by K. Webster
“I’ll show you to your room where you’ll stay until we find your dad,” I grunt over the loud sounds of motors running.
She follows me inside. There’s a pep in her step that instills an inkling of satisfaction inside me. I’m sure a place like this is much different than what she was used to. Putnam’s clubhouse reeked of piss and stale old biker balls. We did the state of Arkansas a service by burning that shit to the ground.
“You’re back—oh!” Stormy rounds the corner, her tits all but spilling out of her top, with a shocked look on her face. “Who’s this?”
“Hadley, meet Stormy. She’s the cook.”
I smirk when Stormy’s lip curls up and her eyes flare with anger. “I’m Filter’s girlfriend,” she bites out. “And you’re…”
“Just Hadley.”
I shrug off Stormy’s confused look and then set to showing Hadley all the rooms in the house. It smells like motherfucking apple pie today and fuck if that doesn’t make me smile. This home is my sanctuary. My fucking peace in a violent and emotionally painful life I’ve been forced to live for the last decade.
At the end of the hall between my room and Filter’s is an empty room. It’s smaller than the others but has a great view of Keystone Lake. Stormy didn’t want it because she wanted to shack up with Filter. I think she just wanted more room for all her clothes and makeup and shit.
“This is you,” I say, rapping my knuckles on the open door.
“Until when?”
I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the doorframe. “That’s up to you, little girl. You could help me out here.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Or,” I grunt, “you could continue to be a stubborn bitch. Just know the only person you’re punishing is yourself.” I smirk at her. “I’m well versed in dealing with a teenage brat. You, on the other hand, look as though you haven’t been daddied properly in quite some time.”
With a hateful glare, she stomps past me and slams the bedroom door in my face. My palm itches to waltz right in there after her and spank her disobedient ass. I’ll have that girl straightened out in a week.
“I don’t tolerate disrespect around here,” I growl through the door. “That’s your one and only warning. You pull that shit again and I’ll take my belt to you.”
Silence.
Good. She heard me loud and clear.
I leave the girl be and go find Payne. He’s in his room, taking apart his Glock.
“You headed to the gate?”
Sure, we have cameras and security, but Payne likes to stay on the gate as often as possible just in case. He’s a paranoid motherfucker.
“Unless you need me around here,” he grunts.
“I do.”
He frowns, his brows curling together in a villainous way. “Yeah, Prez. Whatdya need?”
“The girl. Hadley. I can’t fucking babysit her while I deal with Putnam shit. As soon as we can return her, we will. In the interim, I need someone to shadow her.”
His face sours. “Bermuda? Bizzy?”
“She’ll walk all over Bermuda. And Bizzy is ADD as fuck. I need someone…less obvious. Someone she won’t interact with. I need you.”
He squares his shoulders and runs his palm over his buzzed head. “I can do that. I won’t take no shit talkin’ from her, though. You know that.”
“I already warned her. If she gets too mouthy, come find me. I’ll deal with it. You don’t have to take that shit, but I also don’t want you punishing her. This girl is barely eighteen, man. A runaway. Not some club whore like Stormy or her dumbass slut sister she brings around here sometimes. Just let me deal with it.”
“On it.” He cracks his neck. “Who’ll watch the gate? With Putnam slipping through our fingers, we need to be on high alert. I doubt he’s ballsy enough to come here, but you did gut his kid.”
“Nees is still on my shit list. I’ll send him out there with Katana. We’ll have our guard up. While they play defense, I’m going to find where the fuck Putnam has gone to.”
He clasps my shoulder and nods. “Ten years, Prez. We got your back. We always do. Everything’s finally coming to a head. And the moment we end that fucker, maybe you can retire.”
“Retire. I don’t think guys like us ever do.”
I find Dragon, Copper, and Halo all sitting in our boardroom with their laptops open. When I owned my own company, the guys who worked for me were geeks. Polos and khakis and twitchy awkward types. Now, they wear leather and have tattoos and cuss a lot.
“This bitch likes beating on women,” Copper says, shaking his head. “What a fucking pussy.”
