Ace: Devil’s Nightmare MC

by Bourne, Lena

  The two guys exiting the trailer spot us and freeze in their tracks just as another suit crowds onto the metal steps leading out of the trailer. They’re all bunched up there now and all look frightened as hell.

  The last guy yells something to whoever’s still inside, but I can’t hear the words over the rumble of our bikes and the general noise of the construction site.

  Horse pulls up right at the metal steps, blocking the exit, and I park alongside him.

  He dismounts first and pulls off his helmet, glaring at the men on top of the stairs. “We’re here to get Bullard. He’s been avoiding us, and it’s time that stops.”

  Horse is trying to imitate his father’s mocking yet commanding tone and way of speaking, but it’s a very pale imitation. Nevertheless, the men exchange worried glances, but no one speaks.

  “Bullard! Bullard, come out!” Horse shouts. I’m sure most of the guys laying the foundation heard him, let alone whoever’s behind the paper-thin walls of the trailer office. Why the fuck is he making such a scene out of this?

  “Or do you want us to come in and get you?” Horse adds mockingly.

  “Pop won’t like it if we make a scene,” Piston reminds him, also loud enough for all around to here. He might’ve taken the words right out of my mouth, but why the fuck is he shouting them?

  Horse shoots him a disgusted look, and I can see his anger rising by a couple of more notches. First his father’s mockery, then me standing up for Stormi, and now the humiliation at being ignored by these suits…I don’t know the guy very well, but I’m willing to bet he’s about to lose his shit completely.

  “Bullard, last warning! Come out!” Horse yells.

  Piston shoots me a worried look like he’s asking me to intercede and take this into my hands. But if I try to upstage Horse in this he’s probably gonna kill me. I’ve stepped on enough of his toes for now. Though I’m starting to see that if Griff offered his sons a little less mockery and a little more actual guidance, they might not fuck up as much as they seem to.

  “Fuck this!” Horse says, pulling a gun from the inside of his cut.

  “Back me up,” he tells Piston and me. His brother draws his gun too, while I’m still wondering how the fuck this thing escalated so fast. Fuckups and then some.

  One of the guys on the steps jumps over the railing and runs away from us, shrieking like a woman. I’m holding my breath, waiting for Horse’s reaction. This is exactly the kind of senseless show of violence old man Griff wanted me to prevent, but damn it all happened so fast. I tried…words to live by.

  Luckily, Horse just lets the fleeing guy go, clearly giving no thought to what a loose end that is in a situation like this.

  All I can do now is give Horse the backup to get this done and over with. Him and Piston have forced the other two men back into the trailer and I follow them. We better make this quick. I’m thinking we don’t have long before the cops show up.

  Piston’s got his gun trained on the group of men huddled to the left of the entrance. Horse is at the other end of the trailer where a bulky guy about Griff’s age is sitting with both his hands up and a very menacing scowl on his face. The younger guy next to him is probably his son, given that he’s got the same general build and eyes. He’s panicking, his gaze darting from Horse to his father and now me as I join them.

  “What’s the meaning of this, Horse?” the old man says calmly as though he doesn’t have a gun pointed at his face. “This is not how we do business.”

  He’s using a lecturing sort of tone with Horse, and I think that on top of all the slights the man’s already had to swallow today, it’s a very bad idea. Especially since he’s now also brandishing a gun.

  “Is this the guy we came to get?” I ask Horse loudly to try and break the tension.

  “Yeah, this is Bullard,” Horse says.

  “Alright, grab him and let’s go. I betcha the cops are gonna be here any minute,” I say.

  “Who the fuck cares about that?” Horse snaps.

  Now, that’s very good to know. So, he’s not worried about the cops at all? But him saying that could just be part of this violent temper tantrum he’s having.

  “Get him and let’s go,” I repeat, because the faster I diffuse this situation the better.

  Although, this Bullard deserves every bit of this rough treatment and more for messing with Ink’s family.

  “How are we gonna do this?” I ask.

