“You can never trust a damn badge,” Animal said.
At best, the Insurgents had a tenuous relationship with the local law enforcement. Ever since the emergence of the Insurgents in the 1970s, the badges had been trying to shut them down, but to no avail.
When Landon rose in the ranks to Chief of Police, he approached Banger and Hawk with a tacit agreement: his department would look the other way if the MC kept hard drugs out of the county. The outlaw bikers were fine with the agreement, because there was no way they were going to let anyone make money off illegal activities on their turf. The understanding worked for the most part, but it didn’t mean the MC trusted the badges.
“What the hell did Ryan do again?” Klutch asked.
Smokey brought the joint to his lips. “The same shit he always does, acting like a damn pussy. He flashed some chick who says he touched her, but I know that’s bullshit. Landon wouldn’t tell me who she is, though.”
“Shit, dude. The damn badges always fuck up.” Throwing the spent joint on the ground, Klutch snubbed it out with the heel of his boot.
“Yeah. I’m gonna call Cara and see if she can help or something.” Running a hand through his hair, he groaned. “What a fuckin’ mess.”
“It’s a good thing Hawk’s old lady is a defense attorney,” Animal said.
Smokey nodded, flicking the roach to the ground. “I’m sick of Ryan’s BS. I’m gonna have to straighten him out once and for all. I can’t have his back when he keeps doing stupid shit like this.”
Helm chuckled. “Family can be a roaring pain in the ass, and don’t I know it.”
Taking out his phone, Smokey grumbled, “Yeah.”
“What time are we heading over to meet Ray?” Klutch asked.
“After I talk to Ryan and have a shot of Jack.”
Gravel crunched under Smokey’s boots as he walked around the clubhouse. After tapping in Ryan’s number, he cursed when the call went to voicemail. Two more futile attempts had him ready to throw the cell phone against the brick wall. Gritting his teeth, he plugged in his mother’s number and waited.
“What do you want?” she answered, her voice cold and flat.
“Where’s Ryan?”
“I don’t know.”
“I need to talk with him.”
“I’ll tell him when I see him.”
An awkward silence passed between them before he cleared his throat.
“Did Ryan tell you he’s got problems with the badges again?”
“That’s not my concern.”
He huffed. “Nothing with us ever was.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Tell him I called.”
Disconnecting the call, he slipped the phone into his pocket and headed inside the club.
Tania rushed over and threw her arms around him as he made his way toward the bar.
“Hiya, sexy,” she said.
“Hey.”
The scent of cinnamon wrapped around him as he returned her hug before pulling away. Over her shoulder, he held up two fingers to the prospect manning the bar.
“Are you stickin’ around?” she said.
“Not planning to.” Turning, he walked to the counter and picked up the first shot of Jack.
“Dude,” Throttle greeted, bumping Smokey’s fist with his. “You need some help with Ray?”
“Nah. Klutch, Rags, and I can handle it. If he’s smart, there won’t be any trouble.”
A smile spread across Throttle’s lips. “And if he isn’t, he’ll get his ass kicked.”
“Yeah. I’m hoping he’s smart.” Smokey threw back his second shot. “He shouldn’t have gotten a loan from us if he couldn’t pay it back. We make this shit real clear to people.”
“But they don’t think we’re serious.”
With a slow nod of agreement, Smokey pushed away from the bar. “They find out the hard way that we are. Tell Klutch and Rags I’m outside. I gotta make a phone call.”
Throttle tipped his head. “Will do.”
Making his way down the hallway to the back porch, he walked out into the quiet early evening. The only sounds that could be heard were the low hums of conversations coming from the clubhouse and the gentle rush of the river. Aspen and pine trees lined the shore, unmoving against the sunlight, their branches reaching a hundred feet into the air.
Smokey strolled down to the bank and squinted against the shimmering water, reflecting shades of blue and shadowy greens. He sat down on the grass and stared at the thin weeds swaying in the river’s current.
