Long Ride The Slayers MC #3)

by Tara Oakes

  That’s the second time this prick has called somethin’ like that out and it’s starting to piss me off. I’m running a business here and I want my customers to enjoy themselves. Happy customers spend more money. The more money they spend, the more I fuckin’ make, but, I can tell just by looking at him that he’s a cheap son of a bitch.

  “Hey, darlin’,” I call the new bartender over, but can’t remember her name. Angel hired her and has told me the name a few times already, but I just can’t recall it. “You see that guy over there?” I ask and point to the loudmouth mouther fucker making a ruckus.

  I’m about to boot his ass right outta here and I want to make sure his bill is paid first.

  “He runnin’ a tab?” I want to know.

  The girl shakes her head. “No. Came in here already drunk and has only ordered two beers so far. Paid cash and no tip.”

  That’s what I thought. Douchebags like this one buy a cheap bottle of booze down at the local liquor store and guzzle it in the parking lot before even coming in. Then, they buy the cheapest drinks we have to earn them a seat to sit back and enjoy the free show without even at least stuffin’ some bills in the dancers’ panties.

  I’ve seen it a million times, and, if I had to guess, this prick is married and doesn’t want his wife to notice the missing money, so he doesn’t spend it.

  Well, I ain’t runnin’ a charity here.

  Candy’s my best dancer and her time on that stage is valuable. To her and to the club. The longer this ass hole takes up prime real estate sittin’ in that seat while we’re packed to standing room only, the more he’s costing me.

  “Thanks, darlin’. You fitting in okay?” I ask her, remembering how Angel had to adjust when she started working here.

  She smiles and nods. “I’m good. Angel trained me real well.”

  That’s good. This place can get rowdy sometimes and I need a bartender that can hold her own. Judging by the tattoos on her wrists, behind her ear and peeking out from the neckline of her shirt, I’d say she knows how to handle herself around some rough guys.

  “Well, you let me know if anyone bothers you. We got a strict no bullshit policy here, and that prick over there is about to find out.” I leave her to tend to the part of my job as owner of this club that I enjoy most.

  Kicking some ass.

  I set my sights on the poor bastard and he doesn’t even know what’s comin’ his way. It’s been a while since I’ve had reason enough to throw a punch, and my knuckles are practically itching in anticipation.

  There’s been enough stress going around between all this shit with the Cartel that I’ve been needing to get some of it out. This seems to be the the perfect opportunity for me to do just that.

  The music is pumping loudly and the crowd erupts into a roar of applause as Candy finally takes her top off and manages to do some wicked crazy kind of split to make her boobs bounce around.

  She’s a bit of a pain in the ass, Candy, but she’s a money maker for sure. That’s the only reason I put up with her crap half the time, thinking she’s a diva around here. Ever since Angel came into the picture, I haven’t fucked Candy once, making sure she knows It’s no longer an employee benefit she’s entitled to.

  I have to say, now that I’m not sticking my dick in her, she’s become a bit of a bitch. Maybe she always was and I just overlooked it because she’d distract me by blowing me. Doesn’t matter though, she’s still my best dancer and I’m not about to let this asshole customer hoot and holler at her if he’s not willing to pay her for her talents.

  I ball my one fist and press it into the other, cracking my knuckles to get them ready. Next, I stretch my neck up and to the side until that cracks as well, loosening up the joint so I’m less tense while whipping his—

  “Hey, D!” Esè jumps in front of me when I’m no more than two steps away from the unsuspecting douchebag’s table.

  Now, when a guy like me is all riled up and ready to fight, the adrenaline is pumping, ready to spring into action. It’s kind of like when you’re all worked up and ready to slide into your woman’s pussy.

  It’s not a good time to interrupt him.

  I set my heard eyes on Esè. “I’m busy.”

  “D, you gotta come out here.” Esè’s been manning the door helping the bouncers control the line waiting to get in.

  I shake my head and return my attention to my target. “The only thing I need to do right now is get that cheapskate outta my club.”

