Fighter: The Devil's Highwaymen Nomads #4

by Claire C. Riley

  I turned back to the prick before dropping him unceremoniously back in his seat. He mumbled something under his breath and it took all of my control not to knock him the fuck out. These assholes had no respect for these women—our women. Shit, I hadn’t had any respect for these women up until a couple of days ago.

  Up until Penny, my subconscious whispered.

  Yeah, up until fucking Penny.

  I started to walk away from the table when I heard the prick mumble something under his breath again—an off-hand quip about all brawn and no brains. My gaze shot to Jesse, who shook his head at me. Casa laughed and bounced from foot to foot, ready to fight with me. And I turned back to the prick in the suit and the wad of bills and slammed my fist into his face, knocking him out cold and dropping his dollar bills at his feet. He slumped sideways and his friends quickly scattered. I flipped open his jacket and grabbed his wallet. I pulled out the wad of cash that was in there—easily five hundred bucks—which only infuriated me even more. Fucker was slipping dollar bills in these women’s panties while he had a wallet full of cash like that.

  “Cheapskate motherfucker,” I grumbled, throwing his wallet at his head and turning to the dancer he’d been insulting. I pulled out the ones from her G-string and slipped in the five hundred before walking away from all of them.

  “He was a good customer,” Casa laughed as he fell into step besides me. He didn’t give two shits about good customers or making money. He was always ready to fight, fuck or party. That was what got him through the day.

  “Fuck off, Casa, I’m not in the mood.”

  He laughed again. “Bet she’ll treat you real good for that hero move.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Bitch likes it rough.” He patted my back, knowing my vice for all things violent and bloody. “Real rough, if you know what I mean.”

  I continued walking, my muscles shaking with the need to hit something. “Not interested.”

  “Don’t be like that, brother. Let her thank you properly. Fuck knows I won’t be thanking you, since you just cost me one of my best customers!” He was still laughing, despite the truth of the fact. That was just how Casa was. He was a carefree motherfucker who didn’t take anything too seriously.

  I hated that he knew my tastes when it came to women, what made me tick and what didn’t. Shit like that came part and parcel with running the Pit though. He was like a pimp without the chains round his neck and the gold tooth in his mouth, and he loved that title. But I wasn’t interested—not in that woman or any other he brought to me.

  I continued to walk through the club, ignoring him, and he eventually got the hint and stopped following me. I found a dark corner to sit down and drink, drowning my guilt and shame in the darkness of the club.

  I sipped my whiskey, smoked my cigarettes, and watched the women writhing for the next three hours, but my cock barely twitched.

  What the fuck was happening to me?

  Was it dead?

  Jesus, had Penny killed my cock?

  It lusted after her and her alone and it hadn’t even been in her pussy.

  Never would now either.

  Fuck.

  I was half-past drunk when Gauge sat down opposite me with a beer in his hand. I glanced away from the little blond woman on the stage wearing nothing but a thong, nipple tassels, and a leash around her neck while she crawled across the stage. Another woman had the other end of the leash and she reached down and gripped the blonde’s hair, pulling her head back and baring her throat. My cock twitched when she winced, but it quickly died again.

  “Casa and Cutter got this place running good,” Gauge said, and I grunted in agreement.

  They had. Casa was perfect for running the place; the horny little fucker had an insatiable desire for women, so what better man for the job. And Cutter? He was good at running the books and keeping shit steady.

  “He told you about the girl he has doing a special on Fridays?”

  I glanced across and shook my head.

  “Twenty bucks extra on the door on Fridays if you wanna see her pop drumsticks out her pussy.” He laughed, but my dark mood wasn’t shifting. “Other shit too. Bitch can fire ping-pong balls, bottle caps, all sorts of shit out of it. Can you imagine how tight that thing must be?” He bit down on his lower lip.

  “There a reason that you’re talking to me about popping ping-pong balls out of pussy instead of getting to the real issue?” I drolled, picking up my whiskey and taking a sip.

  Gauge’s smile fell and he nodded and took a mouthful of his beer. “What Hardy did wasn’t right.”

