by Chiah Wilder
Wheelie’s jaw visibly softened and he ran his hand through his hair. “Sure. Count me in.”
“We all go way back,” Rags said as he shrugged on his leather jacket. “Let’s not let shit get between us.”
Throttle nodded, but he knew Rags was just trying to smooth things over. Wheelie was on a fucking slippery slope with Sofia, and Throttle knew how hard it was to resist the pull of a woman who touched you deeply. No matter how hard a guy resisted it or tried to talk himself out of it, it was inevitable that he’d end up with his cock buried deep inside her. He knew all about that firsthand. Of all the brothers, he never thought he’d end up with an old lady and buying an engagement ring. He’d resisted it like hell, but he’d been lost the minute Kimber’s sexy rose and patchouli scent wrapped around him.
And that’s what scared him about Wheelie. When he talked about Sofia, he had that look in his eyes, and there was nothing Banger, Hawk, or the entire membership could do to stop him from sliding down the slope. Throttle didn’t want Wheelie thrown out of the club; the only hope was that the loyalty and love he had for the Insurgents had a bigger pull than Sofia.
Rags gripped Throttle’s shoulder. “I’ll make sure the crews are up and ready to plow once the storm dies down.”
The wind howled, piling up snow in drifts, filling the air with icy dust.
Wheelie gave him a chin lift. “See you Thursday.”
Heaviness weighed Throttle down as he watched his brothers walk to the truck and then vanish, swallowed by white.
He closed the door, went back to the family room, and stared at the flames as they curled around the burning logs.
Chapter Six
Banger
Rubbing his eyes with his callused fingers, Banger tipped the leather chair back and stretched out his legs. He’d been sitting at the desk most of the day, and the glare from the computer screen was playing havoc on his baby blues. He glanced out the window and stared at the falling snow. Someone’s messin’ with us and I don’t know who the fuck it is. His chest tightened and the dull throb at the base of his skull indicated a doozy of a headache was on its way. Gripping the back of his neck, he rubbed it while he watched the snowflakes twirl and turn as they fell silently down.
As president of the Insurgents MC, Banger was the man the brothers depended on to make the right decisions for the club. He wasn’t just the president of the MC in Pinewood Springs, but he was the national president as well, and that honor came with a huge burden. Decisions made in the national club carried over to all the chapters throughout Colorado, Wyoming, Nebraska, Utah, and Kansas. If he fucked up, it’d ripple to all three hundred and fifty brothers.
Glancing down at the papers on his desk again, he picked up a bottle of aspirin, shook out three tablets, and guzzled them down with a gulp of water. He thumbed through the various correspondences he’d received from Insurgent charters as well as affiliate clubs around the country. Something wasn’t right. It seemed like the Deadly Demons were trying to move into Colorado and set up shop selling fucking smack, crack, and acid, but some of the reports coming in led Banger to question whether Reaper was behind the push, or some other club or organization was trying to mimic the Deadly Demons and start a war between the Insurgents and them.
Fuck! He pushed the papers away and closed his eyes, only opening them when a soft knock came at the door.
“Come in.” A smile spread across his face when Kylie walked in. He hadn’t seen her in over a month, and he missed his daughter terribly. “You’re a nice sight for sore eyes. When did you get back to Pinewood?”
“Last night. The drive was a bitch.” She walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek while wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “You look exhausted. I worry about you.”
“Well don’t. I’m fine. Anyway, Belle’s doing enough worrying for the both of you.” A frown settled on his forehead. “You made the drive from Crested Peak by yourself? Where the fuck was Jerry?”
“He drove me back. You’re always on his case, Dad.” She went around and sank into the chair in front of his desk.
“I just wanna make sure he’s treatin’ you right. I’ve told him I have zero tolerance for any shit he does that hurts you.”
Shaking her head, Kylie’s blue eyes sparkled. “Poor Jerry. You’ll never ease up on him, will you?”
“No fuckin’ way. I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be that way until I die. You gonna stay for supper?”
