HANDS OFF MY WOMAN: Padre Knights MC

by Claire St. Rose

  But the sound of sirens coming our way made it clear that someone had called. I could tell by the look on her face – it was a look of genuine surprise – that it hadn't been her. Besides, she didn't seem like the typical damsel in distress who waited for somebody to come to her rescue. Not this one. She seemed like the take-charge kind of girl. The fact that she was willing to get in my face and give my boys the finger and a lot of harsh words told me that. Someone else had made that call, I was sure of it. Didn't matter who.

  The deal we'd worked out with the Mexicans couldn't fall through. This was the big one. The big score. This was the one that would let us all retire, live off our investments, and give up this life for good. It was something I'd been looking forward to. A lot. Running weed and security had been fun for a while – when I was younger. Sure, I might still be considered young, but this lifestyle aged you faster than hell. You saw too much, did the unthinkable. When you lived this outlaw sort of lifestyle, you played hard, rode hard and, quite often, died hard. That wasn't the way I wanted to go out.

  No, I wanted to go out quietly. And many, many years from now. I just wanted to own a bar, keep to myself and stay off the radar. I was done with this type of shit and, once this deal went through, we could all hit the road for good.

  But of course, nothing in this life ever came easily.

  Patrol cars came screaming into the parking lot with lights and sirens blaring. In my hand was a bag of drugs I'd been ready to hand over to the Incas.

  The sexy brunette was turned around, facing away from me, after being grabbed by one of my guys. Without stopping to think about what I was doing, I reacted and did the only thing I could at the time. Grabbing the zipper on her backpack, I pulled it open and dropped in the bag of drugs inside, zipping it back up quickly. After that, I crossed my arms in front of me and stepped away from the girl. She'd been so preoccupied with yelling at my guy that she didn't even seem to notice I'd stashed my drugs in her back. She was still fuming mad and ready to lash out. And as several squad cars screeched to a stop in the parking lot, she appeared grateful for some backup.

  “What's the problem here?” a patrolman asked as he jumped out of his car, one hand on the butt of his gun, the other holding his flashlight, which he was shining on us.

  “I don't have any problems that I'm aware of, officer,” I said, smiling politely. “Unless it's illegal to hang out with your buddies.”

  He shined his light directly into my eyes, and I resisted the urge to flinch. No way would I give him the pleasure or satisfaction of seeing me flinch. I simply squinted my eyes and continued to stare straight at him.

  “There was a noise complaint called in just a few minutes ago. I see what the problem is now,” he said. “As long as I'm out here, mind if I have a look around?”

  “My pleasure,” I said, holding my hands up, telling my boys that it was okay to cooperate.

  I hoped that through my actions, I communicated to them that we had nothing to be afraid of and to not do anything stupid. My second-in-command, Roy, looked at me, raising an eyebrow as if to ask me what happened to the drugs I'd been holding. I shrugged to let him know we were cool and that everything would be just fine.

  “What's your name, Miss?” the officer asked the girl.

  “Abbie McLain,” she said softly. “I live in apartment 204 and I'm the president of this apartment building's association. I just came down here to ask these guys to be quiet.”

  Considering the fact that she was dressed in pajamas with little hearts on the bottoms, the cop saw what I saw – a girl who wasn't a threat or a part of this – and didn't even stop to question her. Why should he? She was just doing her job. She was a sweet, innocent-looking girl in pajama bottoms with a cute little pink backpack. Hell, she could be with us and be a full patch member, but because of how she looked, no one would believe it. She stood out like a sore thumb amongst the tatted up, leather-wearing members of the Cossacks.

  “Well, we'll handle it from here, Miss. You're free to go back to bed,” the officer said, handing her a card. “I'm Officer Mark Mahoney and I'd be happy to help you if you have any additional problems. Just give me a call if you do.”

  “Thank you,” she said, holding the card in her hand.

  I was a little nervous and watched to see if she'd reach around and place it in her backpack. Thankfully, though, she didn't. She held onto the card and turned toward the apartment building – and me – before giving me a really dirty look and said, “Don't make me use this.”

  And with that, Abbie was walking back toward her place – drugs in tow – leaving me and my boys to talk to the police. Considering we had nothing on us now, I knew it wouldn't be a problem. At least not with the cops. The Incas on the other hand – well, I'd need to get their drugs back to them. Sooner rather than later.

  My mind wasn't on that, though. Instead, I was focused on watching the girl's ass as she walked away. What a sexy little thing she was. Petite, but just curvy enough to give you something to grab onto. And, boy, I sure would have liked to grab onto that tight little ass of hers sometime. Also sooner rather than later.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ABBIE

  After the cops came and broke everything up, I was finally able to get a few hours of sleep in my own bed. I'd texted Michelle and let her know I was staying home, to which she responded,

  “Boo. I was looking forward to our slumber party. Another time?”

