by M. Merin
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and/or being used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations are entirely coincidental.
Flint: Northern Grizzlies MC (Book 2)
Copyright 2018 Maura O’Brien
Cover Art by Madelene Martin www.madbookdesigns.com
All rights reserved.
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Published in the United States of America.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Flint
Northern Grizzlies MC
(Book 2)
M. Merin
Chapter 1
Late August 2017
Flint
After months on the road, seeing the mile markers about an hour from home was sweet relief. My ex had left a couple decades ago with the kids; after sporadic visits over the years, them inviting me to come for an extended visit with their families was nothing short of a miracle. I don’t blame her for getting out. My daughters and son have lives they would never have had, if they had stayed.
Was pissed as all hell at the time. Was pissed at everything back then. Wasn’t able to see them more than a few times a year since she brought them to her folk's place in Arizona; too far removed from our life in Idaho. Guess she didn’t see it as much of a life; especially not that night I came back all shot up.
My father died that night and I sure as hell wasn’t leaving my Brothers after I recovered. We had blood to atone for; and fuck, was I short-sighted. I always provided for them though and she never bad mouthed me to the kids; I’ve seen a lot of shit go down with the other guys’ divorces so that counted for a lot in my book.
After a ball sweltering June and July with them in Arizona, I headed to South Dakota to hang with my other family – bikers. I hadn’t been in a few years, so getting together and trading stories and barbs with the other old timers was just what I needed, but there’s a lot to be said for sleeping in your own bed.
Northern Grizzlies Motorcycle Club. Young man’s game, I made myself more or less the Chairman a couple years back; after getting too fucking tired of the day to day. Don’t have to deal with the details but damn well have an impact on the big calls. Brought the MC fairly clean and handed it over to Jasper; it’ll be a goddamn sainthood in a few years if that teacher he married has any say in it.
Noticing some of the boys peeling off at different exits into town, I motion over to the others to follow me. No food in the house and I ain’t going home hungry so the diner in town will do for now. Pulling up in front of Ray’s Diner with Connal, Vice, Gunner, Roy, and Jake; Roy immediately growls, “When’d that fine thing get to town?”
All of us turn to follow his gaze to the park across the street.
“Fuckin’ A, I’m calling that ass!” Vice announces, getting off his bike.
Even from across the street, I’m pretty sure she has an inch or so on him. He was called Pocket, as in Pocket Sized, before he really proved himself. The Girlies seem to enjoy him, so maybe he’s longer than he’s tall.
Other than the occasional hand jobs from some of the MC’s Girlies, it’s been pretty dry for me the past few years. The MC girls are younger than my daughters and that thought started creeping me out too much. Besides, after years of hard riding, us old-timers in our 50s get overlooked by the eager snatch dreaming of being an Ol’ Lady to a young biker.
Looking back across the street, I take a moment to enjoy the view. Just a bit bigger than my rough mitts is indeed a nice juicy ass. Following the sightline, down and up, are well-toned legs, curvy hips, the right amount of softness to her stomach and a sports top – which will never be sexy - but this one is well filled out. Can’t see much of her profile, just a long auburn ponytail.
“Fuckin’ A is right,” I mumble. I’ll be damned if Vice could do that body justice.
We all grin at each other, quickly coming to attention as she whistles and yells: “Come!”
Vice steps out to cross the road and I follow without thinking, needing to see her face. Gunner, all six foot eight and nearly half that wide of him, laughs as he lights up a smoke.
“Not sure she was calling you two,” With the hand holding the cigarette, he points about twenty yards away from her where a husky of some sort is running full speed towards her. Its leash flying out behind him like a scarf and that asshat of what passes as a patrol cop in this town, running after the dog.
The dog is quickly to her and belly up, being well rewarded as she lavishes affection all over him. On her knees, with her ass pointed straight at us. Lucky. Fucking. Dog.
She quickly secures the leash through her fingers and stands as Officer Kennelly is upon them. Whipping out his ticket register and yelling at her, clear as day for those of us heading towards them, for not having her dog on a leash in a town park, of all things.
Her laugh. Her laugh hits me in the fucking gut.
“But Kennel, you can obviously see he has his leash on!” Is all I can make out before she turns away from him with her dog in tow.
The minute that asshole reaches out and grabs her arm, I make my presence known; yelling “Kennelly, what bullshit has you assaulting pedestrians now?”
Looking at me, then over to my Brothers coming up behind me he steps back while moving his hand closer to his service weapon. “This doesn’t concern you, Flint, back off.” Kennelly snaps while trying to keep an eye on me, the guys, a now snarling dog plus that damn woman who hasn’t turned to look at me yet.
“Kennel,” She speaks slowly, like he may not comprehend English. “He’s on a leash, there aren’t children present; will a second ticket get you promoted?”
