Wicked: Reckless MC Opey Texas Chapter

by KB Winters

  “I got a perfect view of the front entrance. You know the plan.”

  Yeah, I did. I stepped from the beat up old pickup truck, and repeated the steps in my mind, more as a way to keep me calm and focused than a way to remember. I stepped inside the bar, dark and dank, and ordered a beer while I did a rotation of the room. The place was packed, thanks to a live performance from a local country band. That meant I had to carefully pick my way through line dancers, revelers, cowboys and even cowgirls on the prowl.

  The place was dark and smoky since people could still smoke indoors in most places in Texas, and that made it harder to see. The music and nonstop chatter of customers trying to be heard over the music made it hard to focus on one thing, but I managed. The flashing lights, the loud noises were determined to make every step of this task as difficult as possible. But as soon as I spotted a familiar head of blond hair, I headed in that direction.

  “Hey sugar, how’s about a dance?”

  A much too young redhead in painted on jeans and a red and white polka dot bra-like shirt, pressed up against me and flashed a dimpled smile.

  “Maybe later? Right now I’m lookin’ for someone.”

  “I’m right here, baby.”

  She cooed in an attempt to be sexy, to look sexy, but she failed miserably. That baby voice turned me off right along with her persistence.

  “Not you.” I grabbed her wrist and plucked it from my shoulder. “Excuse me.”

  “Jerk.”

  I gave her my back and headed in the direction of the young blond asshole, who I still owed a pounding for putting his hands on Hazel. Now I owed his ass a lot more than that. The redhead was the least of my worries and chances were good she’d already found another sucker to latch onto.

  I settled at the left end of the bar so I could keep an eye on the asshole, who was playing pool with a new group of guys. Most of them I recognized as locals, ranchers enjoying a night out to break up the back-breaking monotony of ranching. Said asshole laughed and joked, seemed like a regular twenty-something instead of a fucking criminal who enjoyed taking shit from people he didn’t earn.

  Finally, the asshole spotted me. His initial response—fear—flashing hard in his baby blue eyes. His expression quickly turned into a smug smirk, but it was too late for false bravado, I’d already seen what was in his heart.

  Fear.

  And I would use it to fucking destroy him. I watched him, happy to play the role of jokester with the good time guys. I kept my eyes on him just long enough to make him uncomfortable, and without his bodyguards around, he was a scared little pussy. My gaze followed him wherever he went, making sure that motherfucker couldn’t breathe without me knowing about it first.

  Eventually, I made it to the bottom of the beer bottle and headed for the bathroom, which in a dive bar like this meant a room with one toilet and a filthy ass sink. At least I can take a piss in peace. It was a damn psychic thought ‘cause when I stepped back out into the hall, the young punk was there, looking angry and ready to fight.

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Congratulations. But you should be.”

  He smirked and got in my face, thinking those few inches he had on me was supposed to scare me off. I pulled myself up to my full height, which was unnecessary because where the kid was long and lean, I was thick and solid muscle. Insomnia meant that I’d kept up with PT as good as any active servicemember.

  “Yeah and why is that?”

  “Because you and your friends made a grave mistake. You fucked with the wrong people and now you’ll have to pay.”

  This hadn’t been part of the plan but it was the perfect set up for the next part.

  “Don’t take my word for it, just watch and see.”

  I made my way through even more dancers and partiers gyrating to a country-rock version of some song that the whole damn bar seemed to know, and out into the night air.

  I pulled one of Slayer’s cigarettes from my pocket and lit it up, smiling when I realized that big crazy fucker had mixed half tobacco and half weed. One puff. Two puffs. On the third, the front door smacked open and blondie made his appearance.

  “You can’t fuckin’ threaten me, you piece of shit. Don’t you know who I am?”

  “No,” I told him between puffs. “And I don’t really give a flying fuck either.”

  Another puff had me butting up against the filter and I flicked it onto the ground and walked away.

  “Hey, fuck you, man!”

