BRICK (Lords of Carnage MC)

by Daphne Loveling

  My hand closes tightly around the throttle as I think about it now. I know my surge of anger back there was because of the adrenaline rush from the explosion. It was just a chemical reaction, nothing more — a fight or flight response. But by the time I got back into the kitchen, the ‘fight’ was over. There was nothing to do. No one to punch. So I kind of took it out on Sydney instead. Which was kind of an asshole move.

  I’ve never been a man to be comfortable in situations where I can’t take action. I’m the club’s Enforcer for a reason. I’m the guy that comes to see you when all the talking is over. In the club, I answer only to Rock, our prez. I make sure his orders are carried out. I’m the fist that punches for him. My fist maintains order in our world.

  The explosion in the kitchen triggered some kind of caveman reaction in me, to protect Sydney. And when the danger was over — when the adrenaline had nowhere to go — being that close to her triggered another reaction. Something even more primal.

  I shift on my seat, my cock still as hard as a damn bat. That girl’s gonna be on my mind all morning. I can already tell.

  Fuck.

  I’m still feeling goddamn out of sorts as I walk into the garage.

  “You’re late,” Hawk growls.

  “Fuck you,” I bark back. I grab my shop overalls and pull them on. Hawk grunts but doesn’t say anything more. My bad mood notwithstanding, Hawk’s one of the brothers I most respect in the club. He doesn’t take bullshit, and he doesn’t spew it, either. And he’s a goddamn genius with an engine.

  The project I’m finishing up for the shop today is a restoration of a beautiful old classic bike: a 1946 Harley Davidson WL. The guy who brought it in is some rich dude, a dentist or something who I guess found the bike in his grandfather’s barn after he passed. The dentist is a weekend warrior, which we get a lot of in the shop, but the money people like him are willing to pay is really good. This bike has been a fucking joy to work on, except for one thing: the dentist guy specified that he wanted a non-original two-tone paint job on the restored bike. I tried to argue against it, and even tried to tell Hawk I wouldn’t do it. But in the shop, Hawk’s the boss, so I’m gritting my teeth and getting it done.

  I work by myself for about an hour. The detailed work of the paint job focuses me enough that I have to devote most of my concentration to it and stop thinking about Sydney for a while. At one point, I hear Hawk on the phone in the office, and then he comes ambling out to me and takes a seat on an overturned five-gallon bucket.

  “Rick Pierce is coming for the bike tomorrow,” Hawk tells me, referring to the weekend warrior dentist.

  “I’ll have this done by lunchtime,” I reply.

  Hawk nods. “Looks good.”

  I snort. “Thanks.” He knows I’m not a fan of the two-tone.

  The small side door to the shop opens and Gunner comes striding in. “Hey, brothers,” he announces to the large space. Murmurs of greeting come from the other side of the garage, where Striker and Thorn are working on a ’66 Chevelle.

  “Is everybody gonna be late today?” Hawk complains, glancing up at the clock on the wall.

  “Relax, boss,” Gunner grins at him. “Hey, Brick.”

  I lift my head up and nod at him. “Gun.”

  “You guys hear what happened at Ace Liquors?”

  Hawk frowns. “No. What?”

  “Got robbed overnight,” he says. “They grabbed the guy who was closing up, took all the cash from the till and the safe. Beat the guy unconscious after he opened the safe for them. Took a bunch of liquor, smashed up whatever they couldn’t carry with them, and left. Guy’s in the hospital now. Beat up pretty bad, but I guess he’s stable.”

  “Fuck,” Hawk spits out. He stands up and lights a smoke. “Second one this month. The victim get a good look at any of them?”

  “I guess they were wearing masks,” Gunner replies, his expression turning dark. “He said he might have recognized one of their voices, but he wasn’t sure.

  “Fuck me running.” I shake my head. “This isn’t good.”

