The Devil’s Bastards MC:
Houston Callaghan
By: Kendra Plunkett – Witt
© Copyright 2019
Dedicated to those who keep on dreaming, even if when it breaks their hearts.
Special thanks to my sister Jamie Plunkett and all the hard work you put into the non-writing, not so fun parts of this creation.
Chapter One
Amelia
I checked the address I had scribbled on a scrap piece of paper against the address in my phones GPS and then against the building in front of me. This couldn’t be right. Not this shady, run down place. Well, it could be I suppose. Hell, it probably was. It’s not like Tate had been living in pristine conditions since he left. That I know of anyhow.
It had taken three days of Googling, calling and waiting before I had even gotten any information. The Devil’s Bastards MC members weren’t exactly high profile on the internet. They didn’t have a website and they didn’t have an Instagram page either. I had finally tracked down a gentleman’s club in Sweetwater that was owned by the local charter, all to be given the run around by four, four, different people. And that was just the ones who didn’t immediately hang up on me.
Apparently, my vague reasons for needing to get ahold of Tate hadn’t helped the situation. But I was persistent to the level of annoying and they finally must have just assumed Tate had knocked me up because I finally got a call back from a guy named Jay.
He provided me a cell phone number, and I had attempted to call it for two more days to no avail, always getting a message stating he was out of service range. Left in slight despair I called Jay back again and after twenty minutes of pleading was given an address to a place in Amarillo and told if Tate wasn’t present, there should be someone that might know how to track him down. Emphasis on the should and the might.
This was the definition of a shot in the dark. I had a better chance at winning the Mega Millions.
I shook my head and sighed. I wasn’t used to sitting for prolonged periods and the ten-hour drive up from Laredo had drained me. I stared back out the windshield, what little I knew about biker gangs via Hollywood told me they usually had a common hang out. A bar or clubhouse. Whatever they called it. I assumed this condemned looking joint in front of me called Tommy’s Dead End Saloon, must be it.
Just freakin’ wonderful. I grew up a cowgirl on the Mexican border. I considered myself tough. I ran with rough crowds before. Though, by the impression I got, not a crowd like this. And in my jeans, boots and blue t-shirt I wasn’t liable to blend in here. I dropped open the glove box of my Dodge pickup and stared at the pistol I had stuffed inside when I left the ranch this morning and blew out a sigh. I didn’t want to make the impression that I was looking for trouble, I just wanted to find Tate.
Instead, I closed the glove box, gun inside and put my knife at my waist, climbed out of the truck and beeped it locked. I looked around and tried not to act nervous. Three guys, two wearing cuts, all wearing excessive ink sleeves, lingered by the front smoking and chatting. They all clammed up when I walked by but one. A burly guy with a rat-tail hair-do and arms nearly three times the size of mine, whistled through his thin lips and gnarly goatee.
I ignored the lewd catcall that followed and opened the door to the bar, trying to act as brave as I had felt when I started out this morning. But with every mile passed I felt less and less sure about coming here, especially since I wasn’t even sure Tate would be around.
I was stubborn though, often that trait could override common sense Granddad used to say. Then Grams would chuckle and remind him that my stubbornness came from him.
The interior of the joint was just what one would expect. Dark, dreary and dirty. Stale cigarette smoke lingered mixed with the smell of sweat, liquor and the road. There had been at least fifteen bikes outside, an impressive turn out for a Wednesday night. Something told me though that not everyone who came and went here had the Monday through Friday nine-to-five jobs to push in the morning.
I glanced around the room nervously looking for Tate. Would I even recognize him with just a glance in the low lighting of this place anymore? And I didn’t even know if he was here. His phone had said “out of service” when I tried it not an hour ago. And even here at this Dead End there was cell reception.
All the patrons I could see were dressed in dark colored clothes, making the tight light blue t-shirt I was wearing stand out. I silently prayed they didn’t have gang color issues like I heard about in LA. Knowing my luck, I’d be wearing the color that got me killed. But of course, I knew next to nothing about this club, The Devil’s Bastards.
One of the few things I did know, was the patch emblem Tate sported so proudly on his cut and so far, I wasn’t seeing it. So much for it being the local hangout, I thought.
But the man who had given me the address had said I would find someone here who could help at the very least. I thought about calling him back and asking who that person was. But then I thought better of it. Chances were, I was being set up with false information, just so I would leave them the hell alone. A concept I should have considered before leaving this morning.
I pushed my way towards the back of the bar, very aware I was collecting stares as I went. Just because this place was open to the public, I didn’t think they got a lot of outside visitors. Once I got to the other side of the building and took one last assessment, I groaned. Tate wasn’t here.
I also had found no one else to lead me to him either, and I didn’t drive ten hours to just give up. Not this easily at least.
I found a seat with a small table next to the far wall and sat down, angling myself to where I could get the best position for people watching. I glanced back at the door I entered through as it opened and the men who I saw standing outside sauntered in.
I closed my eyes and hoped the one who had whistled had forgotten me already. But his eyes scanned the room same as mine had, only his found his target.
Rat-tail locked on to me and headed my direction as if he was stalking prey.
