Finally, at ten p.m., everyone meets out in the parking lot and starts up their bikes. The whole club’s going to Blades Tavern, a biker bar on the outer edge of Plantain. The point is to be seen, that anyone who passes by the bar tonight knows that the Warrior of the Gods are there, including the cops. All the other club members who live in the surrounding cities are also coming, making a huge crowd in the small establishment. We jam in and in no time, things get loud and rowdy. The jukebox blares Eddie Money’s- “Shakin,” as the beers begin to flow and the pool and dart games start. The Tavern’s never been updated since it was built, so it looks like your typical hole in the wall dive bar circa 1970’s.
An hour into the festivities, Dornan taps my shoulder, nodding at Joey who I’m having a conversation with by the back door. The idea is for the ones who are going on the run to be seen but fade into the crowd, not really conversing with anyone so no one can be certain that we left.
Joey and I casually slip out the back door and head for the black van parked in the back of the lot, hidden by trees and the bar’s dumpsters. This is one of those vans that only has a driver and passenger seat, the back of the van empty, which allows us room to prepare. Sliding open the door, we grab our bags and start putting on the clothes we all wear on a job. Black pants, the same black hoodie, black beanie, black gloves and black boots that we all wear in the same size, including me. Even though I have to pack the front of my boots with socks. We could never be too careful that when the scene was examined the next day, that they’d see a small shoe print in the dirt and finger us for the job. I also wear oversized clothes, all hindering me slightly. But after doing this for years now, I know how to work with what I have. Dornan, Smokey, Drag, and Rocket all gather in the van and change their clothes.
Rocket begins to drive on our forty-minute trip, as the rest of us sit in the back and get our gear together. I braid my hair and either tuck it under my beanie or down inside the back of my sweatshirt, never wanting to look any different than the guys. Dornan grabs a pile of zip ties and passes a handful to each of us. Smokey checks the clip of his nine mm, as I finger the small metal implements in a black baggy. Making sure everything I need is there, before fishing out my laptop and firing it up. I’m not able to tap into the building’s security until we get within a mile of it, finally getting the signal that I’m logged in before Rocket says, “Three minutes.”
I open several screens and key in the code I hacked last week, signing in with no resistance. Setting the timer for the closed circuit TV’s, security monitors, floodlights, alarms, and automatic locks to disarm in five minutes for a duration of fifteen minutes. This is all a guessing game, never knowing if someone in an outside building is hooked up to the C.C.T.V.’s and could send out the word that they’re being robbed.
“Chilly says four in the warehouse and two on patrol,” Dornan says, slipping his cell back into his pocket.
Chilly’s like our phantom, he always does surveillance and is like a ghost, I’ve only actually seen him less than a handful of times. Shutting my laptop, all eyes are on me. I nod before we all take our skull bandanas and pull them over our faces, leaving only our eyes visible. Rocket parks the van along the back of the building on an industrial street, alongside some decoy vehicles we parked there earlier. One by one we exit the van, and like stealth warriors run in silence to the fence. Drag takes out the cutters from his jacket, and begins making a slit in the fence until it’s large enough to squeeze through. We all follow one at a time and even in huge clunky boots, we run with minimal noise. Tucking up alongside a building, as we wait to get our bearings on the people inside. Smokey lays down on his stomach, lifting night vision goggles to his face as he peers around the corner.
“One on patrol at twelve o’clock,” he whispers.
My heart beats so loud in my ears, I need to control my breathing from running to focus on Smokey and his directions.
“Other patrol also at twelve o’clock now, talking.”
Waiting another minute before he signals for us to move. Without words, we split into two groups. I’m between Dornan and Joey as we head for the door and stay close to the building, while Drag and Smokey scuttle to the other side of an adjacent building, coming up opposite of us. The two patrol men are standing by a door smoking, laughing, and acting like they aren’t protecting millions of dollars worth of guns, completely oblivious to us only yards away.
“Did the power go out?” one says, finally noticing the area is bathed in darkness.
“Oh man, bulb must be blown out,” the other comments.
