by Nicole Snow
This day, this shit...this was worse. Watching Red Beard shove his knife against my Prez's throat fucking gutted me.
Joker moved first. Wrapped his rough hands around another Torches' throat, holding him in a brutal headlock, the kind that'd choke the fuck totally to death if we didn't diffuse this shit quick.
“Rawdog!” Sharp yelled, pulling his gun outta my ribs and turning around. “Prez, that asshole's gonna kill him!”
“Not if I do Dusty first,” Red Beard snarled, his hand gripping the knife like the handle of his bike, one flick away from ending Dust's life. “We're way past heart-to-heart bullshit. I want our cut of the fuckin' guns. I know they're here – you moved 'em when you heard we were rolling into town. Gonna give you one more chance to bring 'em. Right fuckin' now. Do it. Before I decide to push this hungry dagger straight through your goddamned throat.”
“Prez, just say the word,” Skin said coldly, his gun aimed at Sharp's face. “We'll go down fighting, or we'll give these fuckers what they came for. Your choice.”
The crown had never been heavier for our fearless leader.
Every Prez in an outlaw MC dealt out life and death, heaven and hell, plus everything in between like fucking cards. Dust would either order us to our deaths, or he'd give these fuckstains what they wanted, buying us the time we needed to figure out how to kill 'em good and proper.
I expected to hear the Prez bark, the string of words that would either end this rough ass rocket ride I'd called a life, or else let me breathe the biggest sigh of relief since Afghanistan.
Instead, the crazy fucker did Plan C. Pistols and Torches alike nearly shat their pants as we watched our Prez push himself into Red's blade, blood pouring out around the crack where his throat connected with the knife.
“What the fuck?! You lost your mind, you dumb sonofabitch?” Red Beard roared, falling backward in shock, his hands shaking. The knife dropped outta his hands and clattered on the busted concrete.
He wanted to threaten us. He didn't want to kill the Prez in front of us and trigger the shooting that'd get us all killed.
It worked. Dust bent his head, put one hand across the wound in his throat, and looked the bastard straight in the eye.
“You ain't giving any orders here,” Prez rasped. “I am. Joker, Firefly, go get their fuckin' guns. Then make sure they get their asses off of our property.”
I moved. None of the Torches stopped us as I caught up with the Veep. We headed for the garages, where the boys had an old drag racer missing its wheels up on blocks, a tarp draped over it. Joker looked at me, nodded, and we both grabbed opposite corners.
Ripped the tarp right off. There, through the missing windows, were several familiar black crates stacked high.
“Let's get this shit loaded in their truck.” Joker spoke like we were doing a damned chore, rather than narrowly saving this club's ass.
We had to move our asses. Couldn't think about the risk, the danger, or the Prez bleeding all over the fuckin' ground after the cut he'd taken.
Everything moved on autopilot after that. Small miracle I swallowed the urge to rip every one of those fucks with the rival colors apart, soaking the glowing torches sewn on their cuts in their own dirty blood.
When everybody saw the Veep and me carrying their crates, the whole atmosphere relaxed. Just barely.
Prez leaned against the wall, still covering his throat, blood drying on his hands as fresh red soaked through.
“Put them down,” he said, his voice getting weaker by the second. “Let these fuckers take their shit to the trucks.”
We did. Red Beard nodded, and a few of his burly brothers picked the crates up, disappearing through the gate from our view.
“We're not leaving 'til we check this shit over,” he growled at Dust. “Not 'til we find out where Jimmy's little bitch has gone, neither.”
“Already told you, we don't have a fuckin' clue. She ain't our problem. We've had this alliance for fighting the Deads, sharing intel, doing deals. That's all shot to shit now. Consider it dissolved and get the fuck out. We're done here.”
There was a long pause. I kept one hand on my nine, ready to blow Red's brains out and start a shooting war if he so much as took another step toward Dust with that blade in one hand.
Prez was hurt. Fucking incredible he could just stand there like the stone cold bastard he was, bleeding out his neck, staring all these mean motherfuckers down with his life oozing outta him.