“Oh, come on Tate,” I muttered unintentionally and out loud.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” Rat-tail asked when he got close.
I bit hard on my lip for a brief second before answering with a small smile. “I guess I could ask the same of you.”
“Try not to flirt but being friendly and offering a gentle letdown is always best before going to firm. Decline, flight, then fight.” Tate’s words of wisdom he had offered years ago echoed through my head.
“You lookin’ for someone pretty thing?”
“Yes, but unfortunately I don’t think you’re him.”
“It doesn’t have to be unfortunate honey,” the man got extremely close and then ran his hand down my bare arm.
The chills that shot through me weren’t of the welcoming kind and the repulsion made my skin feel like it was sprayed in acid. Time to try the flight option.
“I’m afraid it does. Now,” I tried to stand but Rat-tail grabbed my arm and with more force than I had expected from him. He yanked me from my seat and pulled me into him.
Rat-tail grinned. “Maybe a dance pretty thing? Here or my place, take your pick.”
“How about neither,” I tried to yank my arm away, but it was no use. Rat-tail stepped back, dragging me with him.
Chapter Two
Houston
I watched her walk through the door of Tommy’s. She was searching the place, but I was certain she hadn’t seen me in the far left, back to the wall, drinking my beer and watching the room same as her. Women in here wasn’t strange, women in here alone was a
little out of place but this girl was confused. Not to be stereotypical but everything about her screamed lost.
She looked like your average girl next door, but I had watched the big Dodge pull in outside through the window, that was shockingly not currently boarded up, she was likely a little cowgirl. Those jeans and that tight blue t-shirt showed her curves. She wasn’t showing any ink, so I didn’t take her for one of the biker harems. Though, just because she didn’t look like she fit in didn’t mean a damn thing, I had been wrong before.
My initial instinct was to watch her walk across the barroom. Her tight ass swaying as she walked. Two seconds later, I knew I wanted to introduce myself and then ask if she wanted to disappear. Then Dart walked in and sniffed her out. The no-patch piece of shit walked right up to her and immediately I wanted to push my way in between them.
I wondered if she could handle herself. Wondered if perhaps it was Dart that her eyes had been searching for since she arrived. Destiny would have my ass if I interfered without invitation. “Just because I don’t have a dick doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own. Women are a hell of a lot stronger than you think asshole.”
Course my kid sister is a Callaghan, and that meant she was a fighter who was raised to be biker princess and currently running her own chapter of the Devil’s Bastards, the mother charter in Sweetwater. Destiny liked to fight, but it didn’t appear that this little lady was having much fun with Dart.
Dart grabbed the girl by the arm and yanked her from her chair and into him. Fuck this! I leapt from my seat and was across the bar in seconds. Dart still was wrestling with the girl trying to pull her close as she was giving him hell. He had her by both her wrists now and even Destiny, a trained fighter, would have a tough time breaking free of a man with Dart’s strength.
Dart was shit next to me though. There was no easy way to step between them, so I wrapped a hand around the back of Dart’s neck like he was just a pup getting yanked up and disciplined.
“Let go of her, now!” my low growl silenced the whole bar as everyone stopped and stared. Dart went still and slowly removed his hands from the woman who stepped back away from him.
“What’s it to you Callaghan?” Dart asked as I moved around him, stopping only once I stood between him and the girl.
“Doesn’t have to be anything to me. You don’t make a woman dance who doesn’t want to Dart.”
“And you think you could stop me?” Darts eyes narrowed. He was dick any day of the week, but he was drinking hard tonight and wanted to get in a pissing contest. Fuckin’ bring it. My blood had been boiling since the moment Dart had laid a hand on the girl.
Dart lashed out first, but I saw it coming from a mile away. I ducked out of the way, threw a right of my own and connected with Dart’s jaw. Dart stepped back and shook his head and then charged. I side stepped him once more and grabbed him by the back of his leather jacket as he rushed by, yanking him from his trajectory and tossing him in the opposite direction, landing him on top of a rickety table that shattered under Darts weight.
Good old-fashioned bar brawl.
I turned around, half surprised to see her still standing behind me. I figured she would have been in her Dodge and half way across the state by now. She had her feet planted, and her arms crossed, and her jaw was set. She might be a touch nervous, but I didn’t smell fear on her.
“I had it handled,” she said stubbornly. I smiled. I knew this kind of attitude. Girls like this were rarer but damn they were hard to handle. Had I half a brain left, it should be me that turned tail and ran. But I can be stubborn too.
“Sure,” I smiled like I believed her. “I’m Houston Callaghan, Pres…”
“President of the Nomad chapter of The Devil’s Bastards MC,” she finished for me and motioned to my cut. “I can read biker boy.”
“Impressive.”
“Not hardly. Look, Jay gave me the address to the place. Said I could find someone here who could help me.”
Jay? My Jay, from Sweetwater? Maybe I had taken this girl all wrong, it appeared she knew a thing or two about biker life if she knew Jay and was willing to show up here.
I crossed my arms. “What do you need help with?”
“I’m looking for Tate Lorbosh.”