  There was part of me that hoped the kid wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t try to gain an advantage by sucker punching me. I’d hoped that he wasn’t that kind of man, but when one hand gripped my shoulder, those hopes were fucking dashed.

  I spun around and released a lightning quick punch to his nose and then his gut. Blood instantly poured from his nose even as he doubled over in pain and choked on his effort to get oxygen into his lungs.

  “Keep your fucking hands to yourself kid.”

  He stood wearing a bloody smile.

  “Or what?”

  He lunged at me, and I stepped to the side just in time for the dumb asshole to catch a pickup truck door right to the head.

  “Ow, fuck!” He writhed, mostly in silence, while Slayer and I looked on, amused as shit.

  “Or, you might find yourself in a position you couldn’t possibly imagine.”

  He looked up at me and then Slayer, calculating just how much he’d fucked up by following me out of the bar, and then he groaned, “Fuck me.”

  “You’re pretty kid, but you ain’t my type.”

  Slayer laughed and dragged him by one leg around the back of the truck, lifting him easily into the cab with a loud thud.

  “What the fuck, man?”

  He sat up and looked around as the situation finally dawned on him, kicking at Slayer’s attempt to grab his ankle. “Get the fuck away!”

  Slayer laughed. “Now’s not the time to act like a scared little virgin, boy. You’re in the grown folks shit now.”

  When the kid wouldn’t stop kicking, Slayer hopped into the cab in one fucking move. With both feet.

  “You have two choices here, let me hook you up in here so you don’t try to jump out.”

  “No thanks,” the asshole kid spat like a petulant fucking child.

  “Or you can jump out on the highway, and I’ll just shoot you in the knee and put you back in here. Either way, you’re ours. Got it?”

  His eyes widened and the fear I’d seen earlier had returned.

  “Got it,” he said reluctantly and stuck one leg out.

  Slayer shackled him to the bar that ran along one side of the cab, jumped down and hopped behind the steering wheel like this was everyday work for us.

  I guessed, in a way, it was.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Hazel

  “Holy shit, Haze. You have feelings for him.”

  Jessie whispered it like it was a bad word, the awe in her voice making me roll my eyes over the phone.

  “Actual real feelings. I can hear it in your voice.”

  “Hate is a feeling. Lust is a feeling, Jess.”

  I didn’t hate Saint even if I did resent these feelings that made me feel weak, vulnerable and out of sorts. I hated the uncertainty of feeling shit for another person, especially someone as secretive as Saint.

  Jessie laughed. “If hate was all you were feeling, you wouldn’t sound so tortured and confused.”

  Another strike against having someone who knew me so well.

  “Fine, yes I like him. All right? He’s nice and sexy, and he can be funny when he’s not trying to be. But I don’t trust those feelings. What if it’s nothing more than the high of having good dick in my life again?”

  I didn’t think it was, but a girl could hope, right?

  “Bull. Shit. If it was just the dick, you’d be fine right now, maybe craving another ride, but that’s it. So what’s the real problem?”

  Jessie was my people, the only person I truste
d with my secrets. “I don’t trust him.”

  There, I said it. Saint seemed like a good guy but this whole biker club thing sounded like a life filled with trouble, and I’d already had more than my fair share of that. And I was pretty damn sure that I couldn’t be with a man who didn’t talk, didn’t share, and didn’t open up. Ever.

  “Has he given you any reason not to trust him, or is this where you sabotage anything that resembles happiness?”

  “I don’t sabotage,” I insisted but Jessie’s laughter drowned out my weak ass protests. “Okay fine, maybe I do but it’s only because I can see trouble before it lands me in a pile of shit.”

  I didn’t possess Jessie’s ability to forget all the bad shit that had happened to us. It served as a constant reminder and any man I met who set off alarm bells got his walking papers.

  “Sure. Maybe. But love is also about leaping, about taking the risk without knowing how it’ll all end.”

  Her voice was that of a woman confident in the love she had, from her man and her family. I envied that confidence, but I also didn’t trust it.