  “What he did?” I laughed dryly.

  “What he made you do,” Gauge corrected. “But all that shit aside, we got the guy that shot Skinny. We got the mole in the club. New kid only been with us a few months. Found him listening in on shit he shouldn’t have been listening in on. Checked his ass out and found he has connections to the Burning Eights.”

  My gaze narrowed, my features hardening. “Ripped?”

  Gauge nodded. “Yeah, kid was loyal to them. Fucked us over good.”

  We sat in silence for several minutes as we watched the girls on stage, one still on her knees and the other spanking her and calling her a naughty puppy. Shit was fucked up.

  “How good is the intel?” I finally asked, looking up at Gauge.

  “Solid. Hardy found a bunch of crap in his room—photos, code words and shit. It’s solid as they come.”

  “Since when did Hardy search brothers’ rooms?”

  Something didn’t sit right with me but I wasn’t sure what. If the proof was there, then what was to be said about it?

  Gauge sighed. “Can’t you just be satisfied? This is a win for the club. For Skinny.”

  “And Battle?” I asked.

  Gauge smiled. “Hardy’s got a meeting set up with the Burning Eights’ new prez for tonight.”

  “Lincoln?” I asked. I remembered him the night Ripped and Battle had fought to the death. How he’d let Battle and I walk away from it all. How he’d agreed that shit wouldn’t stick on either of our clubs afterwards.

  And yet it had.

  “Yeah, Lincoln. Seems all right, so far as I can tell.”

  “He’s a lying son of a bitch. I’ll fucking kill him,” I gritted.

  Gauge nodded. “If that’s what it comes to, I’ll back you. But we need to be sure.”

  I swallowed the last of my whiskey. “I’m sure.”

  “Well, we’ll take the meeting and see what happens. But I’ve got your back.”

  I stared down into my whisky wishing for oblivion. The amber liquid taunted me, the lights above glinting off it and reminding me of Penny and the way her eyes seemed to glow when she was angry. Which was all the fucking time.

  “Jesus Christ,” Gauge muttered. “I’m gonna need a minute here, brother.” His gaze was on the stage and I turned in my seat to look.

  “What the fuck?” I muttered, scanning the crowd for Casa and finding him watching the show with a huge shit-eating grin on his face. “If the cops walk in—” I started to say.

  “Yeah, yeah, after it’s over I’ll sort it out. Now give me a fucking minute.” Gauge’s eyes were glued to the stage where the “puppy” was now mounting her owner wearing a large strap-on dildo.

  I stood up and walked away, leaving Gauge and his cock to the show. It was hot, no denying it was hot, and going by the hushed club and all eyes fixed on the stage, every man in the Pit thought the same thing. But I wasn’t interested.

  It was fake.

  The moans, the squeals of pleasure, the cries of pain, the sighs.

  It was all fucking fake.

  I’d tasted the real stuff and it was sweeter than the sweetest nectar ever made.

  I’d tasted the fear and the pleasure, I’d lapped at the fountain of youth and died inside of it.

  This shit was nothing to me.

  I passed Casa and Jesse, both of those horny motherfuckers smiling and staring at the two
women as they fucked live on stage, oblivious to the implications that we’d be shut down if a cop walked in.

  Pushing out the door, the light buzz of alcohol in my system hit me as the early evening air found its way into my lungs. Shit felt good until it didn’t. Until I saw her face when I closed my eyes and the air was sucked straight from me. Felt like I was drowning, suffocating in guilt and remorse. Shame burning in my face.

  Shit was going to hit the fan soon, and there was no way to get out of the way before it hit me and the club. We were fucked. I was fucked. Hardy and Benite would both make sure of it.

  Whoever found me first would put me in the ground, but I was too proud to run.

  It was my fuckup. My mistake. And I’d wait and see it through.

  I was a dead man walking, but maybe I could fix shit for Battle so he could come back before I went down.

  I owed him that much at least.

  He was my brother through and through, and out of the two of us, he at least deserved his happily ever after.

