Ride or Die #2: A Devil's Highwaymen MC Novel

by Claire C. Riley

  “No fucking loyalty with some of these clubs,” Rider grumbled. He shot back a mouthful of whiskey.

  “The Pagans are pretty new, and they don’t have the same ties we do. But it doesn’t help things with the company they’ve been keeping. They were tight with Hardy and I’m thinking he was offering more than just a cut. But we’ll see. They’re a big club, and growing too, so we need them on board.” Shooter drank a mouthful of beer, his gaze flicking over us all. “I know things are fucked up right now, and I’m working to get this club back where it should be. But I need everyone on board.”

  We all said aye and slammed our fists on the table and he nodded in thanks.

  “One more thing: I think we need to call a Code 55.” Shooter let the words settle across us before continuing. “The Razorbacks are gunning for us, and I don’t want to give them any reason to lock any more brothers up. Plus, they can’t pull us over if they ain’t got reasonable cause, right? If we’re going to pull this shit off, we need them none the fucking wiser to what’s going on until it’s too late. We can still go about business, but no club colors.”

  “I don’t like it,” Pops grumbled, and Axle and Casa agreed.

  “Ain’t asking you to like it. I’m telling you to do it, for the club,” Shooter said with a scowl.

  All three of them agreed, and Shooter hit the gavel on the table.

  “We roll out in an hour.”

  Chapter Five:

  Dom

  Church ended and everyone began to filter out. The verdict was in, though: the club was going to deal with the Razorbacks, sooner rather than later. Wasn’t going to be pretty, either.

  Shooter was still in the Chapel arguing with Gauge and Rider about something, and I watched from the bar, which Laney was working behind. Her gaze kept on flitting over to the closed door where the shouting was erupting from. Rose came up behind her and gave her shoulder a squeeze, and Laney smiled back. Rose was a good woman—real good. Far too good to be working this place. Not that she was a real club whore anymore—not since the night she hooked up with Pops and he put her off limits to anyone else. Wouldn’t claim her for his own, though, but that didn’t matter none when it came down to Pops and Rose. It was an unspoken thing.

  “You doing okay, kiddo?” she asked Laney.

  “Yeah. It’s just a lot, you know?”

  She glanced at me and I looked away. I already had woman problems and I didn’t want to get involved in anyone else’s drama.

  “You and Jesse are still close, right?” Laney asked.

  I looked back with a heavy sigh, my gaze roving to Rose, who was wiping over the bar frantically.

  “You mean Shooter?” I said. Woman needed to get that name in her head now. Jesse wasn’t Jesse anymore. He was Shooter. The Devil’s Highwaymen’s President. And everyone needed to learn that name quickly.

  She blushed and nodded. “Yeah, Shooter.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “Haven’t gotten used to that yet.”

  “Try harder,” I bit out, knowing I was being a hard-ass on her, but also knowing that I needed to be.

  She blushed harder and nodded.

  “And yeah, we’re close, but it’s club business and I can’t discuss it with you. So don’t ask,” I snapped and stood up.

  “Hey, no need to be such a dick to her, Dom,” Rose bit out.

  I scowled at them both and turned away as the door to the Chapel opened and Rider, Gauge, and Shooter filtered out. Casa had been standing and talking to Axle and Cutter, but he came over to join us all at the bar.

  I glared at him and he patted me on the back. “Calm the fuck down, I was just fuckin’ with you in there,” he laughed.

  Laney and Rose grabbed some empty bottles of beer off the counter and Shooter scowled over at Laney. “You don’t need to be doin’ that. We have other people to do it.” He glanced across at Rose.

  “I’m just trying to keep myself busy,” she replied. “Help out where I can.”

  Rose looked over to one of the tables where some of the hangarounds were sitting. “Bitches, get your asses over here, now.” She turned to Laney. “We’ve got it covered—go make sure the wives are doing okay.”