“Yes. Jerry’s playing poker with the brothers at Throttle’s house. I’m surprised you’re not over there.”
“I have too much shit on my mind to concentrate on the game so I passed this time. Maybe next month.”
“You getting one of your headaches?”
Banger nodded and she rose to her feet and moved behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. Slowly she massaged the tight muscles, her fingers working wonders on the knots at the base of his neck. He closed his eyes and let himself relax as memories of a young Kylie flooded his mind.
“Does it feel better?”
“Yeah.” He grasped her hands, brought them to his mouth, and kissed them. “You’ve still got the touch. I remember how you used to have to climb up on a chair to give your old dad a neck rub. You always knew when I needed one.”
“I still do. You need to relax more. Belle told me you have something big worrying you. She said you’re not sleeping well, and you bury yourself in here or at your office at the clubhouse. She’s worried about you, and so am I.”
“Sometimes shit happens and I’ve got to figure it out. That’s what a president does.”
Kylie came back around and plopped down in the chair again. “How much longer are you planning on being president?”
“What the fuck kind of question is that?”
“I mean, don’t you want to slow down a bit? Go on trips with Belle? It’s freezing cold outside, so wouldn’t it be awesome to go to California, take Harley to the beach and to Disneyland?”
“You went to the beach and Disneyland when I was president. As a matter of fact, Harley has it better ’cause I’m older and at home more. I don’t go to the parties unless I have to, and even then I only stay a few hours. I have no intention of stepping down. Did Belle put you up to this?” Kylie hung her head down. “I thought so. I knew this shit didn’t come from you. You’re the daughter of an Insurgent. You know what that means. You grew up with it. Belle still doesn’t understand that this is in my blood and I can’t fuckin’ retire from it.”
“Please don’t be upset with her. She’s only worried about you. Mom used to be too. You know our world is dangerous and can be deadly. Mom at least grew up in the life with Grandpa being in a biker club, but Belle is still trying to assimilate. And she’s scared to death that Ethan and Harley will join the Insurgents.”
Banger shook his head. “I don’t think we gotta worry ’bout Harley since he just turned five and has a while yet to decide if he wants to join. Ethan’s only thirteen, but if he wants to join when he’s eighteen, he’ll have to prospect like all of us did. A lot of guys can’t handle prospecting.”
“I think Belle just wants you to assure her that you’ll talk him out of it if he decides to join.”
“I’m not talkin’ anyone out of joining. When parents start doing that shit, the kids join for sure. The chips will fall where they’re supposed to. Now tell me how you’re liking graduate school.”
“I love it but Jerry hates it. We’re back to commuting, so next semester I’m going to take all my classes online. He’s still a little mad at me for going to grad school. I told him it was always in my plan. I think he’s feeling neglected or something because I study so much. I don’t know.”
“Don’t let him tell you what the fuck to do. He’s a grown man. He needs to deal with it. There are times when he’s gone for days for club business and you don’t give him shit.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have said anything about it. I guess I’m still hyper from finals. I have a month o
ff before next semester starts. I’m excited about doing the semester online. It’ll be good to be home again. I miss Jerry a lot.”
“Can’t say that I’m not thrilled you’ll be back home. I miss you, girl.”
“Me too, Dad.”
Banger pushed up from the chair. “Let’s go to the family room. I’ll get a fire going. The snow’s really coming down hard.”
While they were sitting on the couch, Banger’s phone rang and he saw Hawk’s name flash on the screen. He jumped up and went into the laundry room, closing the door behind him.
“You got something?” he asked Hawk.
“Maybe. Sketcher said he’d heard a shipment of crack was coming through soon. He’s not sure exactly when.”
“Fuckin’ bastards! They’ve got balls to deal that shit in our county.”
“It’s bypassing Pinewood and going to Silverton,” Hawk said.
“Did he say it was the fuckin’ Deadly Demons?”
“Not exactly. He said he thought bikers are involved, but he isn’t sure from which club yet.”