Before he can finish his sentence, Dornan and Smokey move in, grabbing both men from behind in a choke hold. Bringing them down to the ground where Joey and Drag use the zip ties to hogtie them, and duct tape their mouths shut. Pulling my black bag from my hoodie pocket, I crouch down in front of the door. I use my sense of touch, since I can’t see shit, and begin to pick the default locks. Even if you disable the electronic lock, there’s a default lock on most doors for security in case of a power outage, or someone trying to break in. The two patrol guys are moaning and fighting their bindings, while my brothers stand waiting for me. But I remain focused on my task. Taking only eight seconds longer than planned to hear the lock click, pushing open the heavy door. We pile in and close the door, the warehouse dark. Thankfully our eyes have adjusted outside so we’re able to start, removing the large black duffel bags we shoved into our sweatshirts. There are at least fifty crates in the middle of the warehouse, all having about two machine guns in each. With practiced precision, Joey and Drag go to each crate with a crowbar and open the lids, followed by Dornan and Smokey grabbing the guns and handing them to me to put into the bags, this part takes only three minutes. When the bags are full we heave them onto our shoulders and make for the door we entered from, all stopping as voices come from outside.
“What the fuck?”
I can hear the duct tape being ripped off one of the patrol guy’s face, and he pants for air.
“Inside, there’s five of them, they’re getting the guns.”
At that same moment, we all quietly set down the bags and reach for our pieces. Smokey and Joey carry hand guns, while Drag, Dornan, and I opt for knives. We needed to be as quiet as possible, there are legit businesses around and you never know who could hear something. The door-handle jiggles and we all move to either side of the door. With a loud thump it flies open from being kicked in, the door hitting the wall beside Dornan. The four men hold small flashlights, shining them down at the bags and with guns already drawn, and walk straight into us. In a flash there’s sounds of flesh being punched, groans and scuffling. One guy grabs the hood of my sweatshirt and I elbow him in the throat, dropping him to his knees. I force him onto his stomach, connecting his hands and feet with zip ties. We manage to incapacitate them in two minutes, now we really have to get a move on. We run to the fence as best we can, carrying the bags weighted down with the guns, through the fence, and into the van. The job takes us an entire thirteen minutes, not bad, but we’ve done better.
Rocket drives in a leisurely manner as we pull off our black oversized clothing, and return to how we looked prior to leaving the bar. Parking in the back again, we all get out of the van casually, all melding back into the tavern unnoticed. It isn’t until Missy comes up and is trying to pressure me into karaoke, that I’m able to breathe, to actually take in a deep breath. It was over, until the next job.
All of us that went on the run have the same conflict of feelings, the intense high of what we’ve just done, coupled with trying to calm the thrumming energy pulsating under your skin. This is always hard for me, some guys like Drag and Dornan try keeping that high, partying and fucking chicks into oblivion. While Smokey and Joey get quiet and usually leave for home within the hour of a job, probably fucking their wives into oblivion also. Since I have no one to fuck, a random hook up is never something I can talk myself into no matter how charged I am. I usually go home, grab Bagheera and we run.
But tonight I decide to hang out for a bit, have a beer and watch some karaoke. Missy and Gwen plead drunkenly for me to go up there, usually we do an old Motown song by The Supremes or something by Stevie Nicks. Missy always steals the show while Gwen and I are fine with doing backup. But I repeatedly shake my head ‘no,’ until they finally leave me alone. I absentmindedly watch as the guys from the club who hadn’t gone on the run get rowdy and carefree. And wonder if they know what we’ve done tonight, how we sacrificed ourselves to feed them and their families.
The thoughts halt when I see Dornan leaning over a big breasted blonde, he’s always favored blondes. This one has the smallest pink tank top on I’ve ever seen, and wonder why she shops in the kid’s department. Dornan’s hands wrap around her waist as she nuzzles his neck. His hands are so manly, big, his veins defined all the way up his tattooed forearms. They remain on her hips as she speaks to him and he shakes his head once, not breaking conversation with Boo-Boo beside him. I wonder what she’s saying and why he’s denying her, and I can’t stop watching them. He turns his head to say something, causing her to giggle, which I can barely hear over the man singing to “Hair of the Dog,” by Nazareth.
