by K. A. Ware
I needed to find a way to stop her, get her to stick around a little longer. I couldn’t get a feel of her from her clothes since she wasn’t wearing any and she hadn’t said anything to give me any clue as to what her interests were. All she’d said was that she wasn’t going to fuck me, which if I had my way, would be a lie by the morning. She’d said she was working…
“You’re just gonna walk away from a payin’ customer?” I blurted, hoping like hell the hail Mary would work.
She spun around, taking steps to close the distance between us, and crowding me, not that I minded. “What the fuck do you want?” she snapped. Those whiskey eyes burning bright with anger.
Good.
“Just a lap dance,” I said, holding her gaze.
She glared at me, mulling over my request. Wanting to test something, I slowly licked my lower lip. Her eyes darted to my mouth and I watched her swallow hard.
BINGO.
The little rabbit wanted me, I could see it in her eyes. Just needed a little more time.
“How much for a lap dance?” I asked, my voice low and thick with lust.
Her eyes widened slightly before she pulled away and crossed her arms over her bare breasts. “Twenty bucks, each song,” she said.
I nodded, pulling out my wallet and thumbing through the bills. Pulling out four crisp hundreds, I held them out to her. “Got a little less than an hour until last call. At three minutes a song, four hundred should cover it, don’t you think?”
She rolled her eyes and snatched the money. “Fine,” she said, turning on her heel. “Follow me.”
She’d made me work for it, but after an hour of just the two of us, she’d been all too willing to follow me back to the clubhouse. Problem was, when I woke up the next morning, she was long gone. I’d tried to find her after that night, but apparently, there was some code of ethics between strippers and no one I talked to would tell me what her name was or even where to find her. I had her name, phone number, and her address, now. She wasn’t getting away from me this time.
Christ even in my head that sounded creepy.
Pushing away the thought, I tilted my chin at the two prospects who were standing guard as I slowed my bike at the gate to the compound. Their shoulders visibly relaxed at the sight of my colors. No doubt they’d been on high alert after the shit that had gone down at the strip club.
Not that you seemed to care much about your brothers while your dick was buried in stripper pussy.
Blinking away the image of Finley’s plump ass in the moonlight, I watched as Butter, a spindly ex-army sniper, hustled to pull open the gate. He’d gotten saddled with the unfortunate name when he regaled Rooster with a story about using butter as lube in a pinch. I’m sure he wishes he’d kept that story to himself, until his road name had been established, but there was no going back now. If he made it through his probationary period, he’d forever be known as Butter.
Poor bastard.
Knowing I couldn’t put off the inevitable, I braced myself for what I was about to walk into and steered my bike into the compound. Jester and Zero were already halfway across the forecourt before I could even back my bike into its spot in the line of sleek Harley’s.
Zero got to me first, he was in one of his manic moods, eyes darting all over the place. “What the fuck dude? We’ve been trying to call you for hours!”
Hanging my helmet on my handlebar, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket. Sure enough, I had forty-two missed calls and twenty-seven texts.
I heard Jester’s approach but didn’t look up. “Where you been?”
“Had some shit to take care of. Phone was on silent.” My eyes flicked briefly to his, but his expression was stone.
“Not cool, brother,” his tone was flatter than usual, the only indication he’d been worried.
I grunted my apology and skimmed through the messages, looking for the one I’d sent from Finley’s phone so I could save her number and noticed that I had more than a few missed calls from the absolute last person I would’ve wanted.
“Shit!”
No sooner had the words left my mouth when the heavy metal door to the clubhouse burst open. An echoing bang reverberated through the forecourt as the metal hit cinderblock, and I knew my night was about to get even worse.
“You fuckin’ told Candy?” My eyes cut to Zero, but his hands were already up in a defensive gesture.
“She was here when everyone got back. She’s been losing her shit.”
This is the last fucking thing I need right now.
I turned my gaze to Jester, but he just shrugged.
