by Hazel Parker
But are your goals to grow the business? Or to get yourself situated someplace where you can better fight the Saints?
“Very well,” I said, though I didn’t bother to hide my displeasure at the idea. “I’ll need to reach out to the mayor’s office and such in Green Hills. As far as North Hollywood goes, I’ve been able to use some of my contacts in the government to get us favorable zoning options.”
I then went forward with how I would have some hard numbers and options available for him within the next two weeks. I also outlined the growing number of bars that were stocking Sea Sailor Whiskey, including some that were in Green Hills.
What was most notable about this, though, was that Jose almost seemed disinterested in what I had to say. He made eye contact with me and nodded, but he wasn’t nearly as engrossed in things as before. I could ignore a lot of things or look the other way on a lot of matters, but this was one thing.
“Jose, I feel like you’re not with me,” I said.
“Hmm?” he said, caught off-guard like the student who didn’t think the teacher would notice him slacking off.
“You’re nodding your head and looking at me, but it just seems like you’re not paying attention.”
Jose gave what could only be described as a flirtatious smile and shrugged.
“I am thinking about what the Saints did to your office last night,” he said. “They’re a plague upon this part of the city. It’s a damn shame someone hasn’t exterminated them.”
“Yeah, well—”
“Someone as beautiful and smart as you needs to be careful, you know. They could easily—”
I snapped a bit at that.
“Jose, our relationship is strictly business,” I said. “However flattering your compliments are, I will have to ask you to keep them to yourself please so we remain professional and everyone is comfortable. Understood?”
For the briefest of moments, I saw flash across Jose’s face a sort of anger that I had rarely seen. Any woman, though, would be able to recognize it—it was the anger a man got when he thought he deserved something, especially a woman, only to have it denied. It was a savage, beastly face that suggested he was a man on the verge of breaking.
And then, just like that, he was smiling, albeit less flirtatiously, and nodded.
“My apologies, Megan,” he said. “My culture is a little bit more expressive and effusive than yours. I got carried away, but I will be more conscious of it going forward.”
“Thank you,” I said.
But I had the terrible feeling that he was lying. The way his face flickered with anger was something that I could not pretend didn’t happen. It was very noticeable and very real, a sort of instinctive reaction.
I needed to call Burke as soon as my day ended. That much I knew.
Maybe even sooner.
Thankfully, I got through the rest of the meeting without incident. Jose left with a handshake, a slight bow, and nothing more. In that regard, he had done just right.
But I was starting to connect the dots in my head and began to wonder if Jose was using Sea Sailor Whiskey as a front to strike at the Saints. If that was the case, I was caught in the middle just for doing business, never mind what Burke and I had going.
Shortly after my lunch break, when I had the time to process it all, I came to the inescapable conclusion that I needed help.
I called Burke.
Chapter 13: BK
“I’m afraid it’s true.”
I sat in my customary seat just to the right of Trace as all eyes fell upon me. My worst fears from the night before, starting from an innocuous comment from Megan about her most recent business partner, had proved true.
“Did all the research I could, reached out to some people who are in the know,” I said, thinking about how Sheriff Wiggins had helped me with some birth and family records. “Jose Gonzalez, the CEO of Sea Side Whiskey, the one Megan works with now, is the brother of Marco ‘Diablo’ Gonzalez. He is almost certainly the one funneling the money to the DMs.”
A mixture of “shit,” “fuck,” and “goddamnit” filled the air as everyone muttered their instant reaction.
Mine had been much of the same when Wiggins had gotten back to me with confirmation about Jose’s relationship with Diablo. Diablo had always been a giant pain in our ass, but he was at least a biker. We knew how to deal with him, because he was like us, just darker.
But now, we were dealing with a businessman. We were dealing with someone who had way more money than all of us put together and someone who was smart enough to set himself up with full protection. It wasn’t going to do any good for us just to go in and shoot the motherfucker—it might be fine, but unlike the DMs, who had a reputation in town, as far as I could tell, Jose Gonzalez not only didn’t have a bad reputation, but he was well liked in the community.
“What else do we know about him?” Trace said as he puffed on a cigarette.
“Smart,” I said. “Knows the power of public perception better than Diablo. He’s using that and his funds to tear at the image of Savage Saints. Probably knows that if he can win the war without firing any bullets, that’s better.”
I didn’t have the verbal skills to express my worst fear, but essentially, it was that Jose would effectively use his reputation to eventually push for things like getting harder on crime, using that influence and his money to fund and execute on campaigns to eliminate us, and then drive us out of town with an enormous amount of pressure. He could easily do so without ever having a Merc fire a single round, ensuring that they never had to risk criminal charges.
It was kind of genius and incredibly aggravating. It felt like the equivalent of fighting dirty—he wasn’t ballsy enough to face us in the streets, so he resorted to rich-people tactics to get rid of us.
“So we need to kill him,” Krispy said. “Fucking asshole wants to bring us down? I say we drag his ass to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean!”
