Reckless Fear (The Black Vipers #1)

by Micki Fredricks

  I swallowed over the lump in my throat, not really believing I’d just shared my memory with him.

  “I just wonder, can we really live without that? Without someone who makes all this dirty shit fade away? These dreams have me all fucked up but…I just don’t know. Is that really what life is about? Finding someone who is willing to put up with our dumb asses.”

  I looked up, waiting for some sort of wisdom from my best friend. His gaze had fallen to the floor and he ran his hand down his dark beard.

  “I don’t know dude, I really don’t. I know if you think you’re going to find the meaning of life or some shit like that between some bitch’s legs…you’ll be looking for a long time. And like I said, time is a luxury we don’t have.”

  “But what if we are meant to be with someone, like Pops and your Mom.”

  He shook his head, “I don’t know what you think you’re missing out on. I personally know I’m never taking an old lady, I have no desire to have kids. I don’t need that shit. Do you really want some wife and kid scared to death every time you ride out? Terrified you might not come back?”

  I fell back onto my mattress, groaning.

  Brax took in a sharp breath, “Listen, I don’t fucking know what these dreams mean but I do know this is dangerous thinking. You need to be focused on what’s about to happen today. Oh, and I think you might be bat-shit crazy talking about popping your cherry and shit.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Really, maybe you just need to hug it out.” He opened his arms wide, “Does my baby Ben need a hug?”

  I stood up and dropped my towel, opened my arms and moved toward him.

  “You’d better get the hell out of here before I show you why Talia will be back for another ride from Tight.”

  He moved quickly toward the door, laughing as he grabbed the knob and backed out of the room.

  “Better get that dick of yours to church on time or Pops is libel to serve it up on a plate. He’s always wanted a daughter and I’d say you’re half way there already!” He yelled as he slammed the door.

  He’s such a douche bag.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Adjusting my cut across my shoulders, I walked into church a couple minutes late. I eased up a bit realizing everyone had eyes trained on the big screen hanging on the wall. Well, everyone but Pops, I could feel his razor sharp stare on my back.

  Senator Clint Richardson stood behind a wooden podium. Dressed in a dark suit with a perfectly aligned gray tie. He looked the epitome of an upstanding citizen. A Flag hung on a pole next to him and just behind him stood the young blonde intern that accompanied him to every press conference. She was the reason most of the brothers watched.

  He was flocked by security, giving everyone the illusion he was untouchable. He wasn’t.

  His face was red with excitement and intensity as he went on and on about cleaning up the country, making promises regarding things he had no control over.

  “I will rain down a hell on these outlaws like they’ve never seen. Using the RICO law to its fullest, I will bring to justice, every man or woman who thinks they are above the law. I promise you, I will make our neighborhoods safe again.” He dramatically pounded the podium like a preacher bringing the word. The crowd went crazy. Finding the camera, he lifted a bony finger and pointed, “To those of you out there who are on the wrong side…We are coming for you.”

  My brothers all shifted in their seats, not from fear of the threat, but unable to hide the desire to be the one to put a bullet in his head.

  Applause broke out in the large auditorium as the commentators tried to speak their praises over the noise of the crowd. He tried to quiet them with his hands as he raised his voice to bring home his message.

  “This is our country, and we’re taking it back!”

  Pops looked my way, a tightness in his eyes that couldn't be missed. His stare could make a grown man’s nuts shrivel and mine did, into little raisins.

  “RC, shut this shit off before I break the damn T.V.” An awkward silence hushed the room as he focused on me. He motioned toward my chair. “Nice of you to join us, Asshole.”

  No one was late for church, ever. I took my seat at the table.

  “Sorry, Pops. Won’t happen again.”

  “You can bet your dumb ass it won’t or I’ll fucking come and wake you up myself. And I promise, it won’t be a friendly reminder like Braxton’s. You got me? What the fuck has gotten into you? You’re never late.”

  All eyes turned making me the center of attention. Not where you ever wanted to be in a room full of outlaws. I cleared my voice, my eyes trained on the table.

  “Not feeling the greatest I guess.”

  “The hell?” Pops leaned up in his chair, pounding his fist on the table. He pointed at me, looking around the room in disbelief to see if any of my brothers were stupid enough to take up my fight. No one spoke up for me because they were smart and I was a stupid SOB.

  He leaned in, laying both hands flat on the table, like he needed something to concentrate on so he didn’t beat the shit out of me.

  His voice was controlled but the rage was just under the surface, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  “The only reason you should be late is if you’re hanging from the rafters of some warehouse bleeding out.”

  Braxton glanced at me, knowing this was Pops way of reminding me. If I disrespected him again, I’d be on the streets just like anyone else. No more favors were given.

  “Get your ass to Doc so he can get you some meds. If you fuck this up because of some pussy head cold, I’ll shoot you my damn self.”

  I nodded my head. Brax gave me a wide smile from across the table, rubbing in the fact he was on time. I was going to kick his ass later. Hard.

  “You think something's funny, Braxton?"

  VP spoke quickly, “Nope.”

