by Tia Lewis
“I mean it. Hey, do you think every MC President gets this sort of chance? A little, whaddya call it, internship? When I became Prez, it was because my Prez got his ass killed in an accident. He was so fucking drunk, he had no business riding that night. Notice how I’ve never ridden drunk.”
“I know it.”
“He never took this time with me, like I’m trying to take with you. He thought he was gonna live forever. Instead, he ended up killing himself, and I didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground. I had no idea what I was doing. You’re lucky.”
“Yeah. Real lucky.” I grimaced.
“So? What do you think?”
“I think we need to set up some kind of surveillance on them. Find out where they’re going, what they’re doing. What’s their main business right now?”
“Oh, I can tell you that much,” he said. “They just started running guns with some no name Canadian cartel.”
“Canadians?” I couldn’t help laughing. Jack laughed a little, too.
“Yeah, I know. It’s weird, right? You wouldn’t expect it.” Jack shrugged. “Hey, money’s money. And guns are money. It’s not all about Mexico, you know?”
“I guess not.” I sat back, thinking about it. “Do we know their schedule? When they pick up shipments?”
“Negative, but we can find out. If Hawk can find out so much shit about us, we can turn it around on him. It might be a big city, but we run in a small world.”
“Good. So what, we set the Cobras up the way they set us up?”
“Either that or we take some serious manpower to the next pick up and take out as many of them as we can. It’ll be risky, but then they took risks with us. I can’t see them taking more than half-dozen guys on a pickup run, do you?”
“No, that’s about right. They’re not working with that many members—two dozen, the last time I counted.”
“So that’s what we do. The Cobras can’t spare the sort of manpower we can. We vest up, and we head out. Pick the best twelve guys you can think of—but let me tell you something, if you don’t think Diesel or anybody else is stable enough to do it…”
“I know. You don’t have to tell me.” I took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, staring up at the pressed tin ceiling. It was one of my favorite parts of that room and the lounge area. It used to be a bar, our clubhouse—hence the bar in the lounge—and the ceiling was one of the original parts of the building. When the ugly old drop ceiling was taken out, around the time Jack took over and renovated, it was like stepping in a goldmine. The old place had a lot of character, and a lot of shit—both good and bad—had taken place there. Sometimes I thought it was a little haunted, like bumps and noises in the night. That type of shit. Sometimes—and nobody in the club knew this—I would sleep out on one of the couches in the main lounge with the TV on just to drown out the noises in the building. I didn’t have a TV in my room, so it was the next best thing. But I would rather have died than let anybody else know that little secret of mine. I would never hear the end of it.
“Any other business we need to discuss, just the two of us?”
“Oh, yeah.” I sat up, looking at Jack again. His grayish skin bothered me enough to make me forget what I was about to say. “But ... Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Why? Because you look half-dead yourself. You told me a couple weeks ago you were gonna go to the doctor. Did you go yet?”
“Who gave you the job of being my mother?” he grumbled, waving me off.
“I mean it, man. You’re as gray as your hair. You want me to leave you alone for a little while, maybe let you get some rest?”
He shook his head. “Not like I could rest right now, anyway. Talking helps me forget. Know what I mean?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”
“So what were you gonna say?” I noticed how he had quickly sidestepped my questions about his health, but I made a mental note to ask him again and again until he was straight with me. He was a tough nut to crack, my president, and I needed to drill it into his head that honesty was the only way we were gonna be able to work together. If I didn’t know what was happening, how could I ever be a leader? Even though he was the first one to remind me that I’d be in charge of the club one day—soon, from the way he told it—he was good at playing things close to the vest.
“Oh, right. I was gonna ask if you saw that Detective Bluth hanging around the edges of the group, down at the cemetery.”
“Oh, that asshole,” Jack waved his hand again like he was swatting away a fly. “He doesn’t mean anything.”
“I think he was waiting for one of us to crack,” I said.
“Yeah, and everybody knows that. He might as well take an oath and get a leather vest with his name on the badge. He’s like an unofficial member.”
“Him and Richie,” I said, laughing. Jack laughed, too, but the laugh didn’t reach his eyes. He had something on his mind.
“You think he knows anything?” he asked, serious again.
“I do. I think he knows a lot of shit, and he thinks he knows even more. But none of it makes a difference because he can’t make a damn thing stick.”
“You would think after all this time, the guy would have something. God, he’s been on us since before you joined the club,” Jack mused.
“Or right around that time, anyway. I remember you guys talking a lot about him back then. That was, what, over ten years ago now.”
“Yeah, and he’s still a pain in my ass. But you’re right. He doesn’t have shit on us. I wonder how much sleep he loses over that.”
“Or how much time he spends thinking about us,” I added. “God, he probably says your name when he’s fucking his wife.”
“Oh, shut up.” Jack shook his head, grimacing.
“He’s obsessed. He needs to retire. I’m sick of seeing him sneaking around. He should just give up already.”
