“Think you’ve just confirmed it, darlin’.”
I grab a beer and walk away, shaking my head. Soph’s good for Wraith, anyone can see that. But there isn’t a woman in the world that I’d tie myself to.
For the next couple of hours it’s business as usual. I remember, at last, to send a prospect down with some food for Sam. Just when I start to think I’ve made inroads into the heap of work that piled up while I was in Vegas, the phone rings.
“Speak to me.”
“Drummer?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Ben Carter here. We met at Emir Kadar’s wedding.”
Well fuck me, I remember him, and the occasion. Just thinking of it makes me smile. What a mixed bag of people were there. I’d never thought my boys would fit in alongside politicians, film and pop stars and all the hoity-toity, but they sure did. And Mouse even beat the desert sheikhs in the bareback riding competition. But getting back to the man on the other end of the phone, I recall he’s the senior partner of a security firm in London. We’d exchanged business cards, well, he’d given me his. A president of an outlaw motorcycle club doesn’t exactly carry advertising around. But I’d given him my number.
“Yeah, I remember you, Carter.”
“Got something you might be able to help us with. The pay’s good.”
“Talk to me.” We don’t turn dollars down.
“I’d like to set a meet up with Jason Deville. He’s my other partner.”
“He wasn’t at the wedding?” I recall there was a fair contingent there of, what is it now Grade A Security? Some as guests, others beefing up the protection.
“No, he likes to stay under the radar. But he’s got something going on that your guys might be able to help with. Like to explore it anyway.”
I think for a moment. “I’d need to know more.”
“Not something we want to discuss on the phone.”
Although he can’t see me, I nod. I understand business like that. “Give him my number and we’ll set up a meet. I’ll listen to what he has to say.” In the meantime, I’ll get Mouse to dig further into Grade A. I believe they’re a reputable company, so it’s strange why they want help from us. Hopefully they’re not working for the feds and planning to set us up. But I don’t waste my breath asking. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be given an honest answer.
“Thanks, Drummer. He’ll be in touch in the next few days.”
I end the call and lean back in my chair. This day is turning out to be decidedly odd.
Having spent the weekend in Vegas, we’re making up for the missed church, and it’s fast approaching the time when I need to make my way to the meeting room. Tunnelling my hands through my hair, I expect people think the life of an MC president is about riding bikes all day and having fun. In reality, it’s quite the opposite; more like being the CEO of a small business as well as house mother to a fuck load of unruly boys. And this being the mother chapter, there’s always issues and problems to resolve or discuss with my fellow presidents. Wraith, as my VP, has often said he wouldn’t want to walk in my shoes, and I don’t blame him.
Entering church, I walk to my seat at the head of the table, the vision in my head, as it unfortunately too often is, of the body of the Chrissy bleeding out, her blood soaking into the wood. It hangs heavy on my conscience that it was in this very room that I took the life of a sweet butt who’d betrayed the club. Still too fresh in my mind, I can only hope those memories will fade with time. While I had no other choice, it’s in my mind as I take the chair. It goes against the grain for any of us to harm a woman, that was the reason why I did the deed myself, not wanting to put that burden on any of my brothers. It’s a heavy responsibility leading the club like this.
Remembering Chrissy’s betrayal for some reason makes me wonder about the woman working in our garage. Can I trust her? Is she who she says she is? Oh, I’m certain she’s Viper’s daughter, but was finding her father the only reason that brought her here? Is it right for me to go with my gut feeling that she’s not out to cause us trouble? Fuck, I don’t normally take things at face value, so why do it with her?
Sitting down, I let the rowdy conversations going on around wash over me. As normal, Blade, our enforcer and head mechanic, is trying to get a smoke from Dart, who’s complaining it’s time for him to either finally quit or start buying his own again. Wraith is sitting on my left, and Dollar our treasurer next to him. Peg is on my right, then Heart, our secretary, completes our officer complement. They are currently trying to keep order as the rest of the members discuss the very thing that I’ve just been thinking about, the woman I’ve brought into the compound. Halfway down the table sits Viper, looking as though he’s wishing he could be anywhere else, his face dark and glowering, his eyes staring at nothing.