“Fuck yes!” Splitter said. “I am not going to let some goddamn rich asshole ruin us for his pet project!”
“Enough,” Trace said, his voice not quite rising but making clear that he was nipping the comments in the bud before they got any worse. “BK. You’ve been on the forefront of this. You’re the one dealing with Megan right now. We have two issues at hand. One is our image. We got a small boost helping to clean up the barbershop, but that may come undone with what happened at Megan’s business.”
“What happened?” Mafia said.
I sighed.
“Same thing as the barbershop,” I said. “Broke in, put our insignia everywhere, and got out.”
“Fuck!” Mafia shouted.
“It’s fine, though,” I said. “It is a strategy that may not be picking up as much steam as we fear. Although we are not exactly getting praised and defended, some are beginning to doubt if it was us. Which it was not.”
“OK, fine,” Trace said. “But that doesn’t address the second issue. Which is that this Jose guy, for all intents and purposes, is the new Diablo. We need to find a way to deal with him. BK? Do you want to organize a hit?”
“No.”
That about floored everyone. Even Trace looked at me with surprise.
Admittedly, the Marine in me wanted to do just that. The Marine in me wanted to find this guy’s house, break in, and shoot him straight in the skull.
But while I didn’t think the Saints were at risk of getting hit with an IED, I knew that making a decision based on emotion would hurt me.
“Jose is a high-level businessman, well known in the community. He does a lot of community service and has an impeccable record. We attack him, we lose. Everyone will be on us.”
I can’t be the cliché sergeant-in-arms, just yelling for us to charge in and kill, kill, kill.
“So what you’re saying,” Trace said. “Is that while he’s privately guilty as hell, publicly, he’s up there with celebrities and athletes in terms of likability.”
“To the politicians and police,
yes.”
More murmurs went through the room.
“Megan cannot save us if that happens,” I said. “Nothing could save us then.”
“You’re full of surprises, BK,” Splitter said. “Of all the people in this room, I would have pegged you as the one to lead the charge in to kill. Never would have guessed that you’d be the one exercising caution.”
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure if what Splitter was saying was an insult or in awe, and frankly, I didn’t really care right now. I just didn’t want us to act rashly.
If Trace commanded it, though, as his sergeant-in-arms, I would have no choice but to execute the plot. I would take out whoever needed to be eliminated and go from there. I valued loyalty to the club first.
But I had to damn well make sure Trace knew the risks.
“What would you have us do, instead?” Trace said, taking a puff of his cigarette.
Ah, the million dollar question.
“I have not found a good solution yet—”
“So what, we just roll over and take it up the ass from this Jose guy?” Krispy said. “Fuck that!”
“Swear to God, Krispy, interrupt this meeting one more time and you’re gonna get a boot up the ass out the door.”
Krispy visibly bit his lip, shaking his head in frustration.
“Two ideas I have,” I said. “Not sure if they’re good, though.”
“Spit them out,” Sensei said. “Bad ideas can still help lead people to good ones. It can’t be all bad.”
I appreciated the encouragement and went forward.
“First one is intimidation,” I said. “We put the fear of God into Jose, enough so that he knows to never mess with us. Knows that we won’t hesitate to kill him.”
“Even though we won’t,” Trace said.
“Hence the problem: it is a bluff,” I said. “We could also…”
This one just felt stupid, most especially coming from me.
“We could just be so good in the community that anything the Mercs try doesn’t work from a public image perspective. Take care of our dirty work as needed, but in the public eye, we remain active and good.”
I tried not to show my embarrassment at thinking of such a ludicrous idea, but it was one that sincerely made sense to me, even if it did feel soft. Cleaning up the barbershop had gotten us the best kind of attention—who was to say the rest wouldn’t work as well?
“Would need to see what Megan thinks,” I quickly added, as if that somehow might make it better.
I may have gotten better about being vulnerable around her, but there was still the issues of being fully vulnerable with the men around me. That was a little different than being honest and open with a woman that I cared about.
“It’s not the worst idea,” Trace said, which was mighty reassuring to hear. “It doesn’t cost us anything, and the more good we do, the better attention we’ll get. Plus, call me fucking nutty, but maybe karma will look favorably upon us.”
None of the men, except for Sensei, looked especially comfortable with the idea. Who could blame them? This was a group used to the rough and tumble life, the one where shit got solved with fists and bullets, not with kindness and turning the other cheek. We did service, sure, but it was usually scheduled well in advance, not the kind of thing that just got taken care of on the spot.
“Did she say anything to the cops?” Sensei asked suddenly.
It had made sense at the time what she said. But now that I thought about it…
“No,” I said. “Didn’t think they could protect her. Figured the info would leak that she suspected the Mercs eventually. So she didn’t tell authorities, just me.”
“She’s a goddamn genius,” Splitter said under her breath.
“In any case,” Trace said, “this is one that we need to handle with extraordinary care. This is not Diablo, whom we could just go and shoot—or, in my case, punch to death. This is not going to result in a public shootout. I sure as hell hope not. This is a different kind of foe. If we fight him with fire, he will grow stronger. We have to think of a different way to take him down.”
