by Atlas, Lilly
“I’m not fucking kidding. I find out any of you stepped one foot outside this house…”
“We won’t, Copper. Promise.” Though strong, Shell’s voice held a note of tremor.
“Let’s roll, Cop.”
“Thunder’s on his way in and Monty is already outside. They’ll keep you safe.” With a nod for his wife, Copper disappeared out the door leaving all five of them staring at each other with one question written all over their faces.
Safe from what?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE FANTASY PLAYED out right before his eyes. In his head, it was so fucking easy. Reach out, wrap his fingers around Crank’s throat and squeeze until the motherfucker’s eyeballs popped from his sockets. His face would turn the most satisfying shade of purple as second by second, he ran out of oxygen.
Somehow, despite the way he could feel the man’s pulse fluttering wildly beneath his fingertips, Screw managed to curl his hands in on themselves instead of killing Crank. But, oh, how he wanted to. He squeezed his fists so tight, his blunt nails dug into his palms no doubt leaving a host of crescent shaped indents.
“Yo, Crank, this here is the guy I was telling you about, Luke.”
“Hey, man, welcome.” Crank didn’t bother extending his hand, but nothing in his face showed any signs of recognition, which was the most important point. “How do you like what we have to offer?” He asked, sweeping his hand toward a group of women dancing together. Their hands ran over each other’s writhing bodies in a way that let every man in the room know they’d be down for pretty much anything.
For the first time since they’d pulled onto CDMC property, Screw took a full breath. Crank didn’t know who he was. He and Gumby wouldn’t be shot on the spot or tossed in a dank basement to await certain torture.
He pasted a lecherous grin on his face. “Some sweet pickin’s, man. Mmm. Seriously fucking sweet.” He eyed the ladies, if they could be called by such a term, and for the first time in as long as he could remember didn’t feel a flicker of arousal at the sight of the half-naked women rubbing up on each other. He sure as hell wanted Crank to think he was though. “Pretty sure I’ll be leaving here with a smile on my face.”
Beside him, Gumby tensed. Screw would kick his ass if he thought the words were legit.
“I got one every night, man,” Crank said with a smirk. The man’s slightly busted nose made the perfect target for Screw’s fist.
“This is my buddy, Will.”
Gumby nodded. “Hey.”
Crank barely spared him a glance before he was focusing Screw’s way again. “Squirt tells me you live in Knoxville.”
“Yeah, I do. Got a cabin in Townsend though.”
“Hmm.” Crank pulled a dented pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He stuck one between his lips then said around it, “You out this way often?”
Why the fuck did he care? Screw hadn’t quite thought Crank would have given two shits about some random guy one of his prospects invited to their clubhouse. He risked a quick peek at Gumby, whose expression was unreadable. But the guy was smart; he had to be picking up on the odd vibe as well.
“Uh, yeah. Try to come out here every weekend when I’m free. Hate the fucking city, but you know, need my paycheck.”
“What do you do?”
“I manage a furniture warehouse.” He’d totally spit-balled the idea when Squirt had asked him earlier in the week.
“You ship out a lot?”
Oh, fuck. How to play this? If he kept his head out of his ass and dealt his cards right, this could be the in the Handlers needed. The CDMC shipped weapons. Did they want his trucks? He bit the inside of his cheek to keep a handle on his excitement. Then, with a nod, he said, “We do. All up and down the east coast.”
“Huh.” Crank shared a look with Squirt, then he was slapping Screw on the back. “You boys enjoy yourselves, huh? Drink, dance, fuck. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Yeah, man. Thanks.”
“All right,” Squirt said. “What’re you boys drinkin’?”
An hour and a half later, Screw stood with his back against the bar as he watched Gumby play pool with three club whores while also pretending to give a shit about whatever the fuck Squirt was rambling on about. The kid could talk, that was for fucking sure.
He’d learned a lot about Squirt, and the Disciples in that time, none of it useful for Copper and all of it nauseating.
Squirt was a racist, as were most of the other Disciples he’d met.
Squirt loved his coke.