Rapping on the table with the gavel, I get everyone’s attention. “Shut the fuck up!” As voices start to quiet, “Wraith?”
There’s still a murmuring at the end of the table, but Wraith’s glare is almost as effective as mine, and soon there’s silence.
Wraith clears his throat and then starts to give his report. “We’ve got two new members coming in at the weekend from the Vegas Chapter. Joker and Lady.”
I knew it was coming. There’s a roar of laughter, and it’s Dart who slaps his hands down on the table. “What kind of fuckin’ handle is Lady?”
“Someone you wouldn’t want to fuckin’ take on in a fight.” Wraith verbally knocks him down. “And in the looks department, he might give you a run for your money, Dart.”
Dart is very much our own lady’s man with long curly dark hair, an aquiline face, and dark eyes. Casting a glance his way, I see his face fall when he grasps he might have competition.
“Joker?” Beef calls out. “He better not fuckin’ joke around with me.”
“Joker,” continues the VP, ignoring the interruption, “Will be our Road Captain.”
Nodding to show my agreement, I think they’d all accept it’s about time we had that position filled. A Road Captain’s job is to plan routes and ride at the end of the column to make sure all riders on a run get to their destination and back again safely. It’s a role Peg’s been partially filling up to now, so it will take some of the load off of him; something he’s just realising.
“About fuckin’ time,” the sergeant-at-arms pronounces, showing he’s on the same page.
“Now we all know Roadrunner has started prospecting for us. Any complaints about him, come to me,” Wraith continues his report.
“I’ve got a fuckin’ complaint! He brought his fuckin’ rice rocket in for a service,” Tongue growls from the end of the room.
The VP glares at him. “He’s got a Harley now too. He rides his pocket rocket in competition. Nothing against the man for owning one.”
There’s still comments thrown around showing brothers’ dislike for the plastic rice burner Roadrunner prefers. But the VP and I have seen the man race, and he impressed us with his riding skills. I reckon he’ll be a good man to have in the club. If he survives the next twelve months, that is.
“We still on the lookout for more members?” Now it’s Bullet who speaks up.
Wraith nods toward me. “We’ve got the room, so yeah. After what happened with the fuckin’ Rock Demons I’d like to boost the numbers here. The right people, of course.”
“Don’t want no more fuckin’ Busters,” Tongue snarls, and there are snarls of agreement from all around as we all remember the man who tried to rape the VP’s old lady, and who is now rotting in the ground.
“Right.” I have to bang the gavel again to get their attention, wanting to get down to the main business. “Dollar, what’s the money lookin’ like?”
Dollar, always serious, consults some paperwork in front of him. “We’re bringin’ it in just fine. In fact, we’re turnin’ away work at the garage as we just don’t have enough mechanics.”
Now that’s interesting. What if Sam proves she’s as good as she says? WHAT
THE FUCK AM I THINKING? Having a bitch fix our bikes? That’s never going to happen. But whatever the fuck is wrong with my head, I can’t prevent my hand moving to my mouth and smoothing my lips where she kissed me. And my cock starts lengthening. In church.
Forcing myself back to the task at hand, I make myself listen and hopefully make intelligent contributions to the rest of the reports from the officers. No one starts looking at me strangely, so I assume I’m acting normal enough. But for once, it’s hard to keep my mind on the business of the club when I can’t help my mind wandering to pretty brown hair scrunched up in a bun, which I’d love to undo to see it cascade over her naked body, or wrap around my hand while I’m pounding into her from behind…
“Yeah, Shooter. What was that again?” Somehow I manage to find an answer which seems to be the right one as he looks satisfied.
And then that’s the end of the standard business. “Okay, any other business?”
“Yeah,” Slick waves his hand. “What’s this with the bitch in the garage? How long she gonna be there?”
“I can answer that.” Blade jerks his chin at Slick. “Wench will be there until Friday. She managed to get hold of the part and is waiting on the delivery.”
