CONVICT’S BABY: Black Dogs MC

by Parker, Zoey

  “I need to get her out of there,” Zack slapped his hand down on the bar decisively.

  “That’s the spirit,” Jameson toasted him with his bottle of beer. “And I’m coming too.”

  “What?” Zack looked genuinely horrified at the suggestion.

  “Relax,” Jameson slapped him on the back as he dropped down from his bar stool, nut shells crunching beneath his heavy boots. “It’s not like I’m going to hit on her or anything. Although I’m blatantly her type,” he added with a wink.

  “I don’t need your help,” Zack objected curtly.

  “Yes, you do,” Jameson assured him, gesturing to his face. “I can tell her the truth about that little boyfriend of hers and the kind of real danger she’s in.”

  Zack was speechless. He knew that Jameson was right. While Brittany might not believe him, she couldn’t deny the physical evidence etched into Jameson’s face. He felt humbled that his friend was willing to help him. He placed a hand on Jameson’s shoulder in gratitude.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Though I refuse to be responsible if she falls for this pretty face,” Jameson joked as they began walking through the bar.

  “Very funny.”

  It was bright outside. Both men squinted against the light as they approached their parked bikes.

  “In all seriousness though, you’ve got to get her out of there,” Jameson stated as he hauled himself onto his bike. He’d been drinking solidly through the night but he was still prepared to ride, and there wasn’t a cop in the state brave enough to pull him over.

  “There’s a storm brewing between the Red Riders and the Kingss. It’s been brewing for years but suddenly, it feels like it’s coming to a head. Can’t you feel the electricity in the air?”

  Zack nodded. He could. Even though the sun was shining and the sky was clear, the air felt heavy with the ominous knowledge that something bad was going to happen. Something which would leave the streets of Colridge painted with blood.

  “Let’s ride,” Jameson revved his bike and then roared off towards the highway, leaving a plume of exhaust smoke in his wake. Zack swiftly followed, ignoring how tired he was. All that mattered was getting Brittany out of Colridge before it was too late.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  “Morning,” Nancy was grinning as she greeted Brittany. Her whole body still felt flushed from Zack’s touch. But seeing her young apprentice in the light of day reminded her of Zack’s dark warnings, and her smile slipped.

  “How’s things?” she asked briskly.

  “Good,” Brittany gave a light shrug. She was wearing a navy sundress and black ballet pumps. She looked beautiful in an understated way. But her bare arms and pristine skin looked out of place in the parlor.

  “We need to get you inked up sometime soon,” Nancy noted, tilting her head at her. “That’s if you’re up for it?”

  She watched Brittany glance down her lean arms and then smile. “I’d like that.”

  “Hey, did you guys hear what happened last night?” Robbie, the weekday receptionist, blurted as he came through the front door. He always smelled of a strange combination of vanilla and petrol.

  “What happened?” Nancy asked, one hand on her hip. For one awful moment, she thought he was going to say that he saw her having sex in the parlor. The tips of her ears started to burn and she felt a blush creeping up her chest.

  “That little bar down the street, O’Hannigans got totally trashed. There’s like seven people in the hospital this morning,” Robbie was talking fast, his chubby face bright with excitement.

  “O’Hannigans?” Brittany repeated slowly, her hands twisting in a nervous ball in front of her. “I worked on a girl yesterday who works there.”

  “Poor her,” Robbie rolled his eyes. “About working there, not being worked on by you,” he quickly clarified. “But from what I can hear it was pretty bad. Some broken bones, people needing multiple stitches.”

  “Why…” Nancy swallowed nervously. Was this the kind of trouble Zack was so concerned about? Was her tattoo parlor going to be targeted next? “Why did it happen?”

  “Thugs,” Robbie’s eyes widened. “Although my friend at the police station mentioned it might be gang related.”

  Nancy felt light-headed. She leaned against the reception counter for support. Just a few hours earlier it had been the sight of an erotic encounter but in the harsh light of day everything seemed dulled. Nancy wanted to pull down the shutters over her store and just close up for the day.

  The blonde-haired gang member was due in again that afternoon, the one Brittany had been working on. What if he was all beaten up because of last night? Because it had to be him and his friends, right? It couldn’t have been Zack, because he was with her.

  “Colridge is feeling less and less safe these days,” Robbie declared, moving past his colleagues towards the staff room at the back of the building, his designer satchel flapping at his side.

  “It is,” Brittany agreed quietly, folding her arms across her chest and fearfully bowing her head. Nancy didn’t know what to say to comfort the young woman. Brittany was sleeping with one of the guys who’d probably caused the trouble at the bar. Nancy shivered at the thought.

  “I hope that the girl I worked on yesterday is…is okay,” Brittany whispered, casting a concerned glance out towards the street.