She stalked across the asphalt, the heels of her signature knee-high boots clicking ominously in the otherwise silent night. The tall street lamps we’d installed around the compound last summer casting an eerie shadow across her pissed off face. I’d been shot at, stabbed, and in more than my fair share of dangerous situations, but if there was anything or anyone that I’d ever been afraid of, it was Candice “Candy” Bassett’s wrath.
I climbed off my bike as she approached, bracing for the verbal attack that was sure to come. A thoroughly pissed off Candy could cut down a three-hundred-pound badass biker with her razor-sharp tongue in less than two minutes without even breaking a sweat.
As she approached, her painted red lips split into a brilliant smile. “Jester, Z, would you mind giving us a minute?” she asked, her voice as sweet as her name would imply. The woman could charm anyone, and she fucking knew it.
“Yes, ma’am,” Z replied.
Jester tipped his chin to Candy and shot a pitying look my way before they both turned tail and headed back into the clubhouse.
Fucking traitors.
I didn’t see the first slap coming. I should have, but I didn’t. As soon as the guys were through the door to the clubhouse, her hand connected with the back of my head in an audible smack, followed by another, and yet another.
I raised my hands to deflect the oncoming torrent. “Ouch, what the fuck?”
“You had me worried sick! You ungrateful little shit!”
“Jesus Christ, Mom! Stop! I’m sorry, okay?”
The slaps stopped abruptly, and one look at her twisted face and the unshed tears pooling in her eyes told me I’d said the exact wrong thing.
“Okay? No, Micah, it is not okay! I’m sitting in there minding my own goddamn business, kicking your father’s ass in poker as usual, and all of a sudden practically the entire club comes pouring in shouting about a fucking shootout! And my son won’t even answer his fucking phone! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD YOU LITTLE SHIT!” she screamed, emphasizing her point with another carefully placed smack to the back of my head.
“Ow, fuck! Stop it!” Grabbing her wrists, I held her arms down at her side. It was probably a stupid move, but it had been a long night, and I was tired of getting hit.
“Mom, calm down. I’m okay. Everything’s fine. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been in a dangerous situation. You can’t throw a temper tantrum every time you can’t reach me. I’m a grown ass man.”
Swear to Christ I saw literal fire blaze in her eyes. Like she had some demonic super strength, she wrenched her arms free of my grasp and took a step forward, getting into my space. Even with heels on she had to crane her neck to look me in the eye, but the awkward position didn’t detract from her rage, in fact, it seemed to amplify it.
“Do not condescend to me, Micah James Bassett. I pushed that fat head into the world,” she seethed, flicking my temple to accentuate her point. “…and so help me God, if you ever talk to me like that again, I’ll fucking take you out.”
I wanted to be pissed, I wanted to tell her to mind her own damn business, but the tears that fell at her last statement sent a wave of guilt rolling through me. I may be a criminal, a killer, but I still loved my mother. She’d always had my back, and I’d returned the favor by being an asshole.
Reaching out, I pulled her into a hug, letting the tears she’d been holding back spill onto my cut. “I’m s
orry, I was being an ass. I didn’t mean to worry you. I promise I’ll call next time.”
She pulled back abruptly, wiping the fallen tears from her now calm face. “See? Was that so hard?”
My jaw went slack when I saw her smug expression. Not a single worry line marred her perfect face. “You manipulative—”
“Watch yourself, son. Your father can still kick your ass, and don’t think he won’t if you keep mouthing off. I don’t care if you’re twenty-eight or sixty-eight, I’m still your mother, and you’ll do well to fucking remember it. Now, come on, they’re waiting for you to start church.” At that, she turned on her heel and marched back across the asphalt toward the clubhouse.
I couldn’t do anything but follow her and shake my head in wonder. The woman had balls of steel, and it made me a little uncomfortable that I’d thought the same thing of Finley less than two hours before.
Six
BAZ
“Now that we’re all here, someone care to tell me what the fuck happened?” Chains, our club president, asked as soon as he banged the gavel indicating the start of church.