  Of course I didn't see the message until I woke up the next morning because I'd passed the hell out as soon as I climbed back into my bed. I didn't like the idea of calling the cops and dragging them out there and into this mess. I knew they had their hands full in town. With all the biker gangs coming into our little town and making it a home, crime had gone up a bit. More than a bit, it seemed.

  The bikers who belonged to the blonde-haired giant surprisingly didn't seem like the type to cause trouble, though. All they seemed to do was make some noise and let off some steam. It was rude and as obnoxious as hell and never failed to piss me off, but on the scale of terrible things bikers tended to do, it was pretty mild.

  But the ones who'd showed up later to meet with them – the rough looking Latino ones – those guys gave me the serious creeps. Especially their leader. The way he'd looked at me, had stared at me like I was a piece of meat sent chills down my spine. It still did just thinking about it.

  My alarm went off way too soon for my liking, and I hit snooze a few too many times. When I rolled over and looked at the clock, it said 7:20. I had to be at work by eight. Which meant I had to hurry. Like really hurry.

  Climbing out of bed, I remembered I'd packed a work outfit in my backpack thinking that I would just leave straight from Michelle's place. I unzipped it, reached inside and the first thing I felt wasn't clothing.

  It was a bag. A plastic bag. Which piqued my curiosity since I hadn't packed anything in plastic bags.

  Pulling it out, I held it in my hand for a second and just stared at it.

  “Huh,” I said out loud as I examined it.

  I was completely perplexed by what I was seeing at first. It wasn't a clear bag, so I couldn't see inside of it, but I knew it wasn't mine. It was wrapped tightly in a black bag and had thick bands of duct tape wrapped around it.

  Clearly, I hadn't put that bag in my backpack. Somehow, somebody had slipped it in there during m confrontation with the dirtbags last night. And since they'd stashed it on me while I was unaware, I didn’t need to see through the bag to know what was inside of it. As I continued to look at it, my heart started to race and a knot formed in the pit of my stomach. I'd seen enough crime shows on TV to know what I held in my hand was likely very illegal and probably very expensive. The only question that remained was how in the hell had it ended up in my bag?

  There were a few possibilities – all of them leading back to the blonde man and his merry band of thugs. It had to have happened last night while I'd been in the parking lot because there was no way I'd
have a pound or so of drugs in my possession otherwise. My blood boiled as I recalled the events from last night. I'd been distracted when the cops pulled up. I'd had somebody – one of the leader's boys – in my face, accusing me of calling them and then somebody grabbed me. I'd been distracted and that had been a prime time for some asshole – namely the Head Asshole – to drop it in my bag to save himself and his gang.

  Did he care if the cops had searched me and found it? Obviously not. I could have been arrested and charged with a crime. A serious one, at that. But did I expect sympathy from the same guys who kept me up night after night? No way.

  My blood was boiling. Knowing them and having seen enough TV to know certain things, I knew they'd have to get this back somehow. Which meant I'd be seeing them again. Probably tonight, same time, same place – my parking lot. Well, I'd be ready for them. And I was going to give that leader a piece of my mind for putting me at risk. I wasn't one to call the cops, but, after this, they better realize they were messing with the wrong girl.

  I had to get to work though, no time to plan out my revenge now. Tucking the bag of drugs high up in my closet and then putting a bunch of clothes on top of it, I grabbed my work clothes and headed for the shower. I knew they'd be back for them, and when they were, I was going to be ready.

  ***

  Walking into my office, I tried hard to stifle a yawn and appear perkier than I felt. When it didn't work and I yawned wide, I tried to hide it behind my hand as I walked by my boss' office. He waved at me and smiled. I waved back, faking a smile of my own. Jack Rutherford was the CEO of our public relations firm. Tall, dark, and some would say handsome if you could get past the skeevy way he looked at everyone – “everyone” meaning the women in the office. And “looked” was probably the wrong word. “Leered” would be more apt.

  Holding his head up high, he always seemed to look down upon you. I guess that's what being born with a silver spoon in your mouth must look like. It was very doubtful that Jack Rutherford ever had to want for anything in his life. Being born into a wealthy, business family meant he'd had it easy. Even his position as the company's head had come easily to him – it was passed down to him from his father who'd once run the company.

  “Good morning, Abbie,” he said as I walked by.

  “Mornin', Jack,” I said, rushing by as quickly as I could.

  I was a few minutes late, but he didn't say anything about it. Thankfully. Maybe he could see it on my face, but I wasn't in the mood to get yelled at.

  I walked past a few cubicles, waved at some folks I knew. They were all settling in for the day already. Asher White, one of the guys on my team, stopped me as I walked toward the kitchen for an extra large mug of coffee.

  “How's the McMillian project going?” he asked, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, blocking my path.

  “Fine,” I said with a smile. “I'm almost finished with it now and we should have a press release ready to go this afternoon.”

