by Aden Lowe
Silence indicated they all understood.
"All right, then, mount up."
Kellen started to object when Vicki approached his bike wearing skin-tight leathers she must have borrowed from one of the ol' ladies. Armed to the teeth and all in black, she looked like some kind of avenging angel. Despite his fears, her place was in battle, defending her people, just like him. Rather than speak, he just gave her room to swing aboard. Badger and his Home Guard remained behind to protect Vicki's people in the event of an attack on the house.
Fabio pushed them into a tight bunch immediately for safety in numbers. With the enemy roaming the side roads, the bikes were too vulnerable if they spread out. As they left the lane, Trip took his position as VP for the first time, riding at Kellen's side. The others fell into place with clockwork precision and in seconds, the Hell Raiders roared toward Stags Leap in force.
Kellen knew they were an impressive sight. Three dozen bikes, with all their flashing chrome and black-clad riders, routinely sent civilians running for cover. And if he were honest, Kellen couldn't blame them. They probably looked and sounded like the modern-day equivalent to medieval knights riding to war, raping and pillaging their way across Europe.
At the edge of town, Kellen veered the column toward the Rattlesnake, ready for the meetup. With Rita out of town, Georgie might appreciate a heads-up that nearly one hundred rough and ready bikers were about to descend on her. Passing hand signals down the line, he brought Dix up front.
He shouted to be heard over the engines. "Go let Georgie know we're coming." Dix nodded and moved ahead, quickly drawing away from the group.
Moving through Stags Leap, the outsiders were easy to spot. They wore dress pants and loafers with polo shirts, or jeans that came already faded with shirts that looked like walking billboards for whatever brand. The locals' jeans faded honestly and less than five pairs of men's loafers probably existed in Stags Leap. The mobsters stopped wherever they were and stared at the long line of motorcycles roaring past.
Satisfied they'd made a grand entrance, Kellen led the club into the parking lot at the Rattlesnake. They parked up front, bikes angled out for an easy exit, and left Quick to watch over them. In an impressive show of force, the Raiders ranged all around Kellen and Trip in a heavily armed escort. Inside, on Kellen's signal, they separated, spreading throughout the tavern. A couple with two children hurried up and paid their check and hustled out, leaving behind half-eaten meals.
Over by the bar Dix grinned as he spoke with tiny blonde Georgie. At least she wasn't kicking his ass this time. Kellen would have liked to be a fly on the wall for that conversation, because even while Dix looked happy as a clam, Georgie looked fit to be tied, but she nodded and seemed to listen like a good girl. Maybe the kid had potential there after all.
He took a seat at one of the long tables normally reserved for birthday parties and such, and sat back to wait. As his Sergeant At Arms, Lefty leaned against a support column nearby, which offered a good view of both the table, and the entrance. Lefty might be Hack's buddy, but Kellen trusted him to do his job to the utmost. Nothing would happen in the Rattlesnake without them knowing about it.
Sitting there in the Rattlesnake felt a little odd, given the past. Until very recently, he'd had a thing for the owner, Rita James, but she had dumped him after a brief affair. He had trouble taking no for an answer until she took off with a damn bounty hunter who was looking to cash in on the bounty on Kellen's head. The pair had followed him all the way to Colorado when he found himself locked into a messed up job for his younger half-brother. Fortunately, that ended up with no one dying and Kellen on the right side of the prison fence, but Rita stayed with her bounty hunter.
Most surprising, Kellen didn't mind the other guy winning the girl. Of course, he'd stumbled across Vicki around the same time, and been so enthralled he couldn't care less about Rita, or any other former girlfriend. And if anything, rather than fading as he'd expected, his fascination with Vicki grew exponentially every time he thought of her.
A server brought over a beer and set it before him. "On the house, sir. Can I get you anything else? We have Salisbury Steak and mashed potatoes today." She smiled and tilted her head a little. "You look like a hungry man."
Kellen sat back and looked her over. Cute, exactly his type. And oddly enough, he couldn't even summon up a little cock-twitch for her. "No thanks. The beer's plenty." She wasn't Vicki.