  There’s been a rash of break-ins at local Tanner Springs businesses in the past few months. Most of them, like this one, seem motivated by the desire to get cash and then destroy shit for good measure — calculated to provoke maximum damage and outrage. This one’s new in that they actually hurt someone. The local paper, the Tanner Springs Star, has been running increasingly hysterical stories about the crime wave, as well as a raft of letters to the editor demanding answers and justice for the people who’ve been victims. When I go into a restaurant or a gas station these days, more often than not it’s what people are talking about.

  More than one of the letters to the editor has implied it has something to do with the Lords of Carnage MC.

  “Goddamnit,” Hawk snarls. “One more excuse for Holloway and his men to keep us in their crosshairs.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “And you know what that means. We’re likely to have another visit from the TSPD.”

  Jarred Holloway is the mayor of Tanner Springs. He’s a smug, devious piece of shit who’s had our club in his sights ever since he got elected a year and a half ago. He got elected on a “clean up Tanner Springs” platform, talking up a mostly nonexistent crime problem — and implying that the Lords of Carnage was a bad element in town that needed to be ripped out at the roots.

  I’m not gonna lie and say that the Lords haven’t done our fair share of business that sat firmly on the wrong side of the law. But we’ve never been stupid enough to conduct those deals inside the city limits. Not to mention, we got our asses out of that shit and went legit right around the time Holloway took office. That was partly coincidence, and partly because we could see the writing on the wall. We knew Holloway was about to make our lives one hell of a lot harder in his quest to prove to Tanner Springs that he was tough on crime.

  The building we’re standing in right now used to be a warehouse we ran guns out of, among other things. We sold our last shipment off to the Death Devils, another club to the east of us, and made the space into a custom motorcycle and car shop instead. It’s been a good source of income for us so far — not nearly as much as gun running, but safer and steadier. And ironically, since we opened the garage, Holloway’s cops have come in and searched the place twice, looking for contraband. The last time they came in was right around the time the current “crime wave” started.

  The fucked up thing is, none of these crimes started happening until after Jarred Holloway got elected. Funny, though, how the people who voted for him haven’t seemed to notice that. All they see is that crime is on the rise. And for some reason, they believe he’s the one who can stop it. And he’s determined to make himself look like a goddamn hero to them. Probably at our expense.

  6

  Brick

  Sure enough, a few hours later, right after lunch, two cars pull up in the front lot of the garage. One’s a late model white BMW 6 Series. The other sports the Tanner Springs PD logo on the side.

  The driver’s side door opens on the BMW, and out slides Mayor Jarred Holloway himself, looking especially douchey and sure of himself. His black hair is cut short and conservative, with a deep side part so straight it looks like he did it with a ruler. He’s wearing a pale blue shirt that’s starched within an inch of its damn life, and some light tan khakis with creases sharp enough to give him a paper cut. I consider coming up and giving him a pat on the back with my paint and oil stained hands. But then I’d have to touch the fucker.

  The guy who gets out of the cop car turns out to be Brandt Crup, the new police chief, specially picked by Holloway to be his lackey.

  “Oh, for feck’s sake,” mutters Thorn in disgust as we watch them approach. “I could’ve gone all day without seein’ that wanker.”

  “Here we go,” Gunner says, not moving from his spot leaning against the side of the building. The three of us are out here having a smoke. We don’t move to greet them. Let those fuckers come to us.

  “H
ello there,” Holloway calls as they saunter up, wearing his habitual shit-eating politician’s grin.

  Thorn gives me a look but says nothing.

  “Mayor,” I reply drily.

  “We’re looking to have a few words with your president,” Crup announces officiously. He’s pudgy and soft, with a receding hairline that makes his forehead look enormous. The buttons on his shirt are pulling slightly.

  “Is that so?” Thorn asks. “And here we thought you were just coming for a friendly chin wag.”

  “Is Rock around?” Holloway asks, still with that artificial smile.

  “He’s inside.”

  Crup takes a step forward but Thorn stops him.