He thought of Ryan, who’d been the weakest and most vulnerable of all his brothers. He thought of his father, the man who’d made their lives miserable by ruling the household with a heavy hand.
Leaning back on his hands, he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly as he then thought of his mother, who had never defended Ryan or any of them against their father’s abuse. Mom never tried to stop the bastard when he was beating on Ryan or Nick, or any of us. Never said a fuckin’ word.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, clenching his jaw as images of the past crept to the forefront of his mind—dark memories he wanted dead, but still harbored. Most of the time, he sheltered them to the remote corners of his consciousness, but sometimes they crawled out before he could stop them.
“Fuck!” Smokey straightened, picked up a rock, and pitched it into the water.
Then, just as suddenly as the images materialized, they disappeared when Ashley’s face took their place, and a slow smile spread across his lips as the reminder of their kiss filled his senses. Her lips were so damn soft. He’d expected her to pull away and give him a good slap across the face, but she didn’t. Instead, she’d leaned in, pressing her tits against his arm and chest, her thigh against his. Her surrender had surprised and inflamed him, and it took sheer willpower to pull away instead of crushing her to him.
Part of him was pissed that he’d crossed the line, but another part was shocked she’d had such an effect on him. Women came and went in his life, and that’s the way he liked it. But Ashley? Well, she was a different story, and it irked the hell out of him that he was spending way too much time thinking about her. There was no denying he’d been attracted to her ever since he’d seen her at Blue’s Belly, but that wasn’t unusual for him—he liked pretty woman. But there’d been something more, something he didn’t feel with other women. From the first moment their eyes had locked, he’d been drawn to her. Drawn to her? What the hell was up with that? He couldn’t figure out what it even meant, but it was powerful, and he had to stop that shit from going any further—ASAP.
“I’m acting like a damn pussy,” he mumbled while pulling the cell phone from his pocket and plugging in her number, wanting to make sure she was safe. The time that Pearl had driven home in a blizzard, he’d called her to make sure she’d made it home all right, because he was just that kind of boss. Yeah, that was what he was going with.
“Hello?” Ashley answered.
“Hey. I just called to make sure you’re doing okay.”
There was a brief pause before she replied with, “I’m good, thanks.” He heard papers rustling in the background. “I owe you big time. Zach put in an alarm system, and I know you talked him into it.”
“Just happy you have one. Did you get a new tire?”
“Yes. I went to that place you suggested—they’re great.”
“Any other weird shit happen to you since last night?”
A small sigh carried through the line. “I’m fine, really.”
“Are you home now?”
“Actually, I’m just leaving work.”
“That’s dedication.”
She giggled. “Or I’m a workaholic.”
“In that case, why don’t we meet up on Saturday to go over the campaigns you prepared?” Smokey scrubbed a hand over his face. What’s my fuckin’ problem? I’m asking her out again? Shit. Pounding a fist against the grass, he rose to his feet.
“It’s t
he weekend,” she replied.
A dry laugh rose from his belly to his throat. “You said you’re a workaholic.”
“True. But we have an appointment to go over it all on Monday.”
“It seemed as if you thought I’d dissed you this week, and I’m just trying to show you I wasn’t.”
“Would you ask Pearl, Georgia, or any of the other women in the office to meet you on a Saturday?” Before he could respond, she added, “I just don’t want to be treated any differently than the others.”
“You’re not. Pearl has worked plenty of Saturdays—ask her husband sometime. And my crew and I work a lot of weekends to finish up a job. You’re making a big deal out of nothing, so forget about it,” he said, irritation pricking at him.
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m at it again, overthinking everything. Normally, I don’t have a problem working on weekends, but this Saturday, I’d planned to take advantage of the mild weather and go for a ride.”
“A ride?”
“Yeah, on my bike.”
He jerked his head back in shock. “You have a bike?”
“Yes. I love riding.”