“His son was a wannabe,” Dragon chimes in. “There’s a goldmine of shit on Junior.”
I sit in a chair and roll around to where Dragon is. “Hadley? She was his girlfriend. What do you find on her?”
“Nothing yet. From the looks of it, some bitch named Juicy was all over Junior. Not sure why he’d fuck that when he had PG, but it’s evident he did. She’s still a mystery.”
“Anything on the missing person reports?” I ask my brother.
“Nope. Either she gave you a fake name or one hasn’t been filed for a Hadley.”
Of course not. That’d be too easy.
“What about you, Halo?”
Halo leans back in his chair and it creaks against his solid, muscular frame. “Still hunting down my leads from before. I smell something big. Give me time to sniff it out.”
I give him a nod. “Dragon, cull through Junior’s friend list. If Hadley really was his girlfriend, she’ll be on there. Check profiles with no pictures or anything remotely vague. We’ll narrow down from there.”
“Narrow down by…” he implores.
I flash a wicked grin at him. “I have my ways.”
My ways involve diving into the code to isolate their IP addresses. Shit only I can do. I don’t have time to go through his three hundred friends on his list, but if they can get me twenty or so to work with, my hunt will be easier.
“Yo, Prez,” Gibson says, stepping in the doorway. “Got a call from my brother. He’s got brisket going. We still on for a Q tonight?”
Our monthly Qs—short for barbeque—are something I both hate and love in equal parts. It’s nice to kick back, drink a little, shoot the shit with my guys’ friends and family, but it also fucking hurts because my family is gone. I tend to get a little too fucked up sometimes and Copper has to drag my blubbering ass to my room before I do something stupid like cry.
“Yeah. Round up Hadley and make her help Stormy. I don’t trust Hadley on a grocery run, but when you guys get back, get her out of her room, even if you have to drag her.”
Gibson laughs. “You got it, man.”
Unlike Payne, Gibson won’t hurt her. Maybe try to serenade the bitch or some shit, but not hurt. Gibson, when not being a dumbass with Bizzy, is our entertainment in the literal sense. He can sing and play anything on his guitars. His room is full of them, both electric and acoustic. Some cost more than cars. I know this shit because it’s all he talks about some days. I’m pretty sure if he could figure out how to put wheels on his custom PRS, he’d ride that fucker around town, strumming it like it’s some sort of special pussy he has to play.
“We’ll continue this shit tomorrow,” I tell my guys. “Tonight, let’s celebrate the fact we killed everyone Putnam knows and cares about.”
Hadley
A knock on my door has me jolting upright and fear ratcheting inside me. I’d fallen asleep on the comfortable bed, lulled into a false sense of security. I can’t forget that I’m in enemy territory. Trapped and kept like a prisoner. I glance around my “cell” and frown. It’s the nicest room I’ve ever been in and that says a lot considering what I grew up in.
“Who is it?” I croak out.
“Stormy Jean.”
The blond club whore who was eyeing me like I was an alien. No, thank you.
“I’m not allowed to have visitors,” I lie.
She snorts. “And I’m probably not allowed to visit, but here we are. Put your panties on. I’m coming in.”
I roll my eyes because I’m still dressed in the horrible outfit I borrowed at Animal’s clubhouse. Stormy walks in, a picture of Southern biker babe perfection. She’s beautiful and not quite hardened like most of the club bitches are. There’s a predatory glint in her eyes that I home in on.
“What do you want?” I say not unkindly. “I was napping.” Okay, so that part didn’t come out exactly nice.
She tosses a handful of items onto my bed. “The guys let girls visit, but so far, I’m the only one they allow to stay. This is exciting.”
Yes, because being held prisoner by the man who killed your boyfriend is so very exciting. My chest aches whenever I think of Junior. I try not to let my last memory be of him hitting me or balls deep inside Juicy’s filthy cunt. I try to think about stargazing on the trampoline, heavy make out sessions when we were younger, and long phone calls where he spoke freely without his father’s influence. The good ol’ days.