  Shooter nodded at Rose, who quickly made herself busy ordering the other girls around, and Laney stormed off without another word to Shooter.

  He shook his head. “She doesn’t get it,” he said. “Things are different now. Everything’s fuckin’ different now.”

  “She will. This is new to her,” Gauge replied. “She’d only just gotten used to being an old lady and now she’s the fucking queen of hell. It’s a big change for her. And for me,” he joked.

  Shooter and Gauge’s gazes followed Laney across the room. She was a beautiful, strong woman with a mouth like a sailor when it came to Gauge. But it was different being a part of the club life from how it was looking in on it. Her old man was the president, and suddenly it wasn’t all fun and games—it was life and death. I had no doubt she’d come through it all eventually, but she definitely needed time to adjust—time we didn’t currently have.

  Gauge patted Shooter on the back. “You’re fuckin’ my daughter. You better make this work, Prez.” He stood up and left, and Casa laughed and took Gauge’s empty seat.

  “What about me?” he asked Shooter seriously. “Where you sending me? Everyone out on the road and I’m standing here with my dick in my hand waiting on orders.”

  Shooter dragged a hand down his beard and sighed. “I need you here, Casa.”

  “Fuck that!” Casa snapped angrily.

  “I need someone I can trust here!” Shooter insisted, staring him down.

  “Well fuck you very much, Prez,” Rider grumbled and tossed another shot to the back of his throat. He slid off his seat and tried to stand, but nearly fell over until I gripped him and hoisted him straight.

  “It ain’t like that, Rider. You can’t ride right now. If shit goes down I need someone who can move. I want you here, in this club, watching everything that goes on. Watching Silvie. But I need Casa to be my wheels while I’m gone.” He patted Rider on the shoulder. “Charlie!” he called, and she came over.

  “What you hollering about?” She scowled.

  Shooter jerked a thumb in Rider’s direction. “If he’s on pain meds then you need to keep him off the juice. I need his head clear.”

  She nodded and guided Rider away. Casa still looked pissed off, and I couldn’t blame him—even though I understood Shooter’s reasoning and to some degree even agreed with it.

  But Casa and Shooter went everywhere together. Always had. Until now. It was just another thing that Hardy had fucked up, I guess. The club, the family, the brotherhood. He’d taken everything. But if anyone could get this place back to where it belonged, it was Shooter. I believed that because he had Butch’s blood running through his veins.

  “We good?” Shooter asked Casa sincerely. It didn’t really matter whether Casa was good with it or not. Shooter was the president and what he said went. But he was trying to be respectful of Casa, and by the looks on Casa’s face, he knew that too.

  Casa nodded. “I’ll be your wheels, brother. I’ve got your back. Always.” They shook hands and Casa looked back down at his beer, his stupid fucking grin wiped from his face for a change.

  Shooter patted him on the shoulder and then turned to me. “About this bitch of yours.”

  “Harlow,” I interrupted. “Her name’s Harlow. She’s not some bitch, or a sweetbutt, or a whore. She’s Harlow, and she’s a real good girl.”

  Shooter nodded. “All right, I hear you. About Harlow…I’m guessing she’s sticking around for a while then.”

  It wasn’t so much as a question as a confirmation, and I nodded.

  “Well, then she’s going to need some protection. You wanna bring her in?”

  I shook my head. “With these pervy fuckers? Nah, Prez. Besides, I don’t think she would, anyway. I’d like a prospect on her, though.”

  “Done,” he sighed, and
took another swig of his beer. “I better go sort out my own woman before we head out. She’s acting all hormonal and shit. I swear, sometimes she’s almost more trouble than she’s worth.” He laughed and Casa joined in.

  “You can say that again.” Casa smirked, his gaze already straying to one of the club bitches that was collecting bottles. “Still don’t get why you settled down.”

  Shooter stood up and patted Casa on the shoulder, a wide smile on his face. “I said almost more trouble. Never said I would change a fuckin’ thing. She’s the best thing to ever happen to me, that’s for damn certain, brother.”