"You got one of them big motor-sickles? I always wanted me a ride on of them." She gave her hips a little wiggle of enticement.
"Ask around, sweetheart. Some of the other boys might be up for giving you a ride in a few days. Right now, it would be smart if you kept your distance." He deliberately turned away from her.
She must have gotten the point, because she turned and stalked away, probably pissed as hell, and most likely hating on Raiders. Whatever.
A disturbance at the entrance drew his attention. Nasty Mike, President of the Nasty Boyz swaggered in, his VP and the rest of his crew lined out behind him. Mike looked ready for war, with the Fuck You tattoo on his forehead clearly displayed. The others wore the same tat like badges of honor in highly visible locations. Nasty Boyz were slightly extreme even for a one-percenter club, and Kellen couldn't have hand-picked a better club to stand by the Raiders in a battle to the death. They tended to live up to their name in a fight.
Nasty Mike lifted his chin to Kellen and headed for the table. His men scattered through the Rattlesnake like a rat pack, practically disappearing with quick, furtive movements. Kellen knew from experience they would lie in wait like that, forgotten, until provoked. Then they would descend upon their enemy with lethal and precise fury.
Mike flipped a chair opposite Kellen and straddled it. "Yo, my man. 'Assup? You lookin' all chipper and shit." Mike had added heavy black eyeliner to his facial ink since the last time Kellen saw him.
"Yo, Mike. You added a little ink and some trophies since last time."
The guy flicked at a bright silver bead in his hair. "This one came from a dental filling. Chipped it out of a pedophile's mouth after we put him down." Shoulder length hair dyed jet black and deep red hung in intricate braids worked with a complex array of beads, bits of carved stone and small bones. The intimidation factor alone made the eccentricity an asset.
Kellen grinned. "Good riddance, man." The Raiders had a few such skeletons in their closet as well, but usually didn't take trophies. "Looks like your boys are ready and loaded for bear."
Mike grinned, displaying teeth filed into sharp points. "Yeah, man, we ready. You point us at the fuckers and we'll clean house."
"No doubt." Kellen gave Mike a quick overview of the plan, rather than keep him waiting. The quicker he had soldiers on the move, the better. Not to mention, getting the Nasty Boyz out of the Rattlesnake in a hurry decreased the chances of trouble with the Diablos, just as notorious for their refusal to get along with other clubs.
"'Ight, man, we'll head out. Anything comes up, we'll buzz you."
"Good deal, man." Kellen stood for the forearm clasp to demonstrate loyalty and respect.
Mike turned and swaggered for the door, his entire crew practically appearing from thin air right on his heels.
Kellen shook his head. That bunch was downright eerie. Good thing he had them. If nothing else, they'd creep the mob out. He took a long pull from his beer, considering further options.
From what he knew, the mob, Russian or not, worked like any gang. They moved into an area, scared the hell out of the locals with a show of force, and made an example of the first to stand up to them. Simple but effective. Unless he missed his guess, bringing in an army to put them down would only be a bandaid. If Stags Leap were to be totally unattractive to mob interest, the locals would need a serious bite. The Hell Raiders could help with that, but they also left the town vulnerable every time they went on a run, or lost a few members to the other side of the bars. No, normal civilians needed the tools to cripple any mob for
ce that happened along, now or later.
In a community where nearly every man, woman, and child could use a gun, fighting back wasn't the problem. Getting all those civilians to work together in a cohesive force would make herding cats look easy as pie. So how the fuck was he going to get it done?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Deep in thought, Kellen nearly forgot his surroundings. Until the Diablos walked in, sporting black leather head wraps with six-inch stainless steel horns protruding from them. The horny head wraps meant the only Latino MC in the Brothers Of Sin came prepared for war.
Every imaginable sort of improvised weapon, perfectly legal until used in commission of a crime, sat in full display on their belts, shoulders, wrists and any other convenient spot. And the Diablos had successfully passed them off as fashion accessories in the past. After all, who could find anything wrong with a half dozen three-inch steel stars suspended from a length of thin chain and draped down the front of a leather vest? At least, until it became a lethal flail in close combat.
