Devil's Disciples MC Series- The Complete Boxed Set

by Scott Hildreth

  I checked my seatbelt. “Why?”

  He shifted again, and then merged in traffic. “You need one if you’re going to the racetrack.”

  “This is a race car?”

  “It’s a street-legal race car.”

  “How handy is that?” I asked, my tone sarcastic as hell. “You can go get groceries and then go race.”

  He grinned. “You sure could.”

  I gestured toward the rear of the car with my thumb. “The trunk’s kind of small, though.”

  He laughed. “That’s the engine compartment.”

  I looked behind me. “Back there?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where’s the trunk?”

  He extended his index finger and pointed toward the hood. “Up there.”

  “We should be driving in reverse.” I laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It gives it perfect weight distribution.”

  “What if you put a watermelon and a few steaks under the hood?” I asked with a laugh. “Then you’d be top heavy or whatever.”

  “When you go to the racetrack, you make sure your watermelons are at home,” he said dryly.

  He didn’t see the humor in me making fun of the car. It was cute, but I wasn’t near as fascinated with it as he was. I’d become spoiled by the Saturday night bike rides, and I wasn’t thrilled that we were driving to who knows where at noon on a Saturday in his Porsche.

  After four hours, we stopped for gas. He filled the car, and we went into the gas station together to get a drink and snack.

  “We’re eating at this mystery place?” I asked.

  “We are. One more hour. Maybe forty-five minutes. We can get a snack.”

  I grabbed a Bottle of water and a sack of Doritos. Upon seeing them, he stopped and pointed to the rack of chips. “I don’t allow Doritos.”

  “In the car?”

  “Anywhere,” he said. “I’ll vomit.”

  “You’ll vomit if I eat them?”

  “I will.” He glared at the bag. “Can’t even stand to look at the damned things.”

  “Okay. Well.” I looked around the store. A display of Chex Mix caught my eye. “What about that?”

  “Fine with me. Doritos are my only no-no.”

  “Superstition?” I asked.

  “Actually, it is.”

  I grabbed a bag of nacho cheese flavored goodness. “I’ll get the Chex Mix, then.”

  He grabbed a Moon Pie and a Mountain Dew. On the way back to the car, I made a comment about the selection.

  “That doesn’t seem to fit you.”

  “Highway food is different than any other food. When I was a kid, my aunt and I would take a vacation every summer. She thought they’d settle me down, but they never did. I’d always get a Moon Pie and a Mountain Dew.”

  I paused. “What about your uncle? Did he go?”

  “She never married,” he said.

  “Oh.”

  It was a small piece of his life’s puzzle that I was able to snap into place. Piece by piece, I was sure that one day I’d get all the answers I needed.

  “We were talking about loyalty and trust earlier,” he said. “Keep in mind, with bikers, there’s nothing more important than that. Respect is the only thing that comes to mind.”

  “I know I’m a laugh a minute, but I’ll be my best around them. And, when we’re not around them.” I devoured a handful of snacks and then set the bag aside. “When I decided to do this, I realized that I’d have to be as devoted to this club as you are. So, I decided that’s where I stand. It’s the only way I could make it work in my head. I Googled a bunch of stuff before I came over with those signs. I’m pretty savvy about outlaw clubs.”

  He looked at me and grinned. “Oh, really?”

  “Uh huh. Respect. Give it and get it. Don’t talk about club business. Don’t ask questions. Don’t ever be seen around a cop. I’m pretty legit.”

  He shook his head and laughed. “Sounds like it.”

  “All joking aside. I’m not going to embarrass you.”

  He glanced at me. “I never thought you would.”

  I went back to eating my snacks, wondering when the day would come where I could get to know his brothers. It fascinated me that they’d been friends for a lifetime. Forty-five minutes later, we pulled into a place marked Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca. I read the sign and then looked at him side-eyed. “We’re at a race track?”

  “We are.”

  I wasn’t dressed for the occasion, and neither was he. I wasn’t thrilled in the least. “We’re going to watch a car race?”

