FILTHY SINS_Sons of Wolves MC

by Nicole Fox

  “Now wait a second.” Snake sits up. “I won’t listen to this—”

  “Stop,” I tell Snake, waving a hand at him. “I’m not a Son of a Wolf anymore, remember? I’ve given up my right to protection. You don’t need to speak on my account.” I stand up, watching Michaels the whole time. “You must have bloody work on your mind to bring so many men, pig. But let me tell you somethin’. If word gets out—and word will get out—that you admitted you were too scared to fight me, it’ll make you look pretty damn cowardly.”

  “Too scared?” Michaels makes a guffawing sound. “What do you mean, too scared? Me, scared of you? Do I look scared?”

  “So you’re not scared to fight me?” I ask.

  “No!” he roars.

  I step back and spread my arms. “Then let’s have it, me and you. My friends won’t get involved and your friends won’t get involved.” I lean forward, grinning. “You did say you weren’t scared, pig.”

  Michaels tries to laugh it off, glancing around at his cronies to see if they’ll laugh with him. But none of them do. They all look at him expectantly, waiting for him to prove just how much of a big bad wolf he really is. I take a step forward, getting closer to him than he’ll like, getting so close he’ll look like a complete pussy if he steps away.

  “You sure you wanna do this?” he growls.

  “I want everyone in here to know that this was a fair fight!” I shout. “We both agreed to this, as men! If anyone in here decides to turn rat, remember that everyone saw this man,” and I point directly at Michaels face, “make his own choice.” I raise my fists and dance back a couple of steps. “So what’ll be, Scarface?”

  “You’re a real clever bastard,” Michaels whispers, just loud enough for me to hear over the music and the murmuring. “A real fuckin’ genius, aren’t you? I’ve gotta say, kid, I’m impressed. You haven’t left me with much choice here.”

  “One black eye’ll be for calling me kid. The other’ll be for being an asshole. Come on.”

  Michaels rushes me, flailing wildly. Men like Michaels have never had to fight, not properly, not without the safe knowledge that their goons are backing him up. He’s never had to wonder what it’d be like for somebody to hit back. I dodge away from his clumsy swing and knock him across the jaw, a firm hook that sends him stumbling backwards. He grunts and springs at me, moving quicker than I guessed. He hits me twice in the belly. I cough, and then slide away from an overhead that would’ve floored me.

  “Get over here!” Michaels snarls, already puffing.

  I dodge him for a couple of minutes, tiring him out, and then slide under a hook and jab him under the armpit, in the throat, and finally twice in the face. He coughs and falls into the wall, blood dripping from his mouth. I hit him a couple more times and then jump back.

  “You can surrender any damn time you like,” I tell him. “Just tell your friends here to back off, and promise to do the same yourself.”

  “You’re bat-shit,” Michaels says, but much of the fierceness has left him. He looks too much like a lost middle-aged man, blood coloring his mouth like lipstick. “I don’t quit! I’m the fuckin’ law!”

  “So you want to keep fighting?”

  “I’m the fuckin’ law!” Michaels screams, his voice breaking. His men take a collective step back. I see the moment they decide that this man is no longer their leader. He’s humiliated himself, and the only way to salvage that is to beat me. He sees it too. He stands up straight and spits blood. “Come on.”

  “All right. If you insist.”

  He throws himself at me, flailing randomly and flying at me as though he has little control over what his limbs do. He tries to hit me twice. I dance side to side, dodging both punches easily, and then jab him a few times in the nose. I don’t hit him too hard, but enough to make blood crust his upper lip. I head-butt him, punch him in the chest, and then throw him to the ground.

  “This is over, Scarface,” I growl. “Tell me this is over. You’re done. You’ve shown your men what sort of man you really are. This is done. There’s no coming back from this.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Michaels tWolves and a tiny handgun slides out of his sleeve into his hand. He points it up at me.

  All at once, every man in the room pulls out his gun and aims it at somebody else, the cops and the bikers facing off against each other as Michaels climbs to his feet. He steps forward and presses the handgun against my forehead.

  “You really think you’re a big man?”

  I feel the cold metal, but I don’t let it scare me. I could die now, and that’s a shame, but I’ve almost died dozens of other times in my life.

  “If you shoot me,” I say, “your men will really know what you are. We agreed on a fair fight. Every man here heard us agree on a fair fight.”

  “You didn’t fight fair,” Michaels says, sounding like a petulant child. “You cheated!”

  “Uh, Ralf.” One of Michaels’—Ralf’s—men leans forward. “I think we ought to get going. We’re not doing any good here.”

  “I’m ending this,” Michaels says. “He’s humiliated us long enough.”

  Michaels stroke the trigger. That’s when I see her, hair tied in a no-bullshit ponytail, wearing shirts and jeans and looking tough and capable, even with her soft, large eyes. I wonder if Michaels has already pulled the trigger and I’m seeing what I want to see most before death takes me. But then other people react to her, too, police officers stepping aside, a few men lowering their guns as though the presence of a woman reminds them that they are men, not animals.