And this is why you’re the president, Trace. You say it so much damn better than I ever could.
“If we get any more reports of vandalism, I want all of us to converge and clean up as best as we can. We need to take some risks and put ourselves out in the public eye. The Mercs will probably adjust eventually, but for now, if they want to fight an image battle, we’ll give them one. Any questions?”
Oh, I had several. But I didn’t have any that I thought the club could answer.
Only time seemed to have the capability of answering them. Hopefully, it would give us some favorable responses.
“Then we’re done for the day here,” Trace said as he slammed his gavel.
We all shuffled out. I took my time, waiting to see if Trace or anyone else needed me to stay behind, but when Trace stood and stretched, I left as well. I grabbed my phone just outside the door and looked down.
“Jose acted weird. Think you were right. Can I come over?”
I knew what was about to happen.
I was ready.
“Trace,” I said. “I’m going to need to borrow the clubhouse for a couple hours.”
Chapter 14: Megan
Due to a variety of things, I couldn’t get out of the office until almost rush hour.
As a result, the drive to the clubhouse that took about twenty minutes without traffic turned into an hour-long slog of me sitting in my car with a healthy mixture of excitement, nervousness, horniness, and a touch of insanity running through my veins.
When I had first called Burke and he hadn’t answered, I had just left him a text asking if I could come over later that day. The idea was that he would provide me some measure of security just in case Jose, after my rejection, decided to come after me that evening.
But as the day went by and I started to think about all of my fantasies of Burke and all of the things I had tried to get, I started to feel insatiable. I needed—had to have—craved Burke and his thick, muscular body. I didn’t have any idea what he was like underneath his pants, but if it correlated at all with his height, then I was in for a rather enjoyable experience.
I tried to stay focused on work, but more than once, I found my fingers sliding down between my legs, wanting to release some of the sexual tension building. Ironically, Jose might have gotten me riled up, but not for him. I was just on a level of horniness I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
That’s what happens when you go over a decade without sex and then meet a Marine. You’re going to lose your mind a little bit. You’re going to want to fuck him everywhere and anywhere.
I was able, in spurts, to pull myself back to moments of rationality where I knew even if I had to use my hand, Burke would still have me over just for protection and for company. Besides my sex drive, I could also focus on my work in spurts, even having a productive call with a new company.
But, oh, heavens, now that I was out of the office and on my way to the clubhouse…
I kept Burke updated about my ETA but I did my best not to say anything about the lust coursing in my veins. I wanted that to be as much of a surprise as possible—I had plans just to jump him when I got into the club. I didn’t care if the clubhouse had everyone watching, cheering us on. Well maybe that’s a little too far but this was less of a desire and more of a need.
Finally, finally, I cleared the biggest hurdle—getting off the highway.
Everything from that point was just me going like a speed demon as I had never done before. I’m pretty sure I ran through at least two stop signs trying to get to Burke before I finally saw his shop, the second building on the left after the traffic light I was at. No one was crossing, and oh how tempting it was to just go.
But on the other side was Sheriff Wiggins, sitting in his squad car. He looked bored out of his mind, and frankly, given his relationship to the Saints, I almost wondered if I could talk my way o
ut of it.
Except, I remembered, Sheriff Wiggins didn’t know me as Burke’s lady or anything like that. He knew me as the woman who had come in demanding to know who the influencers in town were and then expressing trepidation about it being the Savage Saints. If anything, the sheriff would probably be all too eager to give me a ticket.
Thus, when the light finally did turn green, I suddenly turned into the world’s most cautious driver, keeping my hands at ten and two o’clock, my foot gently on the gas, and my eyes straight ahead. It nearly floored me that the sheriff waved to me—I guess in a town this small, he could remember outsiders—and I felt ridiculous for everything that I had felt.
But I had made it, and so I parked the car as soon as I was on club property. It was not lost on me that there was only one bike there—something I was very happy about, given how I could barely contain myself.
I didn’t bother to knock. I just opened the door and walked inside to see Burke half-sitting, half-standing on a stool by a circular table, sipping on some whiskey. He had a content smile on his face.
“First time I haven’t had flashbacks being alone in some time,” he said.
I knew that later, I would come to appreciate what that meant and that it would warm my heart. But right now, I just needed to touch him.
“You’re about to experience another first time in a long time,” I said.
I dropped my purse on the table, put my arms around him, and kissed him. Burke gave no indication of resisting, and in fact made things even better when he hoisted me in the air, pulling me up as his arms cradled me and his hands gripped my ass tightly.
We spun as he took me to the back to some bedroom, ducking carefully to make sure I didn’t bang my head. I already had my shirt off by this point, down to just my bra and my slacks. I kicked off my heels behind his back.
And then I felt like I was falling.
Because I literally was falling… falling to the bed. I let out a cry in shock, but when I landed and bounced, I just laughed in excitement. Burke then took off his shirt, and I told him to stand there for a second.