  Esè takes hold of my arm. “D. We got Kingsmen out in the parking lot.”

  That fucking catches my attention and douses the flames with ice water. What the fuck? They know better than to come here without an invitation. I wouldn’t go walking into their club over in Chisolm whenever the fuck I felt like it without expecting a brawl or a bullet.

  They sure as hell should know better and deserve just as much of a welcome by coming here as we’d get by going there.

  The drunk man in his cheap suit that’s ogling Candy has no idea how lucky he just got. Hopefully, he’ll be here when I’m done handling this shit outside, so that I can finish him.

  I turn around to the main area of the bar behind me and whistle loud enough to catch Chase’s attention. He’s holed up in the corner drooling over Cat as she sips some kind of a fruity drink.

  Most of the Ol’ ladies don’t really like coming around here and watching their man try to pretend he’s not eye fucking the strippers on stage, but Cat seems to like it well enough, showing up here a few nights every week to drink with us.

  In this case, though, Chase doesn’t even have to pretend that he’s not interested in the dancers. It’s clear he’s not whenever Cat is around, and it’s clear he’s fuckin’ whipped.

  As my Enforcer, Chase needs to be by my side when I step outside that door. He notices me calling him over and leaves his woman behind to handle business.

  “What’s up, D?”

  He asks, beer bottle still in hand.

  Esè is eager to answer for me, but I place my hand on his chest to keep him quiet. “What’s up? What’s up is we got a parking lot of Kingsmen. You wanna tell me why that is? You were supposed to be handling that.”

  The Kingsmen MC and the Slayers have a truce. A very delicate truce, which is kept in place with a lot of effort on both sides. There’s no fucking way they would have come here, knowing it could throw our cease fire out the window.

  “Shit.” Chase places his half full bottle down. “I told you Vince wasn’t happy about brushing him off. He wants to meet. I told him what you said, that we’d handle it at the council in a couple of weeks. He wasn’t happy about it. I guess he doesn’t want to wait.”

  I close my eyes and feel my jaw clench tight. I’m not in the mood for this shit.

  I’ve got the Cartel breathing down my neck on one side, pressuring me to accept bigger deliveries, and Vince, as the President of the Kingsmen, breathing down my neck on the other side. These extra two weeks until the council were supposed to give me a little more time to think of a way to buy some more time before this shit really hits the fan.

  Guess Vince isn’t gonna give me that time.

  Well, then we best not keep our guests waiting.

  I reach around and unlatch the snap on top of my holster, giving easier access to my pistol in case I need to grab it quick.

  Let’s do this.

  ~*~

  The three bikes are parked in a row at the far side of the lot, underneath one of the streetlamps. For however different the Kingsmen and the Slayers are, we have one thing in common and that’s a love for Harley’s.

  That’s about the only thing we see eye to eye on these days.

  Leaning up against the motorcycles are three men I know enough to name this far away. It’s the usual lineup for our rare meetings.

  Vince, the Kingsmen’s President, kind of like my counterpart. Jay, his son and his V.P. who is much more level headed than his old man and the one I prefer to do business with, and
, finally, the third man Clink. He’s the equivalent of their version of what Chase is to us. He’s their Enforcer.

  If I had known these guys were coming I wouldn’t have sent Gryff off to chase down Tina until tomorrow. As my VP, he should be here just in case this shit turns ugly. But, not wanting to look like we’re under manned, I grabbed the first Slayer I could find and it happened to be Esè.

  This kid is really getting thrown into the thick of things quick for a newbie. No way in hell would he ever get close to a meeting like this until he’s paid his dues for a few years. But, desperate times call for desperate measures.

  Right now, I need muscle to flank me.

  I know if things go sour that there’s a bar full of Slayers behind me that’ll be out here in less than a minute flat. But, let’s hope it don’t come to that. The last thing I need is a fucking fight in my lot. The cops would be swarming all over it and it’ll just be more eyes on me that I don’t need right now.