“Hey V,” Drag says nudging my arm and moves to my side, stopping my voyeurism as I begin to look at anyone but Dornan. I take a sip from my beer, noticing Drag doesn’t have a girl with him.
“What are you up to tonight?” Drag asks as he leans over and breathes into my ear.
“I’m gonna go home and go to bed, Rocket and I have that run in the morning.”
“Need me to get you home?”
“No takers tonight?” I ask raising a brow, is he hitting on me?
“Oh there was, but I’ve had my eye on you girl.”
I don’t look at him, but can see he’s smiling out of the corner of my eye. This is the first time Drag’s ever come on to me, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. For a moment I think how foreign an experience it is to be wanted and desired, even if he’s just fucking with me.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mhmm, You’re hot, but seeing you work tonight, fuck, all I want to do is get my cock so far inside your hot little pussy that you can’t even think.”
I feel a heat rush up my throat as he moves closer, his hand grazing my ass. I know that most these men look at me as a ‘brother,’ but some don’t. They joke with me about being hot or whatever, but when one of them actually hits on me, it only drives the point home that I’m a woman and not one of them. It makes me feel like a piece of ass, and thinking I’m part of the club is a joke. That they use me because I’m good at something and nothing more.
“Although tempting, I’m really tired and I don’t have all night to get fucked by your amazing dick so...maybe some other time.”
His large hand begins to knead my butt cheek, as his fingers glide over the seam on the ass of my jeans. I like it a little too much how good it feels, and how much it’s turning me on. I don’t want it to, but it’s been so long since I’ve had sex. Maybe for once I can put aside my delusions and actually hook up with someone, not Drag, but a nameless, faceless someone.
“Promise?” he purrs into my ear.
A tattooed hand grabs my arm and yanks me away, startling me as Smokey pulls me against his massive body. Flinging his arm over my shoulders, and leading me towards the door. I’m embarrassed for a moment that he will see my blushed cheeks or feel my racing heart.
“Give it a rest Drag,” Smokey says.
I turn to wave goodbye to Missy and Gwen, and notice Dornan staring at me. A look in his eyes I’ve only seen a few times, it’s the look he gets when he’s about to hurt someone. His eyes move past me and towards Drag, Dornan’s protective, but I don’t see why this would make him so upset, he’s seen men come onto me way harder than this. Whatever it is, I don’t think about it too long, Dornan always gets my thoughts twisted and jumbled so I try to not think about him. Sure enough when I get home, Bagheera’s chomping at the bit to go for a run. So we do, six miles. I also get myself off in the shower, imagining rough hands spreading my pussy lips. Dornan’s blue eyes looking up at me, before burying his face between my legs.
3
The next day I dress in black skinny jeans, a thin gray cotton tee, my boots that lace up to my knees and of course my MC leather cut, which I fold inside my saddlebag. I’m able to get a little work done before Rocket and I have to go meet the builder, Smokey is also coming along. When we leave to head out, none of the other guys are at the shop yet, because I assume they all stayed at the tavern til the wee hours of the morning. The ride isn’t long, but just long enough to enjoy. Nothing beats riding your bike on long stretches of desert. It’s best when you’re with a group, when we all ride out as a club, there’s power in a gang that just makes you feel badass. As we approach the city outskirts, we slow and pull into a large open area, surrounded by nothing but open land. Two men and two pickup trucks sit waiting for us, I’ve been in contact with the contractor’s Justice and Dean for weeks over the phone, but have yet to meet them in person. Because I’m in charge of the club finances and Rocket is somewhat of a businessman, we always take care of the club’s business ventures. Smokey’s simply here as muscle and because he has nothing better to do this morning.
We shut our bikes off and look around at the open stretch of land we’ve already purchased, the two men approaching us. Before I can even remove my helmet, I notice one is rather attractive. He’s tall and built, around my age, with a set of beautiful dark brown eyes and a smile that gets my tummy a little fluttery. Reaching his hand out, he says, “Maven, nice to finally meet you, I’m Justice, this is Dean.”
I take his hand and nod over towards my brothers.