Squirt was a raging homophobe. The amount of time he’d heard the words fag and queer thrown around in the most derogatory of ways had his ears ringing. And his senses on high alert. He and Gumby had been beyond careful to keep their attraction under wraps. In fact, they hadn’t even spoken much. Gumby had been commandeered by the group of skanky bitches almost right away.
Watching them drape themselves all over Gumby had Screw’s hackles rising. Sure, the man wasn’t doing a damn thing to encourage them and wasn’t reciprocating the attention or affection, but the girls weren’t deterred. They giggled and thrust their overfilled tits his way every five seconds.
Screw ground his teeth as he chewed the fuck out of a cocktail straw and tried to burn the girls down with his eyes. Fuck, you’d think he was some jealous boyfriend or something.
“Your boy seems to be getting along real good,” Squirt said with a laugh as one of the dumb bitches stroked the pool cue as though she were stroking a big dick.
Screw just grunted.
As though he heard the sound from twenty feet away over the pounding of the rock music, Gumby looked up. He mouthed something that looked like “Gotta take a leak.”
Screw nodded once, then watched as Gumby headed toward what he assumed was the bathroom. One of the girls tried to follow, undoubtedly looking for a quick over the sink fuck, but whatever he said to her had her pouting and remaining at the pool table.
“So, hey, I wanted to give you a heads up about something, but you gotta keep your trap shut, hear me?” Squirt leaned in close as he spoke.
The hairs on the back of Screw’s neck rose to attention. “Yeah, I hear ya.”
Squirt glanced around then turned to face Screw. “Crank is gonna ask to chat with you later. He’s got a proposition for you.”
Here we go. A tingle of anticipation ran through him.
“A proposition?” Screw asked, going for chill and unconcerned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we’re looking for some help shipping some items up and down the east coast.”
Ding, ding, ding. The fucking motherload. He wanted to jump up and down with fucking glee. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? What kind of items?”
Guns, obviously.
With a shake of his head, Squirt said. “Can’t tell you that yet, man. Club business. They’ll have my ass for saying this much, but I wanted to let you know what a good fucking deal it is. You do not want to turn it down. The club will take good care of you if you know what I mean.” He rubbed his thumb against his next two fingers in the universal sign for cash.
Screw scratched a hand through his beard. Itchy fucking thing. “Wow, I just thought I was coming here to get wasted, maybe find some easy pussy. Talk bikes a bit.”
“Brother, you help us out and you’ll be welcome here every damn time you’re in town. You’ll be drowning in pussy.”
“So you guys need to start shipping some stuff?”
“Nah, not start. We’re already up and running, but the prez ain’t happy with how shit’s going right now. Guys we’re using are too slow. It’s fucking with our bottom line.”
“All right,” Screw said as he pursed his lips as though giving it some serious thought. “We talking a big time commitment on my part? You need to move a lot of shit? This something that needs to be done on the down low? And who are you using now? There are some shitty companies out there which is why we do all our own shipments.”
With a laugh, S
quirt held up his hands. “Shit, simmer down. I’m glad you’re taking this seriously, but I ain’t supposed to be telling you anything. Can’t give you much in the way of details.”
He’d come on too strong. What he really wanted to do was shake Squirt until the information fell out. He lifted his hands. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to put you in a bad position. Just think this could really be a good thing for me. I can use the extra cash for sure. Just want be prepared when Crank approaches me.”
“Fuck.” Squirt rubbed his hands together. “Okay, but I didn’t tell you fuck all, got it? I ain’t risking my patch to line your pockets.”
“Of course not. I’ll play dumb when I talk to Crank.”
Squirt sniffed, wiped his nose, then nodded. “As of now, we’re making runs to Knoxville twice a week, Monday and Thursday. We bring out shit to this mom and pop shipping company called Cranston.”
Screw made a mental note of the name and dates. “Yeah, I heard of ’em.”
Nodding, Squirt continued. “They were struggling and jumped at the chance when they saw the amount Crank was willing to pay them. Anyway, we bring stuff twice a week and they ship it out for us, split up over four trucks. Two go up to New York where they’re picked up by our partners and two go down to Miami. You guys ship there?”