“He right, Prez?” The one named Rawdog looked at their leader, and I noticed one of his eyes was just glass.
“Yeah. For today.” Red Beard turned his back and started walking, pushing past me with two of his boys flanking him. The rest trailed behind them.
I took several steps toward the Prez, and froze when I heard the Torches stop by the gate and shout.
“Nice doing business with you pricks! We'll be doing our homework, fuckers, and don't you forget it. If I find out you've been lying about that bitch who scurried off or anything else, you will see us again. Don't give a shit if it means killing some Deads along the way. We'd rather have an army of crazy fuckers breathing down our necks rather than friends like you.” He stopped, looked me dead in the eye, and let a mean smile twist his lips. “Shit, looks like the reaper's breathing down his neck. Better get that boy a tourniquet, or else I'll be busting somebody else's balls next time I come back.”
Asshole. I formed fists so hard my fucking knuckles cracked. Blinked my eyes, just staring through the redness, 'til they were gone.
Nobody moved 'til we heard their engines roar. Then everybody ran toward Dust. I got to him first.
Prez halfway collapsed. I took over where he'd left off, squeezing one hand against his throat, feeling hot blood gushing against my fingers.
“Oh, fuck.” I looked up, staring at Skin and Joker. “We gotta get him the fuck outta here. He's been bleeding like this for at least five minutes. Poor bastard must've lost a fuckin' gallon by now.”
I looked down. The dirty red puddle beneath my boots said it was no exaggeration.
“Joker. Firefly. You boys...you're taking the lead now. Hold the club together while I try to un-fuck myself. I...” Prez tried to talk more, but his eyes rolled back in his head.
Shit. Fuck.
“Fuck trying to drive him. We need Laynie out here now, dammit!” I barked orders.
“On it.” Joker had his burner phone out, dialing her number.
Meanwhile, the prospects tore off their shirts, ripping them into neat strips so we could try to stop the bleeding. Behind us, we heard laughter, the rumble of the last few Torches' bikes.
Rage flashed red on Skin's face when we heard the fence surrounding our garage get bowled over. The whole crew of fuckers must've flattened it on the way out, judging by the rattle.
I looked at Dust and grit my teeth. His eyes were closed, and his pulse was slowing in my hands, but he held on.
“Just keep it together a little bit longer, brother,” I whispered, gingerly squeezing his hand.
We'd get him patched up. Then Joker and me would figure out how the fuck we'd kill every last one of the miserable shits who'd jumped us.
They'd made it personal, too, the stupid fucks, the very second they'd mentioned Cora. And pushing our Prez against the wall, causing him to slice his own fuckin' throat?
They were already dead.
God willing, we'd smoke 'em without any more of our boys suffering for it.
We stood around while Laynie show up, worked her magic, and then got him into her car. The woman was always a beast under pressure, patching guys up and saving lives, but she worked like a double demon on her own son.
Soon as she had him stable, riding with her to the clinic, we got on our bikes and rode straight to the clubhouse. The old mustangs with their bikes in the shop would have to wait. Club business trumped civilian shit any day of the week, and it had never been this serious.
Half an hour later, we were all in the meeting room. Fe
lt strange to see the Prez's chair empty – or close enough.
Bingo sat in it like a fuckin' person, his massive, hairy body taking up the full seat. Everybody watched the big dog, his lazy tongue hanging outta his mouth, ignorant to the heavy cloud hanging over the club.
“Think you oughta let him sit there?” Sixty said, lighting a smoke.
“Prez ain't dead. Better him than any of us. He's keeping it warm.” Joker looked at me, and I nodded, putting my fists on the table.
“We've gotta figure out how we're gonna handle this shit. No telling how long Dust'll be out of commission 'til Laynie fills us in.”
“We can't go after 'em. Fuckers own Atlanta with their mob connections. Outstate Georgia's Deads' territory. They've got themselves a moat surrounding their asses, made of our worst enemies.” Skin tried to reason, like he always did.
“Yeah,” I said, wishing like hell it weren't true. Brother was right. “We don't have the numbers and we don't know the territory well enough to hit 'em where they live. Chances are their old school ties to every mafia and gang in Dixie would tell 'em we're coming, too.”