  “I don’t have to know how it’ll end Jessie because I know it will end. Badly. Besides, I have no idea where he is or when he’s coming back. Hell, he might not come back at all.”

  Whatever was happening tonight was dangerous, and Saint was willing to pay the price. And for what?

  “He didn’t come home at all last night, and I haven’t heard a word at all today.”

  “The fact that you’re worried means you care. If you’re not gonna come to Oklahoma with us, stay in Texas and see where this thing with Saint is headed.”

  “Certain heartache,” I told her honestly. “Anyway, enough of my stupid drama. What’s up with you?”

  “The same old…hang on.”

  The line went silent as Jessie dealt with another mom or farm emergency and when she came back, she was rushed. That meant the end of our conversation.

  “Sorry Haze, a peanut butter artist has painted the kids all over and guess who has to clean it up?”

  “Not me,” I told her with a grateful laugh. “But photos will be greatly appreciated.”

  “Oh there will be plenty because I plan to post them around the house when the kids are teenagers. None of us will ever forget.”

  Another laugh escaped before we said our goodbyes and the quiet in the bunkhouse highlighted the differences in our lives.

  Jessie’s filled her life with people from her kids and her husband to ranch hands and neighbors while my life was solitary. Singular. Quiet. Not that I didn’t love my life, it was just…incomplete.

  Sometime later, I found myself standing on the freshly painted porch that led to the main house, where Gunnar lived with Peaches and Maisie. The little girl sat on the glider with her legs folded under her, a doll in a ball gown in one hand and a toy horse in another.

  “Hey, Maisie.”

  She looked up with her adorable crooked smile and big blue eyes.

  “Hi Hazel! My doll got a new dress!” She held up the green gown with a sweetheart neckline and a gorgeous train.

  “It’s beautiful. I wonder if it comes in my size.”

  She giggled and the sound made me smile, just as it did when Jessie’s kids laughed and called me Aunt Hazel.

  “You’re too big. It’s doll size.”

  “Story of my life, kid. Is she going to a party or riding a horse?”

  Maisie looked at me like she was the adult, and I was the kid who’d just said something foolish.

  “She’s riding her horse to the party. Her party because she’s the best at everything.”

  In that moment, I envied that doll who was badass enough to ride a horse in a ball gown, while I hemmed and hawed over my stupid feelings for Saint.

  “Sounds pretty cool. Should you be out here alone?”

  “No, she shouldn’t.”

  Peaches stood between the screen door and the hall that led into the main house with her arms folded and an inscrutable expression on her face. She aimed it right at the adorable little girl who wasn’t fazed at all.

  “She’s supposed to be on the couch with her dolls.”

  “This is a couch,” she insisted with the gall of a child at least twice her age. “And my baby doll is right here!”

  “Maisie,” Peaches said, her voice firm and maternal, much like Jessie’s.

  The little girl let out a pouty sigh and slid down until her feet touched the ground. She grabbed her doll, and I said, “She’s a handful,” as I watched her scramble inside.

  Peaches laughed. “She’s stubborn just like her brother. It must be a family trait.”

  Her tone was a little grouchy but affectionate. I wondered what it would be like to have people who cared even when caring was difficult.

  “What’s up, Hazel?” she said, turning her big, luminous eyes on me once the screen door slammed behind Maisie.

  I shrugged, unsure how to explain that I was bored and tired of the silence so I came in search of companionship.

  “Nothing.”

  I could have asked about Saint, but I refused to go there. If Peaches knew, Gunnar had wanted her to know so she wouldn’t worry, and I wasn’t ready to hear that. Yet.

  “What’s going on?” Peaches blinked, her eyes shocked for just a second before she quickly covered it up. “Martha and her evil spawn are busy in the kitchen, cooking up some food to last for a few days.”

  On the surface it was a pretty harmless statement but given what little I knew of what was going on, I knew it was anything but.