“All the fucking time.”
“Good, that’s reeeal good.” Squirt said with a smile.
Screw could practically see the guy imagining himself strutting around with his CDMC bottom rocker. He didn’t give a shit if the guy got patched in or not, but it wasn’t going to happen here in Tennessee. That was for damn sure. Screw would do everything in his power to drive these guys out of town. No one fucked with his family.
“Yo, prospect, get the fuck over here,” one of the patched members yelled from about fifteen feet away.
“I’m out. Go find yourself some pussy.”
“Later, man.” He slapped Squirt on the shoulder. “And thanks.”
Squirt ran off to do his club’s bidding, leaving Screw at the bar alone with a smirk on his face. Hadn’t been too long ago that he’d been a prospect. Not long enough for the memories of being tortured by his now brothers to have faded. Thank God that phase of life had ended.
Gumby still hadn’t returned to the pool table, so Screw took a second to finish his beer and assess his next move. He now had enough information to fuck with the CDMC’s weapons shipment.
Mission accomplished. Risk well worth it. But it was time to get the fuck outta there before their luck ran out. He set his empty cup on the bar then started in the direction Gumby had gone. He took two steps then froze in his tracks.
Locked in a shock-filled stare from across the room, stood Jeremy, Jazmine’s fuckwad of a neighbor. The same Jeremy who went to high school with Screw, dishing out homophobic slurs every chance he got. The same Jeremy who loved nothing more than to regale Screw with tales of his mother dancing on stage.
The same Jeremy who tried to prospect with the Handlers three times and had been denied based on Screw’s word alone. To say they hated each other was like saying an orgasm felt all right.
Understatement of the century.
Jeremy caved first, his eyes shifting to where Crank stood across the room, laughing with a group of his brothers. The grin that curled Jeremy’s smarmy fucking mouth was so goddamned sinister, nerves dove down Screw’s spine.
The very second Jeremy twitched in Crank’s direction, Screw sprang into action. He charged forward through the crowd, ramming unsuspecting partiers out of the way with his heavy shoulders as he ran. More than one drunkenly squealed curse followed him, and he was pretty sure he straight up knocked a club whore over. Maybe she’d get lucky and end up banging whatever guy caught her before she landed on her ass.
Jeremy was moving quick but not quick enough. “Hey, man!” he said in an excited tone as he slung his arm around the back of Jeremy’s neck. Quick as lightning, he hooked his elbow and brought his forearm across the guy’s throat cutting off his ability to shout for assistance. Thankfully, everyone was so damned wasted no one seemed to notice Screw dragging Jeremy to the side of the room.
Jeremy’s weak struggles were no match for Screw’s strength—thank you, Zach for owning a gym—and he easily muscled the gasping man away from the crowd and down a darkened hallway.
Closed doors lined the hall, at least three on each side.
One of those fuckers needed to be unlocked for this makeshift plan to work. Screw tried the first door cursing under his breath as the knob jiggled but didn’t turn.
“Fuck you,” Jeremy managed to rasp out when Screw’s hold loosened for a fraction of a second. The man grew heavier in his arms as he no doubt tired from thrashing around. Adrenalin surged through Screw’s blood, pumping in time with the rapid beat of the music.
He needed to get this show on the road, find Gumby, and get the fuck outta there.
No luck with the next door, either. Shit, time was running out.
Fuck it.
Screw towed a thrashing Jeremy to the end of the hallway. He’d hoped to find something to tie the man up with, but didn’t have time to check all the doors. Tightening his chokehold on Jeremy’s throat, he said, “You’re the only one who knows I’m here. That means if the CDMC finds out, we’ll know you ran your fat fucking mouth. And we’ll come for you. Good thing I know where you live.”
Jeremy thrashed and clawed at Screw’s arm, scraping the top layer of skin in a move he didn’t even feel. Adrenalin had taken over, driving him forward with the single need to get the fuck out of the clubhouse. All of a sudden, the grip on his forearm slackened and Jeremy went completely limp in his arms. Screw lowered him to the floor then booked it back into the bar.