“Tell Sketcher I wanna talk to him tomorrow at Belcroft’s farm off the old highway. I’ll meet him at ten in the morning.”
“I’ll come too.”
“Sounds good. We gotta stop this shit before it gets too big. I wanna know everything I can about these two punk gangs in the Night Rebels’ neck of the woods. Call Steel and Paco and set up a conference call for tomorrow afternoon around three.”
“Will do. You playing poker tonight?”
“Nah.”
“Me neither. It looks like Braxton’s coming down with something, and this whole damn mess with the Deadly Demons is constantly in my head.”
“Mine too, brother. We gotta crush ’em if they’re involved in this shit. I’m not too sure they are, but we’ll talk about that tomorrow.”
When Banger exited the laundry room, Belle came up to him. He looped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, kissing her on the lips. “You smell amazing, woman.”
Her electric blue eyes sparkled. “It’s flour, onions, and garlic you’re smelling. I made pot roast and it’s on the table.” She squeezed him hard. “Take the rest of the night off. We can watch a movie with the kids. I’ll make caramel corn.”
He laughed. “You know me well, woman.” Since he’d been a kid, caramel corn had always been his favorite. He’d used to sneak under the fence when the carnival would come to town during the summers just to buy a bag of it. The other kids he’d go with snuck in for the rides or the games, but he was there just for the caramel corn.
After dinner, Banger sat on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table as he channel-surfed. Ethan came over and sat down on the cushy chair by the fireplace, staring at the television screen as images flashed by.
“That was a good dinner your mom fixed,” Banger said, glancing sideways at him.
“Yeah. Pot roast is my favorite. Whaddaya trying to find on TV?”
“Nothing much. Just waiting for the women to get in here so we can watch the movie.” Harley came over and climbed up on the couch. Banger tugged him close and nestled him under his arm.
“Is Emily gonna watch the movie too?”
“Seems like it.” Emily had just come home the previous week from another stay at the alcohol rehab center. So far she seemed happier than she had for the past few years. She’d been excited to go Christmas shopping with Kylie, and Banger hoped that his nineteen-year-old stepdaughter had finally realized life was too short to spend it in and out of rehab.
“We’re almost done,” Belle said from the kitchen. The scent of freshly popped popcorn and sweet buttery caramel filled the room.
“Smells good, Mom,” Ethan said.
“How’s Jack doing?” Banger asked his stepson quietly.
“Good.”
“Is he having trouble with someone at school?”
Ethan shook his head, but the way he diverted his gaze from Banger gave the real answer.
“You sure? It’s important I know.”
Ethan pulled at his flannel shirt and squirmed in the chair. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything.”
“I’m not gonna say shit to Jack.”
“But he doesn’t want anyone to know, especially his dad.”
“Why not his dad?”
“’Cause he doesn’t want his dad to think he’s a pussy-ass.”
“Ethan! Watch your language,” Belle fumed as she brought in two huge bowls of steaming popcorn.
“Mom, I didn’t say it. Jack did. I was just quoting.”
“He’s right,” Banger said as he reached over and scooped up a handful of the caramel corn.
“You better not be protecting him. I don’t want to hear you speak like that, Ethan.” She pointed at Banger. “And you wait until I bring the individual bowls.”
Banger watched her go back into the kitchen, then winked at Ethan. “So who’s this fucker who’s in Jack’s face?”
“A new kid. He’s in my class. He just came to school a month ago. I tried to protect Jack, but when I did, Owen just gave it to him worse. Jack told me not to interfere anymore.” He glanced at the kitchen, then back to Banger. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“I promised I wouldn’t tell Jack. His dad’s got a right to know.” Banger popped a few more bites of popcorn in his mouth, his gaze fixed on Ethan. “Don’t look like you’re gonna die on me. Chas won’t say shit to Jack. He already suspects some shit was goin’ on with his son. He just wanted to make sure. He’s gonna teach Jack how to defend himself.”
Ethan’s eyes brightened. “That’ll be great! Once he decks Owen, that’ll stop what he’s doing.”