“Let’s get out of here,” I grabbed her hand and half led her, half drug her to the door. She didn’t protest but followed. We walked out the front and I motioned to her truck. “You riding with me or following?”
She looked hesitant for a moment, like she was actually considering getting on the back of my bike. Or getting in her truck and disappearing. “I’ll follow.”
I nodded and climbed on my bike, taking my helmet from the handle bars and pulling it on before I fired up the Harley and pulled out.
The drive was short. A mile and a half of zig-zagged alley ways and side streets before I pulled up at my apartment building, the woman right behind me. She climbed out of her truck, locked it and followed me down to a first-floor apartment and we went in through a small, back patio door.
“What’s your name?” I asked once we were inside. I was impressed she had come this far but she seemed determined. That and I noticed the piece she now had tucked in the small of her back, under her t-shirt. She brought protection this time.
“Amelia,” she said hesitantly as if testing the waters to see if Tate had ever spoken about her. I didn’t always listen when my VP bragged about his conquests and I hated to hurt the girls heart, but Tate wasn’t the kind that had special girls.
“I don’t know why you’re looking for Tate, but he’s not in the area and I don’t expect him back for a couple months.”
“Prison?” she asked looking pissed.
I couldn’t hold back the chuckle. “No. He takes a job on an oil rig every year for a couple months. Makes enough to live off for the year. He rolled out a couple weeks ago.”
“Imagine that. Tate gets a decent fuckin’ job but only works long enough to keep him set up for partying the other nine months of the year,” whoever this Amelia was, she didn’t appear to be Tate’s number one fan.
“Look. Tate’s hard to reach out there but I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
Amelia’s eyes darted around my small apartment once more. It was two-bedroom since Tate usually roomed with me. It housed a kitchen/living room separated by a bar and a small bathroom. It was sparsely furnished but a hell of a lot cleaner than the bar had been. Not that, that was saying much.
The girl was assessing the situation. Trying to measure me up, trying to decide if I could be trusted. She was cautious, and I admired her even more for it.
“It’s a family matter.”
“Fuck! Look Tate’s out of town but I can try to get word to him, I got some friends who have ways. I can get you some money for now, but he will want a DNA test when he gets back,” I walked towards my bedroom where I kept my safe hoping a few stacks would keep her at bay for now. Tate had knocked her up! Just wonderful!
“No! Are you out of your ever lovin’ mind biker boy? I’m not pregnant!”
I felt an unexpected wave of relief wash over me and I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t my pregnancy scare.
“How well do you know Tate?” she asked.
“Pretty damn well. Since he patched in. He’s my Vice President and typically we roommate together.”
“And he’s never mentioned me?”
“Sorry darling. No offense, Tate’s more of the love them and leave them type.”
“No shit. But I ain’t one of his conquests. I’m Amelia Lorbosh. I’m Tate’s sister.”
I tried not to act shocked. I just walked to the refrigerator and got us both out a beer. Tate, I knew, had been raised a ranch boy who left home and the ranch at twenty for trying to his hand at something else, being a biker seemed to fit him well and he fell in with the Bastards not long after.
In the eight years since we had met, Tate had rarely talked about the home ranch, his past or his family. I had k
nown he had a sister, but I wouldn’t have recalled her name even if he had ever mentioned it.
I twisted the top off a longneck and handed it to Amelia. She took it and I watched her bring it to her lips. Damn the girl was good looking in such an effortless way. Tate would have my hide if he knew the thoughts I had about his sister at the bar and on the way over here. Makes it even, I had heard the lewd suggestions he had thrown pathetically at Destiny over the years.
“Tate said he had a sister, but I just didn’t recall ever hearing him mention your name. Course I’m not the world’s best listener either,” I tried apologizing.
“You don’t have to lie for me. Tate and I haven’t been very close since he left. It took a week just to track him as far as here. I was hoping he would be around, or at the very least easily accessible. But it appears that’s not the case. If you do hear from him, tell him I came looking for him? Tell him to call home, or at the very least, call me?”
Amelia looked around the cluttered bar and eyed a sharpie and a napkin and she scribbled out her name and number on it. “It’s my cell. Tell him it’s time to come home.”
“Amelia, I don’t know what’s going on, but you know that Tate won’t take go back to Longview.”
Amelia laughed. “He might be your VP, but you don’t know a damn thing about him. We’re in Laredo. Have been since just before Tate left. Daddy died, and I was too little, Mom was too heart broke. Tate was just nineteen and the bills were too high. Tate and us, we lost the ranch and he didn’t much like the idea of being on our Grandpa Charlon’s place.
“Just tell my idiot brother that no one knew that I came. So, he doesn’t have to worry about letting anyone else down when he doesn’t show. Grandpa’s sick, the rustlers are thick and I’m likely to lose that ranch too. It’s time he comes home.”
Chapter Three
Amelia
It was late, and I was physically exhausted, but my mental state wasn’t going to let me sleep anytime soon. After I left Houston’s apartment I sucked it up and pushed on a few more hours down the road before finally pulling off at a fleabag motel and got a room for the last few hours of the night. A couple hours of shut eye and I would be back on the road for the last seven hours of my drive.
Houston Callaghan: The Devil's Bastards MC Page 1