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Nancy lied. She knew from past stories of gang-related violence that members didn’t discern between men and women; in their twisted minds, everyone was fair game. They’d crack a woman’s skull just as swiftly as they’d crack a man’s.

  “Maybe I should close up early today,” Nancy pursed her lips and imagined spending the day tucked up safely in her apartment with the dead bolt on. She sensed that it was no longer safe to be out and about in Colridge, not when a gang war was brewing.

  “But I’ve got a client coming in this afternoon,” Brittany gently objected. “I’d hate to let him down.”

  Nancy bit her tongue. She wanted to point out that Brittany might feel very differently if he did show up all beaten and bruised. She’d surely put two and two together. Nancy nervously scratched at her forearms. It wasn’t safe to have gang members in her store. If she closed up and lowered the shutters, then the blonde would have no choice but to walk away. He couldn’t harass them into working on him if they weren’t there.

  “No, I’m definitely closing up,” Nancy insisted, trying to sound less panicked than she was. “It’s the right thing to do, considering what happened at the bar last night.”

  “But surely, we shouldn’t give into acts of intimidation,” Brittany countered, the fear in her face replaced by a look of indignation.

  “When it comes to gangs, we need to keep ourselves safe,” Nancy told the younger woman sternly. “I’ll call your client and have his appointment rescheduled.” This was a lie, but it seemed to have been told convincingly enough to placate Brittany. She gave a shrug and then a nod of consent.

  “Okay, if you’re sure it’s the right thing to do. It’s your call.”

  “Yes,” Nancy felt a little bit relieved to have made her decision. “Go home, Brittany,” she ordered. “And stay safe.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Brittany felt strange being back in her apartment so early in the day, but Nancy had insisted on closing the store, leaving her little choice. She paced back and forth, buzzing with unspent energy. She kept thinking about the woman she’d tattooed the day before who worked at the bar. Was she okay? Did she get caught up in the fray that had happened there the night before? Brittany had no way of knowing and that frustrated her.

  She checked the online news stories about the fight on her phone, but they were frustratingly vague. It was as if Colridge didn’t want to know about it, or was scared to. Nancy had seemed so scared by the news. She usually loved to gossip with Robbie first thing in the morning. Over a fresh cup of coffee, the pair of them would put the world to rights. But this morning the dail
y news had shaken her so badly that she’d closed the tattoo parlor.

  “Weird,” Brittany shrugged to herself before calling up Max. If she had a day at home, she might as well spend it with him.

  Holding her phone to her ear, she listened to each ring drag out. She was starting to think that he wouldn’t answer when on the seventh ring he picked up.

  “Hey.” His voice sounded cracked, broken.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Brittany declared brightly. “Nancy randomly decided to close the store today so I’ve got some free time and was thinking…” she twirled a strand of hair around her fingers as she smiled flirtatiously. She was about to describe exactly how she’d like to spend that free time when Max interrupted her.

  “Sorry, I can’t.”

  The response was so abrupt that Brittany straightened in surprise, releasing the strand of hair she’d been holding.

  “You can’t?”

  Panic began to roll around inside her, making her feel nauseous. Last night Max had cancelled on her because he had to work and now he was bypassing another chance to see her. What was going on? Brittany inhaled sharply as she waited for his excuse, praying that it would at least sound plausible.

  “Babe, I’m so sorry.” Each of his words was strained as though he were having difficulty saying them. Brittany sighed in frustration, releasing the breath she’d been holding.

  “You cancelled on me last night.” She sounded so plaintive and needy, which she hated, but she couldn’t help it. She was desperate to see Max, didn’t he feel the same way about her? Hadn’t he said that he loved her?

  “I know,” Max croaked. “And I’m sorry.”

  “So what is it this time? You can’t be working again.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Brittany could almost hear the cogs in Max’ brain whirring as he frantically tried to think up an excuse.

  “You know what? Forget it!” she declared sharply, ending the call and breathing heavily, her chest heaving. Somehow, she’d managed to do just as Zack had wanted. She’d pushed Max away. Tears burned behind her eyes. Brittany willed herself to remain calm, to be rational, but the hurt in her chest was too much. She dropped against her small sofa and buried her head in her arms and sobbed.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Max winced as he dropped his cell phone back onto the nightstand beside the bed. Everything hurt. Each breath he took felt brittle and sore. With a groan, he managed to hoist himself up so that he was sitting up in bed. In the dim light offered through the closed drapes, he could see Henry and Aaron sprawled out around him. The sheets beneath them were dark with blood.

  “Urgh,” Max massaged his neck, all of his muscles protesting at the movement. Using all the energy he had, he slowly got up and made his way towards the small bathroom, needing to access the damage.

  When he looked in the mirror above the sink, he was greeted with a grim sight. Both of his eyes were bloodshot and bordered in darkening shadows. A deep cut ran down from his left ear and dried blood had collected down his neck like a dark, inky stain. Turning on the faucets, he began running the water to clean his hands. As he did, he noticed that his knuckles were red raw and when he put them under the warm water it stung. Grimacing he pulled his hands back from the sink. There was no way he could let Brittany see him like this.