  “No. We’re going to race a car.”

  As much as I didn’t want to be excited, I was. “We’re going to race?”

  “We are.”

  My eyes went wide. “Holy crap. Really?”

  “Really.”

  An hour later, even though he said I didn’t have to be, I was fitted with an awesome leather suit, a helmet, and some cool boots. I didn’t care that my hair and makeup were a mess, I was excited to see what the car with an engine in the trunk was all about.

  When we started the race, boredom immediately set in. Two minutes later, Baker announced that the tires were heated up, and he began to slaughter the competition.

  “The geometric line follows the radius of the track’s corners. That’s not where you want to be. You want to be on the racing line. It follows the outside edge as you come to a corner, then as soon as you hit the turn in point...” He took a corner so fast I thought I was going to vomit. “You turn to the inside edge.”

  Despite my thoughts that it would, the car didn’t squeal or slide. Baker downshifted, hit the throttle, and then upshifted, all with the steering wheel switches.

  He shifted the car from the right to the left, and passed a red car with little effort. “Then, back to the outside.”

  It made sense. Regardless of the radius of the track’s corners, the drivers attempted to make them as wide as they could, to prevent sliding out.

  After a few laps where we reached speeds of over one hundred and thirty miles an hour, I was hooked. When we passed cars, I mentally cheered. When we went in the corners, I held my breath. When we came out of the corners, I exhaled.

  I have no idea when I took a breath. I was too excited to figure it out.

  He gave me instructions as we drove, making sure I fully understood what it was he was explaining. When I was sure we were going to be declared the winner, he pulled the car off the track and by one of the buildings.

  He opened the door and got out. “Your turn.”

  “Oh my God, no,” I gasped. “I couldn’t--”

  “You can. Go as fast or as slow as you want.”

  “I don’t know how to drive a stick,” I said.

  “You don’t have to. All you need to do is pull the paddles. The right is up a gear, and the left is down. I’ll instruct you.”

  “I don’t want to hurt it. This thing’s got to be expensive. I mean, crap, it came with that handy little fire extinguisher.”

  “It’s a car. I’m not worried. Drive it, please.” He looked at me with sad eyes. “It’s why we came.”

  I decided what the hell. With his instructions, I drove the car around the track six times. Although I didn’t go as fast as he did, I went over a hundred and ten miles an hour, and I even passed the same red car that he passed a few times.

  In the end, my hands were shaking, my head was spinning, and my pussy was soaked. It was a much different experience than the motorcycle, but equally satisfying. Maybe even more so, but for different reasons.

  After the race, we parked the car by the buildings. I removed my helmet and held it in my hands. I felt powerful. Accomplished. Different. The smell of rubber and hot exhaust caused my nostrils to flare as the sound of the exhaust made funny noises from cooling down. I swung the helmet back and forth and admired the car.

  “I’m glad I didn’t wreck it,” I said. “I’d probably have to work some overtime to pay for this lit
tle guy.”

  “Two hundred and thirty-nine thousand dollars’ worth,” he said with a laugh.

  I stumbled against the building’s wall as he revealed the value. “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious. It’s worth a little more than that, now. Maybe three hundred grand. These go up in value as time passes, as long as you take care of ‘em.”

  “You let me drive a three hundred-thousand-dollar car?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a car.”

  “An expensive one.”

  “Did you have fun?”

  I traced my finger over the top of my helmet and smiled. “I did.”

  “All that matters.” He leaned toward me and kissed me. “Is that you had fun.”

  Driving three-hundred-thousand-dollar cars wasn’t something I could ever get used to, but I had a feeling racing wasn’t the first – or the last – of the exciting things Baker was going to bring my way.

  In fact, I was sure of it.

  39

  Baker

  “This motherfucker better be legit,” I said. “If he gives me the smallest idea that he’s not, we’re walking.”