  “Gunnar’s giving them a few days off.”

  More vague answers so I just nodded.

  “Well I just stopped by to see what you were up to, but I think I’m gonna head into town. Maybe grab a bite to eat and check on my apartment.”

  If it hadn’t been touched yet, I could stay there tonight and decide what to do next.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Her tone changed, hardened and I didn’t like it.

  “Saint wants you here.”

  “When he’s done with whatever secret society business he has, he can come find me for a fuck, Peaches. This isn’t my home. It’s my job.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I shrugged. “Think what you want, but it’s the truth. Since you’re busy, I guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Wait.” She let out a frustrated sigh and walked down the porch steps. “They found one of the guys last night, the ones responsible for the robberies and vandalism. He’s somewhere on the property.”

  Peaches didn’t want to share the information with me, but just as I suspected, Gunnar had told her the truth. So she wouldn’t worry.

  Because he cares. I folded my arms protectively at that thought and shook away the hurt and disappointment that tried to well up within me. Nope, no thank you. No way.

  “All the more reason I shouldn’t be here.” Trouble would be headed this way and the last thing I wanted was to get caught up in the middle of it.

  Especially since Saint didn’t care enough to tell me the truth about what was happening. And that fucking hurt.

  “Stay,” she insisted. “His asshole friends will be pissed when they realize he’s missing and they’ll be out for revenge. If they spot you out there alone,” she shrugged and snapped her fingers. “You’ll be easy pickin’s. Wouldn’t want something to happen to you.”

  I barked out a laugh at that. “Yeah, I don’t think anything’s going to happen. I’ll be fine.”

  “We can debate the truth of that later, but how about a little bit of common sense, first? You think they’ll care or believe you when you say you don’t belong to the MC? Because they won’t, and they’ll do what they want to you just to get to the club.”

  “I don’t belong to the MC or anybody else.”

  “Argue with me all you want Hazel, just keep your ass on the property. I can’t have Gunnar’s mind conflicted because he’s worried that Saint’s head isn’t
in the game. They need to focus so they can end this shit, and we can all go back to our regularly scheduled lives.”

  Without another word, Peaches turned and stomped back up the steps. Pissed off at me.

  Like any of this shit was my fault.

  Whatever. I didn’t need them. I didn’t need anyone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Saint

  Blood. It was everywhere, staining my fingertips and knuckles red, clumped under a few nails too. It was the exact place I didn’t want to ever be again. Not fucking ever. Blood on my hands, my shaking hands and not even another one of Slayer’s fucking nicotine-weed sticks could stop the shaking.

  I stood outside one of the many non-descript looking buildings on the Hardtail Ranch, one hand-rolled smoke between my fingers and the weight of the fucking world on my shoulders. I’d left the service after losing all my friends in one fucking firefight, but it was being a hired gun that really pissed me off.

  “It’s the same shit all over again.”

  Holden stood beside me as quiet and stoic as ever. His wide shoulders were as straight as his spine, thick hair immovable as he shook his head.

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. You had a choice, joining this MC, you had a fucking choice, to become one of us. And unlike the service, you can leave at any time.”

  He swung his dark eyes to mine, his gaze fierce like I’d struck a nerve.

  But Holden was right, I did make a choice. A commitment. A promise. To this MC and to these men. I agreed to become a Reckless Bastard knowing what it meant and what was expected of me. Gunnar had laid it all out, clear as day. Weekly meetings. Don’t share MC business with anyone. Ever. And never, ever, let a woman come before Reckless Bastards. And I agreed to become a brother. Willingly.

  “You’re right. Thanks Holden.” Him being right didn’t stop my fucked up mind from going to fucked up places, though. Pounding that kid, no matter how much that fucker deserved it, had me dealing with some shit that I didn’t have the time for. Not right now.

  “That doesn’t make it any easier.”

  Holden nodded like he understood and I knew to a certain extent, he did. It wasn’t the same. It never was the same for any of us, but that was a fact we all understood.