What He Wants (Book 3 after Phantom Riders MC-Hawk and No Mercy)

by Tory Richards

  “Why do you say that, brother?” He lit a cigarette. “I’ve never known you to mistreat any of the women at the club. They all love you.” He grinned like the sick bastard that he was.

  I snorted and returned my gaze to the highway. The women at the club loved dick, especially when it was attached to a brother. They liked having bragging rights that came with fucking a big, bad biker. Some thought sucking dick was the fastest way to becoming an old lady, and when it didn’t happen they stuck around anyway because we offered them safety and protection. None of them were there because we’d forced them to do anything they didn’t want to.

  “Especially little Lucy,” Jumper added, blowing out a stream of blue smoke. “Little girl has it bad for you.”

  “Give me one of those fucking cancer sticks,” I grumbled, ignoring his remarks about Lucy. We both knew her time at the club would come to an end if she didn’t straighten up and accept that she was there for all the brothers.

  Jumper didn’t say anything, just laughed. The brother was getting on my nerves. I only smoked occasionally, usually when I had nothing else available to take the edge off. Fucking Daisy had relieved a lot of stress, but now I was back to thinking about her, the trouble with Shooter, her again. Fuck. I took the smoke Jumper handed me and stuck it between my lips. I wanted this shit with Shooter to be over.

  Hell, I’d be happy if it were three months from now, the snow gone and me on my fucking bike. Some brothers rode their bikes year-round, but I wasn’t one of them. It was too dangerous and too fucking cold. The only time that I got on my bike in the winter was when I didn’t have far to go, or if there was a possibility of having to follow trouble on a bike, as we had after we tracked down Shooter. Chasing a biker down was a lot easier when you were on another bike. Unfortunately, we’d lost them.

  “I think we have trouble.” I glanced in the review mirror, and then the side mirror. There was a black SUV with darkly tinted windows on our tail. “You think that prick Talbot put a tail on us?”

  After leaving Daisy’s we’d made our way to Pleasure Me for a few drinks, and had casually dropped information to Talbot that we were on our way to Last Hope. The man had a big mouth, and if he thought that he had something that someone else might want he would reach out to them. We had made sure that a couple of his dancers knew too, after they’d propositioned us to spend some time with them.

  “Why the fuck would he?” I changed lanes. “He hasn’t got the balls for that kind of thing.” I watched as the SUV switched lanes until they were behind us again. Shit.

  Apparently, Jumper was watching them in his side view mirror, too. “Think it could be your friends, Shooter and Whistler?”

  They weren’t my friends. “I doubt it. They had their bikes.” I lowered my speed to see what the SUV would do. They slowed, and then gradually veered off into the right lane and the exit. I gave Jumper a smirk. “Getting paranoid, brother?”

  “Getting old.” He watched the SUV take the exit. “Too fucking old for this shit.” He tossed his cigarette butt out the window. “We’re pregnant, brother.”

  He didn’t sound happy about it. Michelle was Jumper’s old lady, a sweet, friendly woman who was totally in love with him. You could see it on her face every time they were together. She looked like a biker chick, too, with tattooed sleeves and piercings. She had short, spiky hair and was thin as a rail, not a curve on her. She was also a lot younger than Jumper.

  “That’s good news, yeah?” This would be their first kid.

  He exhaled loudly. “Didn’t think I’d ever have kids,” he admitted. “But Michelle’s young, she’s been wanting a baby.”

  “Bound to happen when every old lady in the club is popping them out.” He nodded. “So, what’s the problem?” I saw his shrug out of the corner of my eye and decided to let it go. He apparently didn’t want to talk about it, and it was none of my business.

  The “Welcome to New Hampshire” sign was coming up, and then we would enter the granite state. Thank fuck. We’d taken our time, turning a four-hour trip into five, wanting to make sure that Clay and Cooper were well ahead of us and in position. We’d know soon enough if our plan had worked. If Shooter and Whistler showed up in Last Hope, then it had. We didn’t expect any interference with Covacks and his men, and we didn’t expect any help from them either. It was enough that he’d warned Hawk about the conversation his men had overheard.