I didn’t have to look around to know all eyes were on me. Still, I spared a glance across the table to my father, Ryan ‘Rigs’ Bassett, Vice President of the Knights of Mayhem MC. Pops’ face wasn’t as blank as Chains’ was. Instead, he looked like he was hanging on to his rage by a fragile thread.
Knowing that they were all waiting for me, their Sargent at Arms, I cleared my throat and started. The others would chime in when needed.
“I was further into the club when the Sinners showed up. Not sure what was said, but the next thing I knew bullets were flying.”
“Any casualties?” my father asked, his voice gruff as usual.
I looked to Frogger, our club treasurer. The man had a mind like a steel trap, he remembered everything, and I mean everything. With a photographic memory and the IQ of a goddamn genius, nothing got past him.
“Not that I saw, clipped one of them in the shoulder, but that’s it. Mostly pot shots. But the place got torn up. We’re going to have to do something about that if we want to keep on Reggie’s good side.”
Reggie owned Moonlight and was a friend of the club. He’d need to be made whole after our little scuffle in his establishment.
Pops heaved out a tired sigh. “We’ve got contingency money set aside. I’ll swing by tomorrow and smooth shit over with Reggie.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. It had been a long day and an even longer night. The adrenaline from earlier had subsided, and I was ready to crash, but there was still a lot of shit to unpack. “We know Reggie will do what he can to keep our name out of shit, but with as crowded as the place was, we need to be ready for a visit from 5-0.”
Chains grunted but tipped his chin in agreement. “Rooster, Z, once we’re done, you guys handle clean up in case of a raid. Frogger, you got our clean books at the ready?”
The responding smirk Frogger flashed our president was all the confirmation anyone needed. On top of being the resident genius, Frogger was also a sadistic fuck. He loved fucking with the cops and setting up suspicious money trails that led to nowhere just to lead the investigators on a wild goose chase was his specialty.
“Good, now somebody want to tell me how this shit happened?” Chains asked, his irritation growing with every word.
“Them sons of bitches started running their mouths as soon as they walked in the door. Couple piss-ant fresh patches shoulder checked our boy Frogger and shit lit up from there,” Rooster, a monster of a man with a full auburn beard said as he reclined in his seat.
Chains leaned forward, his thick blond brows coming together in a frown. “Fresh patches? How many?”
Frogger’s tatted fingers drummed on the scarred wood surface of the table. “I tagged at least four. Their patches were shiny as fuck, not a speck of dirt. Bottom rockers all said Tacoma.”
Chains shared a look with my father, either they knew something, or the implication of new patches confirmed something they’d been worried about. Either way, it was bad news, and it meant this shit was not over.
“Got word from Hash up in Spokane last week that the Sinners have been on a recruiting spree. Patching in prospects after just a couple months. Don’t need to tell you boys this could mean trouble for us. Sinners haven’t played by the rules in a long while, and if tonight is any indication, they’re makin’ moves,” Chains said, his right hand stroking his mostly gray goatee, something he always did when he was working out a problem.
Puffing on his cigar, Pops leaned back in his chair, surveying the room. “Question is, why now?”
I shifted in my seat, it wasn’t the time to bring new business to the club, but given the circumstances, it seemed I didn’t have a choice.
“Got a call from Johnny Cho this morning, was going to bring it to the table tomorrow, but it might be related.”
Chains nodded for me to continue, and I took a deep breath knowing it wasn’t going to go over well with the old-timers. “They lost their connection at the port in Canada earlier this year, they’ve been having to haul shipments up from Cali to keep up with demand up north. The Sinners have been handling transports for them, but he mentioned they were getting sloppy. Said they claimed one of their boys got popped carrying two keys. Johnny was checking up on the story, confirmed this morning it was bullshit.”
