by Zoey Parker
She'd seen the Eagles go to war before—twice against other MCs, and once against a local gang of white supremacists. It was always stressful and scary, but it was part of the biker life and she'd grudgingly learned to accept it. She used to get exasperated at how Hunter seemed to relish the chance to create mayhem and dish out punishment. She'd often hoped he would eventually grow up, stop acting so macho, and start approaching the threat of violence with more caution.
But now that she'd seen the apprehensive look on Hunter's face, she wished she hadn't hoped that after all. Because anything that could put that much fear into him was almost certainly something heavy enough to take down the entire club.
Missy shut off the water, toweled off, and got ready for bed. She tried to think about what could possibly pose such a risk to the Eagles, but her thoughts kept returning to Cain's body.
In the past, she'd always been fascinated—and somewhat horrified—by men's ability to shamelessly lust after women they didn't even like, or in some cases, outright loathed. As a woman, she'd always smugly considered herself above that kind of thing.
But now she was fantasizing about a stubborn man who'd spent most of the night treating her like she was an annoying pest, and she was embarrassing herself in the process.
She slipped between the sheets and rolled onto one side, then the other, trying to get comfortable. Every time she shifted into a different position, she thought about how Cain's hands would feel on her body.
She tossed and turned, picking up her cell phone every ten or fifteen minutes to check the time.
Thirty minutes passed. Then another thirty.
And another.
Okay, this is ridiculous, Missy thought. I've had a long night, I'm exhausted, and I need to get some sleep no matter what it takes. If that means indulging myself in this stupid fantasy for a few minutes to get it out of my system, so be it. Maybe a good, solid orgasm will knock me out.
She got up, grabbed her vibrator from its drawer, and flopped back down on the bed. She turned the knob at the base of the device and gently pressed the humming tip against her clit, sighing and closing her eyes.
In Missy's mind, Cain was naked and positioning himself over her prone body. His injuries were gone, his skin taut and tantalizing in the glow of the early afternoon sun. His long brown hair hung around his shoulders, and the shafts of light from the window picked up the reddish highlights in his neatly-trimmed beard. His green eyes twinkled mischievously, filled with desire as his lips hovered inches away from hers.
He reached between Missy's legs and the buzzing toy became his fingers, stroking the moist lips of her pussy. She let out a low moan as his fingers traced delicate patterns up and down, teasing her before plunging inside of her. They pushed against her G-spot insistently, making her light-headed with pleasure. She could hear her pulse throbbing in her ears and imagined it was Cain's heartbeat as he pressed himself against her body.
Just when Missy felt like she couldn't take any more, the vibrator went deeper inside of her, touching her cervix. She rubbed her clit and let out a long cry of ecstasy as she came hard, soaking the blanket beneath her pelvis.
She stayed there for a few more moments, breathing hard and trembling. Finally, she switched the vibrator off and tossed it on the nightstand. She got under the covers again and put on her sleep mask.
But she still found herself strangely jittery and unsatisfied, and caught herself wondering how her fantasy of sex with Cain would compare to the real thing.
Sleep was a long time coming.
Chapter 11
Hunter
Hunter was deep in thought as he rode his bike over to Cain's place to check in on him.
He hadn't wanted to let Missy see how uneasy he was, but he knew he'd done a piss-poor job of hiding it. One more thing to blame himself for, along with not going to the Teepee Motel to take care of the dealer himself and not being prepared for the threat that faced the Eagles now. Keith had told him the name Nostril had given up.
Gaspar Hernandez, Hunter thought. Fuck. We are so screwed.
The Eagles had maintained a truce with Gaspar ever since he and his gang moved into Dipper County a year and a half ago. Gaspar was a high-ranking member of the powerful Barros Cartel based in Mexico, just outside of Juarez. They'd sent him up to Ohio to oversee their Midwest distribution network for cocaine and heroin.
At first, there had been some tension between the Eagles and Gaspar's men, but they soon met and established a set of boundaries they could both work within. The Eagles agreed not to deal coke or H so they wouldn't be competing with the Barros Cartel, and in return, Gaspar agreed to respect the club's turf and keep his business outside of Micanaw's borders. This arrangement had worked well so far, since neither side seemed eager to start a war that would attract the attention of the authorities.
But based on what Keith had told Hunter, now it seemed like Gaspar had decided to piss all over their treaty. He'd set Nostril up in a room at the Teepee and waited for word to get out that someone was dealing in Micanaw without permission. And when the Eagles showed up, Gaspar's men had been there, ready to send a bloody message.
“Why, though?” Hunter had asked Keith when he first heard. The two of them had sat at the bar, drinking shots of whiskey. “Was this whole 'truce' we negotiated just a smokescreen the whole time?”
Keith shrugged. “Could be. Could be it gave Gaspar time to buy off or threaten the feds and the staties. But that ain't the biggest question here, is it, boss? What we really need to know is, was this shit sanctioned by the cartel, or did Gaspar just get bored an' greedy an' decide to expand on his own?”