  It was up to me to put myself out there to draw Shooter out and end this shit between us. I was looking forward to it. When we entered the town of Last Hope, we took our time driving through before we headed toward Covacks’ place. Covacks had fucking houses all over the country, but we were headed to where the fighting took place, which was in an old barn way out in a field. All Covacks had done was put a ring in the center of the barn. There were no chairs, so clients and participants stood around the ring to watch. He’d made a ton of money on the fights, and it was one of the few places considered to be neutral ground for bikers.

  Not one to let Mother Nature ruin a good thing, Covacks kept the surrounding field plowed during the winter. Small mountains of snow had been pushed toward the tree line behind the barn. There were plenty of vehicles and bikes parked around the building. Most brothers who came to fight came to make easy money, leaving shortly after they either won or lost. Some just came to watch, put money down in a bet, hoping to win big. I wasn’t a betting man.

  I was a fighter. So was Ned, though lately he’d been on a break. One too many hits to the head, one too many concussions was scary shit. The club didn’t really need the income from fighting, we made plenty from our businesses and the clients we worked for. So, if a brother needed extra income, Hawk let them keep what they earned.

  I hadn’t planned on fighting this time around, unless I was forced to. We had to stick to our plan and the original reason we’d made the trip there. Shooter was smart. He’d scope out the place and would expect to see me in the ring at some point. If he didn’t, he’d figure out why. I knew that Shooter liked to be in control, that he liked to do things his way. We’d been tight once before, and he’d probably already figured out that this was all a set-up. He’d come anyway, figuring he could turn the tables.

  As I looked for a spot to park the truck I could hear the shouts and cheers coming from inside. It was apparent they were in the middle of a fight. I pulled in between two bikes and cut the engine. The barn doors were open, and a few men were standing in the entrance, facing the ring, looking animated as they reacted to what was going on inside.

  It was almost dark. That could be a good or bad thing depending on how shit went down. I reached for the glove box. “Put your earbuds in,” I told Jumper, handing a set to him. “We need to contact Clay and Cooper before we go in.”

  Once mine were in place and on, I made contact. “We’re here.”

  A slight crackling came over the line before Clay responded. “Where?”

  “Still outside in the truck. See Shooter or Whistler yet?” I opened my door and exited the truck. Jumper did the same.

  “Negative. Had a little surprise on the road here, though.” I waited for him to continue. “Trouble Makers.” Fuck. Jumper could hear our conversation, and we made eye-contact. “They passed us on the road, going the same way.”

  “They want us to know they’re around.”

  “Figured that. Gave each other the finger hello.”

  I grinned at that while walking toward the entrance and digesting the information he’d just shared. Had Shooter called in some of his crew, or had the passing on the road been a mere coincidence? Shit, I didn’t believe in coincidences.

  “How many?” Jumper asked.

  “Three.”

  I snorted. Five against four. Shooter had probably figured that he’d be up against more Phantom Riders this time around. “Have you seen them here?”

  “Negative.”

  I exhaled loudly as we entered the barn. The lighting sucked, except for the one that hung directl
y over the ring. The place was packed with brothers from all over. There were also some suits there, and hanging on their arms was the usual eye candy. The women looked bored and a little appalled, and why wouldn’t they be? I’d never met a woman yet who enjoyed seeing two men beat themselves into a bloody pulp. These fights were dirty and no holds barred.

  “We’re in,” I said, looking around without being obvious. “Where are you?”

  “At the back.”

  I glanced toward the back of the barn and saw him and Cooper standing like two wooden figures, arms crossed and legs braced apart. We made eye contact, but that was all. I then saw the Trouble Makers’ cuts as three bikers moved slowly in front of me, keeping their backs to me. I knew the move had been made to make a point, to let us know that they were there. Their cuts looked brand new and stood out among the worn leather on some of the more seasoned bikers. I nudged Jumper and nodded toward the three men, who seemed more interested in the fight going on in front of them than in finding us.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked.