  Nancy stops beside me and Michaels, standing next to the gun. She just stands there for a moment, the bravest woman I’ve ever seen, and then raises her hands. “Is this what’s best for Salem?” she calls across the room, her voice carrying above the pumping music. “Is this what’s best for the police, or the biker club, or any one of you men? Is this what’s best for your wives and children and girlfriends and dreams? Is this what’s best for your pensions, your retirement plans, for anything? Or have you all been led astray by this one man?” She points at Michaels. “He promised to make you feel big, to make you feel tough, and why wouldn’t you take that offer? The police don’t get any true respect these days, not like the heyday. Am I right? The heyday when my father was the sheriff. But is this that heyday, gentleman? Is pointing a gun at a man you haven’t even arrested police work?”

  Slowly, the men on both sides lower their guns, Nancy’s words hitting them in the spot few men can ignore: their pride.

  Only Michaels and Snake don’t lower their guns: Michaels on me, and Snake on him, just in case he needs to avenge me.

  Nancy looks at Snake. “Lower your gun,” she says.

  “Do as she says,” I say.

  Snake grumbles but lowers his gun.

  Nancy steps close to Michaels, talking into his ear. “I want you to hear me,” she says. “What you’re about to do will bring nothing but pain and misery. It won’t make you feel tough, or cool, or anything like that. You’ll feel like shit because you shot a man at point-blank range with no reason for it other than you wanted to feel powerful. Look around you, Michaels. Your friends aren’t supporting you anymore. If you pull the trigger now, you’ll be nothing but a bitter man killing for the sake of killing. There’s nothing big or important about it anymore. That’s over. So make your choice.”

  She steps back, waiting. She looks calm except for her fingers, which tWolf as though typing on an invisible keyboard.

  “You heard her,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “Kill me, or lower your gun.”

  Michaels curses and then lowers his gun, shaking his head and stepping back. “This is over,” he says, addressing the boss now. “This feud is done. I want nothing to do with it, do you understand me? It’s done!”

  Nancy paces up to Michaels and slaps him across the face so hard he drops the handgun. “Don’t you ever point a gun at my man again!” she snaps. “Consider this your final warning! Now get out of my sig
ht!”

  It’s pretty strange, watching as Michaels—twice Nancy’s size—slinks away under Nancy’s gaze as though she’s some tyrannical mother. She stands like a cowboy as she watches them go, hands at her sides, ready to slap again if any of them return. They all slink out of the bar and then it’s just the Sons of Wolves and Nancy.

  “We ought to kill those—”

  The Old Man interrupts Snake, “No, it’s done. The bastard was right. It’s over.”

  Nancy turns around. I wonder if I’m dreaming all this, wondering if she’s really here. I keep expecting to jolt awake at the booth, whisky bottle in my hand. I know she’s real when she approaches me, though. Her perfume smells of roses.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nancy

  Fink and I move to the back of the bar as the bikers spread out and canvas the area, making sure that no cops are staying behind for a sneak attack. He takes me to the booth we sat in when we did all those shots, what seems like years ago now. He sits down with a crooked smile and I try a smile back. Things are awkward, slightly distant, and will require some work to repair. But just sitting here is proof enough that we want to repair them.

  “That was . . . goddamn, Nancy. You’ve got some fire in you. I had no idea.”

  “Neither did I,” I say honestly. “When I saw him pointing that gun at you, though, I just lost it. I just thought . . .” I thought: You do not hurt the father of my baby. I think about the pregnancy test. Maybe I was wrong; maybe he doesn’t know. “I need to tell you something,” I say.

  “You’re pregnant,” he says. “That’s why I ran out.”

  Laying it bare like that—that he ran from me just because I have baggage now, his baggage—makes me want to slap him across the face. I’m glad he’s being honest, but it drives me a little mad.

  “You have to understand,” I say, clenching my teeth to stop from yelling, “that when you say that, it’s going to annoy the hell out of me. You have to understand that, because otherwise I’ll seem like a crazy psycho when I do this.”

  “Do what?”

  I pick up a half-full glass of water and toss it in his face. It splashes hard, droplets bouncing off him and hitting me. I place the glass down and fold my arms, waiting.

  Fink wipes his face with his sleeve, and then smiles, and then laughs like a maniac. He grips the table and shakes back and forth, laughing like somebody with no problems in the world laughs, laughing like somebody who has never had to worry laughs. He laughs like everything is okay and everything will always be okay. And then releases the table and wipes a tear from his eye.

  “Okay,” he says. “I guess I deserved that.”

  “You did. But I promise I won’t do it again. I just . . . I have to know, Fink. I have to know why you ran out of me because of the baby. I mean, I get it. I guess I do. Babies scare men. But surely you could’ve just woken me up, and we could’ve talked about it, or . . .”

