by Harley Stone
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Boots.”
“Well, he’s handsome.” Turning to the dog I added, “But you already know that, don’t you?”
He licked my hand and I scratched behind his ears.
Link eyed his watch. “He’s also a service dog that has to get back to work, and we gotta go eat. After lunch I’ll introduce you to my VP, and he’ll show you around. I’ve got a quick meeting next door, but I’ll be back to debrief before you head out.”
Next door? My mind wandered, trying to remember what was on either side of the fire station. A bar and grill to the south, and some sort of outdoor store to the north. Curious about which one would house his meeting, but determined to mind my own damn business, I nodded.
“Sounds great. Lead the way.”
Link led me down a brightly-lit hallway and into an office decorated in all black and white, the focal point of which being a giant MIA flag hanging on the wall above a high-backed chair.
“Depressing, isn’t it?” he asked, stepping into the office behind me.
My gaze drifted around the office, drawn to the dozens of framed news articles hanging randomly. I focused on one… a story about a local soldier committing suicide. The next, statistics about homeless soldiers. Yes, the decor definitely needed a pick-me-up.
“Maybe some fresh daisies or a giant smiley face could brighten the place up,” I noted, sounding awkward even in my own ears.
He smiled. “Yeah. Well, Pops decorated it when he bought the place. Claimed it reminded him why we do what we do; helped him stay focused on the mission. He retired a few years ago, but I don’t have the heart to change it.”
So, Link had a sentimental streak. I filed that little tidbit of information away for later and took a deep breath through my nose. My mouth immediately watered. “Something smells delicious. Is that bar-b-que?”
He led me to the other side of his desk where an impressive spread covered a large coffee table, gesturing for me to have a seat on the black, leather loveseat alongside it. I sat, and he joined me, our knees touching as he passed me a plate.
“Yep. I hope you’re not a vegetarian,” he said, palming his own plate. “They just opened up a new place down the street, and the smell has been killing me. Been dying to try it.”
“Not a vegetarian,” I replied, salivating as I closed in on the food. Ribs, brisket, buns, mac-n-cheese, salad, coleslaw, it was bar-b-que paradise. We both dug in. The food was excellent, and his proximity was strangely companionable. Not weird or uncomfortable at all. It felt like we’d known each other for months, rather than three days. We ate in silence as I surveyed the rest of his office, taking in all the things that made this sexy man tick. The sights didn’t tell me much, so I launched us into an impromptu question and answer session.
“You said your father started the Dead Presidents?” I asked before shoveling another bite in.
“Yep.”
I chewed and swallowed. “Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
The most annoying answer ever. I cocked an eyebrow at him and called him out on it. “As in, you don’t want to tell me? Or you’re afraid I have ADD and can’t sit through the answer?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I like the way you don’t pull your punches. It’s… refreshing.”
“Refreshing?” I smiled back, enjoying the way my bluntness didn’t intimidate him. “Don’t think flattery will get you out of sharing.”
He watched me as he chewed and swallowed. Nice full lips, strong, square jaw, intelligent blue eyes, there was no denying my attraction to him. As I began to think he’d ignore my question, he took a deep breath and started the tale.
“Mom got pregnant with me about the time Pops, his brother, Wade, and about half of Seattle got laid off from Boeing. Not a lot of places were hiring, and Pops didn’t know how he’d support us, so he and Uncle Wade decided to join the Army. Mom had me while he was away, and a few years later, when Pops was home on leave, she got pregnant with my little sister, Naomi. Pops has never done anything half-ass, and so when he served the country, he did it all the way. He passed the Q-Course and went on to Special Forces. Uncle Wade tried to follow him, but didn’t make it. He stayed on as an infantryman.”
Link’s gaze landed on a black and white picture. I followed it to find two handsome men—one of which looked a lot like Link—dapper in their Army uniforms, M16s slung over their shoulders.
“Mom pretty much raised me and Naomi alone until Uncle Wade’s unit went missing. They found a few bodies, but not my uncle’s. Pops came home shortly afterward, but my uncle never did. Pops thinks he was captured, and it fucked with his head pretty bad. Mom couldn’t handle the man he’d turned into, and she must have been tired of raising me and Naomi, because she split when I was eight and Naomi was five. We never saw her again.”
His story tugged at my heartstrings. My parents had died when I was young, but neither of them had abandoned me willingly. I couldn’t imagine what that would be like for him and his sister. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be. Shit happens for a reason, and Mom’s absence allowed Pops to do something great that she never would have agreed to had she stayed. My grandparents died shortly after Mom left, leaving Pops the inheritance he needed to start this club. Me and Naomi lost our mom, but we gained a shit-ton of family in the process. Aunts, uncles, cousins, people who needed this place… needed the structure, the accountability, and the stability… shit they lost when they got out of the service. I grew up building bikes and listening to war stories, surrounded by good people who’d willingly sacrificed so much for their country that they couldn’t remember how to live.”
“The Dead Presidents.” I nodded. “I get it now. What made you go into the service?”