  We were in Cash’s truck, with the gold in tow. Enough time had passed that it was safe to sell the gold on the black market. The man who was to give us pricing for it was a commodities trader that lived in Brentwood, an upscale neighborhood that adjoined Beverly Hills. Despite coming highly recommended by the Hells Angels local Sergeant-at-Arms, I didn’t trust the man.

  Cash glanced over his right shoulder, and scoffed. “He’s as strong as they day is long.”

  I coughed a laugh. “Did you just make that up?”

  His eyes shifted to the road. “It rhymed. I was pretty proud of myself for making it up.”

  “Been pretty proud of you too, lately.”

  He changed lanes and then flipped his hair away from his eyes. “Why’s that?”

  “You’ve been civil about Andy. I appreciate you giving us a little space, even if it is nothing more than a rest from your verbal assaults.”

  He gave me a quick look. “A little verbal assault never hurt anyone.”

  “It’s annoying.”

  “I figured out a few weeks back that you’re not pumping her for information, you’re pumping her with your dick.” He looked at me and held my gaze, despite being in charge of driving. “This deal’s real, ain’t it?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Liar.”

  “It might end up being the real deal, who knows.”

  He rolled to a stop at a traffic light and then gave me an evil glare, Cash style. “It’s real as fuck right now.”

  “Hard to tell.”

  “Maybe hard for you to tell. You’re star struck or whatever. All of us can see it. Hell, we talk about it.”

  I was glad to see him opening up about it. Curious to find out the MC’s opinion, I trudged on. “What does everyone say?”

  “Nobody’s pissed. Goose said the other day if he heard anyone talking trash he was gonna start slicing tires. Pretty much stopped that afternoon.” He grinned a sly grin. “Even the playing around.”

  It mattered to me what Cash thought. More than anyone, really. He was hypersensitive, and childish in so many ways. I felt a need to make sure any questions he may have weren’t unanswered. The traffic signal changed, and he inched away from the light.

  “What if this gal and me get serious? What would you think?” I glanced over my shoulder, and then made clarification. “If it ever gets that far?”

  “Tried to think about it, but it ain’t easy. Other’n Goose marrying that chick with the kids for a while, it’s always been us. Just us. Guess for me, it gets down to trust.” He looked at me and shrugged his right shoulder against his jaw. “And, you know me. I don’t trust anyone.”

  It was the understatement of the decade. He didn’t trust anyone. Prepared to take the conversation a little further, I reached into my pocket to rub my lucky keychain.

  My eyes widened.

  I checked my other pocket.

  “Turn around,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “Turn around,” I demanded.

  “What?” he asked with a laugh. “Need to knock off a piece?”

  “Keychain. It’s at home.”

  He glared. “Seriously?”

  Embarrassed, I simply nodded. “Make it quick.”

  He did a U-turn in the middle of the street, and began backtracking to the clubhouse. I shoved my hands deep into both front pockets, and then gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry, Brother.”

  In ten minutes we were a block away. Normally, I’d have had him go down the alley, and into the parking garage. The black Dodge Charger parked along the curb caused me to change my mind.

  I pointed toward the car. “Park in front of that Charger.”

  “Looks like a cop car. You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  He parked in front of it. I leapt from the truck, walked to the front bumper of the car, and noticed no one was inside. After peering through the windshield and the side windows, I was convinced the car was empty. The doors were locked as could be expected.

  I walked back to the truck, wondering the entire way if I was simply paranoid.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” he asked as I got in the truck.

  “Car’s been out here from time to time for about a month. Maybe longer.”

  “Might live above the bar.”

  “I doubt it. It’s here at weird times.”

  “Wanna run up from here?” he asked.

  “No. Hit the parking garage.”

  He glared at me. “Just run up from here.”

  “Parking. Garage.”

  He put the truck in gear and stomped the gas pedal. “Okay motherfucker.”

  Minutes later, much to Cash’s displeasure, we were on the elevator together. Me to get my keychain, and him to piss. When we left, Andy was still asleep. I feared she was still home, and wondered how Cash may react to her Sunday morning presence.