“I brought you clothes and some shoes. Makeup. Whatever shit they have you wearing doesn’t fit well and looks homeless. If you’re going to be staying at the Man Mansion, then you gotta look hot. There are a ton of hotties to choose from. Except Filter. He’s mine.” She bats her lashes at me and smiles. “Surely you were eyeing one of them? Dragon maybe? You two would make beautiful babies. He’s crazy and I’m talking batshit crazy, but I bet he has a big dick.”
You don’t have confidence and swagger that practically drips from you unless you have the dick to back it up. I have no doubts Dragon is hung.
“Man Mansion, huh?” I’m amused by this. This whole MC is so different than the Roaring River MCs. Like characters out of a comic book.
“That’s my nickname for it. Koyn hates it. He calls it, and I quote,” she says deepening her voice, “‘the compound.’”
The compound.
Man Mansion does sound better.
“Is he always a dick?” I ask, picking up a silky top.
“Always. Without fail.” She grins. “It’s because he lost his wife and daughter. They were murdered.”
I gape at her. “Murdered?”
“Yep. It’s totally hush-hush, but everyone knows. I wouldn’t bring it up if I were you. He gets a crazy look in his eyes sometimes and it scares me far worse than Dragon ever could.”
“Are you in love with Filter?”
My question must catch her off guard because her smile falters and her eyes dart to the side. “Yes. Of course I am. Just gotta convince him I’m good enough to be his old lady.”
I’ve been around Magna long enough to sniff out liars. It’s what he was best at. I had to become the best to outsmart him. Tell my lies and believe them as truths.
“Hmm,” is all I say.
“I could fuck Dragon if I want. And believe me, girl, I want. Just to see what he feels like. To see if he’s as wild in bed as he is in real life. It could be fun.” Her brows knit together. “But I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to be with Filter.”
Stepford wife, much?
And I thought the bitches my dad knows and runs around with were bad.
“They kidnapped me,” I tell her boldly. “Killed my boyfriend and everyone I knew.”
Her gaze darkens. “Did they…touch you?”
No, that was my boyfriend and his dad.
“Not like that. No.”
Relief floods her features. “Good. I…I did not want to deal with that today.”
“How exactly were you planning on dealing with it if it were the truth?” I challenge, curious about this woman.
She plasters on a fake smile. “I’d whip their asses. Now put on something cute and fix your face. Bermuda and I went to the store. Got all kinds of fixins for the Q.”
“Q?”
“Barbeque, baby. Everyone’ll be here. It’s the best part of the month because I’m included and not treated like an outsider.”
“Who is everyone?” My heart rate picks up as I ponder my escape plan. If I can slip into someone else’s car, maybe I can ride on out of here.
“Family and friends. The Tulsa Royal Bastards chapter is small. Probably one of the smallest. Koyn is super fucking paranoid and doesn’t let just anyone patch in. It’s also why this joint’s not overrun by club whores. Not sure why I got the free pass, but I’ll take it.” She waggles her brows. “Must be all the anal.”
I snort. “I wouldn’t brag about that.”
“Why not?” she asks, clearly offended.
“You want them to keep you around because you let Filter put it up your ass?”
She shrugs. “It’s my claim to fame.”
A giggle erupts from me and she smiles happily at my response. “Fine. I’m ready to get out of these clothes anyway. And if I’m going to be a prisoner, at least I can be a hot one.”
“Then, maybe Prez can get laid for once.”
I scowl. “I’m not fucking that psycho. Besides, I remind him of his daughter. That’s what I gathered anyway.”
Her head cocks to the side. “How old are you, hon?”
“Eighteen.”
“Too young, baby.”
“So I’ve been told by Dragon. But don’t worry, I’m not planning on sleeping with anyone, especially Koyn. He’s old.”
Stormy cackles. “Oh my God, bitch, don’t let him hear you say that!”
“He acts like he’s my damn dad, so I’m sure he already knows. How old is he anyway?”
“Late forties, I think.” She stretches out on the bed, her boobs nearly falling out of her tank. “He’s a tough nut to crack. I flirt with him every chance I get. Since Filter doesn’t want to claim me as his old lady, I figure maybe it might do Prez some good to get laid. He never bites, though. Maybe he’ll bite you.” She smirks. “Though that’s kind of a huge age gap and kinda weird.”