“Wench?” Wraith asks before I can.
Blade laughs, and leans back in his chair. “Apparently, her handle was Wrench at her last place of work. I reckoned Wench was more fitting.”
Wraith is shaking his head. Fuckers always seem to come up with handles for the bitches which they hate. He’s only just managed to stop them calling his old lady Wheels, and that was only when she got rid of the wheelchair for good. But I don’t like anyone giving Sam a fucking handle. If anyone should, it should be me. And that thought makes me frown.
“We havin’ a party for Joker and Lady?” Beef asks.
“Goes without fuckin’ sayin’.” Peg grins.
“If Wench is gonna be stayin’ here, why not bring her up to the clubhouse? She might wanna join in. Could do me some of that.” Pushing back his chair, Beef cups his meaty hand around his junk and thrusts his hips so we all can see.
My leg starts bouncing under the table, and it takes all my effort to control myself and to keep anger out of my voice. “And that’s the fuckin’ reason she’s comin’ nowhere near the clubhouse. She’s not a whore or hangaround.”
“We’re feedin’ ‘er, givin’ her the run of the shop. Fuck, we paid for the part for her fuckin’ bike. What’s she givin’ us?” Slick looks confused. In our world, a woman’s only good for one thing. Fucking.
Viper’s face is red. He’s said nothing throughout the meeting. In addition to my own strange desire to protect Sam from the likes of my brothers seated around the table, I’ve a lot of sympathy for him. He might not want to accept it, but it’s his fucking daughter they’re discussing like some fresh meat.
I bang the gavel loudly. “She’s under my fuckin’ protection, and that means from you motherfuckers too.”
Wraith is giving me a strange look, Peg’s grinning widely. Fuck, I’ve got to rescue this before they all get the wrong idea. Or the right one.
“For fuck’s sake. She ain’t from our world. But she’s a biker who needed help. As long as she keeps herself out of trouble, she can stay until next week. But she ain’t comin’ to the clubhouse and she ain’t coming to no fuckin’ party. And you douchebags,” I pause and let my steely gaze roam around the table, “You are going to leave her the fuck alone!”
But Heart speaks up, “We’ve got spare rooms, why make her sleep in the garage? Surely she’d be more comfortable somewhere else?”
I shrug. “She refused to be put up at a hotel as she wanted to stay near her bike. So, that’s what she’s doing. Stayin’ with her fuckin’ Vincent.”
Now there are appreciative laughs. Thank fuck. They think I’m teaching her a lesson when my overriding intention is to keep her away from Viper…and from them.
I bang the gavel for the final time. “Church fuckin’ over! Officers, can you stay for a minute?”
“You need me, Prez?”
Heart’s our secretary and doesn’t need to be involved in this. “Nah, you and Dollar can go.”
As they follow the other members out, I’m left with the VP, sergeant-at-arms, and enforcer. Blade’s spinning his knife on the table in front of him.
“I’ve had a strange phone call,” I start to fill them in with my conversation with Carter, quickly bringing them up to speed.
When I’ve finished, no one speaks for a minute; then I’m not surprised Wraith’s the first to voice his concerns. “What do we know about Grade A Security? Could they be workin’ for the feds? Setting out to trap us?”
“That was my first thought, VP.”
“I was talking to some of them when we were out in Arab land. Seemed fairly straight.” Peg pauses, then emphasises, “Very straight.”
Blade’s nodding. “So what would people on the right side of the law be wantin’ with us?”
I jerk my chin toward the enforcer. “Precisely my fuckin’ concern. They work with the law, not outside it like us.”
Tapping the table with his fingertips, Wraith chimes in, “Prez, we gave protection to Sophie. Could it be another job like that? Keepin’ someone safe and out of harm's way?”
“Like we did a good job with that,” Blade answers him.
I don’t want a rerun of everything we went through with Buster, or when we’d left ourselves exposed and the man who wanted to kill Wraith’s old lady walked straight in—after he killed Adam of course. “We did okay in the end.” And then I remember to give credit where credit’s due. “Thanks to Shooter.”
