Satan’s Devils hit pay dirt when they found this location for their clubhouse shortly before my time. An ill wind decidedly didn’t blow the previous owners of the Blazing Trails Resort any favours when a fire ripped through the complex, destroying well over half of the accommodations and public areas, leaving them financially ruined and unable to rebuild. And no one else was interested in acquiring the burned-out shell, being relatively isolated a few miles outside town—part of the reason why the fire was able to take such hold. No one that is, except for a club of bikers looking for a new home.
The fact we run a construction company, as well as a garage and the standard obligatory strip club together with a few other businesses―some not quite so legitimate as the rest―meant we could complete essential repairs at very little cost to the club. The result being that all patched members, the prospects, and the sweet butts all have comfortable accommodations on-site for when they want to use it, living in the blocs which used to house the guest bedrooms, each complete with an en-suite. Luxury in the biker world. The views from the compound are magnificent, looking out as we do over the city of Tucson sprawled out below, while above us the Coronado Forest reaches up to the mountain tops. The Sonora Desert, with its magnificent flora, including the saguaro cactus―some growing strongly, some dead—surrounds us. Here in Arizona, even the felled cacti are protected by law. The scenery sometimes makes me feel like I’ve got the starring role in a Western.
It’s a peaceful spot and, to me, it’s the only real home I’ve ever known.
The ticking of my cooling engine is the only sound I hear until a gust of wind gets up, and a small tinkling sound reaches my ears. Ha! It’s the darn prospect’s Gremlin Bell. Fuck knows why, but young Hank seems to believe in that shit. Even though I’ve suffered from the attention of the evil road spirits over the years, I don’t put any stock on the ringing of the bell driving them crazy enough to drop off my bike, and you wouldn’t catch me hanging one of these on my handlebars. Uh-uh.
Shaking my head, I start to make my way toward the clubhouse.
“Hey, Wraith! What’cha doing out here? Stop playing with your dick and get your ass inside. Time for church!”
“Hey, Peg!” I stumble as he plants a hearty slap on my back on his way past. Fuck, that man doesn’t know his strength! Falling into step beside him, I follow him through to what was originally a large reception area for residents, now our bar. “Get the deliveries done okay?”
“Fuck yeah, too fuckin’ right. No problem. Get me a fuckin’ beer, Marsh!” Peg thumps his meaty fist on the bar and shouts his order at another of our prospects.
Not being stupid, Marsh slides one over to me too. I take a long drink and turn to survey the room. The bar and the old dining area out through an archway make up our clubroom. Tables, chairs, and a few mismatched and well-used couches dotted here and there combine to form a decent area for the members to relax. A pool table and a couple of arcade machines―where, not surprisingly, Adam is currently hammering the hell out of one of them―complete our area for recreation. And tonight, after church, we’ll be letting our hair down and having a fucking party. The sweet butts, who get food and lodging in exchange for their services, as well as city girls up from Tucson, will be put to good use, and the prospects will be kept busy at the bar. It’s gonna be a goooood time. My cock twitches in anticipation, but I shut that shit down fast. Not so good joining my brothers in church sporting a hard-on!
“Come on you jackasses! Church! Now!” The irritated voice of our prez, Drummer, gets our attention, and a load of leather-clad bikers stop what they’re doing with a variety of grunts and stretches and get to their feet in no particular hurry. It’s doubtful anything in particular has upset the prez—Drummer always sounds that way and usually has an expression to match. Sometimes it’s pretty damn difficult to work out whether you’ve upset or pleased him. Still, he’s got a good head on his shoulders and has our backs, so he gets our respect.
Traipsing into the room, which has a large oval wooden table in the centre, we make our way to our allotted seats. Drummer takes the head, of course; Peg, as sergeant-at-arms, is to his right; me, as VP, on his left; Dollar, a man so talented with figures and exceptional at making money make more money that we had to make him our treasurer, sits next to me; and Blade, the enforcer, is to Peg’s right. Next to him sits Heart, who we made our secretary by virtue of the fact he has a business degree. The other brothers sit in the same places as they always do. There’s a gap down at the end, which Drummer isn’t slow to miss.