“What do we do?” Crawl pushed his shaggy black hair back. “Don't give a shit what we decide, just as long as it means they die.”
“Everybody's on the same page there, brother. We can't be fuckin' idiots. Need to watch our asses,” I said. “Let's look at the situation. We've bought ourselves some time, giving 'em their guns. They came in all pissed about that dead fuck, Jimmy, foaming at the mouth so much they didn't give a shit about tearing up our partnership.”
“Go on.” Joker had his knife out, holding it by the blade. Crazy fucker looked like he wanted to push his fingers down on it, slice them clean off.
Who the hell ever knew what was rolling through his head?
“We'll lure them onto our turf for another round. This time, we'll find out when they're back. We won't be caught with our pants around our ankles again.”
“Lure them?” Sixty snorted. “Shit, bro, it won't take much. Red Beard said he'd be back if he found out we fucked 'em on anything else.”
“Yeah, and we have.” Everybody looked at me. “Cora. They're gonna find out about her sooner or later. It's my job to keep her safe. Seeing the Prez take a hit made me realize I can't do it as long as they're breathing. I'll let 'em find out she's ours – mine – but I'll make damned sure they don't come within ten miles of where I've got her holed up.”
“Fuck me – you're using your girl as bait?” Skin's eyes narrowed. He looked at me, then at Joker.
The Veep looked up, suddenly done playing Russian roulette with his knife. “He's right. Girl's the only lure we got.”
Steam nearly shot out my fuckin' ears. I hated hearing her talked about like a goddamned piece of meat. I really fuckin' hated that this was the only way to keep her safe and do justice.
My fist hit the table. “Look, I'm the last fuckin' guy at this table who wants to do any of this. Red Beard's an arrogant piece of shit with a temper like a damned volcano. You saw what he did to Prez.”
“Yeah,” Skin growled. “We all saw.”
“How do you think he'll react when he hears we've got Jimmy's girl? Bastard thinks we double-crossed him once. Twice – he'll flip his shit. The Torches'll come roaring into town for blood. We'll have a bear trap ready to snap their fucking legs off. Cora's never gonna be in a lick of danger, if I've got anything to say about it.”
And fuck me, I did. Had it all mapped out in my head, every grim, dirty detail coming together to protect her, avenge the Prez, restore the club's honor after the kick in the balls they'd given us.
“What the fuck are you thinking, Firefly?” Skin growled. “I'm gonna trust you on keeping her safe. You know the special treatment the Prez has given this girl from day one. Don't know how the hell you think you're gonna announce her, bring them into our ambush, without leading 'em smack into her.”
I stood, looking over all my brothers, one by one. “We're gonna piss off Red real bad. Let the fucker know we lied right to his face. Announce it in the open.”
I paused. They all looked at me, waiting. I flexed my fists, finally ready to speak the words chewing at my insides.
“Truth is, I'm claiming Cora. She's getting my brand slapped on her skin and a ring on her finger before shit flies. Torches' spies'll hear all about it. We'll hit 'em hard when they come charging in, assuming big Red doesn't have a fuckin' stroke first...”
“Shit!”
“Fuck!”
“Goddamn!”
Several brothers bellowed at once, laughter and shock filling up the room. Joker's knife slammed into the table, adding one more gouge to his spot, already knifed to kingdom come. Bingo sat up and barked, cutting through the commotion. We all piped down as the Veep stood, ruffling Bingo's furry head with one hand.
“Fuck, and they call me crazy,” he said, giving me an ice cold look. “You're gonna lose your dick when the Prez finds out.”
“Then we'd better move fast. I plan on keeping my pisser. Dust'll be mighty forgiving when he finds out we've mopped up the Atlanta assholes while he's laid out in recovery. Besides, this shit goes deeper than just keeping her safe and cleaning up this fuckin' heap. Cora and me, we're together now. For real.”
Sixty grinned, his goattee twitching. “You poor bastard. You sure you're ready to be a married fucking man?”