Hunter sighed, putting his face in his hands. “I dunno, man. Fuck, I just...I dunno. Whatever this crap is, it's more trouble than we've ever faced down before. I mean, Gaspar's guys are mostly trained killers—former Mexican soldiers, mercenaries, real hard cases. An' they've got so many fuckin' military-grade weapons, we may as well be carryin' goddamn slingshots.
“So, what are our options?” he continued, taking another drink. “Basically, it seems like we got three. We can run, we can surrender, or we can stand our fuckin' ground.”
Keith considered this carefully. “Hell, runnin' ain't much of a choice. I mean, maybe we could go find another town to run our shit from, but by the time we got there, we'd be known as a pack of worthless yellow cowards who can be pissed on without consequences.”
Hunter nodded. “Fair point. An' surrender is an ugly fuckin' word. Sure, there's a chance we could still make a deal with Gaspar, give up a little slice of our action in Micanaw to keep the peace...”
“Yeah, but what about the next time Gaspar steps over the line? An' the next?” Keith asked. “What, are we gonna just hang our fuckin' heads, step aside, an' let him do whatever he wants? We gonna take orders from him, run his errands, an' fork over our profits like a bunch of bitches?”
Hunter shuddered. “Fuck that. At least we got a code to live by. These cartel guys, though...they're bunch of fuckin' nutjobs. For all we know, they could order us to blow away a bunch of innocent people, or do someone's kid as a warning. An' when we say no...”
“He lights us up anyway,” Keith finished. “Makin' the whole fuckin' thing pointless from the start. An' besides, if we ain't got freedom, Hunter, then what the fuck do we got, huh? If we're willin' to just bow down for guys like Gaspar, we may as well hang up our goddamn cuts an' get square jobs.”
“Which means staying and fighting,” Hunter said. “Which would probably end with all the Eagles being slaughtered.”
Keith shrugged again. “You know anythin' 'bout the Mexican Revolution?”
Hunter chuckled bitterly. “Yeah. It was a bunch of Mexicans, right? An' they revolted?”
“I watch the history channel sometimes,” Keith continued, “even though Cain likes to give me shit for it. One show was about this guy called Zapata, who led a revolution down there in 1910 'cause their president was a corrupt asswipe. An' one thing this Za
pata guy said always stuck with me, 'cause it basically nailed the whole reason I joined the Eagles. 'It's better to die on your feet than to live on your knees.'”
This had made sense to Hunter, and deep down, he'd known Keith was right. Fighting back was their only real choice.
Still, it was hard enough to gear up for a fight that seemed like it couldn't possibly be won. And it was a hell of a lot harder when Hunter considered the idea that his sister might end up as collateral damage. The Eagles had strict rules about not involving their enemies' families in their conflicts, but he knew the cartel had no such restrictions. And it wasn't just Missy, either. A lot of the other Eagles had wives, girlfriends, parents, siblings, and kids, all of whom could quickly become targets for Gaspar.
Hunter couldn't bear that thought. But he couldn't see any way around it, and he cursed himself for that.
He parked his bike in front of Cain's house, putting the kickstand down and dismounting. Then he walked up to the front door and knocked. He wanted to make sure Cain was okay. Part of him felt like he owed Cain some kind of apology, but he couldn't quite think of the right words or even make sense of what he wanted to apologize for—the beating Cain had taken, or the even worse beating the rest of the club was probably about to take because he couldn't come up with a way out for them?
There was no answer, and Hunter knocked on the door again.
After a few moments passed, Hunter started to get nervous. What if the internal bleeding had been worse than anyone thought and Cain was lying on the floor, dead? What if Gaspar had sent his men to finish the job?
Hunter pulled the Glock from the back of his jeans with one hand, holding it down at his side. With his other hand, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a large set of keys and trying not to jangle them too loudly. Any time one of the Eagles got a place of his own, Hunter always made sure he had a spare key in case of emergencies.
He took a deep breath, jammed the key into the lock, turned it, and burst into the living room with his gun pointed.
Cain was sprawled on the couch, snoring heavily. He was fully dressed, and he even still had his boots on. Hunter figured it had probably been too painful for him to pull them off himself. The TV was on with the volume up loud as it played an old black-and-white cowboy movie.
Cain's face was still swollen and puffy, the bruises a deep shade of purple. There were a few stitches here and there on his face, but the ones on his scalp practically made him look like a baseball. The broken arm was draped across the scarred and cigarette-burned coffee table where two bottles of pills stood open.
Poor bastard, Hunter thought. I should have done a better job keeping you safe. I don't know how, but goddamn it, I'm your president and it was my duty to look out for you, and here you are with more stitches in you than a three-piece suit.
Out loud, Hunter had been more than willing to blame Keith, which was entirely logical. But deeper down in the less-logical recesses of his heart, Hunter couldn't stop blaming himself.