  When we got to the door, I realized I didn’t have my keys. Frustrated that I hadn’t locked the place, I turned the unlocked handle and pushed the door open.

  When the room came into view, I froze. Some cocksucker stood at the edge of kitchen with a pistol pointed at Andy’s head. Despite fifteen years of training for such an occasion, there was nothing I could do without putting her at risk.

  My mind went from recognizing the threat to boiling over with anger. “What in the absolute fuck is going on?” I seethed.

  “I’ll kill this bitch.” Facing me, he snatched her off the bar stool and put her in a chokehold.

  You’re fucking with the wrong girl, motherfucker.

  You are a dead man. Either way this goes, you die.

  My jaw went tight. All I needed to do was clear my pistol from my holster. Hidden by the hem of my tee shirt, it was neatly tucked into the waist of my jeans, in a quick-draw holster. If I could get him to divert his eyes away from my waist, I’d drop the cocksucker where he stood.

  “I fucking swear.” He pressed the pistol to the back of Andy’s head. “Don’t take another step, Baker.”

  I needed one second. One extremely long second. That was all. With my heart in my throat, I prayed that he not move a muscle. If he did, the woman I loved would be a goner.

  Come on, girl. Look at me. Look at me, baby. When I say this, pull away. Run. You’ll know it’s a lie as soon as it rolls off my tongue.

  “Her?” I lifted my hands to my chest. “I don’t give a fuck, kill her. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “I’m not fucking around, Baker.” He fixed his eyes on mine. “I’ll put one in the back of this bitch’s head.”

  She was facing me, standing in front of him. The only parts of him that were exposed were his head and his left shoulder. My vision narrowed. All that existed was him, and me.

  It was a one in a million shot, but I had to take it.

  I had to.

  Sl
owly, I began to lower my hands.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them, motherfucker!” he shouted, pulling her even closer to his center mass. He bent his knees and crouched behind her, leaving only a small portion of his forehead and eyes exposed.

  I didn’t have a clear shot. Not without putting Andy at risk. I was fucked. So was she.

  The concussion from a gun being fired deafened me. Startled, I drew my pistol, but it was too late. Andy’s face was plastered with blood. She fell from the man’s arms and collapsed on the floor.

  I pulled the trigger instinctively, hitting the man in the center of the chest.

  He crumbled to the floor. Confused, scared, and deaf from the two gunshots being fired in the confines of the home, I ran the length of the living room, toward Andy.

  I kicked his pistol across the concrete floor and dropped to my knees at Andy’s side. As I brushed her blood-soaked hair away from her face, she opened her eyes.

  “I didn’t. I didn’t tell him a thing,” She muttered. “I swear.”

  “Oh my God.” I blubbered. “You’re…you’re okay?”

  “God damned right she’s okay,” Cash spouted. “No thanks to you.”

  I pulled off my shirt and wiped the blood from her face. “You haven’t been hit?”

  “Not by anything but the back of his hand.” She sat up and hugged me. “He’s uhhm. He’s a cop. Did you see his badge? It was on his belt.”

  I looked over my right shoulder. With an open-eyed death stare, the dead man looked back at me. Blood oozed from a hole in the center of his forehead.

  Confused, I started to speak, but couldn’t.

  Cash picked up the man’s pistol, looked at it, and then at me. “Government issue Sig Sauer. Must be a fed. Good thing I got that prick before he got your girl, huh?”

  At that instant, for the first time, it dawned on me. The man didn’t get a shot off. The gunshot that deafened me was Cash’s. He’d shot the man right between the eyes. He’d taken the one in a ten million shot that I feared taking.

  Doing so saved Andy’s life.

  “Good work, Brother,” I said, my voice laced with emotion. “You saved her.”

  “Can’t let cocksuckers go around threatenin’ my best friend’s ol’ lady, can I?” He walked past us and kicked the dead man in the ribs. “Wonder who this fucker is.”