“He’s not such a bad guy,” Jack reminded me. “I think he sorta respects us.” He saw my expression and grinned. “No, I really do. One of those ‘I don’t like you, but I have to respect what you do’ sorta things.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I said, standing. I looked down at him. “Speaking of sleep, you need to get more of it. I mean that.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. When did you lose your balls?”
“Around the time you started looking like a deflated balloon. You’ve lost weight, you know.”
“I think you’re the one who screams my name when you’re fucking one of your girls, son.”
“Maybe ... Maybe.” I winked, then left the room to the sound of him chuckling behind me. I couldn’t tell him how worried I was about him, about us. I had a bunch of loose cannons in my lounge, getting looser and looser the more they drank. I got the girls together—Darcy, Violet, Tamara and a few others who had come in while I was talking with Jack. They met with me in one corner of the room, beside the pinball machines.
“I want you girls to get sneaky tonight,” I said. “You know what I mean. Exercise those pickpocketing skills.”
“You think it’ll be that bad?” Tamara asked, chewing her lip.
Darcy twirled a strand of long black hair around her finger. I was used to seeing her do that when she was nervous. “You wanna keep them locked in tonight, you mean?”
“Yeah, that’s what I mean. I want all of them grounded. No keys. I don’t even wanna think about what would happen if any of them got on their bikes tonight.” I looked around a little. They were all drunk and getting more intoxicated by the minute, the emotion inside them letting itself out in too loud laughter, too rowdy roughhousing. They wanted a fight. If I knew them, I knew more than one of them would end up with a black eye before the night was over. Maybe worse, when the good times turned bad after a few too many drinks.
“You got it,” Tamara nodded, rounding the girls up. “We know what to do.” She was just about to walk away when I took her by the arm.
/> “You sure you’re okay, Tam?” I knew she and Austin had a thing at one time. I remembered how crazy he was about her—he used to talk to me about her sometimes when he was drunk, and he thought I was drunk and wouldn’t remember. They slept together pretty exclusively for at least a year, maybe more.
She smiled, looking brave the way she always did. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“You sure? If you need anything—”
“This wouldn’t be an invitation into your bed, would it?” She grinned knowingly. We’d known each other for too long to get away with playing games, but for once I was serious.
“No, and I’m insulted.” I gave her a pat on the ass to show there weren’t any hard feelings. “Now get out there and steal some keys.”
“Aye, aye.” She saluted, then went on with her work. I didn’t want to tell the girls that I thought some of their men, the ones they loved in their own way, might go off and get themselves killed out in the Bronx, where the Cobras operated. That was all we’d need.
I leaned against one of the machines, watching the girls picking the guys’ pockets. They were old pros—it was hardly the first time I’d asked them to do it. They would slide up against the men, lean in with a compliment or a kiss on the cheek. Their hands would slide over the ass of the guy in question, searching around. Sometimes they would dance up against them, grinding like it was all in fun. If the keys were in a front pocket, they’d pretend like they were rubbing the guy’s cock a little—again, all in fun. The guys were all so drunk and turned on they never knew what was happening. Poor suckers.
With that job done, I went to my room. I had a headache, and it had been a long day. I didn’t have to worry about my crew so I could relax a little until the next piece of drama kicked up.
Stripping down to my shorts, I stretched across the bed. The ceiling wasn’t pressed tin in there, but the room was comfortable enough. I didn’t need much. What did it say about me, that I lived out of the MC’s clubhouse? Maybe that it was the only thing I had that came close to a family or a home in my entire life? Maybe that the club was too big a part of me? I didn’t know.
What would it be like to have an old lady to go home to on a night like this one? When I had just buried the third of three friends in four days? Three close friends, brothers, men who would have laid down their lives for me? In all honesty, they had laid down their lives. Tough, strong men. And now they were dead.
If I had an old lady to go home to, I could have laid some of that pain and heartache down. She would have picked it up for me, the way an old lady did and helped me through it. She would have told me it was okay to hurt, to be sad, to want to hurt the people who took my brothers away. She might have made dinner for me, fixed me a drink, turned down the covers when I was too drunk to do it myself. She would have been there when I woke up in the morning with a hell of a hangover, and she would have made my coffee and waited until I felt strong enough to talk about it.
Most of the time, it didn’t bother me that I didn’t have a home or a woman to go to. On nights like tonight, it was another matter. I felt strongly about everything I’d missed out on, up to and including a good woman. I just hadn’t found one who mattered enough to me. And I was too busy having fun in the meantime. Why throw away a good thing? I could get pussy at the snap of my fingers—hell, I could have gone out to the lounge at that very minute and pulled a girl into my room, and she wouldn’t have fought me on it. I was that sure of myself because I’d done it before. The only one of the girls out there I’d hadn’t already fucked was Violet, and that was because she seemed a little immature … and maybe a little too desperate. I wasn’t into desperate.
It wasn’t just pussy I wanted that night. I wanted a little comfort. I knew it wouldn’t come out of a bottle, the way my crew thought it would. It would come from understanding. But who would understand me? Somebody in my world, of course. None of the women who hung around the club were the kind of woman I could get serious about—they were all hot since only hot chicks were allowed to spend time with us. They were all cool, they all understood the rules. But they weren’t the types a man could count on and settle down with. Maybe Tamara. The rest were just groupies, and all of them wanted one of us to choose them as their old lady. The fact that they weren’t particular about it and probably would have opted for any of us—including Richie, and he wasn’t even a member yet—wasn’t a compliment.
