by Chiah Wilder
Fuck.
Groaning low in his throat, he gripped the handlebars and twisted the throttle to make the bike go faster, trying to outrun the desire racing through his blood. But it was no good. Some part of her had already taken root inside of him, and he had no clue what the hell to do about it.
Tank
“I don’t think he’s coming, bro,” Maniac surmised.
Tank cursed under his breath and rubbed his jaw, still watching the entrance to the clubhouse. As much as he hated to admit it, Maniac was fucking right: Raptor wasn’t walking through those doors. Church was supposed to have started fifteen minutes before, and the members were getting antsy.
“If any of us were late for church, Raptor would tear us a new asshole, so why the fuck are we letting him get away with this shit?” Shark fumed, pounding his fist on the table.
“This disrespect is more fuckin’ proof that the brotherhood isn’t the first thing on his mind,” Hammer growled. There was a low chorus of agreement from the back corner where a majority of the vice president’s supporters hung out lately since the dissension in ranks. “Are we just gonna wait for Raptor to decide we’re more important than whatever else is going on in his life? Suspend everything we got going on within the club until he decides to give a fuck? The club isn’t something a president can ignore until the fuckin’ timing is right for him. This disrespect is a reflection on his fuckin’ view of the brotherhood as a damn whole.”
Hammer stalked around the room, gesturing with his hands and getting the men riled up. Ignoring the small tick in his jaw that was quickly working its way into a headache, Tank tipped his chair back until it rested against the wall. The whole damn situation was a total clusterfuck. He didn’t see any way through or around it, so long as Raptor kept fucking up his responsibilities.
Tank probably understood what Raptor was going through more than most of the brothers. He knew what it was like to have a family member sick as hell, needing attention and support. That kind of fear and sadness rocked through a family and never let up, not until there was a miracle and the person got better, or… Fuck. Tank shook his head, unwilling to think of the other alternative. Either way, he and Raptor were in the same spot. Raptor’s son was fighting for his life, and Tank’s mother was slipping away. Family was damn important, and that was the one constant he and his president shared above all else. But Tank understood where the members’ anger and sense of betrayal was coming from, and that couldn’t be ignored. Yep, nothing but a damn clusterfuck.
Groaning, he shifted up and out of the chair, tuning out whatever the hell Hammer was saying, which was getting a rousing chorus of cheers from his cronies, and a few of Raptor’s followers. He assessed the men in the room, noticing a good majority of them were listening to Hammer. Raptor still had allies in the clubhouse, but they were decreasing by the day, and him not showing the hell up for church hadn’t helped the situation.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Tank muttered under his breath as he walked toward the door, slamming his empty beer bottle on the bar top so hard, he thought it would shatter in his hand.
“Going somewhere, Nomad?” Hammer’s gruff voice echoed through the room as soon as Tank’s boots hit the threshold. “Are you just now realizing your president can’t be fuckin’ trusted? Reality stings like a swarm of damn wasps, doesn’t it?”
Hammer chuckled along with his army of jackasses.
Clenching his fists at his sides, Tank didn’t bother acknowledging Hammer before walking out of the clubhouse and into the humid air. The sunlight pierced his eyes and he squinted, fumbling at the same time for the pair of sunglasses in the inner pocket of his cut. The asphalt radiated the heat of the day, and he pounded the pavement until he was next to his bike parked under a tree. Shit had to be straightened out, and he wasn’t going to sit by while Raptor got his ass handed to him by a selfish, greedy motherfucker whose goal was to bring back anarchy, pain, and a shitty lifestyle for the members and the town. When Raptor had taken the reins, he swore to the townspeople that the club would make sure the shit imposed by the old regime wouldn’t continue, and he kept his word. For the most part, the Jagged Outlaws were respected by the citizens, and they appreciated the MC’s diligence in keeping the cartel out of the area and the town safe from rival clubs and gangs. Now, Hammer was hell-bent on destroying all the trust and respect Raptor and the members had worked so hard to build.
Tank’s hands curled around the handlebars as he threw his leg over his baby and sped off, heading for Raptor’s house. He was done giving the president the benefit of the doubt. The brothers in Raptor’s corner treated him with kid gloves, but Tank wasn’t doing that shit. Now he was handling it before shit got worse for everyone.
Less than twenty minutes later, Tank walked up the five brick steps and rang the doorbell. As he waited, he couldn’t stop staring at the overgrown garden in the front of the house, the broken porch swing, and the dead flowers in the hanging basket. I guess the club isn’t the only thing Raptor’s neglecting.
There was a creak of metal hinges as the door opened a crack, and Raptor glared out at him.
“Hey,” Tank greeted.
Eyes widening, Raptor rushed outside and shut the door behind him. Wrapping Tank in a tight bear hug, Raptor said, “It’s been too long,” as he released him. “How’s your ma doing?”
Rocking back on the heels of his boots, Tank shrugged. “Could be better.”
Raptor looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry, man. It fuckin’ sucks to see someone you love suffer and not be able to do a fuckin’ thing about it.”
“Yeah. How’s Nick doing with his treatments?”