Hunter bent down and picked up the pill bottles, examining them. One was hydrocodone to dull the pain, and the other was benzodiazepine to help Cain sleep through whatever the hydrocodone couldn't take away. Hunter had sold enough pills in his life to recognize how potent and highly addictive both of them were, especially if taken in the high dosages recommended on the bottles he was holding.
He winced. The Eagles could be hard drinkers and they never shied away from smoking weed at parties, or even enjoying a bit of acid or E now and then. But the use of heavier drugs was strictly prohibited in the club, since perpetually stoned or strung-out members couldn't be trusted to look out for their brothers. Cain had never shown any propensity for violating these rules, and he usually even waved away the offers of joints since he insisted on staying clear-headed in case an emergency came up.
So, if he was taking these drugs, Hunter couldn't even imagine the kind of pain he must have been in.
Hunter grabbed Cain's left boot and pulled it off for him, then did the same for the right one. Cain stirred faintly and mumbled a mouthful of muddy gibberish before settling back into sleep again.
“Get some rest, brother,” Hunter said quietly.
He knew he couldn't let Cain stay here by himself when he couldn't even undress properly or go out for groceries. But he also knew Cain's fierce pride would drive him to reject offers of help from fully-patched Eagles, since he'd figure they should be busy protecting Hunter and the Lost Knife instead of helping him out of his shirt and pants. Even if Hunter assigned Eagles to help him under the guise of protecting him from another attack, Cain would probably still say no.
Suddenly, Hunter had an idea.
He stepped out onto the front porch and dialed his cell phone. After a couple of rings, Missy picked up. She sounded like she'd just woken up.
“Hey, where are you?” Missy said groggily.
“I'm at Cain's.”
“Oh. Do you want me to go to the Knife after all?” Missy asked. “'Cause I've still got a few hours and I was hoping for a little more sleep, but if you need me to come in early...”
“No, I want you to stay away from the Knife for a few days,” Hunter replied. “I dunno if it's gonna be safe there. In fact, I kinda doubt it.”
“Oh, but you'll still be hanging out there, though, right?” Missy sneered. “Typical. You can lecture me all you want about my safety, but whenever yours comes up...”
“We don't got time for that argument right now, sis,” Hunter said, fighting back his impatience. Damn, but she could be infuriating sometimes. “There's somethin' else I want you to do instead of bartending an' the rest of that shit. Somethin' a lot more important.”
“Yeah?” Missy asked, her voice sharpening with interest. “Cool, I'm down. What is it?”
“I need you to come to Cain's place an' make sure he's okay,” said Hunter.
“But you said you're already there.”
“Yeah, but I gotta go meet with the guys an' figure out what to do next. I'm going to leave the spare key under the mat. I need someone to hang out here for a few hours, to make sure that Cain's got everything he needs. If he's hungry, cook something for him.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone.
“Sis? You still there?”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Missy said.
“Hey, you said you wanted to do more for the club, so...”
“Yeah, okay, I fell for that line last night and did what you asked,” Missy replied sharply. “But come on, you know this isn't the kind of stuff I had in mind.”
“I still don't know what the fuck you had in mind, to be honest,” Hunter answered, “an’ right now, I don't really give a goddamn. This is what I need you to be doin’ for the club right now.”
“Seriously? I tell you I'm sick of feeling like the most important thing I do for the Eagles is cook your fucking breakfast, and your solution is to have me cook it for someone else?”
“Look, there's a lot more to it than that, all right?” Hunter snapped. “Mostly I need you to keep an eye on him an' make sure he stays put an' rests, instead of doin' anything foolish like goin' out for revenge.”
“Because that's the kind of foolish thing you'll be busy doing.”
Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. Working on bikes with loud drills and cranks and breathing in gasoline fumes never gave him a headache, but fighting with Missy almost always did.
“I need you to be with me on this, sis. He's gotta sit this shit out an' let himself heal up, an' I know he won't do it unless there's someone here makin' him. An' more than that, I need you to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious comin' around. The second it looks like there might be trouble, even if you ain't sure—hell, even if you just get a funny feelin' without seein' anythin' specific—I want you to get me on the phone so we can ride out there an' make sure you're both okay.”
There was another pause, shorter this time, as Missy digest
ed this information. “Okay. You're right. That does sound important. I'm sorry. If that's what you need me to do, I'll do it, sure.”
“Thank you,” Hunter said. “It'll just be for a little while.”
“Good. Because I know how much you like Cain, but honestly, he can be kind of a dick.”
Hunter chuckled. “Yeah, I reckon he can. Just like I reckon bein' in the kind of pain he's in right now won't soften up his disposition all that much. Do yer best to put up with him, that's all I ask. An' try to be gentler with him than you were on Marian that one time.”
“Ugh, don't get me started on her,” Missy said, laughing a little in spite of herself. “Just tell me one thing. What kind of people should I be on the lookout for?”