When can we expect the first delivery?”

  He patted Manos on the bicep. “It will be organized through our mutual friend, Bobby.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Are you hungry?” Manos asked.

  It was eleven o’clock at night, and Carma was sitting at Crip’s house with her thumb in her respective ass. The last thing I needed to do was eat a meal.

  “I’m always hungry.” I looked at Crip. “You hungry Rex?”

  “If you’re eatin’, I’m eatin’,” Crip responded.

  “We’re in,” I said. “What are we having?”

  “Primo barbequed a goat,” Manos said. “Ees good.”

  I’d never eaten goat, nor had I shared a michelada with a notorious psychopathic drug dealer. I’d never kissed a woman as passionately or as purposefully as I’d kissed Carma, either.

  My life was being peppered with firsts.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what the next one would be.

  181

  CARMA

  The seven of us were gathered in Peyton’s living room listening to Cash tell the story of how he and Kimberly met.

  “I’m riding up the street, and it’s pitch dark,” Cash said. “I’m going fifty fucking miles an hour, and my ratty-assed headlight is shining about ten feet ahead of me. The next thing I know, someone darts out in front of me. I’ve had about ten beers and its past midnight, so I’m not sure what I’m seeing. Then, this chick starts waving her arms in the air, screaming.”

  Initially, Cash came off as being an asshole. He wasn’t. He was a foot taller than me, massive in size, and had a crazy mohawk-like haircut. Intimidating? Yes. An asshole? Not from what I could tell.

  “Why’d she run out in the street?” I looked at Kimberly. “What was wrong?”

  “My ex. He showed up out of the blue, hoping for a little...” She wagged her eyebrows. “You know.”

  “Oh.” I looked at Cash. “What happened next?”

  “I locked up the brakes,
slid my bike sideways, and damned near hit her. She was huffin’ and puffin’ trying to catch her breath, and she says, ‘he tried to rape me’, and she pointed toward this big turd who was standin’ in her yard. After hearing the word rape, I kinda blacked out.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Beat the brakes off his dumb ass and waited for the cops to show up.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “She made me dinner.” His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Then, she sucked my cock like a boss.”

  Kimberly slapped her hand across Cash’s chest so hard I was sure it left a welt. “Brock Cashton Flannigan!”

  He recoiled and grabbed his chest. “It’s true.”

  She shot him a crazy-eyed glare. “That doesn’t mean it’s for publication.”

  “Well,” Cash said. “Her oral skills got my interest, but it was her intelligence and charm that won my heart.”

  “Awwe, that’s sweet,” I said.

  “That’s BS,” Kimberly argued. “He’s trying to suck up to me.”

  “It’s a good story, though.”

  “Not as good as mine,” Pee Bee said.

  I looked at Tegan. “Can he tell me without getting into trouble?’

  “He can try,” she said.

  Pee Bee stood. “A dozen of us are flying up the five, leaving SD and headed for Oceanside. There’s a traffic jam for as far as we can see, with all lanes at a stand-still. Do you know what splitting traffic is?”

  I nodded. “When motorcycles ride in the space between the car’s doors?”

  “Yep,” he said. “And that’s exactly what we were doing. So, I’m flying up the five at eighty miles an hour with my left hand six inches from the car on my left, and my right hand six inches from the car on my right. One wrong move, and I’m pushing up daisies.”

  He gave Tegan a crappy look.

  “That scares me,” I said.

  “Traffic sucks,” he said. “Splitting traffic is one of the benefits of riding a bike. So, anyway, we’re splitting traffic, and I’m in the rear. There’s a crappy little mid-eighties Toyota Corolla up ahead. I’m flying toward it, listening to Ice Cube and the boys from NWA, and all of a sudden, WHAM! The driver of this car slings the door open.”

  I gasped. “Oh. My God. Were you hurt?”

  “Well, I hit the door at eighty. Tore the fucker off the hinges. As I’m passing the car, the door is ahead of me, tumbling like a car that’s been shoved over a cliff. My bike goes down, and I go down beside it.” He flopped onto the floor and kicked his feet in the air. “I’m sliding down the freeway on my back, passing cars, trucks, and vans, and the door slams into a van. BAM! My bike slides under a truck. BAM! And I slide to a stop half a mile up the road.”

  He jumped up and rubbed his palm against his left bicep, which, incidentally, was the size of my thigh.

  “See those little scars?” he asked. “The light spots?”

  I didn’t, but I nodded, nevertheless. “Uh huh.”

  “Well, that’s where the gravel imbedded itself into my arm. I was picking it out of there for six months. So, I got up, dusted the rocks out of my arm, and turned around. There’s this dark-haired chick with her mouth gapped open, standing about half a mile back.”

  I looked at Tegan. “Of all the time to open your door, huh?”

  “My air conditioning didn’t work, and it was so hot that day. My left window was on the fritz and wouldn’t roll down. I just opened the door for a second, and WHAM! he took the door right out of my hand. It was the scariest thing ever.”

  I shifted my eyes back to Pee Bee. “So, that’s how you met?”

  He shook his head. “Not really.”

  “Oh.”

  “I cussed her out, called her a bitch, and hopped on my bike. After getting her insurance info, I hauled ass, thinking she’s going to pay for the ten grand in damage on my bike.” He brushed his hair away from his eyes. “Well, guess what?”

  “What?”