“Stubbornness,” he said with a chuckle. “I’d heard so many stories, I wanted to experience it for myself. Pops asked me not to, but there was pride in his eyes the day I enrolled. I get him—and the cause—now, on a level I never could have understood had I not served. It made me the man I am today, and I don’t regret a damn thing.”
Why was he telling me all of this? Don’t get me wrong, I’d had hundreds of people bare their souls to me over the years, but it was usually in an attempt to prove their innocence. As far as I could see, Link couldn’t be accused of anything other than being a sexy badass carrying on his father’s legacy for helping people.
“And your sister?” I asked.
“Naomi’s in the Air Force.”
Before I could fire off any more questions, a knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” Link called out.
The door opened, and a handsome blond beefcake strolled in.
“Wasp. Just in time. Ms. Stafford, this is Wasp, Vice President of the club. Wasp, Ms. Stafford is the attorney taking Havoc’s case.”
“Emily, please,” I said, stepping forward to shake Wasp’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
He grinned. “Pleasure.”
“Wasp will take care of you and make sure you talk to everyone you need to talk to. If he—or any of these other assholes—give you any trouble, you nail ’em with that elbow thing, but make sure you aim for their throats.”
“What elbow thing?” Wasp asked.
I shrugged, trying my best to feign innocence as Link laughed and hurried out the door.
Link
LUNCH WITH EMILY was nice, and I hated to cut it short, but some things couldn’t be helped. My responsibilities, for example. People always said shit rolled downhill, but Pops had taught me differently. He’d shown me that the man on top always needed to get his hands dirty or risk losing the respect of everyone beneath him. I don’t know if it’s true for everyone, but even though he retired a few years ago, when Pops says jump, everyone still finds a damn trampoline.
If I was going to fill his shoes and be the leader the Dead Presidents deserved, I needed to earn that level of respect. Thankfully, Pops had been a good teach
er.
Deryk had texted me shortly after Emily arrived to let me know he was at the station, hanging out in his room until she left. It was smart of him to avoid her, so she wouldn’t place him if she caught sight of him on her tail. The kid had been doing his job and deserved a break, but a rare opportunity for a lesson had come up, and I wasn’t about to waste it.
I hurried up to his room and pounded on the door.
When it swung open a bleary-eyed, bare-chested Deryk stood before me. No doubt the kid had just drifted off to sleep.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. I hate to do this to you, but I have some club business I need you in on. Should only take a few minutes, then you can come back and get a nap in.”
Since he was fresh out of the military and used to taking orders, he didn’t argue. “Let me grab my shoes.” He stepped back into his room and rummaged around.
Once Deryk reemerged, we headed out the back, went through the side gate, and I used my key to let us into the side door of the Copper Penny Bar and Grill.
In his time as president, Pops had purchased the fire station and an auto repair shop three blocks down the street. Shortly after Pops retired, the bar next to the station listed for sale. The shop had given us the capital we needed to make the purchase, and the deal was too sweet to pass up. We bought it, so now we had two successful businesses keeping club members and recruits employed and paying the taxes and upkeep on the station.
Pops, the club, and I had all invested a lot of time and money into the businesses. The success or failure of the club hinged on our money makers, and my primary responsibility—as club president—was to protect our investments (the members and the businesses). I watched the books and the cameras like a hawk, which was how I’d figured out that we had a problem.
Beside me, Deryk’s head was on a swivel as he took in the bar. With 70’s style wooden paneling, wooden floors, and a wooden ceiling, the Copper Penny was past due for an update. I’d been saving up money to do just that when the tills had started coming up short. Regardless of the decor, the sound system was top notch. Since it was still early afternoon, low, conversation-level rock music played, but around six p.m., the music would crank up for the wilder crowd. I’d have to bring the kid back in one night when the place was hopping and let him really see it. Maybe for his twenty-first birthday.
With Deryk still in tow, I marched straight into the manager’s office where two men were looking over a report. They stopped what they were doing and turned their attention on me.
“Link,” Flint—the day manager—said by way of greeting, his eyes flashing to the man beside him. Flint had discovered the discrepancies shortly after I had. He’d approached me, but I’d already been pouring over financials and looking into the problem. Three days ago, we’d pulled the bar’s videos and confirmed my suspicions about the culprit. Unfortunately, he’d gone out of town for the past two days, but now he was back, and it was time to handle the situation.
“Hey Link,” Brass said, looking from me to Flint. “What’s up?”
Despite his thin and wiry frame, Brass had a reputation for being mean as fuck. He’d picked up the nickname because of his penchant for brass knuckles. His father had gotten him a pair when he was a kid, and he still used them to this day. I’d always seen brass knuckles as a pussy’s weapon, and his pride in them had been my first red flag. I should have listened to my gut, but I’d wanted to believe all ex-soldiers could be decent human beings.
Turns out, he’d proven me wrong. Pissed beyond reason, I stared him down.
“What’s going on?” Brass asked, almost believable confusion written all over his face.
“I don’t know, Brass, why don’t you tell me?”
His brow furrowed as he scratched his head and looked over my shoulder. “This the new guy? He looking for work? Looks a little young, but we could put him on as one of the door guards.”