  “He’s gonna drive himself back to the clubhouse, and we’re gonna be his honor guard,” Horse says. “Bullard already knows how that works. He was supposed to be there yesterday afternoon, but didn’t show up. And we don’t tolerate that. He knows that very well too.”

  “I said I’ll be there and I will,” Bullard says, much too belligerently. “There’s no need for all this. You run on ahead back to your father, and tell him I’ll be right there.”

  I shoulder past Horse, grab the guy’s arm and bodily lift him from the chair before Horse can respond to the taunt and make this even worse.

  “You got your keys?” I ask him and he nods, his scowl momentarily replaced by shock and confusion. Clearly he’s not used to getting manhandled by the Sinners, and I bet he wasn’t used to having a gun pointed at his face by them either until a couple of minutes ago.

  “Let’s ride,” I tell the brothers and ignore Horse’s glare and reddening face as I drag Bullard out of the trailer. He’s every bit as heavy as he looks, but at least he’s not fighting me.

  “It’s the cream Lexus,” the guy croaks as we reach the parked cars.

  “Mount up,” I tell Horse and Piston, then escort Bullard to his car.

  “Drive nice and slow, and no funny business,” I tell him.

  The dark scowl is back on his face, and he glares at me instead of doing what I told him to do.

  “Now,” I add. “Or I’ll help you with that too.”

  This time he understands that I’m serious and enters the car.

  Piston drives off, beckoning Bullard to follow him, which he does. Horse and me will take up the rear. He’s got his helmet on and visor down, but I can still feel the fire of his angry glare on the back of my head as I mount my bike.

  But I’m sure Griff will understand that I had to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand. Still, I didn’t win myself any points with Horse today. I’m far in the red with those by now.

  * * *

  I made sure to ride right behind Bullard in case he tried to make a sudden turn somewhere and flee, which I very much expected him to, but the old man drove behind Piston all the way back to their clubhouse.

  They let him drive right in through the gate and he exited the car glaring at Horse in what I considered a much too provoking display of anger.

  Horse didn’t rise to it, not even after Bullard told him his father’s gonna hear everything. He most likely will, and I wasn’t too surprised when Griff sent us to the bar after he admitted Bullard into his office. Horse pouted at that and Piston looked relieved, but neither said anything to their father.

  “I sure could use a drink after that,” Piston says conversationally on our way to the bar.

  “You’re such a fucking pussy,” Horse snaps at him.

  It’s a display of the same kind of mocking dominance that their father exerts over both of them. What a way to fucking live. But they’re both in their twenties and if they haven’t managed to stand up to their old man by now, they probably never will. Another thing that’s not my place to worry about or correct.

  “Right, Horse, you just keep talking,” Piston says and leaves it at that.

  About ten other guys are in the bar, and two very bored-looking club girls are leaning on the wall by the silent jukebox. Stormi’s not here, but the woman who called her in last night is behind the bar and eyeing us warily as we head for a table.

  She comes over once we’re seated. “What will it be?”

  She might as well be a talking wall for all the life she’s exhibiting.
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  “Whiskey,” Piston says.

  “Bring the bottle,” Horse adds, and I ask her for a beer. It’s too early in the day to start drinking. I’ve already made enough of a mess today without adding getting drunk into the mix. Piston and Horse are a handful when sober. I’d rather not have to deal with them when they’re drunk. But that’s another thing I have no way of preventing.

  Horse is fidgeting in his seat while we wait, but I have no desire to talk him, so I don’t.

  “Where’s Stormi?” he asks the woman once she brings the drinks. I instantly know that’s what was making him fidget before. Fear flashes across the woman’s face for a second, but it’s gone behind stony lifelessness in the next.

  “She’s getting ready for tonight,” she says. “You know, showering and changing and stuff.”

  “Good,” Horse says and pours each of us a shot of whiskey. Him and Piston down theirs at the same time, but I leave mine untouched.

  “So, what’s the deal with you and Stormi?” I ask.