  No. I’m not raising any alarms by letting the rest of the guys know what’s going on out here. If they hear gunshots, then they’ll figure it out on their own and come running out guns blazing.

  “You boys lost?” I call out as we approach. “Chisolm’s just down that highway about two hours.”

  Vince straightens. “Thanks for the directions.”

  Smart ass.

  “What’re you doin’ here Vince? You know this shit can’t be tolerated. I don’t go play in your back yard, you don’t come play in mine,” I cut the pretense.

  Jay and Clink move to stand on either side of their President as we face off.

  “Seems your back yard’s been busy, Dawson. We’re hearing rumors,” Vince beats around the bush. “Thought it would be best to talk it out face to face and see what’s true. See what’s not.”

  Yeah… I’m sure he already knows everything he needs to. He’s only here to hear me confirm it, to give him all the reason he needs to make a move.

  “Well, you know what they say about rumors. Only believe about half of them,” I deflect. “I got your message about wanting a sit down. I also sent you a reply that now’s not really a good time. We got the council meeting coming up. Why waste a perfectly good opportunity to talk about this all on neutral ground? Sorry to cause you an unnecessary trip out here, but I think it’s best we wait ‘till the council meeting.”

  “Afraid that won’t work, Dawson. I’ve got some concerns. Concerns that won’t wait ‘till then. You’ve got some shit goin’ on here that is just waiting to spill over into Chisolm. That makes this my business, and I don’t just let my business sit and wait until I take care of it,” Vince is getting agitated.

  I need to scale this shit back. “Look. You got trouble every once in a while over there. Do I come runnin’ and whining every time I hear things? No. I let you take care of yours. The last time you boys had trouble over there, you came to us for help.”

  I remind Vince and his men of what went down a few months ago, of exactly how the Cartel even came into the picture. It was over in his territory, over in Chisolm, that the Cartel first made a move, looking for some new turf to sell their smack.

  The Kingsmen don’t tolerate drugs in their town and needed to chase the Cartel out. But, they knew they couldn’t do it alone. So… they came to us with their hand out, looking for help, convincing me that it was in my club’s best interest to help them eradicate the threat.

  And he had valid points back then.

  If the Cartel was successful in taking over Chisolm, it was only a matter of time until they branched out and found their way into Riverdale. Once that happened, it would have added a layer of competition to the market, a market we already have a monopoly on.

  So, the decision to help Vince and his men chase the Cartel out of Chisolm was a strategic business move on my part and nothing else. Little did I know that it would bring retaliation by the Cartel, which was under Cat’s father’s rule at the time.

  That was how this whole fucking mess started, how the Conquistadors drug cartel even came to be a blip on my radar. It all stems from the Kingsmen. So, in a way, they’re to blame for all of this. If they were able to handle their own shit and not need to come cryin’ for help, then none of the events of the last few months would have happened.

  The attempt on Stitch’s life wouldn’t have been made. My hand wouldn’t have been forced to help Mateo in his coup to take over the Cartel, and I wouldn’t be in bed with them now, forced to do business with a damn Mexican drug lord, even if he is a slight improvement from his predecessor.

  “I got some shit to clean up and it’s gonna take me a while to do it. If I need your help, I’ll make sure to come ask, but if you don’t hear from me, then it’s safe to assume that my club is fully capable of taking care of our own shit,” I make myself clear. “Any interference is only gonna piss me off. I think we both know what happens when I get pissed off, Vince.”

  There’s silence for a moment as we each stare down the man standing opposite us.

  “The Council is in two and a half weeks, Dawson. That’s how long you’ve got to clean this up. If nothing’s changed by the next time I see you, then I think it’s safe to assume that you can’t contain whatever you’ve got going on and we’ll just need to do it for you.”

  His threat is thinly veiled.

  I can see this meeting has run its course.

  “You boys best be leaving now before I tell you how I feel about ultimatums.” I use every ounce of willpower to remind myself that if I lose my shit right now, I’m just gonna be playing into his hand.