“This isn’t about placing Deryk,” I ground out. “You can stop playin’ dumb any time now. You know why I’m here.”
More scratching of his head. “Actually, I’m at a loss, Prez. I got no clue what the hell’s goin’ on.”
I pointed at the camera above his head. “You’re aware we have those things everywhere, right?”
“Yeah.” His expression was blank, but his shoulders tensed up a fraction.
“And you realize they’re on all the time?”
“Yeah.”
“And that I can and do pull video from them at any time?”
He froze.
“What? You didn’t realize that? Think I just mounted them up there for shits and giggles?”
“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Link, but I—”
The mother-fucker was going to make me spell it out for him. “We pulled video, Brass. With my own eyes, I saw you pocketing money from the till before you closed up. On multiple nights you stole from not only me, but also from my dad, your brothers, and all the causes we support.”
Brass didn’t say shit.
“You were homeless when we took you in, remember?”
Not a goddamn peep.
My blood was beginning to boil. “You may have forgotten, but I remember. Your nightmares were so bad you scared your girl shitless. She kicked you out on your ass. You called and asked us to take a chance on you. Any of this shit jogging your memory?”
His gaze was hard. Unrepentant. As if my reminding him where he came from was some sort of affront to his person. If he thought I was letting up, he had another think coming.
“You were a recruit for eight and half months, and then you took the pledge. I mistook you for a man of your word and patched you myself.”
And I should have known better. Goddamn pussy brass-fucking-knuckles. Still not a damn word to say for himself.
“We gave you a place to live, a job, opportunity for personal and financial growth, and this is how you repay us?”
His chin rose an inch. I wanted nothing more than to lower it back down. Preferably into the beer-stained wooden floor.
“Care to explain your reason for being such a greedy, selfish bastard?” I asked.
Finally, his mask of indifference slid off, leaving behind a twisted scowl. “You self-righteous, holier-than-thou, son-of-a-bitch, Link. Thinkin’ you’re better than everyone else just because your dad started a motorcycle club. I don’t have to explain shit to you.”
He was right, he didn’t. And it wouldn’t change anything, anyway.
I lunged, throwing a right uppercut. Brass tried to dodge, but he’d seen it too late. My knuckles dug into his jaw, tossing his head backward. Before he could recover, I threw a left punch to his gut. As he fell forward to block, I grabbed his head with both hands and shoved it into my knee. When he pulled his head back, blood ran freely from his now crooked nose. He took a wild swing at me, grazing my side, but leaving himself wide open in the process. I landed another punch to his face. This one, square in the jaw, took him down. He crashed into the chair before sliding to the floor.
He started to get up, and I waved him forward. “Please. Make my fuckin’ day.”
Instead, he kicked at me. I jumped back, but not before he tapped my knee.
Pain sliced through my leg, pissing me off even more. I fell on him, pounding his stomach for all I was worth. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Just like punching a bag. He tried to block the first couple of blows, but he couldn’t keep up. Finally, he fell limp, and I withdrew, ripping his cut off him before I stood.
“You don’t deserve this,” I said, shaking it in the air. “Flint, get me a knife.”
Flint grabbed a switchblade from his back pocket and handed it over.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Brass asked, watching as I opened the blade.
“You know the rules. Flint, help me get him on his stomach.”
Flint and I rolled Brass over and I lifted up his shirt, revealing the Dead Presidents logo on his back. Starting at the top
corner of the logo, I broke his skin with the blade and he screamed like a little girl.
“Shove something in his mouth,” I said.
Flint removed the stained rag from the top of his apron and stuffed it into Brass’s mouth, muffling his screams. I went back to work, marking a giant X through the tattoo. It would scar like a mother-fucker, and anyone who saw it would know he’d been forcefully removed from the club.
Once I was finished, I cleaned the knife off on Brass’s pants before handing it back to Flint. Security had appeared while I was finishing up. I waved them in.
“Get him the fuck out of here,” I said.
They rushed in to drag Brass out, but I thought better of it. Stopping them, I grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and relieved him of the four hundred and twenty-two dollars he had before tossing it on his chest. I handed the cash to Flint.
“Put it in the till. It won’t make up for what he stole, but it’s better than nothing.” Turning to Brass, I said, “You owe us nine hundred and seventy-eight dollars. It started accruing interest yesterday, so I suggest you find a way to pay it back as soon as possible. You call me when you have the money and I’ll arrange for a pick up. Don’t call me, and I swear I will find you, asshole. There’s not a hole deep enough for you to hide from me.”
Brass glared at me as they dragged him out. I silently berated myself for ever letting him in. I had to be smarter and more careful in the future. My instincts were good, and I couldn’t afford to ignore them again.
Deryk followed me out of the bar, staring at me like I’d grown a second head. Good. I needed the kid to know that this was the price of disloyalty. A healthy amount of fearful respect never hurt anyone.
“How long was Brass with the club?” Deryk asked as we made our way back through the gate.
“Two and a half years,” I replied. “He was one of the first recruits I brought after I was voted in as president.”
Deryk sucked in a breath. “That’s fucked up. I’m sorry, Prez.”
I glanced at the kid, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Yeah, me too.”