  I better get to the bottom of Horse’s relationship with Stormi before I make any more blunders in that direction, and I best do it before he gets shit-faced. The image of her naked under the shower spray is giving me all kinds of ideas that I probably won’t be able to stop myself from acting on when she comes back. I’ll bet anything she looks as smoking hot without her clothes as she does with them on—hotter and more smoking, I’ll bet. “I don’t wanna step on any toes.”

  Horse just stares at me, kinda cross-eyed like this is the last thing he expected me to ask and has no idea how to respond. Piston, on the other hand, chuckles and gives him an amused look, before fixing his eyes on me.

  “He likes her and she hates him. And Horse doesn’t like that at all,” Piston says, smirking at his brother whose face is fast turning dark red again. This is Piston getting back at Horse for calling him a pussy. I can’t believe I even recognize that, since this kinda juvenile shit-talking is so far in my past I hardly remember ever doing it. Maybe when I was thirteen.

  “Don’t listen to this pussy,” Horse retorts. “She stole money and now she’s paying it off. I expect her to show us the proper respect, but the spiteful bitch keeps testing me.”

  “Like I said, he likes her,” Piston adds, chuckling again.

  I think he’s wrong. All I heard in Horse’s voice when he spoke about Stormi was hate. The kind of hate some men feel for women who don’t react favorably to their advances. The kind of hate that gets women killed in a fit of rage.

  “Shut the fuck up, Pee,” Horse snaps at his brother.

  Pee? Are we in goddamn kindergarten?

  I’m trying to order everything he’s telling me in my mind. But it’s actually all very simple. He’s fixated on her, she doesn’t like him, and he makes her pay by treating her like shit, while they keep her here like a prisoner. I should just leave it all alone, but god damn it, everything about this rubs me the wrong way.

  This is the last thing I expected to be dealing with when I volunteered for this job. It wasn’t even on my mental list of shit that could go wrong.

  “So you want me to stay away from her?” I hear myself ask before I even decided to. But I gotta know. It’s gotta be clear.

  “Nah, man, she belongs to the club,” Piston says and slaps me on the back. “You go ahead and enjoy her, on the house. Isn’t that right, Horse?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Horse says. He’s lying. His dead black eyes and tight face are telling me that much. But I’m still gonna take him at his word. As for sharing her with the whole club, I’ll deal with that in other ways when it comes to it.

  The thought pops into my head out of nowhere, with literally no reason to. I’m not looking for more than a couple of good lays and a whole lot of those amazing blowjobs from her. What she does on her own time when she’s not doing that with me is none of my concern.

  “Get in here! Now!” Griff yells from the doorway that leads to his office.

  Piston flinches and Horse’s back is very stiff and straight as he stands to obey his father. His face is pale as milk, even though it was beetroot red just a couple of moments ago. As for me, I’m glad for the distraction that’ll rip my thoughts away from Stormi, and back to the job I’m supposed to be doing here.

  Griff is pissed off over what happened at the construction yard, that much is clear. I just hope he’ll judge my handling of the situation a job well done. I don’t much like the guy, I don’t like the way he treats his sons, but a part of me is reacting to his strict superiority and absolute command, and I don’t like that either. This job can’t be over soon enough.

  Griff is holding the door of his office open for us, then slams it shut with enough force to make the wooden floor shake once we’re all inside.

  In my head, I’m already starting the slow count to ten, thinking of nothing but seeing the numbers. It’s the exercise my uncle taught me to keep my blazing temper under control as best I can. Because once I lose it, it’s lost, and aggressive, insulting guys like Griff always bring it out in me the fastest.

  “Did I say, ‘Don’t cause a scene’?” he yells as he rounds on us. The spittle flying from his mouth hits my bear arm even though I’m farthest away from him. Disgusting.

  “Or did I say, ‘Go in guns blazing’?” he adds, with more mockery in his voice, but no less volume.

  “They were being difficult,” Horse tells him petulantly.

  “Oh yeah, and what were you gonna do? Kill them all if they didn’t stop being difficult? Right there at the construction site? With a hundred witnesses?” Griff asks.