Diablos El Presidente, Ramon, spotted Kellen and headed over. His men kept him surrounded in a tight escort. At six foot four, Ramon didn't seem the sort to need a protection detail, but they apparently refused to take chances.
"Jefe, whussup? You got some action for us?" He took the seat directly across from Kellen and raised a hand to signal someone to bring him a beer.
Even though he'd already given Ramon all the details by phone as they discussed whether the Diablos would join in, Kellen gave him a brief update. A hand-drawn map of Stags Leap proved useful for showing Ramon where the Diablos would hunt.
"We'll catch and stash all of 'em you want us to. But what the fuck you gone do wit' 'em then?" Ramon finished his beer and tapped the empty bottle with one of his heavy rings.
Kellen moved his own bottle, creating a series of wet circles in a complex pattern over the wooden laminate of the table top. "Sit on them a while. Then I might bury them under the jail." In truth, he hadn't come up with a real answer to that question. The important part was making the invaders disappear and cutting them off from their boss.
Ramon grinned. "Diablos got your back, Jefe. Whatever you need, you say the word." He stood, offering the universal forearm clasp. "You watch your six, Brother."
"Yeah, man, you watch yours, too." Kellen gave Ramon a small punch to the shoulder to send him on his way. "Don't let your men forget what they're up against."
Ramon took his leave, the rest of the Diablos pulling into that tight escort again. As they neared the exit, one paused to stare at Dix and Georgie—a direct breech of discipline. One of the others dragged him back to his place but he continued to look back over his shoulder.
Shit. Dude would be lucky to get out of Stags Leap with his eyes still in his head. Ramon was known to be brutal about discipline, especially in public. A cold lump settled in Kellen's belly. However Ramon chose to correct the problem, it painted a possible target of resentment on Georgie's head, and by extension, on Dix's head. They needed this mob mess wrapped up before tensions exploded between the Diablos and the Raiders. That kind of thing would have serious negative consequences for Brothers business.
Kellen stood, glad to have the Nasty Boyz and Diablos deployed. He'd intended to move on to the next step of his plan, but better have a word with Dix and Georgie first. They couldn't prevent trouble they had no clue waited around the corner for them.
He approached, giving Dix the same respect he would a full patch Hell Raider, careful to catch his eye and alert the Prospect to his intent. At Dix's nod, he moved close. "Hey, Dix, Georgie. Got a minute?"
Curiosity lit Georgie's brilliant blue eyes. "Sure, Kellen. Can't say I'm too happy to give it to you or any Raider, though." Her animosity to the whole club probably arose from the trouble Kellen had caused in his pursuit of Rita.
Time to make that right too. "Look, Georgie, I have a lot to apologize for here, and no time to do it right now. I need to settle this Russian shit first, which is why the Nasty Boyz and Diablos were here today. They're allies and here to help."
She nodded, gaze narrowing. "Good to know. What's the catch?"
"I owe them both favors now is the only catch. But there's something to be on the watch for."
Dix frowned. "That Diablo that was looking Georgie all up and down?"
"That would be it, and it could be major trouble." Kellen explained his reasoning about Ramon's discipline and how it could bring ill will from the Diablos. "I'd suggest both of you make sure you don't get caught out alone. If that guy gets busted down, he's going to have it out for you. And any act from him against one of our own can't go unanswered."
Georgie made a derisive noise. "I don't give a shit about gang politics. Leave me the hell out of it."
Keeping his sigh of exasperation in wasn't easy. "This isn't gang politics, Georgie. It's about a war waiting to go off right in our faces, yours included. You can ask to be left out of it all you want, but that Diablo brought you into it the second he stared you up and down and broke his club's discipline in doing so. You're in it right up to your cute little eyebrows." How else to say it so she might understand the seriousness? "In other words, that guy wants to fuck you bad enough he risked discipline in front of his whole club to look you over. Nothing to do with politics."
She raised a brow. "Okay. But how does that bring this asshole into it?" She flipped a hand toward Dix.
