“Got a private party. The two of you”—Shooter indicated Spider in the sweep of his arm—“are invited to do something only one of you has done before. Or—” He paused, tipping his head sideways to look at Watcher. “—I think you’ve done it before. Maybe not. You ever remember partying like an Outrider? No? We’ll pop that fuckin’ cherry tonight. Official invitation.” Tipping his head back, he howled, this bizarre behavior echoed by several men around the room. “Shit’s changed since you pussied out, Watch. We party like we fuckin’ mean it now.”
Shooter took a step closer. Close enough Watcher arched backwards, uncomfortable at the narrowed distance between them. Voice dropping to a hiss, Shooter said, “Come on, bro—” Making a show of interrupting himself, Shooter shook his head, eyes opened wide. Lifting one palm between them, he said, “Oh, fuck. Hold on. Gimme a minute. Jesus, I nearly fucked up.” Shooter patted the air as with a theatrical sigh, he continued, “Lemme go again. I’ll get it right eventually. Come on, friend, see what I’ve put together in your honor.”
Behind him, Spider muttered, “On your six, boss,” as they followed Shooter across the crowded room and through a door to what used to be an office. Pool table in the center of the room indicated the function had changed, and what was going on in the room was as far from business as anything Watcher could imagine.
A man, naked except for his vest which proclaimed him a prospect, was tied spread-eagled to the end of the table, ass up. Silent, his forehead pressed against the green felt, eyes squeezed tightly closed while behind him, a man in a full-patched Outriders’ vest powered into his asshole. On the other end of the pool table, Watcher saw a woman was stretched out on top of a man. He couldn’t tell from this angle for certain, but it looked like the man’s cock was inside her. Her pose was similar to the trussed prospect, crotch to the edge of the table, forehead pressed deep into the muscled shoulder of the man on his back beneath her. Painter, who Watcher had lost track of once Shooter entered the building, stood behind her, pumping hard, his hand swinging and slapping her ass cheeks every time he withdrew.
Shooter stopped four feet into the room, and Watcher stifled a flinch when the door slammed closed behind them. “Party time,” Shooter shouted, tipping his head back and howling again. The sound was only repeated by one man in the room, the cry muffled against the top of the pool table as the prospect uttered the first noises he’d made since Shooter had led Watcher and Spider into the room. “Fuck yeah,” Shooter said, edging closer to the table as the man fucking the prospect pulled out, hand going to his cock and jerking, white spunk coating the asshole left gaping in his wake. “My turn,” Shooter said, tossing a crazy grin over his shoulder to Watcher. “You don’t get the pros. This is Outrider ass only.” Jerking his chin toward the other end of the table, he laughed, the sound brittle. “Tail is for anyone.” Hands fumbling at his belt, Shooter yanked his cock out of his pants and without pausing, slammed inside the prospect who took the assault without flinching.
At his words, the woman lifted her head, and Watcher stood in shock, recognizing the worn features of Carrie Sosa. Jesus. The expectation was clear, invitation more like a demand and turning down the club hospitality would be a mortal insult. Watcher was stuck, frozen between what he understood would get them out of this building alive, and what burned in his soul. Spider leaned forwards, his voice scarcely a whisper as he said, “You can’t, boss.” And Watcher wouldn’t. For him, there had only been Juanita, and Spider had heard him vow to go to his grave with it only ever being her. Silent, he seemed to be waiting for Watcher’s nod, because as soon as he gave it, Spider told him, “But I can.”
Schooling his features to impassivity, Watcher stood, a silent observer as Painter finished in Sosa’s ass, leaning far over and biting her back so viciously his lips were painted red when he stood. The man on his back under her had silenced her scream, clamping his hand over her mouth and nose with a grunted, “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” removing it only after she’d collapsed back onto him, her spine leaving the agonized arch it had assumed in response to the pain.