“Putting a leash on a dog, yet letting him run freely through the park isn’t the same thing as having a dog leashed. And the name’s Kennelly.” The jag-off says as he puffs out his chest more with each word.
“Sure thing, Officer, let’s see how far this one gets ya.” She shrugs, finally turning to look at me.
Eyes for days. She looks my way and rolls her big green eyes, and she fucking has me. I keep walking right up to her and notice they aren’t really green; they aren’t any one color. Green, brown, gold all in swirls, but it isn’t the odd blend of coloring that has blindsided me; it’s the light, humor, and laughter that they exude.
The faint crow’s feet at the edges just help to highlight those big eyes. An oval face, with high cheekbones, and a plump bottom lip balance each other to create a stunning woman; maybe not traditionally beautiful but stunning none the less. She isn’t as young as she looked from behind, younger than me but older than the boys behind me. Just prime.
I am staring and utterly speechless and I don’t gi
ve two fucks.
“Flint?” she asks, tilting her head to the right. I nod once, trying to hold myself back from reaching out to her. “After the Louis L’Amour book?”
I nod again and she laughs, “I fell in love with him when I was eight, but he taught me to fight my own battles.” Turning back to Kennelly, she continues to rib him. “Better be careful, Kennel here might ticket y’all for jaywalking. That’d be a major bust for him.”
Ignoring the chuckles from my Brothers, she reaches over for the ticket, drops the leash and walks away from us. Her dog, unprompted, follows her and damn, but I want to also.
“It’s Kennelly.” He says to her back, not getting more than a slight shrug in response, as she and her dog walk in sync across the park to a truck.
Without a word, I turn, adjust my cock and head back towards the diner, not sparing a glance at the boys who’ve enjoyed the show.
Vice looks at me and says, “I called dibs.”
“Fuck you and fuck your dibs, no one touches her.” I snarl.
“I guess the Old Man here finally sees something he likes.” Gunner chuckles, slamming a shoulder into Vice and lighting another cigarette. I flip the kiddies off and smile to myself as I jaywalk back across the road to Ray’s.
Chapter 2
Flint
Margie greats us all like long lost children as we enter the diner. I own ten percent of this place, well a lot of places in town actually, plus half of six businesses in a town across the border into Utah. Once we cleaned out our competition down there, there was a vacuum that needed to be filled. Figured it was better I take them over than let the Spiders’ probies, Ol’ Ladies, and kids think we’d let them get their territory back.
We place some tables together and Vice wastes no time pumping Margie for details on the town’s newest resident.
Margie laughs and nods at me, “Bree’s in business with him now, I can’t tell you much else than she really likes bacon. Bacon with syrup on it.”
What the hell?
The guys look at me then back to Margie. Margie raises an eyebrow at me and announces, “I heard Rusty sold her a share of the bar.”
God Damn It. This is why I never leave town.
Rusty’s is one of a few bars in town not associated with any of the ski lodges. Rusty’s wife was diagnosed with cancer a few years back, so I had him sign over twenty-five percent ownership for money to take care of her. And as life goes, she died anyway but I still get money every month for my portion. That he would sell any part of his share when I was gone must violate some part of the agreement.
Vice keeps trying for more scoop since we all know how Margie loves her gossip, so her lack of information is curious. Finishing up and throwing money on the table, I head home for some sleep in my own bed before I try to figure out what else has happened.
I’ll be fifty-two this winter and just want to rake in money, go on rides, and not be bothered with bullshit. Hopefully, Rusty kept my home intact and didn’t sell that off while I was gone.
*
Getting an early start the next day, I ride around to the various businesses I have a share in. The MC owns most of the garage, diner, car washes, bakery, and laundry-mat in addition to buildings they rent out to retailers. I have a personal share in most of those plus my portion of Rusty’s.
The bar is close to the edge of town and still looks the same from the outside until I walk into it after nearly three months away. Shit, I was obviously no longer the only one with say around here. It was transformed. From tables with wobbly legs to booths along the walls, new tables, and partitions giving it almost a speakeasy feel. The stage was in the same space but it had flat panels around it that would apparently give everyone a peek at whatever was happening.
Rusty is restocking the bar; and seeing me he gets straight to the point, helping to diffuse my annoyance pretty quickly.
“Flint, good you’re here. I sold part of my share; well the property itself really. We pay rent now, but you won’t mind her, she works and lives here. Hope this isn’t a problem.”
“Explain it to me,” I say, sitting down and pointing at the whiskey over his shoulder.
After filling a glass with ice and Jameson, he starts in. “This woman came to town a couple months back, she’d come by here in the evenings. She was personable, y’know when you talk to someone about not much of anything but you walk away laughing or some shit like that?”