  ~ 19 ~

  Fighter

  The meeting between Lincoln and Hardy had almost been a private one until Rider and Gauge had insisted. Bringing in more of our brothers meant the Burnings Eights brought in more of theirs. Cap and Devil had turned up to sit by Lincoln, making it seven of us in the room. Seven men, two different clubs, and a whole world of hate between us.

  The odds of blood being spilled were high.

  Just not quite high enough for my liking.

  I stared across at Lincoln, taking in every detail of his face. He looked different from the night I’d seen him outside their clubhouse where, Battle had beaten Ripped to death with his bare hands. He looked older, wiser, tired of the bullshit already. Most of us were.

  Clubs like ours were started because of our love of bikes and a need for family and a home—a place to belong. But somewhere along the way shit had gotten twisted and turned into a fight to the death between us all. A fight for business, for loyalty, and for respect. A thing that should have come naturally for any man who loved to ride.

  Lincoln shook hands with Hardy and we all sat down.

  Cap was watching me, his eyes never leaving my face, while Devil was keeping a hard eye on Gauge.

  “Let’s get straight to it,” Hardy began, no beating around the bullshit for a change. “We know the mole in our club was yours. As you know, he’s been dealt with accordingly. There don’t need to be any comeback on the Burning Eights since it was Ripped’s doing and your club’s under new management now. We can put this shit to bed right here, right now.”

  Lincoln side-eyed Cap, who briefly let his gaze leave mine to look at his president. “I don’t know who you dealt with, but that body you dropped at our front door didn’t belong to us. Ain’t got shit to do with us, and we don’t like the implication that it does.”

  “We got proof he was working with Ripped,” Rider said, his hand rubbing over his short white beard.

  “What proof?” Devil asked, a hard scowl on his face. “So far as I could see, the only evidence you’ve got is a dead man’s word. That kid squealed about knowing us before he died, then I’m reckoning that those words were spoken in fear. And words spoken in fear don’t mean shit.”

  “We’ve got letters between Ripped and the kid,” Gauge said, his eyes narrowing when Devil barked out a laugh.

  “Ripped could barely write his own fucking name. There’s no way he wrote any shit to that kid, telling him to what? Watch you all? Where your safe house was?” He shook his head and leaned forward, his teeth bared like a dog ready to fight. “You’re lyin’.”

  Gauge leaned forward, his features hard. Devil was a big guy, muscle upon muscle, but he was puny compared to Gauge. “Call me a liar again.”

  Lincoln put his hand on Devil’s arm to get him to shut up. “Devil’s right. Ripped could barely spell, but if you say he did this, then he did. Either way, the kid is dead, Ripped is dead, and the Burning Eights are under new rule. We want peace between the clubs, not a bloody war.”

  Gauge continued to glare at Devil, but Rider leaned back in his chair, apparently satisfied.

  “We want to work with the Highwaymen. Heard you got a good line coming in, but your supply and demand is working overtime. Thought maybe we could come in with you on it. Our clubs got a lot of connections.”

  Hardy nodded. “We can talk about that.”

  “And Battle?” I asked through gritted teeth. “My brother had to leave town because of your crew, despite the promise that shit wouldn’t land on our clubs. Six months he’s been gone because of your lies.”

  Lincoln listened calmly, which only infuriated me more, but I forced myself to calm down. We needed this meeting, one way or another. If we could bridge the violence between our clubs, Battle could come home. I could see my brother again before we went to war with Benite and Hardy sent me to ground.

  Lincoln nodded. “You’re right, I did promise that. But it wasn’t my promise to make at the time. Our club, as you can imagine, has gone through some dark times recently. We’ve had a president to bury and that drove a wedge through our club. But now I’m officially in charge and I can make that promise to the Devil’s Highwaymen, to you and Battle. The shit that happened is done—dead and buried along with Ripped and whoever the fuck that kid was you say was a mole for us. As far as I’m concerned, our clubs are at peace. So long as you agree, I’m satisfied we can do business again, and Battle can come back with no repercussions.”

  Something still didn’t sit right with me, but before I could say any more, Hardy slammed the gavel down.