“Damn. I never would’ve pictured you as a biker. What kind do you have?”
“An Alchemy. Do you ride?”
He winced. “Yeah, I do, but I’ve never heard of an Alchemy. Is it a rice burner?”
“What’s that?”
“Foreign made.”
“Oh, no, it’s made in Colorado. I like supporting local businesses. What kind of bike do you have?”
“Harley Forty-Eight Special. I didn’t know there was a manufacturer in the state who made bikes. Are they a new company?”
“Wait, I think we’re talking about two different things. You’re talking about a motorcycle, and I’m talking about a bicycle.” A peal of laughter rang out. “This is too funny.”
A large grin spread across his face. It was the first time he’d heard her laugh, and the sound warmed him.
“Ever since Zach told me I was coming here, I’ve wanted to bike through Pinewood Canyon. The photos I’ve seen are amazing.”
“So, you’re a cyclist.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.”
There was a teasing quality to her voice that made some funny sensations kick up in his chest. Clenching his jaw, he jammed a hand into the pocket of his jeans and kicked at the grass.
“I’m not,” he grumbled.
“Where do you like to go on your motorcycle?”
“Everywhere. Riding is number one, and we hit the roads a lot.”
“We?”
“My club.”
“You’re in a motorcycle club.” It was a statement, not a question. “I should’ve guessed it with the leather jacket, tattoos, and badass attitude.” She was razzing him again. If she were standing there, he would’ve pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard.
“I’m surprised Zach didn’t tell you I was in a club.”
“No, he didn’t warn me about that.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “What’s the name of your club?”
“The Insurgents.”
Behind him, there was a loud whistle. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as Klutch walked toward him, shaking his head.
“What the fuck, man?”
Smokey held up his hand, stopping him in his tracks.
“I gotta go,” he told Ashley.
“Okay.”
“Are you home yet?”
“Yes. I’ve been sitting in my car in the garage talking to you.”
“Remember to put the alarm on. It won’t do you any good if you don’t use it.”
“I’ll definitely use it. Thanks again for watching out for me.”
“No problem.”
“Dude, you need to get your ass in gear!” Klutch shouted.
“Your friend sounds mad, so you better go. Have a good weekend.”
“You too.”
Smokey slid the phone into his pocket and sprinted toward Klutch.
“Banger’s gonna be pissed if we miss Ray. Who the fuck were you talkin’ to?”
“It was business. Is Rags ready to roll?”
“We’ve both been ready for a while. You wanna drive?”
Smokey nodded. They walked in silence until they reached the lot, where Rags was already waiting near Smokey’s SUV. The men had decided not to take their motorcycles because they didn’t want to tip off Ray that they were coming.
Smokey settled into the driver’s seat while Rags slid into the back and Klutch into the front. Lighting a joint, Rags held it out to Smokey who took a hit before pulling out of the lot. During the ride, Klutch rambled on about the big busted woman he’d hooked up with earlier that day, while Rags’s questions and guffaws egged him on even more.
Staring straight ahead, their voices faded away as he thought of Ashley. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about the black-haired spitfire. Never had a woman gotten such a reaction from him in that way. Well, maybe Brenda, but that had been years ago. He’d been a lost fourteen-year-old living on the streets when he’d met the thirty-two-year old. Taking a shine to him, she’d invited him to crash at her place for the night, which had turned into almost a year. The kindhearted prostitute opened him up to a world of pleasure and caring.
A smile ghosted his lips as he recalled her being his first crush. A few years later, though, he’d realized what he felt was lust and gratitude toward her for taking him in. He still remembered how upset she’d been when she got the news that her old man had been released from prison. She’d sobbed as she told him he had to go, and that her old man would hurt him real bad if he found him in the apartment. So, he packed up his stuff and headed out. At first, he’d missed her. But to his surprise, it had faded quickly, and soon she was nothing but a memory tucked into the back of his mind.