“This is Pete and Ken.”
The men shake hands and we wander over to one of the trucks. Justice, who’s got a bit of a Southern accent, does most of the talking. He lays out the blueprints for the club on the open bed of his truck, and explains them in detail. I’d given specific things we wanted in the building, and he shows me everything I asked for. I’m pleased to see how well the plans came out, and everything looks good for this new place.
I can’t help but notice Justice continuing to look at me, even when we aren’t talking. When he’s talking to Rocket, his eyes remain on me. The way he looks at me, causes a pull low in my belly. But I keep my face blank, my movements measured to not let him know that he’s having an effect on me. I seriously need to get laid, Justice is hot, but so not my type. Did I have a type? Usually, it’s the bad boy, but a lot of good that’s done me in the past. Maybe I should switch it up a bit, take a walk on the civilian side. We review the plans for about an hour, and I tell Justice I’ll relay the blueprints to the owner, and get back with him. He touches my forearm to stop me.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
The question leaves me blinking several times, and I’m glad to have my sunglasses on. The fact that he’s asked me this in front of two huge tattooed guys, tells me he has some balls.
“I’m sorry?” I reply like an idiot.
Smokey chuckles slightly, but stands steadfast by my side, not giving us a moment of privacy.
“I’d like to take you out sometime and I assume a beautiful woman like you would be seeing someone. I realize this isn’t maybe the right way to go about it during a business meeting but, what do you say?” he says this in a cool, calm but not cocky way. I think I admire that.
“Um...let me think about it, I have your number,” I smile tightly since I’m absolutely shocked while mildly embarrassed.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he replies bluntly.
Wow, so much for letting me think about it. Justice is pushy, but I can’t tell if it’s just from him usually getting what he wants, or he justreally wants to take me out. Rocket, Smokey, and I stand by our bikes and watch as Justice and Dean pull away in their trucks.
“I want to head to Beaver Falls,” Rocket announces, pulling his MC vest from his saddlebag. I let out a sigh, th
ankful they aren’t going to razz me about Justice.
“I think I’m gonna head up to Palm Lake before heading back.”
They both look at me for a minute.
“I’ll come with you,” Smokey says. “Then we can backtrack and come get you before heading home,” he adds to Rocket.
“Sounds good brother,” Rocket extends his fist for Smokey to pound.
He fires up his bike and heads off towards the city, heading in the opposite direction. Nerves start to flutter in my belly, but I’ve already made the decision to go visit my dad, so I have to stick to it.
“You good with this V?” Smokey asks.
“Yes,” I confirm, while putting my helmet on. Hopefully he didn’t hear the nervousness in my voice just then, and doesn’t seem to as he fires up his bike and waits for me.
Palm Lake is a fifteen-minute ride from where we are, but it seems like two seconds and we’re outside the prison. But thankfully since we came for an unannounced visit, it takes a bit for us to get access to go in, and allows me some time to collect myself. As we wait, I only get more anxious, doubting the reason why I’m here. I then remember that Dornan texted me when we were meeting with the builders, and I’m about to reply when my name’s called by a guard. Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I leave Smokey in the waiting area and follow one of the officers down a long hallway, to a room marked ‘Visitor’s Access.’
I’ve been sitting in a shitty plastic chair waiting for almost ten minutes, I’m the only one on either side of the room, in front of a plastic partition that separates the inmates from the visitors. A loud buzz sounds on the inmate side startles me, moments later, my dad comes into view, escorted through a steel barred door by two officers. He’s wearing a yellow prison jumpsuit, looking rougher and leaner than when I last saw him years ago. Thanks to our Norwegian heritage, he looks like what you picture a Viking to be. He has long blond hair with streaks of white and grey throughout it, which he wears in a long braid down his back. His dark brown eyes study me through his black framed reading glasses, as the guards undo his handcuffs, securing a chain around his ankle to the chair. I wait until they move back towards the door, before reaching for the phone receiver. I lean forward towards the metal ledge, resting my elbows on the hard surface in front of me, and Dad mimics my movements.
Running with the Devil: Plantain Series Book One Page 3