  Randy McMillian was a chef opening his first restaurant in Oregon. It was said to be unlike anything we've ever seen before, with a nice hipster vibe and a variety of healthy dishes, including vegan plates. It was highly upscale, which meant it was all very pretty and expensive, served up on tiny plates and ordered in individual portions. Oh, and everything was locally grown and sourced... blah blah blah. Unlike anything we'd ever seen before, my ass. It was the same as every other restaurant that had opened up in the area in the last few years. More and more people were catering to that hipster, vegan crowd. But my job was to make Randy Macs stand out, and I was doing my best.

  “Glad to hear it,” Asher said, giving me a look that said he wanted to say something else, but was holding himself back.

  Asher had been giving off the vibe that he'd wanted to ask me out for some time. But he'd never come out and actually asked. His flirtations were, honestly, way more awkward than they were attractive. And while he was a nice, clean-cut boy my mom would approve of, Asher just wasn't my type. He was too wishy-washy for me. Too submissive. There was a reason I was likely getting promoted over him after our next performance review. He had a hard time actually sealing the deal, getting the job done, or whatever you want to call it. Asher just did not know how to assert himself.

  He couldn't even bring himself to ask me out on a date after we'd been working side-by-side for well over a year now. He should have been comfortable enough with me by now to have at least broached the subject, but he wasn't. That's why I still considered him a boy and not a man – even though we were the same age.

  “Hey, Asher?” I asked.

  “Yes, Abbie?” He licked his lips, stood up taller, as if he expected – or at least hoped – that I'd intended to ask him out, thus getting him off the hook.

  “Can I please get through to the kitchen? I really need my coffee before I go postal on everyone in this place,” I said it with a laugh, hoping he'd take it as a joke.

  Whether or not I was joking was irrelevant. I wasn't a naturally violent person and the idea of a lifetime in prison wasn't something I was interested in. It was something that terrified me a bit, actually. Which meant that I wasn't going to be doing anything that got me arrested, even though it was damn tempting sometimes.

  “Oh, of course,” he said, moving out of the way and looking more than a little disappointed. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem,” I muttered rushing into the kitchen to the delightful machine known as the Keurig.

  I could feel Asher behind me, watching me, as I made my single cup of Vanilla Bean coffee. I really wasn't ready to talk to him just yet. I wasn't really ready to talk to anybody just yet. I was going to need at least two or three – hell, perhaps even four or five – more cups of coffee before I'd be feeling human enough to even consider conversing with anybody. But Asher wasn't taking the hint. He was still hanging out around the doorway to the kitchen, shuffling his feet, clearing his throat, and generally looking like an awkward, gangly, teenage boy with a huge crush who didn't have the balls to actually do anything about it.

  I looked at him and let out a long, pained sigh. “Was there something else you needed, Asher?”

  For a moment, he looked at me and I saw a firm set to his jaw. There seemed to be a sense of conviction and courage in his eyes I hadn't seen before. I thought he might have just worked up the nerve to actually do it. He might have finally worked up the balls to ask me out. And if he did? I'd have to turn him down, of course. But major props to him for actually growing a set. Finally. I turned and looked at him, sipping my freshly brewed cup of coffee.

  “Uhhh yeah, I was wondering if you'd be free... ”

  There it was! He was going for it! I was almost proud of him for getting the nerve up. But then he dropped the ball. Of course he did.

  “... to go over some of the materials I created for Randy myself,” he finished.

  We'd already been through everything from his end. I knew it was a copout. The courage and conviction I'd seen in his eyes just a moment before had gone. Completely. Like they'd never been there in the first place. Just when I'd thought Asher was growing up to be a man, he proved once again that he was simply a boy. And further justified my rationale for not wanting to go out with him. His face was bright red and he scratched at his chin excessively, not meeting my gaze.

  “Sure, Asher,” I said with a knowing laugh. “I'd love to.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  KING

  I strolled into the police station the next morning like I didn't have a care in the world. Because truthfully, I really didn't. Ordinarily, it was the last place I'd ever walk into voluntarily, but I'd gotten a call from a cop I knew asking me to come down to talk about what had happened last night. I didn't have anything to hide – at least not right then – so I'd agreed. I figured I'd earn a couple of brownie points and show the cops that they were barking up the wrong tree.

  The desk sergeant came around into the waiting area where I was standing and looked me up and down,
an expression of disgust on his face.

  “Good morning to you, too, Sergeant,” I said cheerily. “I'm here to see – ”

  “Yeah, he told me one of you dirtbags was coming in this morning,” the sergeant sneered. “I didn't realize it was going to be the head dirtbag, though. If I'd known I would have tidied the place up a bit.”

  “Oh, no need to go to all that trouble on my account,” I replied. “I kinda like seeing you boys in your natural environment – all sloppy, dirty, and disorganized.”

  The cop – Sergeant Sanderson – looked at me and shook his head. “Yeah, I heard you had a mouth on you.”