A knock at the door pulled me out of my dark thoughts. I switched on the light by the bed and called out that the door was open. It was Darcy, holding a bowl.
“Keys,” she said, shaking it with a smile on her face. “All of ‘em.”
“Damn, you girls are good. I’m gonna have to remember to chain my wallet to my belt loops around you,” I joked. “Thanks for doing that. You probably saved a lot of lives tonight.”
She waved a hand the way Jack had. “Oh, we just wanna keep you guys safe. It’s our job, you know? That’s what we do.”
“You do a great job at it. You’re the best.” I noticed the way she lingered in the doorway, the way she kept looking at me. I was aware of the fact that I was almost naked except for a pair of underwear, but I acted like it was no big deal.
“So, um, are you gonna stay in here all night?” she asked.
“Probably. I’m not in the mood for a wake or whatever that is out there.”
She nodded, biting her bottom lip. She was a cute girl—hot, really. The long black hair paired with green eyes and a curvy body. We’d gotten together before, a few times. She was good in bed.
“You want some company?” she asked. “Nobody should be alone on a night like this.”
It didn’t take me long to decide that she was right. I waved her in, and she shut the door behind her with a smile.
1
Nicole
When I opened my eyes the morning after my father’s funeral, the words my aunt spoke after the luncheon rang in my head.
“The worst part is over, Nikki.” She’d patted my hand, trying to console me. I’d looked at her, wide-eyed, wondering how the hell she would know. Had a gang of outlaws murdered her father just because he did his job? Had she been left an orphan at the age of twenty-one, fresh out of college without a guiding figure in her life? Had she ever lost the most important person in her life, the one who taught her everything valuable and meaningful?
The worst part was most definitely not over. It had just started. I had to move on without the slightest idea what that meant.
The noise was coming from the kitchen. Aunt Karen was still around, and would be for a few days. She’d insisted on staying with me, sleeping in the guest bedroom. No way would I let her sleep in my father’s room. Not that she would—the woman was clumsy and often put her foot in her mouth, but she wasn’t clueless. She had a little tact.
I guessed if she was willing to go through the motions of getting breakfast together, I should able to meet her halfway by getting out of bed. My eyes were itchy, sensitive. Too much crying, too many tissues. I rubbed my hands over them, wondering how many times they had leaked saltwater that day. With the funeral arrangements over and no more friends or family to play hostess to except for Karen, the thought of being left with nothing to do but cry was a sobering one. I’d kept it together only for the sake of the constant flow of visitors, waiting until bedtime to sob. I had no reason to put on a happy face. Karen and I knew each other too well for me to feel obligated on her behalf.
I flipped on the light in my bathroom, wincing as the fluorescent bulb assaulted me. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I wondered who stared back. Same brown hair, so dark it was almost black. She had the same heart-shaped face. Her eyes the same shade of hazel, more green than brown. Even had the same high cheekbones, along with my freshly tanned complexion.
But the woman in the mirror was so much older. There were bags under her eyes, a haunted and dreadful look there. Her mouth curved down in a frown. Her skin looked sallow, completely lifeless. The hair might have b
een the same color, but it looked tangled and dull after a night spent tossing and turning. If I had seen me on the street and didn’t know anything about me, I’d made up a backstory involving a hard life spent partying which eventually caught up to me. I looked at least ten years older.
“Nikki? I hear you moving around up there. I have breakfast waiting for you. Come down before it gets cold!”
“Okay, Aunt Karen! I’ll be right down.” Just raising my voice so she could hear me was exhausting enough to make me consider going back to bed. It was all too much. And too soon. I shouldn’t have buried my father so soon. I should have walked down the aisle on his arm. I should have handed off his first grandchild and watched the look of joy on his face. I shouldn’t have stood by his graveside only months after he took me out for my first legal drink, months after he watched me graduate college. At least he was there for that milestone.
I pulled a bulky, red, button-down cardigan over my white old college t-shirt and black polka-dot pajama pants, wrapping it around a thin frame which had only gotten thinner. The thought of eating was almost repulsive to me—ironic, seeing as how when I’d gone to bed the night before the kitchen was still overflowing with food brought over by friends and father’s coworkers.
I saw Karen had done what she could to organize things, using up some of the leftover food in putting together a makeshift breakfast. We’d hosted Dad’s luncheon there, the food catered and entirely paid for by the rest of my father’s squad. The police department had covered the funeral expenses—the least they could do, in my opinion. They took care of their own.
“Good morning, sweetie.” My aunt poured a cup of decaf coffee for me, which I accepted with a grateful smile. “Did you sleep well?”
I only looked at her, frowning, and she understood. “Me, too,” she sighed, sitting down to the strangest mixture of leftover food I’d ever seen at breakfast: roasted vegetables and grilled chicken on a dinner roll, roasted potatoes, and salad.