Kellen nodded for Dix to reply. "Because I was standing here, talking to you, when he stopped to look. If he gets busted on it, his buddies might think Kellen went to Ramon on my request. Either way, they'll be out to get both you and me."
She shook her head. "For the record, I don't want no part of this shit." Muttering under her breath about grown-ass men acting like two year-olds fighting over a toy, she stomped away and went behind the bar, effectively out of reach for both of them.
Dix grinned. "I think that went well. She didn't kill me, at least."
"True. That's progress." Kellen motioned Dix toward the door and followed. Outside, he made sure no one could overhear, then spoke. "I want you to stay close to her. Stay right here in the Rattlesnake as long as she's here. Follow her if she leaves. Or if you'd rather, I'll get Quick to keep an eye on her?"
"Nah, boss, I'm good. I'll stick like glue. Can I ask why you're so interested in her safety? Ain't all the women in town at the same risk?"
"In a way they are. But Georgie is just mean enough to get herself hurt. And as Manager of the Rattlesnake, it's in our best interest to keep her safe and somewhat happy." Not to mention, he sorta felt he owed it to Rita to keep her friend safe, after all the grief he'd given her. With a nod, he dismissed Dix to go back inside and begin his guard duty.
After a quick smoke, he headed back inside and found Trip. "Okay, go ahead and get all the men stationed and make sure they know what we're doing. After that, I want you and whoever you want with you to go over to the storage shed. I'm going to talk to a few people around town and some of them might need a weapon and ammo." He briefly went over his idea about locals standing up.
Trip nodded. "That could work." He asked a couple of questions, then departed for the club's storage shed, tucked behind a private home in the middle of town. Crank left soon after, heading for the same destination.
Time to get shit together. Might as well start right across the street. With a careful eye to both foot and vehicle traffic, Kellen headed for the Speedy Shop. Inside, the usual crowd sat at the liars table, discussing the same topics they had every day for the past twenty years.
He nodded at the clerk, bought a coffee, and took a seat. One by one, the old men nodded, and waited to see what he would say. Kellen cleared his throat. "So, if a feller wanted to get some other fellers together to kick some foreigners back to wherever the hell they came from, who would he pick to do that ass kicking?"
The old guys exchanged looks. "What kind of foreigners we talking about?"
With a careful eye toward the door, he laid
out his idea about local citizens standing up to the invaders. "So I need to know who would be best for something like that. I need guys who will stand to, and already know their way around a gun."
Nods all around, and the ensuing discussion gave him several names. "You just want men? I know a couple of gals that could hold their own with any man with a gun." Old Orville, the oldest man at the tables, gauged Kellen's reaction carefully.
Kellen considered quickly. "I don't care if it's men or women. As long as they can shoot and got the balls to stand up for Stags Leap, that's all I care."
"Well, tell me this. How'd we end up with them furriners a'knockin' at the door anyhow?"
The explanation had to be worded carefully so as not to implicate either Vicki or the club in any wrong doing. "I've been seeing this woman, and her family has big bad enemies. When they killed her momma, they found out she was with me, and they tracked down where I came from. I tried to keep them from coming, but they're here to take territory and send a message." Hopefully that would pass muster.
The questioner nodded and seemed to consider the reply satisfactory. "Well, I reckon we got us some ass kickin' to do then." He spat in the empty coffee cup on the floor at his side, leaving a thin trail of tobacco juice down his chin. "I got me a gun, and I'll shoot any mother fucker comes trying to hurt my people."
Damn. The last thing he wanted was for the oldsters to go hunting Russians. That could easily end in disaster. Still, if he refused the old man's assistance, he could very well find no one in town willing to help out.
The question became moot when the old man pulled an ancient .38 revolver from his coat pocket. "I'll blow 'em to kingdom come. Ol' Bessie here never misses."
From there the discussion went on to near misses and gun fights and hunting. Surprisingly, the old men were feisty, ready to put it all on the line for the town. In his experience, elderly people preferred to stay out of the way of trouble. They seemed more aware of the pain others could inflict. But these men were ready to prove they were still capable of protecting what was theirs. Good for them. And good for Stags Leap.