  “Sure, I could’ve done that.” He shrugs. “What are you expecting from me? Some kind of detailed analysis of my feelings—”

  “Don’t get sarcastic with me,” I interrupt. “I want an explanation before I decide if I’m taking you back or not.”

  “So you’re telling me you came down here and saved my ass and now you don’t even know if you’re taking me back. Be honest, Nancy. You’re taking me back, and we’re going to be a real couple this time. We’re going to do shit, like go to the movies or whatever, and when you have appointments at the doctor and things like that, I’ll come with you. I’ll look at the what-do-you-call-it, the photograph that looks like an aerial photo?”

  “The ultrasound?” I say, giggling. There are tears in my eyes.

  “I’ll look at the ultrasound and pretend to be able to see the kid, and when the kid is born, I’ll be there. I’ll take him to school and soccer and all that good stuff. I promise.”

  I want to fall into his arms. I want this to be the moment where everything gets good, better than good: where everything runs smoothly until the end of time. But I also can’t deny my feelings, and my feelings are far from simple. “But you just walked out,” I say. “And you didn’t come back. You didn’t even come back this time. We’re not sitting here now because you came back to me. We’re sitting here now because I came to you—again. So who’s to say that you won’t just disappear again?”

  “I am,” he says firmly. “I say that. Because I know I’m not my dad. I know I won’t ruin that kid’s life. I know I won’t be the reason another fifteen-year-old joins a biker club. I’ve left the club, Nancy.” He explains about being banished from Salem. “And all for you. You think I wasn’t going to come back to you.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out an envelope, sliding it across the table.

  “What’s this?”

  “Open it.”

  I open it and look inside: a one-way plane ticket to LA, leaving in four hours.

  “You really were going to come back,” I whisper. “You were going to fly all the way out there—and you’ve left the club, your club—all for me . . .” I trail off, revelation after revelation stacking atop each other until there’s a tower in my mind. I watch it, seeing if its foundations are strong, seeing if it will topple easily. It seems sturdy, and we have plenty of time to make it sturdier.

  “What about tonight?” I ask.

  “I was going to ask you about that,” he says. “I’m banished from Salem, it’s true, but I reckon there’ll give me some leeway for the first week, let me get my shit together. I was wonderin’ if we could fall asleep together, pretty lady.”

  “And I’ll wake up and you’ll still be there.” I wink at him playfully.

  “I guess we’ll have to see about that,” he says.

  We go outside to my car. “Can I drive?” he asks.

  “Sure.” I toss him the keys. “Why?”

  “Don’t you know anything about me, pretty lady? I’m a gentleman. I’d never let my pregnant fiancée drive.”

  His words don’t hit me until I’m sitting in the passenger seat. “Fiancée,” I whisper. And then I turn to him, louder: “Fiancée? Are you serious?”

  He kisses me as his answer, a long kiss, the sort of kiss which is a preview to the life we’ll spend together: warm, comfortable, and tinged with incredible passion. When he breaks it off, I suck in big gasps of air, hungry for more.

  “I mean it,” he says. “I’m deadly serious. I love you, Nancy. I fuckin’ love you, and I’m not going to let my shit get in the way anymore. Well, I’m gonna try my hardest not to let it.” He smiles. “I don’t know how successful I’ll be, but I reckon I can give it a good go.”

  “Promise me,” I say, touching his face. “Promise me you’ll stay until the baby is born. Give me that much.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m staying, no matter what. It’s just some days I might be a pain in the ass.”

  I lay my head against the headrest and smile. “I’m sure I can deal with that. Let’s go back to my place.”

  He starts the engine.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nancy

  “I need to tie you up,” I say, trailing my hand along his arm as he watches TV. “That way I can keep an eye on you.”

  “Tie me up?” He laughs. “Really? I’ve never been tied up before, Nancy. I’ve never been the type. I’m always the dominant one, you know? I reckon I’d feel damn vulnerable tied up like that.”

  “That’s the point.” I lean in, kissing his neck. “You’d be the vulnerable one instead of me.”

  “Are you serious?” He turns to me, looking sexy as all hell in his tight-fitting T-shirt, his muscles bulging, his light green eyes looking up and down my body. “Do you actually wanna do this? I’ve gotta be honest, I reckon I’d feel a little awkward about it. With any other woman I’d say no and that’d be that. But maybe we can try it. Maybe we can see how it goes.”

  “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

  “Ha!” He covers hi
s mouth, shaking his head. “Sorry, pretty lady, but I reckon my life’s gonna involve doing stuff I’m not completely comfortable with for a while. I reckon that’s the whole point. I was comfortable outlawing and hurting people and walking out on you and running from every good thing in my life. It’s the good stuff that makes me uncomfortable, so maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “That’s a hell, yes.”

  He grabs my neck and pulls me close to him, kissing me firmly. I grab his shoulders and kiss him back, pressing close to him, wanting to be closer every second, wanting to be so close that we fuse and become one person. Before I fall too far into the moment, though, I lean back and slap him on the chest.

  “Get in the bedroom, mister. I’m in charge today.”