The other men standing behind her gave way to Spider, moving out of line as he walked their direction. Fingers gliding across her side, his other hand went to his wallet, which he flipped open with a practiced motion. Condom in hand, he freed his already hard cock, rolling it down his length. Watcher’s eyes were fixed on Sosa’s face. Tears had left raccoon tracks around her eyes, crimson smeared along one cheek. She was thinner than he remembered, and looked used up, choices in her life having consequences written on her skin. The man under her grunted as she moved, sliding across his body an inch before he anchored her with an arm around her waist. “Fuckin’ snug, dude. You the big dick in the house, no doubt.” Watcher’s gaze flicked to Spider who was now moving behind her, his head tipped back, eyes closed. Not something either of us wanna remember, Watcher thought, turning his gaze to Shooter who had stepped away and was tucking his dick back into his pants. They locked eyes as the noise level in the room gradually returned to what it was before, flesh slapping flesh as yet another Outriders member worked the prospect over.
Spider’s groan echoed over the group, and knowing he wouldn’t be in the room much longer, Watcher muttered, “Gotta piss.” Turning to walk away, he was clumsy in his anxiety, struggling to keep his feet from tripping as he waited for someone to try and stop him. An intense itch started and grew in the center of his back, and Watcher knew the weight was Shooter’s gaze on him. One foot in front of the other, Watcher moved to the door, trusting Spider to call a warning.
Watcher stepped through the door, reaching back to tug it shut as Sosa wailed again, a meaty smack sounding in the room. Movement at the base of the wall to his left drew Watcher’s attention, and he looked down to see a boy sitting on the floor. Head bent deep, he seemed to be studying his crossed legs. Gaze up, Watcher scanned the room, seeing two men receiving blowjobs on the couch opposite, and a near-naked woman on the bar, her bellybutton serving as a shot glass. Fuck. “Kid.” No reaction, the boy’s dark hair had come untucked from behind his ears, falling forwards to curtain his face. “Hey, kid. Let’s go outside.” A flinch, subtly turning the boy’s face away, adding avoidance to his posture. “Kid, you don’t need to be watching this.”
“Ain’t lookin’.” Muttered words, the tone snide as if he were educating an idiot.
“If you ain’t watching what’s going on right in front of you, then what are you doing sittin’ here?” Watcher shook his head, squatting, one knee to the floor, trying to ignore the boy sliding another six inches away. “You shouldn’t be in here, kid.”
“I gotta wait.” Petulant now, the boy clearly wasn’t here of his own choice. “She’ll be done soon.”
Fuck. “She?” Which of the whores was this kid’s mother?
The kid jerked his head to the wall behind him, his hair swinging with the motion. “Mom. She’ll be done soon.”
Watcher froze, taking in what he could see of the boy. Dark hair, a jaw that would one day be square and strong. The boy shifted, straightening and then refolded his legs. Watcher saw him dart a glance his direction, glint of eyes shining behind the fall of hair. “Your mom’s in this room?” He reached out and touched the door behind him, wondering for a moment where Spider was, he’d expected his man would follow him out.
“Yeah. She’ll be done, get her dough, and we’ll get outta here.” Fingers working at the folded seam of his jeans, the kid tucked and untucked the fabric bunched at his knee.
“How old are you, boy?” Silently he counted the years, measured the gulf between past and present.
“Twelve.” Chin tucked to his throat, the boy stifled his own word until it was nearly unintelligible. “What’s it to you?”
Fuckin’ attitude on this one, Watcher thought. Then the boy tipped his head back, looking directly into Watcher’s face and Watcher stopped thinking. Davis Mason’s features stared back at him. Dark hair framing a face with high cheekbones, piercing gr
ey eyes gazing at him. Jesus.
The door opened behind him, but he didn’t look up, didn’t move as he asked, “Got a name, boy?”
“Chase.” The boy’s gaze flicked over his shoulder, and he felt Spider’s presence at his back. “Chase Sosa.”
***
“Brother, I’m telling you, it’s Mason’s kid.” Watcher paced the length of the motel room, passing between the foot of the beds and the TV for the fifth time. “Lemme tell you a story about the bitch you ass-fucked tonight.”
Spider punched the pillow he had wedged behind his head, propping him against the headboard. Features on his face filled with unease, he looked up at Watcher and said, “And about that, boss. I want you to note I took one for the team tonight. Fucked that bitch in the ass, man’s dick bumpin’ against mine with every fuckin’ stroke. Took one for the fuckin’ team, and you needa remember this shit next time I fuck up.” He waved his other hand, gripping the neck of the beer bottle. “Cut me a little slack next time you wanna whup me.”