  Pops fell back against his chair, “Fuckers,” he whispered, as he shook his head. “Alright, let’s get down to business. Everyone knows why we’re here so no need to hash over the small details. Stash, update us on the finances.”

  John “Stash” Foster was a brilliant money man and he took every opportunity to remind us of the fact. He could hide money in ways even the most seasoned Federal agent couldn’t dream up.

  There was only one thing he loved more than money, bitches, and they loved him. He was famous for his antics both in the Club House and in the bedroom. He often recited his life motto. “Bitches are the same as money. More money, more bitches. More Bitches, more fun!”

  He looked more like a Hipster college boy than the hard core criminal he was. Women flocked to him, and he never turned them down. He was a slut, plain and simple.

  On a business level, it was hard not to be impressed. He had taken the club from a good place financially to fucking wealthy. Investing, real estate, and several clean businesses…using them all as covers for our gun running which brought in the real money. He was a walking “fuck you” to the RICO law.

  War was costly though and we’d been warring with the Dark Riders for far too long according to Stash's bank accounts. He was instrumental in working out a truce. He hated it as much as everyone else, but the club had to continue to make money.

  He’d told Pops, “We’re going fucking broke paying for funerals.”

  It felt like the truce was suffocating my life purpose. To think some fucking deal sealed with a handshake would stop me from carving The Dark Riders out of existence was laughable.

  I would never stop my quest to revenge Gen.

  She was the reason I was still alive. The only person who ever really cared for me.

  The Black Vipers may have a truce with The Dark Riders. But Tight, the man, would never stop.

  Stash slid an envelope toward me. “Fifty thousand dollars. That’s the price we settled on. Do not let those assholes try to tell you anything else. If they do, it’s a stalling tactic and you get your ass out of there. You know the last time we dealt with
these runners, they tried to pull some shit because of their alliance with The Dark Riders. We need these guns to keep moving but I don’t have to tell you our truce with them is paper thin, so make sure you keep your ass alert. If they try to tell you that wasn’t the agreed price, you get the fuck out. You hear me?”

  I nodded, taking the envelope he passed me. I hated dealing with low life gang bangers but it was a necessary evil when we had property running across their real estate.

  Assholes like that thought they were the dangerous ones, not knowing they were only still alive because we allowed it.

  Could we do it without including them and run the risk of another war? Sure. Did we have the finances and man power to do that? Not right now. And this gang was like poison ivy on my balls anyway because I knew they had dealings with The Dark Riders. That made them a target for me by association. The only positive, this was just a money drop…no merc to exchange.

  I would kill every one of them if Pops would let me. He says its bad business to kill all the runners. I say, kill them all and we run our guns ourselves but I didn't make the rules, I just followed them, loosely some days according to Pops but, whatever. I followed the ones that weren’t complete bullshit.

  Not one second of sleep would be lost if I happen to take a few of them out today. Fuck it, I wasn’t sleeping anyway so there was nothing to lose.

  “Danger,” Pops nodded toward my roommate Dane.

  “Justin and I set up surveillance on the roads every five miles or so in a twenty mile radius. We’ll know if a fucking cockroach decides to take a piss on those roads. Braxton will be wearing one of the new wireless ‘ears’ Justin developed.” He held up a small device that looked like a watch battery. “If it works…”

  “That fucker will work,” Justin interrupted, pointing to Dane’s hand.

  Dane continued, “If it works, we’ll be able to hear everything you guys are saying and Brax should be able to hear us. But if they spot it, you’re probably both dead.”

  “Thanks, dumb-ass,” Brax grumbled, meeting my eyes with a dead on stare. It was no secret this was a boarder-line suicide mission. These runners had asked to deal with only Brax and me. It was suspicious. If we came out of this alive, it’d be a damn miracle.

  The good Senator Richardson had come down hard since last year, using the ‘I will clean up this country’ tag line to power his presidential campaign. He’d drawn a line in the sand, letting people know either you were on his side or you were on the side of the criminals and potential dust when this all blew up.

  His plan, take out as many MC’s as he could while coming out looking like Superman on the other end. All the good people whooped and hollered. They slept better at night thinking they’d finally found someone who would focus on keeping them safe from guys like me.

  What Joe fucking Shmo didn’t know, you don't take down one club without the help of another. He was as dirty as the next guy bidding for leader of the free world, maybe just a bit better at making his hands look clean…and that made him just as much a criminal as the rest of us. They might as well put me in the White House.

  He wasn't in bed with us. This little tidbit told us everything we needed to know about him.

  Our gun supplies had been hit hard when the ATF made a sweep last month, shutting down some of the main feeds to Mexico.

  But bad guy business doesn't stop and we had people expecting shipment…not the type of people you wanted to disappoint.

  “Good. Road Captain?” Pops looked toward his best friend, RC, the only other one sitting at the table, besides himself, who had made it through the war with the Dark Riders. He also happened to be Stash’s father.

  The war had been brutal, an all-out death match. Most of the older brothers in each club had fallen. It was like a dream come true for the feds. They stood back and watched the show as we killed each other off. No one was safe.

  “Don’t worry, we’ve got Vipes in place already. If something goes down, your brothers will be there in under five minutes. You just do what you do best, Tight. Fight your way out and stay alive.” RC caught my eye and gave me a hard look. “We won’t let you down.”

