by Nicole Snow
Moose drove the pickup. Told him to bring it along in case we found anything in their nest worth hauling out.
Blaze briefed us on the situation again, and I made sure we were all locked and loaded going in. The Pagan Rams had their clubhouse about an hour West on I-90, up near the Idaho panhandle, the wild edge of Devils' territory.
My phone vibrated in my jeans. Had a bad feeling it was Em, probably pissed and wondering why I'd disappeared without a trace. Lady Luck spat in my face with the timing of all this.
The best fucking night I'd ever had threatened to turn to shit at sunup. Whatever, there would be time to make her understand later, after we reined in the Rams and had one less thing on the club's radar.
Blaze slowed down and turned onto the service road as we neared our destination. Adrenaline rumbled in my veins, same as it always did before combat.
Whatever happened today, or however fucked up things were later, nothing was gonna take that night away from me. I wouldn't let it. I had her, marked her, filled her to completion.
Completion? Not quite. My cock wanted more.
I must've fucked her at least five times through half the night, and I was still hard each time I thought about her. I thought the hardest part was behind me, wanting her, but this was something else. Em was a damn addiction.
Fuck, would I ever get enough of that woman, or was she just gonna stay planted in my skull 'til the day I died?
“Okay, boys. Look alive!” Blaze yelled behind him. We rode between the tall trees now, down an unpaved road leading through the land owned by the Rams.
The bastards were smart. They kept things tucked back, preferring to hide the old way, before the bigger MCs decided they were better off in the open, posing as legit hobby groups and businesses. These assholes hid on wild land like bandits, leaving nothing to mark their place before the dilapidated cabin except for a sign with their symbol and a rusted flap of metal that read NO TRESPASSING.
Their sign was a grinning ram's skull, horns pointed at an unnatural angle, sharper than any damned sheep I'd seen. A bigger version was lit up in neon over their clubhouse entrance, hanging on an old porch. Their place looked like an old mountain tavern converted for more serious business than catering to summer tourists.
We all stopped and cut our engines. Reb and Moose stepped off their bikes, hanging around for backup while Blaze and Stinger went forward. They slowed after a few steps, giving me a chance to catch up.
“Nobody home. Or maybe the fucks are all asleep. Guess they've been on good terms with the Grizzlies so long it's made 'em lazy.” Blaze stepped forward, approaching their front door, waving to Stinger and I. “Come on. Surprise inspection. Leave the white gloves in your saddlebags.”
Stinger smiled, but I was more serious. All my instincts said something was fucked up here.
We stood next to Blaze as he pounded on the door. Another minute passed, and nobody answered. He grabbed the knob and twisted it.
It popped open, screeching on its old hinges. The place smelled like shit inside. Old tobacco mingling with stale beer, old burgers, and who the hell knew what else. Stinger winced, rubbing his nose.
“Hey!” Blaze cupped his hands over his mouth and bellowed. “Where the fuck are you guys? We've got a meeting today.”
Around the corner, a voice moaned. Loud and female. Then it happened again, and a man added his rough cry to the mix. Somebody in here was screwing.
“You gotta be jerking my dick. Assholes are too busy fucking to answer their own door?” Blaze reached near his hip, fingering the nine millimeter he kept there. “Stay focused. Might be dealing with some goddamned junkies.”
“I don't like this, boss,” I said.
“We gotta do what we gotta do. Let's go meet their asses if they're too damned busy with pussy to say hello.”
He went forward, stomping toward the dark hallway around the corner. Beer bottles and crumbs were all over the place. More on the bar up against the wall, complete with dirty dishes adding their stinking residue to the mess.
Fuck. This shit looked like a Grizzlies' den. Guess living balls deep in bear territory too long had given them the same bad habits. I wondered what other dirty secrets were hidden in this fucking cave.
Stinger and I rushed after Blaze. We caught up and found him stopped a few steps down the hall, pointing.
A skinny man's pale ass bobbed in the air. His jeans were twisted around his ankles, and he had a woman face down on a crappy mattress. The Pagan Ram's patch stretched tight on his back each time he thrust, creating more of those soft, shaky moans.