“Yeah, the kid did well.”
“It can’t hurt to meet him, Prez. See what he’s after?” Wraith gets us back on track.
“That’s my thinkin’, VP. Somewhere offsite would be best. And I’ll get Mouse to see what he can dig up about Grade A. We don’t want to let in a Trojan horse.”
There are nods and chin jerks now.
“Okay, when he gets in touch I’ll arrange somethin’. We’ll use the Wheel Inn for the meet.” I’m referring to the restaurant we own, and which Sandy manages.
Wraith points his hand toward an empty seat. “What is it with Viper today? He looks like someone’s stolen his ride.”
Knowing I can’t say anything without giving everything away, I shake my head. “No idea, Wraith. Probably just havin’ a bad day.”
“Perhaps he’s had an argument with Sandy. I’ll have a chat with him.”
“Nah, Peg, I’d leave him alone.” That’s one conversation that wouldn’t go down well at all.
Chapter 8
Sam
After the guys all disappear I settle down, catching up with my reading. I’d downloaded an MC romance series a few weeks back but never had the chance to start it. Tonight, this seems just the right location to have a read of this particular subject matter.
The prospect had dropped off a couple of blankets and a pillow. Pumping up the latter and setting it behind me, I lean back to make myself as comfortable as possible on the cot, and start turning the pages. Pretty soon, I have my eyes opened to a completely different world, one I’d never dreamt of before. Sweet butts, old ladies… And here I am, right in the middle of a real-life biker club. Reading on, I wonder how close to reality the fiction I’m absorbing is, and whether they run this club along the same lines? If so, no wonder the men are treating me with suspicion. Putting my e-reader down for a second, I lean my head back and close my eyes. They do come over as misogynistic pricks, so the book has got that right. But can they also be as protective and loving toward their women? And just what is it about how they use that male piece of their anatomy that gets women desperate to give them a try?
Weary through stress and the lack of sleep last night, my eyes are so tired, it’s an effort to open them again, so I put my book away and settle down, breathing in the comforting scents of oil and grease. To me, it’s the familiar smells of ho
me. I think back—I could only have been about two when Mom first took me to the garage. She’d landed a job doing their books, but couldn’t afford to have anyone look after me. For the next couple of years of my life, and then every day after school, and every school holiday, I spent my time surrounded by cars and bikes in various stages of repair. I was a quiet, unassuming child wary, even then, of getting under anyone’s feet. Slowly I became a fixture, accepted by everyone.
It started when I was old enough to be asked to get bottles of water out of the fridge or to take an empty cup back to the small kitchen. Gradually my chores progressed to being asked to pass tools. Before I could read, I could identify one socket wrench from another. I was ten when I did my first oil change by myself.
The sound of engines was the main music I heard. And, as it turned out, for which I had a particular ear, often telling the mechanics when something wasn’t right before they’d even noticed. When my mom bought me my bike, they put an area aside for me to work on my Vincent. I didn’t go to my prom; while my friends danced, I was attempting to install a new alternator. While my contemporaries dated, I was connecting the throttle cable or fixing the brakes.
Having been brought up alongside, the men treated me like one of them. From time to time a new mechanic would come in and would flirt with me, but I was more interested in the workings of a carburettor than in anything a man might have under his clothes, and before long they too treated me just the same as everyone else.
Oh, I was asked out, often by customers. But my mom had impressed on me the importance of choosing wisely. Time and time again she’d explain that while she never regretted me being born, being pregnant and alone had rewritten her life. Her lesson learned, she became wary of the opposite sex until the day she died. A lesson she’d passed on to me.
These bikers don’t frighten me, not when I’ve been surrounded by their like all my life. No, if I can believe the book I’ve been reading, it’s the sweet butts and old lady’s who’d worry me more. I’m not sure how to hold a conversation with a woman. Unless she’s got a good knowledge of bikes or how to strip down an engine.
Drummer's Beat (Satan's Devils #2) (Satan's Devils MC) Page 7