  “You wait right here, now, gentlemen,” he says in a tone that’s friendly to the point of mockery. “He’ll be right out in a jif.” He turns on his heel and heads into the garage. Gunner and I continue to take drags on our cigarettes, not bothering to make small talk. The four of us stand in silence. Holloway’s smile falters only a little, and then he pastes it back on, trying his best to look completely unfazed. Crup sneers and blows out a dry laugh.

  A minute or so later, Thorn returns with Rock. Hawk is with them.

  “Holloway,” Rock says by way of greeting. His voice is completely devoid of any expression.

  “Rock Anthony,” Holloway nods, showing his teeth. “I remember speaking to you at the town fundraiser for the library a while back.”

  “Glad to know I’m so memorable,” Rock replies.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about the break-in at Ace Liquors last night,” Chief Crup interjects. He squints his eyes and scans all of us in turn, like he’s looking for someone to crack.

  “Matter of fact, we did,” Hawk replies. “Shame.”

  “You boys happen to know anything about that?” Crup continues.

  Hawk instantly bristles at being called a boy, but you’d have to know him pretty well to see it. A muscle tightens in his jaw. “Heard the news through the grapevine. You catch anyone yet?”

  “Not yet,” Crup drawls. “But seems to me, there’s not that many ‘elements’ in town that are likely to be breaking into local businesses, looking for money.”

  “Probably not,” Rock nods. “Should make it easier for you to find them, then.”

  “Uh-huh.” Crup nods toward the inside of the garage. “You think if we went in there and looked around, we’d find anything to help us figure out who the perps are?”

  “Can’t imagine how,” Gunner says evenly. “Maybe your time would be better spent looking around at the actual crime scene.”

  Crup snorts. “Funny. You’re a funny guy.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told,” Gunner grins.

  But Rock’s starting to show some anger. “You got something to say, you say it.”

  “I’m saying the Lords of Carnage seem like they’re doing pretty well these days,” Crup says, nodding toward the garage. “Lots of money seems to be flowing into the club.”

  “Yeah. Lots of legit money,” I counter.

  “That right?” Crup retorts, turning to me. “You think if we got a search warrant and took a little look inside, we’d see how legit you are?”

  “Oh, fer Chrissake, do we look like the kind of petty goddamn thugs who would knock over a fecking liquor store?” Thorn spits out, finally losing patience. “Christ, why don’t you go look for some tweakers or something? That’s who most likely has been doing this shite. For quick drug money.”

  “That so?” Crup narrows his eyes at Thorn.

  “Look, Holloway,” Rock cuts them off and addresses the mayor. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. And what’s more, I think you know it.”

  “Oh, I’m not so sure,” Holloway says mildly.

  Crup raises an angry finger and points it at Rock. “You’ve been warned. You’re on notice,” he hisses, like he’s in some kind of movie.

  Beside me, Gunner bursts out laughing.

  The mayor flicks an annoyed glance at Crup, and then turns his gaze on us, one by one. “Well, you boys keep your noses clean,” he says in a cheerful tone, “and I’m sure you won’t have any problems. The people of Tanner Springs deserve to live in a town they feel safe in. It’s my job to make sure they do.” He nods at Rock and gives us his best campaign-poster smile. “You all have a good day, now.”

  Holloway turns on his heels and heads back to his car. Crup follows close behind.

  “Christ, I’d love to throttle the both of ‘em,” Thorn murmurs.

  “Cheer up,” I mutter. “Crup looks a little wet behind the ears to be a police chief. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll shoot himself while he’s cleaning his gun.”

  “You think they actually think we have anything to do with this shit?” Hawk asks Rock as we watch them drive away.

  “Maybe Crup does,” Rock answers. “He’s a fucking idiot. But I think Holloway knows this is bullshit. He’s politicking.”

  Rock decides to head back to the clubhouse to talk to our VP,Angel. The rest of us head inside and get back to work, but Chief Crup’s little visit has cast a pall over the day. By the time five o’clock rolls around, everyone’s more than a little out of sorts. Me included.