  Horse shrugs, his eyes matching the mockery in Griff’s, or attempting to.

  “These are fucking suits, a bunch of idiot yuppies! Don’t tell me you can’t handle a room full of yuppies without pulling out a gun,” Griff says, walking over to his chair and sinking into it. He’s breathing hard, from anger or exertion, I’m not sure. It seems like heart trouble to me, or maybe it’s just old age, although I doubt he’s much older than fifty.

  “I’m ready for bigger jobs, Pop,” Horse tells him. “Why do you keep sending me on these menial fucking errands?”

  I figured some kind of adolescent petulance was at the heart of the scene Horse caused today, because there really was no need to draw weapons.

  “Are you?” Griff asks, looking at him pointedly. Horse is matching his stare.

  “I remember the last time I gave you free reign very well,” Griff adds pointedly. “Do you?”

  Both Horse and Piston gasp and look down at their feet as he says it. Now what the fuck is this all about?

  “You’re lucky I sent Ace with you today,” Griff goes on, turning to me and nodding curtly. “I’m glad you were fast enough on the uptake to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand.”

  I acknowledge his words with a nod, but stay silent.

  He leans back in his chair and interlaces his fingers behind his head. His breathing is almost back to normal and his temper seems to have cooled, but for some reason I smell fear sweat coming off him.

  “Bullard was always a slippery snake to deal with, but something’s changed. He’s worse than ever,” Griff says.

  “I think it’s because we threatened his daughter,” Piston offers.

  Griff shoots him an exasperated, mean look. “Don’t be a dummy. He asked us to get those papers from her. He knew we weren’t just gonna ask her nicely for them.”

  Piston looks at his feet, cowed yet again, but I’m thinking he’s got the right of it.

  Ink’s girlfriend was very upset over that incident. Upset enough to forget all the crap she was holding against Ink, as he explained it. According to Ink, that was unheard of. I push those thoughts aside, and put what I hope is a clueless expression on my face, since this part of the conversation is supposed to be confusing to me. I debate asking a couple of questions, but decide against it. This is actually a family discussion between the three of them, and it’s never good to get in the middle
of one of those.

  “So Bullard’s a liability now, is that what you’re saying?” Horse asks and gets the same mocking look Piston just looked away from.

  “He was always a fucking liability, but he’s the means to an end,” Griff says. “The Knights might be happy playing bodyguards to yuppies, but I got more ambitious plans for us. I’m almost done with Bullard, but we need him a little longer.”

  They’re talking as though I’m not even here. Good. I hope they let something slip.

  “So what are we gonna do now?” Horse asks.

  “You three are gonna keep a watch on Bullard and his son, and make sure he stays in line,” Griff says. “And by that I mean that he needs to see you following him around, which I’m sure will deter him from making any dumb moves.”

  “Dumb moves like what?” Piston asks, saving me the trouble.

  “Like talking to the wrong people. Like going to someone else for protection from us,” Griff explains slowly like he’s talking to a child.

  “But the Knights won’t ever do business with him again,“ Piston protests causing Horse to snort derisively.

  “Not the Knights, Pee,” he says. “They’ll have to go away anyway. Why don’t you try and think a little harder?”

  The threat to the Knights—Ink’s family’s club—cut through me like a vicious gust of arctic wind, so I didn’t catch Piston’s reply to that taunt.

  I gotta warn Ink. As soon as possible.

  “Yes, yes, we’re gonna deal with the Knights,” Griff is saying with an air of calming down quarreling children, from which I assume that’s what Horse and Piston were doing while I wasn’t paying attention.

  “What about the Devils?” I interject. “Are we moving against them soon too?”

  Griff gives me a quizzical look. “Are we “we” already?”

  A part of me flinches, but the wiser part knows I gotta play my part and well.

  “They’re your enemy and they’re my enemy, which makes us a we, doesn’t it?” I ask in an angry, challenging voice. “I want them all dead. And if you move against them, you’ll have to kill them all, or they’ll never stop coming after you. The only thing I want is to help you with that.”