“Noted,” Watcher grunted, then sighed. “Never seen an initiation of a prospect quite like that one.”
“Jesus, boss. Did you see how many motherfuckers were lined up for a taste of the boy’s ass?” Spider spread his arms wide in an imitation of the prospect’s earlier position. “Him spread out and tied up like a fuckin’ hog-tied calf bein’ dragged shitter-first to slaughter. Jesus.” Tipping his beer up, he took a long drink, then waved it again, “If we tried to pull that kind of shit, wouldn’t nobody be patching in. No one we’d want, anyway. And they’re working with some young clubs, too. Teachin’ them that shit. Jesus.”
“Hard to imagine he knew what was coming.” Watcher shook his head.
“From what I gathered, every fuckin’ prospect we saw in the main room will get the same treatment. At least one more of them is on the menu tonight because it’s commencement night for the chapter. They have at least one party a month, two prospects earn their patch on their bellies. What happens in that room is a secret, and the wolf howl thing is a signal to the crowd saying the officers need to cut one of their prospects out of the herd. Get ready to take care of business. Howl at the moon like a crazy person, get your ass fucked until you fuckin’ bleed. Fuck that shit.” He took another drink, the expression on his face moving from disquiet to anger. “Fuck it hard.”
Spider tipped his head up, looking straight at Watcher. “And you used to be one of them? Jesus, boss.” His head shook back and forth, his features now strained. As much as he was trying to joke about tonight, what he’d seen and done had affected him as much as it had Watcher. “Glad as hell you got out when you did. Y’all some crazy motherfuckers in Kentucky. Jesus.”
“You done?” Watcher leaned one hip against the table, fingers going to the curtains and twitching them back an inch to look at their bikes parked in the space in front of the room. “Because if you are, I have a story to tell you.” He looked over his shoulder at a glaring Spider. “Don’t wanna interrupt your recounting of the team support you provided tonight.” He shifted, facing the room. “By all means, go on. I can wait.”
“Fuck you, boss.” Spider shot him an attempt at a grin, the humor not reaching his eyes. “Tell your tale.”
Watcher took a breath. “You know Mason.” Mouth twisting, Spider nodded. “You know he and I grew up together.” Another nod. “You know I was president of Cynthiana chapter for the Outriders.” Spider’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “Not surprised, they don’t want shit getting out that their officer bailed. It’s no secret I was a member, but I hadn’t been patched a year when our prez died, and they installed me. Mostly because I didn’t have a fuckin’ clue what I was doin’, which meant they didn’t have anyone to argue the fine point of anything. Morgan assigned me a mentor.” A noise outside drew his attention and he turned, twitching the curtain again in time to see a pickup drive out of the lot. “His son, John Morgan.” Eyes back to Spider, there was an immediate look of recognition, so he snorted a laugh and confirmed, “Shooter.”
“Fuck.” Spider drew the word out, scooting towards the head of the bed, sitting up straighter.
“Yup.” Watcher grinned, knowing it probably looked as pained as it felt. “Thirteen years ago, I patched out of the Outriders, headed to Las Cruces to work on building the Southern Soldiers with my brother. You were there. You remember.” Watcher paused. “Darrie had started the club, but didn’t have a clue how to deal with the politics needed to keep everyone safe and have the club be profitable. I did”—he snorted—“thanks in part to Shooter always fuckin’ up. That man could fuck up an omelet if the only thing he had to do was throw away the eggshells.” Watcher lifted a hand, scratched through his beard, then smoothed it back down.
“Thirteen years ago the reason I made my decision wasn’t because I knew Darrie wasn’t working things the way they should be. It was because Shooter made a play against Mason. Somehow, someway, he owned that woman from tonight. Her name’s Carrie Sosa. Shooter had her dope Mason and get him to put his name on a piece of paper that made her Carrie Mason. Two full days Mason was so fucked up he didn’t know his own name, and she did that. Two days before he finally sobered up enough to know something was going on. Brought her back to my clubhouse, and me thinking he’d already headed back to Chicago. He was still a Fiend then.”