Blaze looked like he was about to explode. He swung forward, taking wide steps up to the dude in mid-fuck. No surprise, the Prez didn't take well to being ignored. The boss rarely repeated himself too, and never with assholes who gave him no reason to.
One swift jerk threw his hand on the man's shoulder and knocked him off the woman. The Ram tumbled up against the wall.
Surprised the shit out of me how fast he hit the old wood. Blaze had given him a solid throw, but he hadn't tossed him that hard. It was like he was hurling a skeleton.
“God damn! What the fuck?” The stranger looked up with a sunken face, gray beard bobbing angrily. “Who're you assholes, and what the fuck are you doing in our clubhouse?”
The whore was just as skinny, and apparently just as whacked out of her head. She didn't move a muscle to cover herself up or even close her legs. Just rolled over and looked at us dumbly, as if we were a man train, and I was next in line to fuck her.
“Cover this bitch up!” Blaze growled, grabbing the man by his cut. His eyes flashed to the man's chest. “VP? You gotta be shitting me.”
“Yeah. I'm Socket.” He cleared his throat, taking a good long look at our colors. “Suppose that makes you the new boys in town, the Prairie Dogs or whatever. You looking for Block?”
Blaze's jaw twitched. He was one twist of the dagger away from cutting this fucker open for insulting our club.
“Yeah. Bring his ass out here right now, and then step aside so we can have a look through this clubhouse. Only gonna give you one chance. Hope the rooms back there aren't as fucked up and filthy as the rest of this place. I don't know what the hell the Grizzlies let you get away with while they played sugar daddy. But God knows I'm gonna find out.”
Socket pursed his lips. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling to pull up his pants. Stinger turned away in disgust at his flaccid cock.
“Whatever. I'll go get the Prez,” he said.
The man wandered down the hall and pushed open one of the doors further down. Damned thing was just as loud as the one leading into this place.
The Rams, like their shrieking hinges, were a fucked up machine that hadn't been oiled for decades. I was still getting a creepy ass vibe, but I wondered how the fuck these dudes were ever dangerous. They'd clearly let themselves go since the edgy shit kicking days Moose told us about in Sturgis.
We stepped back into the bar area, waiting for the Prez.
“Helluva way to greet the new patch, boss,” I said, trying to diffuse the tension.
“Yeah. I gave these assholes two weeks' notice too.” Blaze shook his head. “Fuck me. I'm starting to think this was a bad idea. Should've disbanded 'em. None of these motherfuckers are wearing our colors 'til they clean up their act. Throttle would have my ass nailed to the cross if I patched them in looking like this...let alone wasting our time and money protecting a buncha scrappy fucking crooks.”
He wasn't bullshitting. I remembered an old story back in North Dakota about Voodoo. Some dipshit had snitched on the mother charter in the eighties after being caught skimming profits from the club. The rat wound up naked, nailed to a Saint Andrew's Cross, and dumped off in the badlands.
Throttle was another hardass, just like his old man, Voodoo. Nobody wanted to piss him off, especially Blaze, even if it would take a colossal fuckup or outright betrayal to spill a brother's blood.
“Here they come,” Stinger sai
d.
We listened. Several heavy boots clomped toward us. Four dingy looking guys total, three new ones plus Socket. Nobody in their group could've been a day under fifty, and a couple dudes looked quite a bit older.
“You Block?” Blaze narrowed his eyes at the biggest one with the most patches on his cut.
The old man in the middle stopped, face like a mask. His hair was long, dark black streaked generously with gray. An uneven smile twisted his wrinkled face, and he extended a hand.
“Yeah. At your service, man. President of the Pagan Rams.”
“Prez?” Blaze ignored the handshake, looked down and sniffed. “Gotta say, I've never seen anybody so fucking unworthy to wear that patch – and I've tangled with a lot of Grizzlies.”
The Rams all blinked in surprise. Block bared his teeth, turning his open hand into a fist instead. “That so? I get it, Blaze. You Devils assholes think you're tough shit. You chased the big bad bears up over the mountains and now you think everybody ought to do things your way – including bow down and suck your cocks.”