“Buster?” he growls, the deep lines on his brow showing his annoyance.
“Doing what he does best, Prez. Busting balls I expect!” A roll of laughter runs around the table at Dart’s flippant comment.
Viper pipes up, “Not back from his run to Phoenix yet.”
“Anything I need to worry about?” Now Drum sounds concerned, as he’d be for any of us missing without reason.
“Nah, last thing I heard his contact was delayed,” I reassure him. As VP it’s my job to know exactly what anyone’s doing at any time. “He should be here soon.”
“Fuckin’ better be! Right, Dollar, how’s the fuckin’ money looking?”
And so it starts. The club’s run exactly like a business, and of course we all take an interest in how the bucks are coming in as our personal take depends on our rank in the club and how much we make. It’s all fairly standard tonight, but the income from the strip club is down a bit, down to losing one of our star attractions who’s moved out of state. The motion to try and attract in new pussy is agreed.
As Heart records the vote, a loud sniff has me glancing at Adam, and it doesn’t surprise me to see him wiping the back of his hand under his nose, reminding me I need to get the prospects to stock up the room with boxes of man-sized tissues. Christ, do I have to think of everything? They’ll be getting me to change the toilet rolls next!
Movement catches my attention as Dart flicks ash off the end of his cigarette, most of it landing on the table. My eyes are drawn to the sign some joker put on the wall, ‘When the floor’s full of cigarette butts, please use the ashtray’. The offending member throws me a grin when he sees where I’m looking and pointedly takes more care to tap off his cancer stick in the correct depository.
“VP?” Drum prompts me to give my report, bringing my full attention back to the meeting. My brief summary is then followed by those from the other officers, and then by those of the other members.
It’s been a quiet week, and there’s not much going down that’s giving us cause to worry, and one by one everyone gives updates on a similar line. Observing that everything’s copacetic doesn’t seem to ease Drummer’s irritation any, but that’s not surprising—nothing ever does. As we plough on through the business, I take a second to cast my eyes around my brothers around the table. For the main part they’re a good bunch, and as always it gives me a warm feeling to have found my place in such a family. For the most part that is, the exception being Buster, our newest and missing member, having only recently patched over from another chapter. I’ve still got to take to the man. But for all that, he’s my brother, and I’d give my life if necessary for his, just like I would any of the others. That I might not be quite so happy about having to do so is another matter.
Church is winding down and looks like it’s coming to an end. The brothers are getting antsy to get out and start partying. A couple are even getting to their feet when Drummer shouts out, “Did I say church was fuckin’ over?”
Casting quick glances at each other, those standing sit down again and pay attention. I cock my head in the prez’s direction. He hadn’t discussed any new business with me, which is unusual.
Drum nods at me, acknowledging he hadn’t had a chance to fill me in, but then, I’d only just got back from a run so couldn’t hold it against him. Still, showing proper respect for my rank, he’s looking in my direction as he starts to speak. “Got a call from Horse yesterday. He’s gonna be h
ere a month early this year.”
“Fuckin’ sweet!” Slick’s face widens into a grin. “I’ll get him started on my new ride. Got some great fuckin’ ideas for it. Fuckin’ A.”
While Drummer shoots him a glare, I feel like high-fiving someone myself. Horse is an amazing artist and does some great work for us. The delicacy of his airbrushing is beyond amazing. I’d been planning to treat myself to a brain bucket to match the detail he did on my bike last year. Of course, in Arizona, once you’re over the age of eighteen there’s no requirement to wear one, but I value my brain too much to ride without.
Horse isn’t a patched member, but we treat him as an honorary one. Horse usually spends six months with us each year, before heading out to Sturgis in August, where his skills are much in demand. Apart from being a fucking ace with an airbrush, Horse is a great dude, and we’ve long accepted him as one of our brothers. It’s no trouble for us to let him make his base here, and it means we’re first in line for his services.