  I ignored his question. “Shooter knows we’re here.” I looked around for Shooter and Whistler. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d brought in the other members of his club to distract us.

  “He could be waiting to take you out in the ring,” Cooper remarked. I’d already thought of that. He’d be cutting his own throat if he did that. Covacks wouldn’t let that shit slide. What went on outside the barn was one thing, there was always trouble brewing between clubs who were finally able to let loose after a fight, but any interference during one of his fights would be taken care of by his men quickly and lethally. Too much money at stake. Shooter had to know that, too.

  “He’d be stupid to make a move like that inside. He’ll wait and take action after I fight and he knows where I am.”

  “Lazy fuck. He knows you’ll be wiped out after you lose a fight.”

  I scoffed at Clay’s comment. “Thanks for your confidence in me, brother.” I hadn’t lost a fight yet.

  “So we’re just gonna wait around until they make a move?” I could hear the impatience in Cooper’s tone.

  “Hell, no,” I grumbled. I was just as anxious as he was to get back to a woman. “Keep your eyes open, I’m going to move around, make myself visible to the fuckers.” I was already on the move, walking casually through the crowd, heading closer to the ring.

  I paused near a suit, drawing the attention of the woman on his arm. She smiled big, and gave me lazy wink, an invitation in her eyes revealing that she wasn’t exactly loyal to the suit. He was thoroughly into the fight, ignoring her completely. She was young and a stunner, and before Daisy had come along I may have wooed her away and fucked her out behind the barn. Tonight my dick didn’t even twitch, much less raise his head to acknowledge the scent of a tight pussy nearby. I smiled absentmindedly and turned to take in the fight.

  I recognized Rebel, a brother from Dark Menace, tearing into another brother I knew as Bear. Both men were beat to fuck and covered in blood, but Rebel looked to be coming out on top. Bear was leaning weakly against Rebel, exhausted and ready to collapse, not even protecting himself from Rebel’s punches. The crowd was going crazy, fists pumping high in the air as they shouted for the fight to be over so they could collect their blood money. I knew who would win. I hadn’t seen him lose a fight yet.

  Rebel was a mean motherfucker in the ring. He was mean and moody as fuck outside of the ring, too, but he was different from the man he’d been in the past. Years before he’d gone undercover with Red Devils, back when Wildman had still been alive, and he’d come out a changed man, and not in a good way. He’d seen and done some sick shit while with the Red Devils. No one really knew the details of what he’d done, but it was clear that he was carrying a lot of darkness inside.

  As Bear slipped unconscious to the ground, I shifted a few feet closer to the ring. Covacks’ men surrounded it, there not for the purpose of stopping the fight if things went south, but to prevent anyone else from interfering. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to lose their life in the ring. Covacks made big money at these fights, and his men saw to it that he collected every fucking penny, because they got a cut, too. Sometimes they fought, and you had to be a tough fuck to get into the ring with one of them.

  When they fought, it was usually to the death.

  Two of Covacks’ men entered the ring to remove Bear. Someone tossed Rebel a towel, which turned crimson fast once he started wiping down his face and chest. The announcer held up his arm, declaring him the winner. Christ, I didn’t feel like fighting tonight, but it looked like I was going to have to. It would be a clear, sure way of showing Shooter exactly where I was so he could make his move when the fight was over. The Trouble Makers I’d stepped in front of must have been told to stand down, because they didn’t acknowledge me.

  “Anything yet?” I said into my mouthpiece.

  Clay. “No.”

  Cooper. “Nope.”

  Jumper. “Not yet.”

  “Wait a minute, I got something,” Clay said. “I see Whistler. Back of the barn at the left.”

  Shit. I looked in that direction, wondering where the fuck Shooter was. “Point him out to Cooper and Jumper. You brothers make your way behind him, but don’t do anything unless he makes a move.”

  “Where the fuck is Shooter?” I asked no one in particular.