  “She gave me a fake insurance number.”

  I choked on a laugh. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Really.” He glared playfully at Tegan and then looked at me. “So, I’m a few weeks into calling her and leaving shitty messages, and one day she decides to answer. She confesses that she doesn’t have insurance, because she doesn’t have a job, and her insurance lapsed. She says she’s got a lead on a job, and she’s going to pay me installments. I’m mad as fuck, but anything beats nothing, right?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Well, at the time, my Pops was in bad health. He was under the care of one of those in-home caregivers. One day, he fell out of his chair and she left him on the floor for four hours, so I fired her ass. I called the provider and asked for another nurse. Guess fucking what?”

  My hand shot to my mouth. “Oh. My God. Tegan showed up? Seriously? That’s destiny, if I ever heard it.”

  “Not yet, it ain’t,” he argued. “I’m at my Pop’s place, talking shit and eating sandwiches, and the doorbell rings. My Pops looks out the window, and says, some cute chick just pulled up, and her car only has one door on it, she’s driving the fucker without a door. Knowing there’s not a whole bunch of people driving around without doors on their cars, I jump up and run to the door. Bigger’n shit, it’s her.”

  “So, you hit it off, right then and there?”

  “No,” Tegan said. “He called me a tiny bitch. He said I was too small to get his father in and out of his chair. I warned him about calling me a bitch, because it was the second time he’d done it. Once on the day of the wreck, and that time. I said, if you call me a bitch again, I’ll drop you right where you stand. What’s he do? He says, you can’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag, bitch.”

  “Oh my,” I said. “So, you didn’t hit it off. At least not right then, huh?”

  “I kicked his ass,” Tegan said. “Right on the front porch.”

  She weighed a hundred pounds, and Pee Bee was as big as a horse. I couldn’t see her beating him in a fight.

  I gave her a side-eyed look. “Really?”

  She nodded. “I kicked him in the shin, then in each knee. While he was trying to stand up, I kneed him in the balls. After that, he gave me the job to look after his father. His father encouraged us to be together. That’s the rest of the story.”

  I glanced at Pee Bee, expecting him to argue Tegan’s ass-kicking claim. “Did she really do that?”

  He nodded. “She kicked the shit out of me, fair and square. I had to beg her to stop. Truthfully, that’s why I hired her. I felt like she had the guts to stand up to my Pops. So, I hired her.”

  I loved hearing the stories of how everyone met. I hoped that one day I could tell them of how Reno and I met, and how he ultimately saved me from a monster.

  I grinned. “That’s an awesome story.”

  The rumble from motorcycles caught my attention. Excited about Reno joining the fun, I stood and walked toward the window. Two motorcycles pulled into the driveway, followed by a Red SUV.

  In a moment, Reno, Goose, and Crip came in through the kitchen.

  Wearing long faces, Crip and Goose shuffled their way into the living room. Upon seeing me, Reno sauntered in my direction with spring in his step, like he’d just awaken from a nap.

  I pushed myself up from the couch and stood.

  “Sorry it took so long,” he said apologetically. “You ready?”

  “For what?”

  He edged his way past the other men. “To go.”

  I never got an opportunity to spend time talking, drinking, and having fun with people my age. My nights were limited to talking to my brother, listening to my father’s stories, and helping my mother cook.

  Being around people who were willing to accept me as one of their own was a nice change of pace.

  “Do we have to?” I asked. “I’m having fun.”

  “It’s four in the morning,” he replied.

  I had no idea it was so late. My time with the group had f
lown by. “Oh. Well, I guess if we need to, that’s okay.”

  “Stick around, Brother,” Crip said. “Sun will be up in an hour and a half. We can head to that diner for breakfast.”

  Reno stepped in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders. In anticipation of what was to come, a tingle ran from my fingertips to my toes.

  “If you need to go,” he whispered. “We can go.”

  I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay and talk, and, to have him kiss me. They were his friends, I decided. Ultimately, the decision was his to make.

  “I let my family know I was fine,” I said. “I don’t need to go. Unless you want to.”

  He looked me in the eyes long enough it made me feel uneasy. Then, he leaned away. “God damn, you’re pretty.”

  If he wasn’t going to decide, I was going to do it for him. Before he could step away, I kissed him like it was the last chance I’d ever have to do so.

  Two can play at this game, Mister.

  Instead of eating with the group, Reno decided to take me to breakfast alone. Snuggled into a booth in the rear of a really cool diner in San Diego, we ate our breakfast while sharing lingering looks at one another.

  He poked the corner of his toast in his mouth. “This is weird.”

  “What?” I asked. “Eating breakfast together?”

  “No.” He sighed. “Feeling like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “I like being around you.”

  I mentally laughed at his declaration. He truly was Mister Wishy-Washy.

  He liked being around me. It wasn’t much of an admittance, and it surely wasn’t that big of a deal. Hoping there was more to it than that, I pressed on.

  “Feeling like what?” I asked.

  He fidgeted with his fingernails. “I don’t think I like this friendship thing as much as I thought I was going to.”

  He liked being around me, but disliked being friends. My heart sank. I wanted desperately to fix matters but didn’t know what was broken. I hoped he wasn’t going to give me the dreaded it’s not you, it’s me speech. Especially after the two magical kisses we shared.

  I started to speak, but hesitated. After a moment, my curiosity got the best of me. “What do you dislike about it?”