Cutting his gaze to Spider, he asked, “You know Shooter was a Fiend?” Head shaking slowly side-to-side, Spider kept his silence as Watcher snorted. “Course not, he doesn’t like folks to know the number of patches he’s dropped. But he was. This woulda been before Mason’s takeover of the club. Shooter put Sosa’s play together so he could fuck Mason. I had it out with her in that very fuckin’ room, which was my office. Banned her for life, and we see how long it lasted.” He snorted. “Got Mason free of her legally, and”—he leaned in an inch—“this is important, she said under oath there was no child. The boy you saw me talking to tonight?”
Spider nodded, eyes fixed on Watcher’s face.
“Spittin’ image of Mason. Looks just like the man when he was a kid.”
Spider’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, and he’s twelve years old. And his name is Chase Sosa.”
Shaking his head, Spider sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. He sat like that for a moment and Watcher let him gather his thoughts.
Finally, Spider led with a question. “You’re telling me that kid heard me fuck his mom in the ass?” At Watcher’s nod, Spider’s head tipped back, and he stared at the ceiling. “With some other dude’s dick in her pussy.” Even though Spider couldn’t see him, Watcher nodded again. “Kid heard everything.” Bringing his chin down, Spider stared at Watcher again. “If the boy’s twelve, what the fuck is his mama thinking?” He paused, then swore, voice hoarse in his fury. “Fuck, boss. Kid’s probably more clued in on what’s going down in that club than any of the prospects in the whole motherfuckin’ room. Fuck. This leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” The beer was discarded on the nightstand when he stood. “I need air.”
“Don’t go far,” Watcher cautioned, moving to one side so Spider could get to the door.
“Won’t.” Spider paused. “What are you gonna tell Mason?”
“No fuckin’ clue.”
***
The voice on the phone was gruff, filled with a sandpaper rasp as if the man smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. “Heard good things about you.”
Watcher rolled his eyes. He was parked at a gas station, waiting on Spider to come back out with whatever junk food had caught his eye this stop. Spider would eat it, then in an hour be looking for a shitter because it wrecked his belly. Made for a long run, if an amusing one, because after every assburning episode Spider would vow, “Never again.” Then at the next gas stop, he’d do it again.
“Same,” he told the voice on the phone. “Unsure of the context of this call, and I’m on the road. Means I don’t got a lotta time, so if there’s something I can do for you, we’ll need to skip to the
ask part of the conversation so I can tell you no.”
Laughter rolled up the line and into his ear, and Watcher found himself grinning. At least the man didn’t take offense at the up-front blow off.
“Don’t hold back, man. Tell me how you really feel.” The voice belonged to Blue Line, president of the Malcontents out of the San Diego area, a club Raul had worked with as he doggedly hunted Carlos, dismantling his brother’s connections. “Not a LEO fan, I take it?”
“You know many MC who are?” Malcontents was a cop club, and as such, considered an enemy by nearly everyone in the life except other law enforcement clubs. Soldiers didn’t go out of their way to avoid a cop club, but one would never be considered an ally, either.
“Fair, man. Fair.” A pause, and Watcher looked up when the door to the convenience store opened, seeing Spider walk out holding two mustard-covered corn dogs in one hand and an enormous cup of something in his other, lips pursing and questing as the elusive end of the straw sticking up through the lid evaded him. Blue Line pulled his attention back to the call when he said, “No ask, man. Just reaching out because we have friends in common.” Another pause and Watcher focused even more sharply when the man told him, “We have enemies in common, too.”
“Who you got painted in your head as my enemy, Blue Line?” At the name, Spider’s eyes widened, and he grinned around the end of one of the yellow smeared dogs. “I got one? A dozen? Go on, gimme what you got. Enlighten me.”
“Outriders, from what I hear.” Blue Line didn’t beat around the bush, laying things right out in the open. “Man, there’s a tape circulating. You seriously pissed off national by turning down hospitality.”
“Fuck,” Watcher muttered, remembering the gleeful look on Shooter’s face when Watcher had turned to leave the room with Sosa still spread out underneath Spider. “Motherfucker.”
Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 3 Page 91