After Brenda, Smokey had never felt anything but lust and kindness toward women. That was, until Ashley, and he couldn’t figure out why.
He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Dammit!”
“What the fuck, dude?” Klutch said.
Rags leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Smokey grumbled. “Just thinking about shit.”
“Like Ray?” Rags asked.
“Nah.”
He turned down a desolate road dotted with open fields and dying buildings that had once been teeming with life and vitality during their heyday of leather production. The area had once been a vibrant mainstay in the town’s manufacturing community until global competition and stricter environmental regulations dealt a fatal blow to the tanning industry. Now, all that was left were faded signs of forgotten businesses painted on crumbling brick walls.
Several rabbits scattered when Smokey parked under an oak tree. Streaks of orange and pink painted the sky as the sun began its descent toward the horizon.
The three men walked down an alley overgrown with weeds, choked with broken tree branches and strewn with debris. Ray Arrowood ran a small clothing manufacturing company out of one of the warehouses. Like many small business owners, he struggled to pay expenses and keep his head above water. When traditional banks turned these entrepreneurs away, many of them turned to more controversial loans. The Insurgents MC was in the business of high interest loans, and all they asked was that the borrower pay the money back as agreed. If a customer reneged on the contract, the bikers would come around to persuade compliance to the terms of the agreement. Ray had missed two payments, so an Insurgent wake-up call was necessary to get him back on track.
In the distance, a door opened at the end of the alley, and a haze of dim light flickered. Smokey placed a hand on his Glock and clenched his jaw.
“The fucker better not be double-crossing us,” Rags said under his breath.
“He’s not that stupid,” Klutch replied in a low voice.
“Don’t count on that. When people are desperate, they do stupid shit,” Smokey said. Pausing, he strained his ears to listen. A man
’s strangled cry, punctuated by men’s grunts and curses, then the sound of blows.
“What the fuck?” Klutch said.
“Someone’s getting their ass beat,” Rags replied.
“Stop!” The anguished scream turned Smokey’s blood to ice.
“Fuck, that’s Ryan,” he muttered. “I gotta stop whatever shit’s happening.”
Klutch nodded. “Let’s go.”
Smokey shook his head. “We got club business with Ray. You guys go on. I can handle this on my own.”
“Ray’s not going anywhere if he knows what’s good for him,” Rags said as he picked up his pace.
“We can deal with him after we help out with your brother,” Klutch said.
Smokey nodded, knowing he’d do the same thing if it were any of his fellow brothers’ family. The bond between the Insurgents was stronger than that of blood. It was a dedication to each other’s lives, something citizens could never understand.
Smokey sprinted ahead. “Then we gotta move now.”
The bikers kept to the shadows of the buildings as they continued down the alley. When the voices became louder and more distinct, Smokey jerked his head to the right, pointing to Rags to circle around. With a quick nod, he slipped around the corner. Klutch motioned that he was going to the left and disappeared down a pathway. Smokey stood against a wall for several seconds scanning the area, then began moving slowly, like a panther stalking its prey.
When he rounded the corner at the end of the alley, he saw Ryan on the ground, grimacing and writhing, while two men kicked, punched, and stomped on his abdomen and genitals.
Molten anger ran through him, but he pushed the feeling aside and focused on what needed to be done. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rags behind an evergreen, and Klutch plastered against a brick wall. With the cool detachment of an assassin, Smokey took out his Glock 17, equipped with a silencer suppressor, and aimed it at one of the bully’s legs.
The man stopped mid-kick, a mask of confusion covering his face, and then cried out, “Fuck! I’ve been shot!” before crumpling to the ground.
The other attacker jumped away from Ryan and started to run, but Rags cut him off at the pass while Smokey strode over.
“I don’t got no beef with you guys”—he pointed at Ryan—“only with this pervert. He messed with my sister.”
Smokey’s Distraction: Insurgents Motorcycle Club Page 12