  “All right,” Hardy said, “then it’s over.” He pulled out a box of cigars, took one out, and pushed the box into the middle of the table. “To our new brothers. To peace between our clubs, and to having each other’s backs in the coming years.”

  I frowned. What the fuck was happening?

  This wasn’t what we agreed on.

  I turned to look at my brothers, but none of them were looking at me.

  “And Skinny?” I snarled. “What about Skinny?”

  Hardy glared at me. “Shit’s done. It’s been dealt with. Skinny will heal. Battle will come back, if he wants to. Now smoke a cigar and calm the fuck down. That’s an order.”

  Lincoln smiled from the opposite side of the table before reaching for the cigar box. They all took one and lit them before leaning back in their chairs and smoking like nothing bad had ever gone down between our clubs.

  It was a victory, I knew it, yet my mind still screamed for vengeance.

  For Battle, for Quinn, for Skinny.

  Or maybe that was my own guilt that was screaming at me. Telling me that this peace would be short-lived.

  *

  Our two clubs were partying still, despite it being past seven in the morning and not a fucking soul having slept yet. Men and women were fucking, drinking, snorting whatever they could get up their noses. Our two clubs had made peace and were enjoying the spoils of war. Battle was on his way home, his woman on the back of his bike and his club waiting for him.

  I should have been happy.

  Yet I wasn’t.

  Far fucking from it.

  Jesse slumped down next to me. “You’re a miserable son of a bitch, you know that?” He laughed, drunk off his ass and high on life. He was still young enough to see the innocence in life. The blood spilled was far enough away from him that it still might never happen to him. Little did he know.

  “Like you know shit about me,” I grumbled. “Now fuck off and go get laid.”

  He laughed and leaned forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees. “Can I tell you something?”

  “No.”

  “I already found my ol’ lady.” He smirked at me and I scowled. “Gonna make her my woman no matter what it takes.”

  “Does she know?” I replied dryly.

  “Yeah.” He frowned like he wasn’t actually sure and I laughed. The laughter felt strange on my tongue and I cut it off s
harply.

  “Come back when you actually have a woman.”

  The sound of Gauge’s booming voice filtered across the room and we both looked up. “I swear to God, Laney, you’re a goddamn pain in my ass. Just take it, take it all and leave me the fuck alone.” He threw a handful of cash in her face like she was trash, and I scowled.

  Laney, Gauge’s daughter, swung back and slapped him across the face as hard as she could, and Gauge roared in anger.

  “I hate you!” she screamed in his face, kicking him in the shin with her big black boots. “I hate you so much!”

  “You’re a fucking cunt just like your mother was!” he yelled back at her.

  “Eat shit and die, dick breath!” She scooped up the cash he’d thrown at her and stormed out of the room, and Gauge headed in the opposite direction.

  I watched Jesse staring after her like a lovestruck puppy dog until she was out of sight. When he turned back to me, I cocked an eyebrow at him and he shrugged innocently.

  “Oh yeah, he’ll kill you if you touch her.”

  “He’ll come around,” he said with a grin.

  “No, no he won’t. The thing with a man and his daughter is, is that she’s his, and only his. It takes balls bigger than you’ve got to step into his shoes and take his kid away. Even if they do hate the hell out of each other.”

  Jesse stood up. “My balls are the size of soccer balls, brother. I’ve got it handled.”

  “There’s a cream for that,” Casa joked as he sidled up to Jesse.

  Jesse punched him in the arm and they both laughed and walked away.

  Shaking my head after him, I stood up, more than ready to go to bed. I couldn’t think straight when I was so tired, and I needed to think straight right then. A loud banging on the front door of the clubhouse came, the sound of fists on the metal door ricocheting through the clubhouse. I ignored it, heading to the bar for a nightcap before I went and got some much needed sleep. One of the prospects must have opened it, though, and a commotion broke out at the entrance.

  Fuck it, what did I care?

  I took the whiskey from the clubslut and swallowed it down in one go before pulling out my smokes to light one. I turned at the sound of my name and saw Rider standing there with his arms folded across his chest and a frown on his face.