  There was a significant pause. “Fuck.” Clay’s tone sent a warning through me that was too late. “Right behind you, brother,” he said at exactly the same time I felt the barrel of a gun jammed hard into my back.

  “Hello, brother,” Shooter said with smug self-assurance in his gruff tone. “Let’s finish this.”

  Well, fuck.

  I knew Shooter wouldn’t shoot me inside. Shit was working out as planned.

  Until a fucking shot rang out, and then there was chaos.

  Chapter 18

  Big John

  Chaos. In a heartbeat, screams, shouts, people scrambling for cover, a stampede toward the door to escape, as more gunfire sounded. Covacks’ men were suddenly everywhere, their weapons drawn as they tried to identify the shooter. I saw two rival MC’s, the Sinners and the Disciples pointing guns at each other and firing blindly as they backed up and ran for cover. Everyone close to them had fanned out in every direction, hoping to avoid being shot.

  Other MC’s began brawling, caught up in the situation, and suddenly the whole fucking room resembled one big ring.

  I didn’t have time to look for my brothers. I had my own situation to deal with, and now that shit was going down there was no reason to worry about consequences. Shooter hesitated a second too long, his reflexes having slowed over his years in prison, giving me the chance to swing around and grab his gun arm. I twisted it away from me and chopped down on his wrist at the same time. His gun dropped to the ground, someone in the crowd kicked it away as they rushed toward the door, and then we were in a full-out brawl.

  We went at each other like rabid animals, both of us realizing that this was going to play out until the end and there could be only one winner. I planned on being that winner, for the club. I owed it to my brothers to end this shit. We crashed together with enough force to do bodily damage, fists flying. I pounded the hell out of his lower torso, he went for my face. Grunts, spit, blood went flying. Shooter had lost weight in prison, his age was showing, but he’d gained strength and a will to survive. Still, I was big and mean and didn’t show any mercy with my punches.

  Shooter slammed his fist into my jaw, knocking my head to the side. I came back and clipped him in the eye, my skull ring cutting him open above the brow. He had on rings, too, and every time the fucker hit me, the bulky steel cut into my flesh. I pulled my arm back and punched him hard in the nose, breaking it and sending a spray of blood airborne. Another hit sent him crashing to the floor. I stood panting above him, blood and sweat running down my face. He glared up at me through the eye that wasn’t swollen shut, and then my arms were grabbed b
y two of his men.

  I jerked my arm loose and delivered a hard hit to the face of one of the men, knocking him back. As he danced backward to remain on his feet, I glanced up to see Whistler making his way through the chaos. At the same time, Jumper and Cooper were coming up behind him, held back by the sea of panic. I yanked my other arm loose and hit the second man, just as the other two men in cuts jumped me. They got in a few good hits, giving Shooter time to get to his feet. As I was seized between two Trouble Makers, with a third one jamming a gun into my back, I watched Shooter reach for something in his back pocket.

  He wiped the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand. His face looked like it had gone through a meat grinder. “Gonna make this quick. It’s more than you deserve.” The switchblade in his hand looked as long and lethal as I’d known it would be. He lunged.

  I took advantage of the two men holding me, and picked up my feet to kick Shooter in the chest. The impact sent him flying back into the crowd, knocking people down with him as he went, while buying me some time. The gun was pressed into my back with bruising force, but a moment later an explosion went off close to my ear and I turned to see the Trouble Maker falling to the floor with a bullet hole to the side of his head. Jumper and Cooper had reached us, and they had made quick work of taking out Shooter’s men.

  I looked around for Whistler before turning my attention back to Shooter, who was coming at me with the switchblade. He charged at me recklessly and I jerked to the side, the blade missing me by a couple of inches. The next time, he swung for my gut. Quick reflexes allowed me to grasp his wrist to halt the lethal direction of his intent. In a rapid fast move, I brought his arm up and back, burying the blade deeply into the side of his neck. His eyes opened wide with shock and disbelief, and he staggered backwards, yanking the knife out. Once the plug was removed, blood spurted out like a fucking fountain and I knew that his jugular had been severed.