  Shooter stalked off and Casa left to go stick his dick in the bitch he’d been staring at, leaving me alone at the bar. It was times like these that I missed Butch the most. I stared at my warm, half-empty beer for a few moments, my thoughts getting lost in memories while the club was alive around me. I picked at the label on my bottle, thinking of a time similar to this when the club had been on lockdown when a Code 55 had been ordered and we’d all settled in for the long haul.

  It was a strange night, all of us brothers sitting around drinking without our cuts on, something that never happened unless there was an emergency like this.

  Butch and I had been playing poker for most of the night and we were the last ones standing, as was normally the case, because Butch was the fucking king of poker.

  The air was thick with heat and sweat, the stench of so many men in one space stifling because the A/C had given up several hours before and we were all too fucking drunk or lazy to fix it.

  “I need to go get some air,” Butch laughed as he won another hand against me.

  I threw my cards down, my head heavy from too much beer, too much heat, and not enough sleep. He stood up and I did too, and we made our way up to the rooftop. Hardy had ordered everyone to stay indoors, but he hadn’t said anything about going onto the roof.

  Butch and I hadn’t been patched in that long, but we knew the rules. We were also still young enough to believe that they didn’t apply to us as much as everyone else. Born-again fucking rebels, that’s what we liked to think of ourselves as. More than just 1%ers.

  Outside, the air wasn’t much better. No breeze meant that the air was still and stagnant, and hanging heavy around us. Butch staggered out first and opened his arms wide before tipping his face up the dark sky. I watched from the doorway, a feeling I didn’t recognize awakening in my gut.

  Butch’s body shone under the light of the moon, the sweat glistening down his muscled back as he flexed. I frowned and swallowed, not sure what the fuck was going on with me but also not having the power to stop it. Not even if I had wanted to.

  I took a step forward, my feet crunching over the gravel, and Butch turned to face me. We were three feet apart, but when he smiled it was as if we were nose to nose, his breath on my face, his dark eyes bleeding into mine. He grinned stupidly and downed the last drops of whiskey from the bottle he was holding before throwing it to the side.

  The whiskey had been strong tonight, the beer too warm, and I clearly needed to sleep. I pulled out my cigarettes and lit one before blowing out a long plume of smoke. I watched Butch as he walked to the edge of the roof and took the small step up onto the ledge, and began walking along it, my heart in my throat in case he fell.

  “Get the fuck down, Butch,” I laughed, my drunken slur not showing how anxious I really was about him being up there.

  He turned and flashed me another smile. “Why don’t you make me, pussy?” he taunted, and continued to walk up and down.

  Perhaps it was the beer for him too, I thought, walking toward him, my cigarette dangling between my lips. I reached for him and he sidestepped my grip and walked forward along the ledge, laughing even louder.

  “You’re going to fall,” I argued. “Don’t expect me to cry when you’re nothing but blood and guts on the ground.” I still reached for him again as he walked back my way, but again he sidestepped me.

  “I’m okay. Stop being a pussy,” he mocked.

  His new tattoo of the Devil’s Highwaymen logo on his back looked fucking awesome in this lighting, I decided. He walked back my way and I reached for him, managing to get a grip on his arm this time and pull him off the ledge and toward me. Our bodies collided, our chests slamming together, and Butch laughed as he gripped my arms to steady himself.

  He laughed.

  I laughed.

  He held my gaze, his dumb fucking crooked drunken smile on his face. His hair was too long, and his beard was scruffy and itchy as fuck, by the way he’d been scratching his chin all night. Yet everything about him suddenly seemed…right.

  His scruffy hair, his itchy beard, his bright blue eyes, and his crooked smile. It all made Butch Butch.

  He held onto my arms.

  And I didn’t push him away.

  I stared at him, seeing him differently than I ever had previously, my smile falling as his hands slid along my arms and up to my shoulders, his own smile morphing into something more. Something hungry. A look I had only seen once or twice on him, but one he had never used for me.