“I hope you’re not saying that fighting is the way to resolve a problem,” Belle said as she placed the bowls on the coffee table and scooped caramel corn in them.
“No, Mom. I was just talking hypothetically.” He looked over at Banger, who winked at him.
Banger cleared his throat and took the bowl Belle gave him. “We were just kicking some what-ifs around. That’s what guys do.”
“Do they?” Belle threw him a suspicious look and he blew a kiss at her. She shook her head and finished doling out the bowls of popcorn.
Emily went over to the TV and popped National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation into the DVD player. She picked up her bowl of popcorn and settled into the overstuffed chair opposite of Ethan’s.
“This is to die for,” Kylie said as she popped a puffed corn into her mouth. “You’re going to have to give me the recipe. Jerry will love it.”
Harley yawned and snuggled closer to Banger as the movie started. Soon his blue eyes grew heavy and Banger watched him as he drifted off to sleep. Sitting with his family, eating the best caramel corn he’d ever had, and watching a funny-as-hell movie were the best antidotes to encroaching danger. And for a small slice of time, he could pretend all was well in his outlaw world.
Chapter Seven
The Crazed Grinch
The computer screen glowed eerily in the dark basement. Clicking on a diamond and emerald–studded tennis bracelet, he leaned back in his chair and smiled broadly. The bracelets listed on various online stores were selling for three to four thousand dollars. All he had to do was list it and wait for the bids to come in. Glancing at the Christmas tag that read “To Glenda, with all my love, Phil,” he took the jewelry out of the green velvet box and ran his smooth fingers over the stones. Grabbing his camera, he switched on the overhead light and positioned the item on a black cloth.
“It’s almost one o’clock. You’re going to be late.” His wife’s voice washed over him as he hunched over, trying to get the perfect shot. He glanced at the time on the computer. Shit. “Are you going in today? I thought you told me you were. I don’t know why you volunteered to do this on your weekends. You’re gone most of the time as it is.”
Shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch! “I’m coming. I didn’t forget.”
His footsteps clumped o
n the stairs, and he brushed past his wife seated at the kitchen table, thumbing through a magazine, a cup of something in her hand. Probably her favorite drink—tea spiked with scotch.
They didn’t say anything to each other. They rarely did; they merely coexisted in their home, picking fights on occasion when the silence and boredom became too stifling. That day, she wanted her booze and a magazine, and he wanted to get the hell away from her.
Picking up his keys from the counter, he trudged out to the garage and closed the door behind him. His wife never went into the basement, so the stash of gifts he’d stolen at the various homes he’d broken into were quite safe. He’d make a nice sum of money after he’d listed everything that night. When he’d first started destroying Christmas, he hadn’t taken any of the presents, his only goal to destroy as many decorations as he could. But after he’d found a ten-thousand-dollar necklace in one of the brightly wrapped gifts, he’d decided that making a profit from his hatred of the holiday wasn’t a bad idea. It was a double whammy for the victims, and he enjoyed that very much.
“Goddamn holiday,” he cussed under his breath as he maneuvered his car up and down the lanes searching for a parking space. He hated that time of year with a passion, and he wished they would abolish it. If he had to hear another fucking Christmas carol again, he couldn’t be held responsible for what he’d do.
Turning sharply, he nabbed a space, lifted a small suitcase on wheels out of the back of his car, and headed for the entrance of the Aspen Grove Mall. The stench of hot dogs, pine, and kids clobbered him in the face when he entered the shopping center. The place was packed and he moved through the wall of people, trying not to run into the pop-up kiosks that always invaded the mall during the holiday season. Vendors called out to him as he walked by ignoring them.
Up ahead, Santa’s village loomed. He gripped the handle on his suitcase tighter and fought through the crowd until he was in the back of the makeshift mountain. In front of it, hordes of children stood in line as elves in all sizes and shapes handed out suckers to them. Parents stared vacantly ahead, several of them glancing at their watches as they waited for Santa to take his place again.