“I'm more worried about her,” Skin growled, the long scar on his cheek catching the light. “She has to want this, brother. She doesn't, I'm gonna make damned sure she's got an out the instant we've got the Torches' guts smeared across the Smokies.”
“She will,” I said, giving him a look from hell. Bastard was probably bent out of shape because he'd been the first brother engaged to his old lady, and now I'd beat him to the altar. “Cora wants me. She needs me. She's fuckin' suffered for everything she's got, and I'm gonna make sure she never has to do it again.”
“Whatever, bro. Joker's right. It's your cock on the line.” Sixty laughed, and Bingo barked again.
“You heard him. Church adjourned,” Joker said, slamming the Prez's gavel down on hard wood. “Report back when you've got this shit in motion.”
I nodded, ready as hell to head out and do what I had to do. Saving the club and killing all the Torches was gonna be easy as a run through the Tri-Cities, if I kept this manic energy going.
Getting Cora to go along with it, a little harder.
I'd find a way. Lived my whole life just drifting by like a fucking zombie. Only way I thought I could live after the shit I'd seen overseas. Men dying, villages burning, mass graves of poor sorry bastards killed in cold blood by terrorist fucks. We'd always stumble on that shit whenever we got too deep in the killing.
No man fit easy in civvie life after being on a battlefield. It stayed with him, made him wild, stole his soul and all his drive for anything except the next adrenaline fix.
Drinking, boozing, chasing down pussy to keep me company for just one night.
Before Cora, pussy never got to my head. It was something to fuck, something to feel wrapped around every throbbing inch of me, good for just a shot or two. No different than what I did when I hit the bottle.
Before Cora, I couldn't have dreamed about chasing down pussy for more than just a fuck. Owning a woman past more than the pink was as alien as the big yellow moon in the sky.
Now, I craved it. I wanted it so bad I could feel it smoking in my veins like fire.
I need her. Bad. Needed to keep her. It fuckin' scared me.
Every brother sharing my patch knew how I fought. The unlucky motherfuckers who'd been on the receiving end of my fists, my shots, or my matches and kerosene knew I never backed down. I never winced. I never quit 'til I'd buried the bastards lined up against me and my club alive.
Fighting, killing, torturing...none of that shit raised a single hair on my neck.
Cora, on the other hand...my life after Cora...what the hell did that look like? Not a damned clue, but
I wanted it.
I rode hard through town, heading for my girl. I could taste her on my lips already, feel her soft gold hair in my hands as they gripped my bike's handlebars.
Before, this free life of blazing down the road and setting panties on fire while I bombed my guts with booze was plenty.
I still wanted some of that – the riding, the freedom, the fresh mountain air sucked between my teeth. But it didn't hold a flame against my screaming need to see my brand on her ass while she called me her old man.
I'd own this girl. I'd make it work, however many fucks I had to fight.
I'd have it all, everything I'd dreamed about, coming into reach. Or I'd be dead.
8
By the Hook (Cora)
“Here.” Tawny pushed crumpled cash into my hands, wiping the last beads of sweat off her brow.
“Thanks. Go get yourself some water.” I smiled, stuffing the bills into my special binder for Meg, before I carted them back to the safe in her office.
The stripper nodded, turned around, and scurried away. I swore she stopped just short of a salute.
They never even tested me anymore. The brush with Tony had only fed the legend. Several girls saw Firefly pounce at just the right time. Now, everybody feared dealing with him, if they took a jab at me.
Sweet victory, I thought, an extra spring in my step as I sat down for accounting.
In the office, I did a quick tally of everything I'd collected this shift. My mouth dropped open when Tawny's tips took it over thirty five hundred.
A new record for my shift!
“Hey, babe.” Firefly chose the best timing in the world to walk through the door. Rather, his huge, rock hard body stopped and filled the entire frame, resting his hands on the sides.
“You're just in time!” And I meant it. I got up, ran to him, and threw my arms around his gorgeous neck.
We kissed. So hard, hot, and sticky I thought he'd kick the door shut and take me right there.
Honestly, I wouldn't have resisted, so high on success I'd let him have anything, anywhere.