Slick’s comment sparks a round of conversation around the table. Drummer brings us back to order by banging the gavel loudly.
“Cool it!” He glares, waiting for everyone to quiet. “Horse wants a favour from us. He’s bringing a girl with him.”
“Fuck yeah! The more the fuckin’ merrier!” Tongue’s famous organ comes out and waggles, the stud in it catching the light and glinting.
“Fresh meat!” Beef’s heavily muscled arm thumps the table.
“Shut the fuck up and let me fuckin’ finish!” The voice of our prez cuts through the shit being thrown around. “The woman is under his protection. It will be hands-off for all you fuckers.”
Now a collective groan.
Drummer is the only one who brings his phone into Church, the rest of us leave them in a basket outside, and now he pulls it out of his pocket. I watch, curious as he presses a few keys then passes it to me. I can see he’s started a video playing. Dollar peers over my shoulder.
As the drama unfolds in front of my eyes, I find it hard to watch, but can’t look away, like seeing a car crash happen—which is exactly what I’m viewing. “Fuckin’ motherfucker!” I shake my head, unable to believe what’s on the video. Dollar snatches the phone out of my hand and presses play again. Seeing the expressions on our faces, the others start to leave their seats and gather around. The phone gets passed around; Peg growls loudly when it gets around to him. After we’ve all seen the bastard run over a defenceless woman, the phone, at last, is returned to Drummer.
Quickly putting two and two together, I ask, “That’s the girl? She survived?” I shake my head in amazement, wondering what cold fuck could have done such a thing.
“Apparently, yeah.” Drummer wipes his hand over his face. “She’s already been through some shit, as you’ve all just seen. She’s in a fuckin’ wheelchair. The fucker who put her there is coming after her again. Presumably to finish the job.”
Fuck! That’s serious shit. “She’s not safe in England?”
“According to Horse, she’s not. This motherfucker’s got a long fuckin’ reach. Mouse!” Drummer gets the attention of a man who looks absolutely nothing like his name would suggest, but who’s our expert with computers and all that shit. As usual, he’s got a laptop open in front of him. “Find out everything you can about an Ethan St John-fuckin’-Davies. See whether this is going to blow back on us if we take her in.”
“One English motherfucker against us?” Viper sneers; he just turned forty and is one of our older members.
Drummer rubs his fingers through his long dark hair, already beginning to turn grey at his temples even though he’s a couple of years younger than Viper. “We need to know what we’re up against. Can’t see there being much of a problem myself, as you say. One fuckin’ Brit shouldn’t be a problem.”
Dart’s nodding. “At least the club’s set up for a wheelchair.”
“Yeah, all the ramps are still in place, we didn’t take those out.”
“Damn useful for getting bikes in the clubroom!” Everyone laughs. Yup, that’s been done and into ground-floor bedrooms as well. While the original resort had to comply with disabled access, it made it fucking handy for us bikers too.
“Alright, alright. Come to fuckin’ order!” Drummer glares around the table and we all simmer down. “Do we want to wait until Mouse has done his stuff before we take a vote? VP?”
Now we’re not a club who deals in pussy―we don’t go after women or children―that’s in our bylaws. And from that short, disturbing video, the fucker he’s talking about has already harmed this woman beyond what any of us would deem acceptable. Quickly I think it through and look around at my brothers sitting at the table. A number of us served in the military and are no strangers to violence or protecting our own. And if we offer protection to Horse’s woman, she’ll by extension become one of ours. As far as I’m concerned, it’s an easy decision to make, but I don’t want to rush into it. “Do we know how long she’ll want to hide out here?”
Drum shakes his head. “I don’t think Horse knows. It all happened in a rush, but she’s already been paid a visit―luckily, he was there at the time―and he thinks she’s in real danger, so he’s in a rush to get her away. His small crew aren’t enough over there. This St John-Davies apparently has a lot of muscle he can call on.”