  He needed pain relief and fast. But first he had to make himself presentable. Wincing he undressed and climbed into the shower. He stood beneath the hot water for a good twenty minutes. It felt good and eased some of the pain. When the water around him was finally running clear, he came out and dried off, steam surrounding him like a foggy cloud.

  He pulled his jeans back on but grabbed a clean shirt from his duffel bag in the motel room. Henry and Will still hadn’t stirred. Max felt better for showering, but his temple was starting to throb. Shrugging on his jacket, he prepared to go outside, but as he placed his hand on the door handle something stirred behind him.

  “Hey, Max,” Henry called out groggily, raking his hands through his long blonde hair and managing to sit up with some effort.

  “Hey, man,” Max turned around and took in how terrible his companion looked. Henry’s right cheek was red and swollen up like a balloon about to pop. It was painful just to look at.

  “I know I don’t look like my usual pretty self,” he chuckled. “But I’ll be right again soon enough. Hand me that will ya?” he nodded to a half empty bottle of whiskey over by the television. Max stepped back into the room to grab it for him.

  “Thanks,” Henry lifted the bottle to his lips and drank greedily from it. “You off out?” he asked when he was done drinking.

  “Yeah,” Max nodded. “I need some pain meds.”

  “I got all the pain relief I need right here,” Henry raised the bottle and grinned.

  “I need to keep a clear head,” Max countered.

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “We made a lot of noise last night. We’ll have attracted the attention of the damn Red Riders, I’m sure they’ll be here soon enough.”

  “Let them come,” Henry gestured widely with his bottle, his eyes burning with the fiery delight of a mad man. “I had so much fun last night. I’d love to do it all again.”

  Max’ head throbbed even more furiously when he thought about the previous night. How the three of them had descended upon the small bar in town. It had been a slow night, most of the tables were empty.

  A waitress with dark blonde hair had flirtatiously lifted her top to show Henry her new tattoo. He’d grinned with approval and ran a hand down her back, letting it settle on her waist.

  “Darling, I think you should come home with me,” he’d told her. Max had glanced at the tattoo and wondered if it was Brittany’s work. He felt heavy with guilt to think of her. He knew that they should have been in some darkened theater watching a movie, rather than him out running errands for the Kings gang. Resentment burned in him, dangerous and hot.

  When the clock approached the witching hour, the trio made their move. Henry had casually approached the pool table where two men in lumberjack shirts were playing.

  “Hey man, we’re still playing, wait your turn,” the taller of the men had declared tersely.

  “I don’t like waiting,” Henry had replied, narrowing his eyes. Then without warning he’d punched the taller man square in the nose, deliberately aiming his fist so that it connected with the soft base. There was a loud crack and blood erupted from the man’s face like a sinister fountain. He staggered back, clutching at his nose.

  “You broke my fucking nose!” he cried shrilly. “You fucking bastard!”

  The man’s friend managed to get a punch in. It landed on Henry’s cheek, connecting squarely with his flesh. Spittle came from his mouth as his face got knocked so harshly to the side. But Aaron was there to step in. He grabbed the man by the shoulders, pulled him close and then delivered a knee directly into his chest, winding him.

  “Hey, we don’t want no trouble!” the freshly tattooed waitress had called out, her face drained of color.

  “Go home,” Max instructed her quietly. “Turn around and walk away right now.”

  “I’ll lose my job if I leave,” she fretted.

  “Then find somewhere to hide. Things are going to get pretty ugly in here.”

  She’d nodded fearfully and scurried off towards the back room. A few of the other patrons made a hasty retreat, but the more foolhardy among them stayed. They were keen to defend their local bar. Max wanted to laugh at their naivety. Instead, he was surprised by a bearded man who wielded a blade and slashed at him, realizing that he was with the other trouble makers.

  Max cried out in surprise. But he didn’t hesitate in delivering a defensive blow. He moved with cat-like speed and grace, grabbing the man’s arm which was holding the blade and bending it back, applying pressure until he heard the reassuring snap of a bone breaking. The man screamed and dropped to his knees in agony. Stooping down Max grabbed the blade and to
ok it for himself.

  “Thanks,” he told the man who was writhing in pain, clutching his limp arm. Max walked over to join Aaron and Henry, he could feel his own warm blood trickling down from where the blade had caught him.

  “Hey,” Will was wiping a hand across his clammy forehead, his sleeves rolled up as six burly men approached the trio, thinking that they had them cornered over by the pool table.

  “What happened to you?” Will nodded at Max’s ear.

  “Some fucker cut me,” he replied with a sneer.

  “Redneck bastards. Who brings a blade to a brawl?”

  “Exactly.”