I don’t tell her just last night I sucked Magna’s dick and he’s hella old. I’m not a schoolgirl virgin. Age means nothing in the MC world.
“I’m not sleeping with him. Ever.”
“Just swear you won’t bone Bizzy. We so can’t be friends if you have sex with that idiot.”
“I’m not having sex with anyone here.”
“Not even me?” she purrs, waggling her brows.
“Especially not you. I don’t have a dick, anal girl. You’re on your own.”
Her giggles are infectious and I find myself feeling lighter for the first time in a long time, which makes zero sense considering my past twenty-four hours.
Turns out, Stormy isn’t their cook. She just pretends. If anyone is the cook, it’s Bermuda. He knows his way around the kitchen and doesn’t burn, spill, break anything in his path like she does. The girl tries, though.
I like Stormy.
It’s not her fault she’s in love with the VP of a murdering MC. I think of her as someone like me. Victims of our hearts. She’s bubbly and sassy and fearless. Unlike Juicy and some of the other girls back at my old clubhouse, she’s refreshing.
“It’s not that hard,” Bermuda says as he skins a potato. “Just like cutting the flesh off some asshole.”
I curl my lip up and he laughs.
“Bermuda is a softie,” Stormy tattles. “Look at those cheeks. A face only a momma could love.” She tries to pinch his cheeks and he swats her away.
“Do they always make you cook for the barbeques?” I ask, frowning.
“Nah. Prez says we could cater in sides and shit from Rib Crib, but I like cooking. Gibson’s brother Randy makes the best brisket. Nees’s momma will bring desserts because she’s a fucking baking queen. We all pitch in.”
It’s all so…cute.
They’re like a family.
I’m not sure why, but it ruffles my feathers. Irritates me. Makes me nervous.
I throw my attention into my tasks. The three of us make potato salad, pasta salad, a broccoli type salad with crunchy noodles in it, baked beans, and so
me fluffy fruit nonsense that I can’t seem to keep my fingers out of.
“Randy just pulled up,” Gibson calls out, peeking into the kitchen.
Bermuda flips his ball cap around and gives my bottom a pat on the way out. I frown and shoot a look Stormy’s way.
“These boys are ass grabbers. Get used to it. They’re affectionate in that sense and don’t mean nothin’ by it.”
I scowl as I stick the fluffy fruit bowl back into the fridge so I won’t eat any more of it. “It’s a good way to get their asses kicked.”
She puts her hands on her hips and lifts a brow. “You gonna kick their asses? Bermuda used to play football for OU right out of high school. He’s probably slapped every ass on that team the same way he slapped yours.”
It’s not like he made me suck his dick.
I guess I am being a bitch.
“Whatever,” I grumble.
“Now if Dragon grabs your ass, you gotta watch him. His hand will wander right into your pants.” She shrugs. “I mean, it’s not the worst thing to happen. You’ve seen the guy.”
My thighs clench. Ugh, ignore the hot bad guys. “I’ll cut his hand off if he tries.”
Her eyes flash with worry. “Don’t tell him that.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” She frowns. “You should go home.”
I’m stung by her sudden change of heart toward me. “Why? Because I don’t want Dragon’s hand in my pants?”
“No,” she hisses. “Because you look like you might get off on taunting him and Dragon isn’t one you taunt. I don’t think he’d hurt a girl, but I don’t know. You’d do best going home. Don’t you have a family that’s worried about you?”
“I’m not going home.” I let out a sigh of defeat. “And I won’t taunt the dragon.”
Her shoulders relax. “Good girl. Now let’s go find something to drink. Momma’s thirsty.”
I follow her outside where “A Country Boy Can Survive” by Hank Williams, Jr. plays on the outdoor speakers. People are milling about as several of the guys are setting up outdoor tables. I see a few women chatting it up as Bermuda, Gibson, and some guy who must be Randy unload big metal trays of food from the back of a Tahoe.