  His tongue slid out to lick along his bottom lip and I watched it, fascinated by the small movement, my stomach clenching and my large hands staying firmly on him. Almost afraid to let him or this moment go.

  Butch was my best friend; he had been since high school. We did everything together. We’d patched together, we’d fucked girls together, we’d even dealt shitty low-grade amphetamines to college kids together at one time. I knew him like I knew no other person in the world, and vice versa. Which is why when his grip tightened on my arms and he suddenly leaned over and pressed his mouth to mine…I didn’t stop him.

  This was Butch.

  My best friend.

  And maybe something more.

  Chapter Six:

  Harlow

  I stared at the money on the counter and wondered what to do with it.

  It was a lot of money.

  More than I’d had, or even seen, in a long time.

  Which meant, at least I presumed, that Dom wanted me to get more food. He’d always liked my cooking, and I was a people pleaser and loved to cook. His mom had taught me a couple of her family recipes at one time, when she thought I was going to be the next Mrs. Durrand. But then things had soured between Dom and I and she had stopped making the effort with me. Like she knew I would never be anything more to him.

  I sighed and pulled at the frayed thread on the jean shorts I was wearing, courtesy of whoever had been staying in my room last. They were a woman’s jeans, which made me both happy and sad. The house phone rang from the wall behind me, and I stared at it for a long minute, wondering whether to answer it or not, before deciding I would.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” Dom’s gruff voice filtered through the other end, as if I wouldn’t recognize his voice in a crowd of a thousand.

  “Hey.” I smiled, even though he clearly couldn’t see me. But I felt better for hearing his voice.

  “I left money for you.”

  “I saw.”

  “I’m sending a prospect to take you to the store. Get some food and a cell, and whatever else you need—clothes and shit. I gotta go, Red. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Wait!” I called sharply—too sharply—down the phone.

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice sounding concerned. “You good? Everything okay?”

  I felt instantly guilty for worrying him and rushed my words so he knew I was fine. “Yes, I’m good. It’s great, thank you. I just wanted to, I don’t know, say thank you. Again.”

  Dom was silent on the line, but I knew he was still there by the sounds coming from the clubhouse.

  “Dom?”

  “It’s fine. You don’t need to thank me,” he replied suddenly.

  “Of course I do.”

  “You don’t. This is the least I could do for you. I gotta go. Watch for the prospect. He’s there to keep you safe and take you anywhere you need to go. Don
’t take any shit from him, and if he’s smart with you, you give him hell. Ya hear me, Red? I know you’ve still got that fire in your belly.”

  “I hear you,” I replied. “Is everything okay? At the club?”

  He sighed before replying. “I can’t talk about it. Especially not over the phone. But no, not really. Shit’s dangerous, so keep yourself to yourself. Don’t suppose you’d consider staying at the clubhouse for a while, would you?”

  “Would you be there?” I asked, twirling the phone cord around my finger.

  “No, I’ll be on the road.”

  I thought about his offer, but staying at a clubhouse without protection was never a good idea for a woman without the protection of a property patch. And that was something I wouldn’t ever have.

  “Then no,” I replied. “I’m okay here.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He sighed heavily. “I’ll be back in a couple of days,” he said, and then hung up without a goodbye.

  “Ever the romantic,” I muttered, before reminding myself that there was nothing romantic about any of this. Dom was merely trying to make amends for screwing me over all those years ago. And me, I had no clue what the hell I was doing anymore or why I’d really come with him. All I knew for certain was that my heart and my head were more confused than ever.

  There was never any doubt that I still loved Dom, deeply. But there was no chance of anything happening between us, despite our affection for each other. For Dom it was the sort of affection that you bestowed on a sister, not a lover.

  Dom was my escape, I hoped. A chance to climb out of the hole I had been burying myself in for many years now. A chance to do something more. Only I didn’t know what that “more” was, or how to go about getting it.