Growls now replace the earlier light remarks, and I know my brothers are with me when I give him my answer, “Let her come. How much trouble can one woman be, particularly with Horse vouching for her? It’s on him, though; she’s his responsibility.”
Drum’s eyes circle the table and he gives a sharp nod. Not one to make hasty decisions, I suspect he’s already given some thought on this as he wastes no time giving his view. “Right. I happen to agree with the VP. As long as she knows we’re not going to be putting on fuckin’ airs just because we’ve got an English bitch in the clubhouse! But we’ll do this fuckin’ right and vote on it.”
There are no objections. It’s all ‘ayes’ as Drum gets votes from those seated around the table and the motion passes unanimously. It’s settled, we’re giving the woman our protection.
Drummer has the final word. “VP, you’ll get the prospects sorting out rooms for Horse and this woman?”
“On it, Prez.”
“Mouse, I want that info immediately once you’ve got it.”
“Yeah, man.”
“Right, now get on out of here.” With a bang of the gavel, church is officially and finally dismissed.
Various shouts of ‘party’, ‘pussy’, and ‘fuck yeah’ fill the air as one by one we all vacate the room. The main topic of conversation on most of our lips is predictably the mystery woman.
Beef, a solid tank of a man built like the ox that gives him his name, slaps me on the back in a way that makes me wish he hadn’t. “You reckon her pussy still works?”
“Keep your hands to your fuckin’ self!” I round on him, my eyes flaring even while I’m not entirely sure why I’m feeling defensive about a woman I’ve not even met but put it down to following the instructions of my prez. “You saw what happened to her. She’s been through enough without you planning how to get into her fuckin’ panties!”
“You know me, up for a challenge and all that. You think Horse is already tapping that?”
“Nah, man, Horse don’t want no woman after his ol’ lady died. Makes use of club pussy, but he don’t want no bitch on the back of his bike again.” Heart is the one who’d understand—he’s so in love with his woman it makes me cringe when I see them canoodling, though admittedly they’ve made one cute as fuck kid together. First brother I’ve known not to run a mile when he saw two little blue lines.
“Never knew he had an ol’ lady,” Beef states. It’s not unusual for him to be the last to know.
“Yeah,” I bring him up to speed. “Nasty business, she was killed in a car accident. Hit and run on a pedestrian crossing. She was DOA and never had a fuckin’ chance.” At least this woman’s still bre
athing, even if she is broken.
That’s enough for Beef. If it isn’t attached to a pussy or bike, he doesn’t want to know. He gives me another hefty slap then walks smartly away, his attention and cock drawn to the city girls who’ve started to arrive. The conversation has me wondering whether Horse’s desire to protect the girl has something to do with his dead wife; it wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe he’s making amends for the woman he couldn’t save.
“You alright with this, VP?” Drummer’s come up next to me, and putting his arm over my shoulder, leads me over to the bar. The prospects fall over themselves to get us our drinks before we can ask for them—as they should do. If they prove themselves to the club, eventually they’ll get patched-in, and knowing which brother drinks what is part of their duties. Beer quickly put into my hand, I turn to him. “Do we know anything else about her, Prez?”
“Not a lot. Horse was damn worried though.” And that concerns me. Now none of us is exactly fairy-like, but Horse gives Beef a run for his money. If a big man like him can’t protect a woman, there might be more to the story than we know. While not exactly a chapter, Horse is a member of an associate club of ours in England, and if they’re not confident they can handle the shit going down in their country, we shouldn’t dismiss it lightly. My main unease is caused by the thought that in our hurry to give sanctuary to an unknown girl, we’ll be bringing a heap of shit down on ourselves. But then, as I give a quick look around at my brothers, all of which are now finding entertainment in various ways, I doubt it’s anything we won’t be able to handle. There’s only one man in this club who I wouldn’t trust with my life, and he’s currently not in the room.
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