“No, I think they're going to do it my fucking way!” Blaze jerked forward, getting right in his face. “No sucking or fucking needed. No negotiation either!”
The Rams' hands went in their pockets. Stinger and I ran forward, throwing ourselves against the three dudes before they could move. The asshole named Socket blasted his nasty fucking breath right in my face when I slapped his ribs.
One guy got his switchblade free in the commotion and pushed it out, brandishing it near Blaze's face. I was fucking faster.
Had my gun out and pressed to his temple in a heartbeat. The fuck was so surprised he stumbled and dropped his weapon. The knife clattered to the floor.
Blaze lunged. Grabbing Block by the throat, he carried the bastard to the bar and slammed him down. The other Rams struggled against us, but didn't put up the fight I expected.
Pathetic. Was this the way clubs got when they were all old and toothless? Why hadn't these fucks recruited new blood to keep their asses spry?
“What the fuck is this?” Block spat. “We had a truce, a patch over. I didn't give you assholes the right to take over my fucking clubhouse!”
“My territory, my fucking rules. You'll do what I say. No questions asked. You still want to wear this patch and have our protection? Or do you want us to shut down your joke of an MC instead? Cause if you're not up to snuff, Prez, you're intruders in our fucking territory.” Blaze grinned. “Doesn't look like it would take much to kick your asses West with the bears.”
Stinger and I laughed. I kept my gun on the two guys. They both eyed me like I snatched cold beer out of their hands.
“Fuck you.” Block grunted and went limp. His physical submission was enough.
Shrugging, Blaze backed up, letting Block stand. The Rams' leader wiped his faded cut, coughing as he fought for breath.
“You boys got five minutes to screw your heads on and take this deal, tell us you're gonna cooperate completely, or I'm calling the rest of my brothers in to clean this shithole up in the name of the Prairie Devils MC. Here's exactly what's gonna happen if you want to keep your cuts: you shut your mouths, settle down, and let us have a good look around. Promise to clean up your fucking act. You'll get your stamp of Satan's approval and go on your merry way.”
Block clenched his fists, shaking with rage. “What's the difference? Sounds like we're somebody else's bitches whatever we do.”
“Better a bitch than no club at all, yeah? You don't like it, fine. We'll rip those fucking cuts off your backs and burn the damned things. Probably do the fucking things a favor by killing a few fleas.”
Block shifted his weight. He folded his fat arms. He didn't like it, but it looked like he'd accepted the inevitable, readying himself to suck it up and suffer through it.
Slowly, he raised his arm. “Okay. We'll let you have a look. But nothing leaves this clubhouse without our approval, right?”
“Depends on what we find,” Blaze grunted.
Had a feeling he was wondering what that meant we'd find here. We waited several seconds for Block to mouth back, but his lips stayed shut. Maybe the wily fuck had more sense than I thought.
“One more thing,” I said, stepping forward. “Gonna need you boys to empty out your pockets. Stinger and me'll be patting you down.”
Disgust poured off the four Rams as they let their belts fall to the floor and started turning their pockets inside out. Stinger checked Block and Reaper, while I did the same for the other two, Socket and Gutter. I collected a couple more switchblades and a big silver magnum off the floor. With the gun in hand, I paused, turning the fucker over.
Hadn't seen one like this since Afghanistan. This hardass dude named Cole had one just like it. He treated the fucking thing just like his baby, even when it was useless against Taliban guerrillas. The man was like a berserker with that damned thing in his hands, charging to hell while mortar shells rained down around us.
I was lost in my head wondering whatever happened to that crazy dark eyed sonofabitch when Blaze grabbed the radio on his belt. Reb and Moose came through the door a minute later, heavy firepower in their hands. Block took one look at their shotguns and snorted.
“You really think we're gonna try anything?” He sneered. “Come on, guys!”
“Safety first, Prez.” Blaze laughed. “We do shit by the book and we're not about to stop anytime soon. Moose, Reb, watch these sorry fucks while we have a looksie down that rank smelling hall.”