I grunt, taking a sip and he continues; “The fourth night in a row that she’d wandered in, my back went out. Eight on a Friday. It’s like she knew how bad I was and she jumped right in; had me take my pain pills and after a few instructions, she completely took over. I sat over to the side with my leg propped up and she was great. She cleaned up with tips but I gave her a hundred on top of that. Next day she was here before I opened and asked if I’d like a partner.”
“You didn’t think to ask me about that?” I’d been around here long enough to distrust strangers and it was sounding more and more like he gave her part of the business without knowing anything about her.
“I told her it wasn’t all mine, we talked numbers before and after closing that day and I mentioned how I’d love to have time to get to Texas in the winter, y’know, see my kids? Like you did? But that I should talk to you and it might take a while.”
I was nodding; “It’d take a lot longer than a while.”
“She was quiet, then, she asked about the building. I told her about the land out back, storage in the basement and apartment upstairs. Next thing, she’s asking if that was part of my share and if she could buy that. I told her I’d get it evaluated and think about it; after I did that, we worked out what I’d have to pay in rent.” Rusty keeps talking as he organizes his bar.
“She works four nights a week, doesn’t get paid other than her tips and funded the redecoration herself. Really makes the place look different, don’t it? She and her dog live upstairs. Man, her dog is great; follows her all around. His name is Ragnar, looks like a small German Shepard; he’s real protective of her too.”
“Yeah. We saw them in the park yesterday near Ray’s. What’s up with Kennelly and her?” I ask, trying not to shit myself over Rusty selling the property. I’m pretty sure I have no right to that, just the bar business but the property had been in his wife’s name at the time of our deal.
“Kennelly’s a shit for brains. He hit on her the first night she worked, got pretty aggressive about it.” He laughs to himself over the memory.
“What the fuck?! She’s got a few years on him.” A few years and a few light years out of his league.
“You met her, right? You think any straight man around here cares how old the good-looking, mysterious, new woman is?” Rusty snorts at me. He’s gotta point; I rubbed one out to thoughts of her in the shower this morning. “Anyway, she was polite the first time he started in but got annoyed with him and finally shut him down hard. Crowd around the bar all laughed at him and you know he thinks to highly of himself to take that well.
“Uh, you talk to any of the guys who stayed local, uh, skipped the rally?” That bastard smirks at me.
“No. Say what you gotta say and stop yanking my dick,” I growl.
“Well, Rod, they all call him Needle now.” I continue to glare at him while he milks his little story. “See, she’d only worked a few nights and a bunch of your boys came in; now Rod sidles up and yells ‘Get me a pitcher, Sugar Tits.’ Damn, but it got quiet fast.” Rusty laughs at the memory and misses me clenching my fist over Bree being talked to that way.
“She’s got this, well, her glare is right up there with what you dole out! I hope to God it ain’t ever aimed at me. So, anyway, she pulls the pitcher, puts it down in front of him, charges him double and caps it off by calling him “Needle Dick”. Boys all lost it; they’ve been calling him Needle ever since.” Now in on the joke, I enjoy it; Rod is average height but with an ego that wears on us all. Fucker deserves it.
“Tell me what you know
about her. Everything.”
Sitting back as Rusty refreshes my drink and expecting a power point presentation about this woman. A stranger, who now owns the building where a very lucrative, underground, bi-monthly poker game takes place in. I was not amused by his succinct answer of, “Not much.”
“Think she’s from back East, loves her dog, has a Silverado, and is sarcastic as hell.” He adds when I don’t stop glaring at him.
Closer to the bullet points I expected but not enough. “And the game?”
“She sat in on one; played tight then cleaned the table. Hasn’t played again, she gets 10% of our share.” Rusty shrugs like this isn’t pertinent.
But goddamn, she’s getting sexier by the minute. “Who’d she beat?”
Rusty concentrates on arranging the glasses for a minute before saying, “I think it was the judges, The Russian, and a couple of the ranchers.”
“Why is she here?” I prod.
“I don’t really know, didn’t seem right to probe. She’d been on the road for a while I think, and felt this was a good a place as any?” Rusty shrugs, holding my glare. “Lighten up, she may be running from something but I, well, I just felt protective of her. She wanted to stop here, so I wanted to help even if it meant pissing you off.”
“Well, you did that. I want to talk to her. Now.” I slam my hand down.
Rusty points upwards, saying, “She’s probably up there, but most mornings she goes for a walk up to the lookout.”
Taking the last gulp of my drink, I head towards the back where there is a staircase leading up to the apartment. On the landing and about to knock, I hear a loud, high pitched scream abruptly cut off by a thunk before frenzied barking starts. Trying the knob to find the door locked, I put my shoulder into it and break through the center panel after a couple tries. Reaching through and unlocking what’s left of the door, I shove it the rest of the way open.
“Hello?” I call walking in, only hearing the shower and the whine of a dog. I repeat myself louder as I make my way toward the dog pawing at a door down the hallway.