  The Kingsmen and the Slayers have been walking a fine line for long enough and both sides have just about run out of patience with the other. I don’t know for sure about Vince but I know that I’m practically chomping at the bit to fire the first shot and handle this like men, like our kind do.

  “Two and a half weeks, Dawson,” he repeats himself.

  My eye twitches and I remind myself over and over why it’s a bad idea to lose my cool. I’ve got too much to lose.

  “I’d offer you boys a beer before you leave, but… fuck it. My bar doesn’t serve assholes,” I quip as they each mount their bikes.

  One engine joins the next and then the next as they start up and fall in line behind Vince’s bike in the lead. I don’t even try to fight the urge to wave sarcastically as they take off down the highway and become nothing more than a trio of red tail lights fading away in the distance.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MOLLY

  The towel in my hand is still warm, almost hot, from the dryer. Fluffy and soft it folds easily and actually bounces a little when I add it to the pile.

  There’s nothing I love more than warm towels and sheets that still smell like fabric softener. The tall stack of tan towels is beginning to climb and threatens to topple over soon so I cut it in half and carry the smaller pile carefully out of the laundry room with just enough clearance over the top one to actually see where I’m going.

  All the hard work I’m putting into balancing the laundry is almost lost as I jump at the sound of the doorbell.

  “Come in! It’s open!” Normally I would never just invite a person in, but I have a pretty good idea whose distorted shadow is behind the pebbled glass of the front door.

  “Sorry I’m late!” Baby calls down the foyer as if expecting me to be in the kitchen.

  The fundraiser carnival for Trixie’s preschool starts in about two hours and we had made plans to all go together and help set up.

  “It’s okay,” I shout down the stairs. “I’m finishing up some laundry. I’m up here.”

  Giving away my true location, it only takes her a few seconds to ascend the stairs with the the baby carrier in hand, like a pro.

  And I thought balancing a bunch of folded towels was challenging. One look at Baby and I suddenly feel like my accomplishment is child’s play compared to hers. She’s got a fabric diaper bag over one shoulder, a shopping bag in the matching hand and the baby ca
rrier in the other.

  She’s not even out of breath.

  “You ready?” Baby places the bags she’s carrying down on the carpet and the plastic carrier next to it, working the buckles and snaps to take Lu out of the cushioned cocoon and up into her arms instead, bouncing the little girl in her arms.

  “Oh, and I brought these for you. Lu’s already grown out of ‘em, so you keep them and use them when you need.” She bends down to grab the handles of the plastic grocery bag near her foot. “They’re all pink. So… I guess there’s a fifty-fifty chance you’ll use them. If not, you can just donate them.”

  I smile as I take her offering and lead her into the spare bedroom we’ll be using as a nursery. “Thanks. I haven’t really bought much yet and I didn’t have Sasha when she was that small so I don’t have any hand me downs for the beginning. I’ll take whatever I can get at this point.”

  The wall light switch is flipped on as we enter the normally empty room, and I see Baby taking stock of the bare walls. Well… bare except for the posters of half naked and, in some cases, fully naked women crawling all over Harleys.

  “Interesting decorating choice for a nursery. Let me guess? Dawson?” Baby hits the nail on the head.

  I nod. “Yup. I told him he has a couple of months before he needs to take them down, but I’m kind of afraid of where he’s going to move them.” Secretly, I’m terrified he’s gonna want to put these up in our bedroom when the time comes.

  These posters are the very same ones that hung in his bedroom as a teenager, and look the part. The edges are tattered and sprinkled with tiny holes from the many thumbtacks that were used to hole them in place against the sheetrock over the years. Dawson isn’t necessarily a sentimental kind of guy but these posters mean something to him. I didn’t have the heart to tell him to throw them out, but I’ll be damned if they’re hanging over my own bed one day.

  “I made Stitch put his in the tool shed.” Baby relates. “Don’t worry. We’ve got time. We’ll get this place set up for you.”

  “Maw!” Sasha comes running in and crashes into my legs. “Is it time?”