This solution would buy a few minutes at best. If Jeremy were smart, he’d listen and keep his yapper shut, but they couldn’t count on it. He and Gumby needed to act as though the entire club would be on their asses in a matter of seconds.
He spotted Gumby the second he entered the bar, back at the pool table with the skanks, but his gaze scanned the room, probably seeking out Screw.
Moving as fast as he dared without drawing unwanted attention, Screw zigzagged through the mess of gyrating bodies while AC/DC crooned about being shook all night long.
When he reached Gumby after what felt like hours, the perceptive guy immediately straightened.
“Hey,” Screw said to one of the women.
“Well, hey there, sexy.” She sauntered to him, hips and tits swaying to entice his focus, but his attention remained on Gumby. “Nice dress,” he said of the fire-engine-red scrap of material she wore. “Think my friend, Jazz, has the same one.”
“Thank you, bab—Hey! Where’re ya goin’?”
Gumby hadn’t missed a beat. Without a word of goodbye, he turned and started for the exit at a rapid clip with Screw hot on his heels. “How much time we got?” he muttered.
“Sixty seconds, max.” Screw glanced over his shoulder. So far so good. No horde of angry Disciples barreling down on them.
“Fuck.”
“Yep.”
They reached the exit in no time, rushing through the door despite Squirt spotting them and calling out. As predicted, Moose no longer served as bouncer.
“The fuck happened?” Gumby asked as they kicked up into a sprint.
“Jazz’s fucking neighbor was there, sucking up to the club.”
“Jeremy? The one who wants in her pants?”
“That’s the one.”
When they were a stone’s throw from Screw’s truck, the door to the clubhouse flew open so hard it slammed against the exterior wall making both men jump.
“There they are!” Crank shouted right before a bullet whizzed past Gumby’s head.
“Shit! Go, go, go!” Screw shouted, as he jerked the truck door open. Gumby did the same, diving into the driver’s seat. He had the engine fired and was peeling out of the spot before either door had been closed.
“They chasi
ng?” Gumby asked as he jammed his foot on the gas and shot toward the gate.
Screw looked through his side mirror in time to see at least five Disciples running for vehicles. “Fuck. They are.” Jeremy stood in the open door leading to the clubhouse, hands on his hips. He was a dead fucking man.
Just as Gumby began to turn onto the road, Squirt shoved past Jeremy, bursting outside. Crank, who still stood in the parking lot, drew his pistol and shot the prospect dead center between the eyes.
Just that fast, Squirt’s life came to a violent end and the Handlers problems grew tenfold. If Crank was willing to murder his own prospect in such a way, what would he do to an enemy MC?
“Fuck!” Screw shouted as he slammed his fist on the dashboard.
“We’re not gonna be able to outrun all of them, Screw. This truck is no match for their fucking sports cars.”
Goddammit, this was exactly why Copper had told him to leave it the fuck alone. He was royally fucked. They’d tear the patch from his cut and skin his club tattoos with a rusty knife while dancing to his screams.
As Gumby navigated the curvy roads with skill, Screw pulled his phone out.
911. In my truck. CDMC in pursuit. Need diversion. Rudd Rd. 10 min out.
As soon as he saw the text, Copper would know Screw had blatantly ignored a direct order and gone to the party. He couldn’t worry about that now though.
“I can’t take these fucking turns fast in this goddammed truck,” Gumby growled out as he was forced to slow and avoid careening off the edge of the mountainside.
The sound of shattering glass had both men cursing. “They hit the side mirror. I’m gonna return fire,” Screw yelled as he pulled a gun from his glove box.
“Don’t you dare get your ass shot, you hear me?”
He loaded the magazine then cocked the gun. “Not before you get a chance to ream it, you mean?”
When Gumby shot him an exasperated look, he winked before lowering his window and aiming back toward the truck.
“You’re fucking crazy,” Gumby mumbled.
For the next few minutes, Screw worked to hold off the fucking CDMC with one damn gun. He got in a few good shots, taking out a few headlights and even hitting a windshield which was probably the only reason their followers hadn’t overtaken them and run them off the road.