“Fucking morons, everyone knows you don’t fuck with the Chinese,” Gunner croaked out. The cranky old son of a bitch was our former president and the oldest member of the MC. He’d passed the gavel to Chains more than twenty years ago after his wife got sick. I was too young to remember what he was like before his wife’s drawn-out battle with breast cancer, but from what I’d heard, his temperament hadn’t changed much.
My brothers around the table nodded in agreement. Gunner was right if there was anyone you didn’t want on your bad side it was the Chinese. They had their hands in every illegal trade imaginable and enough connections to make it damn near impossible to pull one over on them.
Chains gestured for me to continue, but I pulled out my pack of Camels and lit one instead. Letting the smoke fill my lungs, I stalled for a few more seconds, gearing up for what I knew was going to be a fight.
“Johnny’s waiting on official word from the council, but the Sinners’ relationship with the Chinese is all but finished. Don’t know what they’re planning but Johnny’s pissed so you know it’s not going to be pretty. He said he'd keep it away from us and our business with them, but he’s asking for a favor.”
The old-timers, my father included, let out a litany of curses and grumbles, knowing full well where this was going. The others sat silently waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“We’ve had a long-standing relationship with the Chinese, and Johnny trusts us, at least as much as he can trust an outsider. We’ve never had any problems delivering, which is why he’s asking us to take over the heroin runs until he can make other arrangements.” I held my breath, waiting for the uproar of indignation, and I wasn’t disappointed.
“Bullshit!” Gunner growled between chest rattling coughs. The man had had one foot on death’s door for years, but I was beginning to think the old fucker was too stubborn to die.
Ox, one of the few guys that fell somewhere between the old-timers and the new guys, finally broke his silence from the back of the room. “Asking, huh? What’s he going to do if we say no?”
I licked my lips, biding time and temporarily distracting myself with the memory of Finley’s mouth.
Glancing around the room, I weighed my odds before I spoke. I could count on Jester, Z, Rooster, and Frogger to vote my way, and I knew Ox would vote down the proposal with the old-timers. That left Mick, Crow, and Ace for the swing vote. Crow usually voted with me, but he was far from a shoo-in, and Mick and Ace were wildcards caught in the same middle generation as Ox.
Once again, it was old school versus new school, both vying for control. The rift between the two groups w
ithin the club had been growing, and I had a sinking feeling whichever way this vote fell was going to shape the future of the Knights of Mayhem.
“He didn’t make any threats, but that’s not a surprise. I don’t think anyone at this table is under the delusion that there won’t be complications with our current business arrangement if we don’t comply. The Chinese have been an ally for over a decade, and our relationship has only grown stronger and more profitable since Johnny took over for his uncle,” I said carefully.
“And since you started handling communications,” Rooster added.
It was the truth, but also a dig at Ox, who’d been responsible for the relationship before I’d been asked to step in. When Johnny took over for his Uncle Jay four years ago, he and Ox didn’t see eye to eye, and it had almost caused our relationship with the Chinese to implode. Johnny had made it clear in no uncertain terms that he’d work with me and me alone, a fact that still stuck in Ox’s craw even years later.
I shot Rooster a warning look, I appreciated his loyalty, but I didn’t need him scratching at old wounds and stirring shit up.
Choosing my words carefully, I continued. “Johnny is well aware of our stance on drug running, and he assured me it would be a short-term arrangement. He wants to mitigate his risk by using someone he trusts until he has time to line something else up.”
“What about our risk?” Mick spoke up, asking the question that was undoubtedly on everyone’s mind. As a single dad to a ten-year-old little girl, I understood his worry. He had a lot more at stake than most of us.
“Johnny is prepared to offer us an additional ten percent on top of the five we normally take on protection runs. He’s asking for six months, shipments of fifteen kilos every six weeks. That works out to just shy of a million straight to us for just four runs. I don’t know about you, but I think lining our pockets and earning some serious goodwill from the Chinese is worth the risk.”
I felt the mood in the room shift at the mention of so much money. I just had to hope it was enough to sway the swing votes.