“He’s a real trooper, but they’re brutal,” he replied, a hint of sadness in his eyes.
For a moment or two, silence fell between them.
“So what brings you over here?” Raptor asked.
“I’m sorry for the intrusion, but you blanked on church today.”
“Shit.” Raptor slammed his hand against the brick, muttering a few other choice words. “You know how things are going here right now. It’s hard.”
“I get it.” Tank rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not just missing today. From what I hear, you’ve been scarce for a while now, and this isn’t the first church you’ve missed. There’s some serious shit happening at the club. Hammer’s vying to knock you out and take over. A lot of members see you not showing today as disrespect. It’s just a matter of time before you lose everything you worked so hard to build.”
Tank waited for Raptor to say something, but he stood there, mute.
Breathing in deeply, Tank leaned against the brick wall. “I get that shit’s hard right now, but you gotta lock it in and take care of business, because Hammer’s working you out and taking your place. He’s already reinstated extortion on Main Street and enforcing protection blackmail. You got the club outta that fuckin’ game years ago for a reason. The fucker’s also talking about getting back into the prostitution and drug business, which means forcing women to do some terrible shit and bringing in the cartel. Jagged Outlaws under your reign have made a tacit agreement with the town council that we could protect their way of life if they turned a blind eye to some of the low-level shit we do, like selling weed. Hammer’s aiming to destroy all of that. He’s got a whole list of shit he wants to change. The asshole is squeezing you out and going back to the old ways, turning brother against brother. And do you think the town council’s gonna go along with that? The minute they get wind of the shit Hammer’s pulling, they’ll have ATF on our asses.”
Raptor’s shoulders sagged. “I know.”
Tank felt as if someone had punched him in the gut with a pair of brass knuckles. For a beat, he couldn’t quite breathe right. He cocked his head, hoping maybe the words he’d heard were wrong. “You fuckin’ know, and you’re not doin’ shit about it?”
“I’ve known what Hammer’s been doing. Though I don’t totally agree with it, the club is making the extra money it needs.�
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“The club has financially thrived under you. What the hell are you saying?”
“When we were double-crossed over the arms deal last year, it drained the clubs’ coffers. Since you’ve gone nomad, you’re not around enough to see that the club’s in a financial bind. We owe the Insurgents MC in San Diego money on a weed deal, and we still owe Romano on the guns we purchased from him. He doesn’t give a fuck what happened—he just wants his dough. Once we get our funds where they need to be, we’ll back down. It isn’t the best plan, but it ain’t the worst, either.”
Tank’s mental sensors were on overload as he processed what his president was saying. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I can’t fucking believe—”
Raptor held up his hand and shook his head, keeping his eyes on the ground.
“No one outside my family knows this, but Nick’s waiting for a bone marrow transplant, and until we get that call, I don’t care about anything but my little boy. He needs me, and I sure as hell can’t worry about a club of grown-ass men when my son could fuckin’ die.” His voice hitched on the last word. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. The cigarette dangled from his lips as he lit it. After taking a deep drag, he blew the smoke out through his nose and looked up at Tank. “Hammer will get it sorted—he cares about the Jagged Outlaws. For fuck’s sake, he’s the VP. He and the rest of the board have the members’ backs. For now, I’ve gotta take myself out of the equation.”
Fuck no. He has to be messing with me. The sinking feeling in Tank’s gut kept him from moving, from speaking. It was damn clear now that Raptor had completely lost his will to lead the MC. While Tank understood the myriad of emotions flashing across the president’s features, he still couldn’t believe Raptor was turning his back on the brotherhood.
Pushing away from the wall, Tank growled, “So let me get this straight. You’re agreeing to the protection money, the forced prostitution, the cartel, the fuckin’ dog fights, the—”
“Hold on, there. I didn’t say anything about that other shit. Hammer came to me and we discussed the protection money. In a year, the club will be back in the black and we’ll shut it down. The shit you’re going on about is nothing but rumors. There are some members who want anyone who was associated with my dad’s presidency to be stripped of any kind of power. Be careful about what you hear—not everyone is telling the truth. Hammer and I have been talking. I know what’s up.”
“Then why the hell did he trash you when you didn’t show up at church? It didn’t sound like you two are working together, but more like he’s working against you. I can’t believe you don’t see that fucker is taking advantage of your vulnerable situation.”
Raptor blew out another stream of smoke. “I should’ve been at church. I forgot, and I owe the brothers an apology.”
“You fucking realize if you give up now, you’re handing the presidency over to him. The fucker won’t stop until he’s put all of his guys in leadership positions and we’re dealing drugs, running hookers, and fighting dogs again. It won’t stop at that, and it’ll get worse before it gets better. I know your son’s real sick and it tears you up. Hell, I don’t know how you and Lynda are handling it, but you haven’t lost your mind, have you? You’re acting like you’ve got shit for brains. You can’t believe the horseshit Hammer’s feeding you.”
Raptor’s eyes flashed, and he ran a slow hand through his hair. “I understand what we’re dealing with, Tank. I get it. Nothing’s clearer to me than the situation, but I’m out of options. My son comes first, and that’s just the fuckin’ way it is.”