  “That’s it,” Hawk finally says, slamming the hood of the Chevelle. “I need a fucking drink.”

  “Hallelujah,” Gunner agrees. “You coming to the clubhouse?” he asks, turning toward me.

  “You bet.” I grab a rag to wipe off my hands. “I’ll catch up with you, just as soon as I get some of this paint off.”

  I go clean myself up and then head out to my bike. The late afternoon air is warm and smells like cut grass, which is a welcome change from paint fumes in the shop. As I pass through downtown, I slow the bike just slightly as I near the Golden Cup. I glance in, and manage to catch a glimpse of long red hair through the window before I throttle up and continue toward the clubhouse.

  7

  Sydney

  The next day, even though I hate to admit it to myself, I’m sort of hoping that Gavin will come into the coffee shop. But the morning comes and goes, and he doesn’t make an appearance. It’s a Saturday, though, and I have to remind myself I’ve never seen him come in on a weekend.

  Hailey arrives in the early afternoon to do a short shift so I can take care of some paperwork. There’s a lull between customers when she gets here, so I have a chance to chat with her before I go back to my office.

  “How was your meeting after school yesterday?” I’m asking her. “I never thought to ask you yesterday afternoon.” I’d remembered the math test, but not that.

  “The Senior Activities Committee? It was okay.” She lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “There were a lot of super-popular kids that showed up for it — not really my scene, usually. But I guess I’ll keep going to it for now.”

  “What does this committee do, exactly?” I reach under the counter for a stack of to-go cups and set them next to the register.

  She gives me little sarcastic smirk. “Well, we basically organize activities for the seniors.”

  I snort. “Right. I got that. Like what?”

  “Like…” she starts counting on her fingers. “There’s painting the senior wall. And the senior boys’ party, and the senior girls’ party. And a bunch of dances. And the senior float for the homecoming parade. And the all night party, and senior skip day.”

  “Wow. Are you going to have any time to actually study and learn things, in between all the parties?”

  “Seriously?” She eyes me. “You sound like a mom.”

  God. I kind of do, I realize. “Sorry. But it does seem like that’s an awful lot of stuff cutting into time that you might need to do… oh, I don’t know… homework, and things like that.”

  Hailey flips a dismissive hand at me. “Please. Tanner Springs High is such a sluff school. I only brought books home like, three times last year. I get all my homework done in my study hall. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Okay, then, I’ll
worry about me,” I grin. “Are you going to have time to work here at the shop, with all your extra-curricular activities?”

  “Well, actually…” she bites her lip. “I was going to talk to you about that.” She frowns apologetically. “Do you think there’s any way we could switch my schedule around so I could work evenings instead of after school sometimes? We have to sign up for the stuff we’re going to help with on the committee. If I had at least a couple of days a week where I knew I didn’t have to be here until later, I could sign up for more stuff.”

  “For someone who isn’t really into that ‘scene,’ you really seem to be throwing yourself into this,” I tease her.

  “Well…” she says slyly, “There is a guy I’m kind of crushing on who’s on the committee, too.”

  “Aha! There it is!” I crow. “So your friend Melissa isn’t really the reason you joined.”

  “No, she is,” Hailey protests. Her face turns an adorable shade of pink. “But… when I got to the meeting, Teddy just happened to be there, too.”

  I’m about to start grilling Hailey on every detail of her crush, when a crisply dressed older lady comes into the shop. Her silver-white hair is short and coiffed into an attractive bob, and she’s wearing surprisingly fashionable round tortoise-shell glasses. I’ve seen her in here once or twice before. She always comes in by herself, and she’s always carrying a thick paperback with her to read while she drinks her coffee.

  “Hello there,” I greet her. “What can I get you?”

  She smiles distractedly at me. “I’ll take a medium, non-fat, no foam, extra shot, half-caf vanilla latte. For here.”

  “Sure thing.” I ring her up. “Have a seat, and I’ll bring your drink out to you in just a minute.”