Blaze, Stinger, and me were on our way. The Prez wasn't kidding about the stench. At first, I thought it was just the beat up old mattress where we caught Socket fucking that scrawny slut. Fuck no. The whole place stank bad, like someone or something was living in a hole.
Old war memories punched me in the face – especially the nose – a second time. Dead, rotting flesh was a smell I'd never forget without a lobotomy.
Blaze was about to push open the first door when I reached for his shoulder.
“That's no ordinary stink, boss. Hold up. You've smelled that shit before, same as me...”
Stinger and Blaze both raised their eyebrows at the same time. Blaze's hand fell off the knob and his face tightened. He knew damned well what it was.
“Fuck me. If these idiots have got a rotting corpse holed up in there, I swear I'm gonna –“
He never finished his sentence. Blaze's handgun came out and his anger took over. One kick and the old door ripped its top hinge, spinning uncontrollably against the wall. The putrid odor slammed into all three of us, stronger than before.
The stink made me cough, despite being ready for it. Hell, I would've been surprised if there wasn't a ripe stiff laying up on the old bed, a cheap blue sheet draped over it. The dead body didn't shock and awe.
What put my senses on red fucking alert was the loud sniffle in the other corner, sharing the room with the stiff.
I moved in first, Blaze and Stinger rushing for the body. Had my handgun locked between my fingers, pointed at the deep dark chasm in the wall. The fucking thing looked deeper than a walk-in closet, and darker too.
“Get your ass out here now!” I roared, ready to shoot. “You've got five seconds to show yourself, and the countdown's already started.”
Stinger and Blaze turned to face the same hole I did. Their hands were on their weapons, ready to lay into whoever the fuck emerged from the blackness.
My heart jumped into my throat when the skinny young woman hobbled into the light. Her long striped shirt was almost as greasy and stained as the filthy sheet covering the corpse, and her pale white legs were scratched to hell. Nothing but panties below, barely covered by the grimy rainbow top.
“Holy fucking shit.” Stinger's jaw practically slammed into the floor.
“What's wrong? Are you hurt?” Dead silence after Stinger's question. The girl's lips barely moved. She looked pretty fucking bad. “Talk to me, girl!”
I lowered my gun as he hauled ass, catching her just b
efore she began to fall. Blaze's keys jingled. He pushed something small and heavy into my hand.
“LED light. See what the fuck else is back there.” He shook his head. “Christ. Bad enough we've got a body back here to deal with. Now here's little miss Dracula too. Soon as I find out who the fuck died here, I'm gonna slaughter those Rams.”
I stepped into the closet as Blaze walked to the body and tore off the sheet. Stinger clasped the strange girl tight. She couldn't have been much older than twenty, and had the vacant eyes of somebody who'd seen too damned much, eyes too sick to even sob all over the VP's cut.
Light in hand, I went in. The creepy ass closet wasn't really as deep as I thought. The hole in the wall had a big cardboard box in the back and a worn plastic shelf full of dirty bowls and cups. The box stank like piss, so strong my nostrils burned.
I held my breath, throwing the light up and down, making a full three-sixty to see if there was anything interesting holed up in the darkness. Nothing materialized.
When I came out, Stinger leaned against the wall, running his fingers through the girl's dirty hair, trying to comfort her. He looked up and had serious shit stirring in his eyes.
“Get her out of here. Don't know how Blaze wants to handle this shit, but there's no sense in letting her stew a second longer in this cesspool.”
“Thanks, brother.” Stinger turned back to the girl, slapping me on the shoulder as he helped her out into the hall. “It's okay, baby. Whatever the fuck they've done to you, we're gonna make it all right. That's a fucking promise...”
“Prez?” I joined him next to the bed. The sheet was pulled back, and a big square faced man was staring up at the ceiling, a gross film over his eyes.
“You know who this fucker is?” Blaze asked. I shook my head. “That's Mickey James. Biggest gun runner on the whole West coast. Can't count the times I drank with this bastard back in Iowa and Dakota when he came by the clubhouses for business. Maverick and me hauled shipments for this dude in the Nomads on Voodoo's orders. Escort duty. Now, he's in the middle of fucking nowhere, dead as a doornail.”