Clenching his jaw, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Got it.”
Silence stretched between them, leaving Tank to struggle with surprised sadness, as well as the slow burn of anger building inside of him. He swallowed past the emotions, trying to come to terms with what the club’s future would be now that Raptor was out for the long haul—maybe forever. One thing was for sure: Raptor would never get the power back once Hammer took control.
“You know this means war—brother against brother. You do fuckin’ understand that, right? The club will be torn in half between you and Hammer.”
“It’s been like that for a long while now. It’s nothing new.”
“So that’s where we are with it, then?” Tank sighed and rubbed a hand down his face.
“That’s how it is.” Raptor took one last drag and snubbed out the butt. He took a step back and put both hands on either side of his head, looking through the bay window into his house.
Tank saw shadows behind the curtains.
Raptor looked over at him. “Look, I gotta go. Something could be happening.”
“Yeah, go. Don’t let me hold you up.”
Raptor nodded but hung back, his hand on the doorknob. When he spoke, his voice was gruff and hard. “Have a good night, brother.”
“Yeah, right.”
Before Tank could turn around, Raptor walked inside the house and closed the door. He’d made his choice, and in doing so, he’d sealed the club’s fate, forever closing the door between the past and the present.
There was no denying or putting it off anymore: shit was going to go down.
With a heavy heart, Tank started his Harley, pulled away from the curb, and blended into the traffic.
Lena
Lena’s nerves had been rattled all day long, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. While she did the preliminary paperwork for a new hire, she kept glancing over her shoulder, convinced that the two thugs were lurking about. I’ve got to get a hold of myself. Those bastards haven’t made an appearance since that first night. Besides, Sheriff Windsor promised he’d get to the bottom of it. She’d told him the date the thugs were supposed to come to the restaurant, and she had every reason to believe that the sheriff and his deputies would catch them in the act, making the whole extortion BS stop.
The previous night, after work, Lena had stopped at the grocery store on her way home. She saw a couple of men in the meat department wearing the same vests as the bastards who’d come into the bistro ten day before. Fear seized her, but when she’d realized they weren’t the same assholes, she took out a pen to jot down the name on the back of their vests, when one of the guys turned to look at her. He said something to the other man, who also turned around. Scared out of her mind, Lena picked up a package of boneless pork chops and hightailed it out of there.
After she’d come home from the store, the only thing she’d remembered on the vest were the initials MC. A quick search on the computer made her blood run cold. The thugs who’d come into her store that night were part of a motorcycle club.
A knock on the bistro’s front door startled Lena out of her thoughts. The shop had closed at eight, and it was now nine o’clock. When she’d locked the door at closing, there hadn’t been very many people on Main Street. Since the assholes’ visit, Lena had made sure that the restaurant’s front door was always locked behind the last customer.
She picked up the yellow highlighter and continued going through her paperwork when a thunderous pounding on the front window made her jump. All the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. What the hell? Grabbing an old baseball bat she kept around, she slowly crept out of her office. A sick feeling twisted in the pit of her stomach as she headed toward the front of the eatery.
When she came upon the white swinging doors that looked as if they belonged in a western saloon, she paused before peeking over the top to look at the front door that was lit by the street lamp outside. Pulling back, she slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the whimpers crawling up her throat. She rushed back to the office and shoved the papers aside on the desk, searching for her phone. Then a powerful bang reverberated throughout the bistro, followed by loud voices.
“Open the fuckin’ door or I’m gonna break it down!”
Where’s my damn phone? And why the hell did I only buy one cordless phone to kee
p up front?
Panic spread through her like wildfire.
“I’m countin’ to one and we’re smashing windows!”
Got it! With her heart nearly crashing through her chest, she dialed 911. When the dispatcher answered, Lena screamed, “I need help. Two bikers are breaking into my restaurant.”
“Are you at 229 Main Street?”
“Yes. The sheriff knows about these guys. Bring help. They’re trying to rob me.”
“One!” the man yelled.
“They’re going to break my front window. Hurry.” Slipping the phone into her pocket, she rushed to the front of the store. It was better to let them in than to deal with more damage she couldn’t afford to fix, especially after she was forced to pay them. Lena shakily made her way to the door and clicked the lock open, just as one of the bikers—the dangerous one—pulled his arm back. She barely had time to move before their large bodies pushed through the door.
“What’s your problem?” she asked, her anger slowly replacing the fear.
“What the fuck took you so long?” the one with the Billy club huffed.
“I was in the bathroom.” The sheriff should be here soon. I have to stall until he gets here. “You said you were coming back in two weeks.”
The dangerous-looking one pressed against her. “We wanted to see you again, sweet cheeks.”
She fought the impulse to push him away and tell him off. Instead, she looked at his leather vest and saw the name Cougar stitched across it. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Then this should be a nice surprise,” the other biker said as he walked up to the new display case. “Do you bake all this shit?”
“Pretty much. I have an employee who helps me.” The surrealism of the situation didn’t escape her. Never in her wildest imagination did she think she’d be talking about her baked goods with two gangsters who were taking her money. “Would you like a cookie?” Where the hell are the cops? This town isn’t that big.