  I nodded my appreciation. The thing about the old guys, they never stopped. Loyal to the fucking depths of their being. They could say or do anything they wanted to inside the confines of the club. But love you or hate you, if you wore the same patch, they would take a bullet for you without even thinking about it.

  “Anyone have anything to add?” Pops looked to each brother.

  The room was silent. Electricity circled around all of us, as we sat united, brother to brother. It never escaped us that this could be the last time we all sat here together.

  “Braxton, let’s start protocol and get this place locked down.”

  Our VP nodded his head, voice low and all business, “Yes, Sir.”

  Pops brought the gavel down onto the table growling, “I need a fucking drink.”

  Everyone stood and made their way to the door. There was a tense vibe, a deliberate bad ass mode spread like wild fire as soon as we stepped out into the main room.

  All of the prospects and hang-arounds who weren’t privy to Church business, stopped talking and turned toward Pops. He spoke to us as a group.

  “I want every mother fucker in here to be at The Club House in thirty minutes. If you’re riding out today, get your shit together. Secure your families, hug your kids, do what you have to do. I hope you all got your dick sucked last night because I’m not going to paint a rosy picture here, some of us might not come back from this.”

  I looked around the room, watching as the patched brothers all nodded their heads in acknowledgment. No fear, no one having second thoughts.

  “If you’re a patched member not riding out, you know what your role here is. It’s no secret it makes me itchy to leave The Pit with less protection when we take care of business.”

  He adjusted his stance wider, putting his hands on his hips. “As always, all hang-arounds will be locked outside of the gate. If you want to show some loyalty to this club,” he pointed out toward the gate, “guard this place like it was your own. Prospect Jimmy has a plan for keeping the outer grounds patrolled so no one gets near here. When we get to The Club House, find him.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he surveyed the room. Looking at each wanna-be.

  “Impress me today, you might be looking at possible prospect status. Let me down, I promise you a bullet to the head.”

  He started to make a move toward the door, reaching for the knob but stilled. Turning back toward the room, he said, “I know what we’re doing outside of The Pit is important, it’s club business and needs to be done. But as always, the most important things to this club are the lives inside this compound. The women…the kids. Everything we do is for the family we’ve built. Never forget that.”

  He turned back toward the door as he yelled, “Wear your cuts with pride today, Gentlemen.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The roar of our bikes silenced everything around us, announcing our arrival. Braxton, Stash and I rolled up to the abandoned farm in a cloud of gravel dust. Turning into the over grown driveway, we slowed.

  The old farmhouse sat broken and dilapidated, windows long broken out by rebel kids or the homeless needing somewhere to sleep. The barn sat a couple hundred yards behind the house and was the agreed exchange spot. Long grass fields encased the farm, swaying in the background in time with the soft breeze blowing around us.

  It was ironic a place with such picture perfect appeal was the meeting place for something that could potentially be a brutal blood bath.

  I should be more worried about the fact the runners had been so intent on me being the one to handle the exchange, they obviously had a hard on for me. But I couldn't get myself to give one fuck about it.

  The Dark Riders were somehow involved, that much I knew to be true, and it motivated me to make sure this drop either happened or I left here with the life of every p
erson not wearing my cut. That was my plan, I didn’t concern myself with what motivated them.

  I pulled off the black bandana I’d used to keep the dust off my face, shoving it into my saddle bag.

  “You bitches be careful,” Stash nodded toward me then let his eyes move to the two men who stood near the doorway of the barn.

  “I got a whole room full of bitches on hold for us when we get back. Don’t do anything stupid like get your asses killed.” He placed a hand over his heart, handing his head, “I would hate to have to mourn fuck each of them myself.”

  Braxton smirked, shaking his head and running his hand over his beard. “Yeah, that would be heartbreaking for you.”

  “I don’t need to be careful,” I said checking the clip on my pistol. “I’m going in and getting shit done one of two ways. With or without bloodshed. They’re the ones who need to be careful.”

  “Shit,” Braxton said under his breath, sliding off his bike, "You need to keep it together. That’s an order.”

  Dried grass and gravel crunched under our boots as we headed toward the barn, the noon sun beating down hot on us.

  “Looks like they think this is a pretty even fight, brother,” Braxton whispered pulling his gun from the chest holster he wore.

  “Fucking idiots,” I said.

  ”In and out. No stupid bullshit okay?” He clicked the safety off, pulling on the slide to cock his pistol. I smiled at his show of dominance. Nothing says I’m untouchable more than taking out your piece and cocking it in front of the people trying to intimidate you. I flexed my fingers around the familiar weight of the 9mm already in my hand. “I want us both to go home tonight.”

  Braxton and I glanced at each other as we walked. I hesitated, thinking his request through, before clearing my throat, my voice filled with more harshness than I liked to use with my VP, “Yeah, okay.”

  The guards threw a quick glance at each other, shifting a few times before heading out to meet us. Even the way they walked pissed me off.

  It all stopped in a standoff, they held tight on their pistols like a bunch of schoolyard bullies.