Shelter (Red Rebels MC Book 5)

by C. D. Breadner

  “What are you doing here?” Fritter shouted. Knuckles realized that meant he probably hadn’t heard his conversation with Buck.

  “Saw you guys working,” he said, fishing his cigarettes out of his button down’s front pocket.

  “You’re still not on the bike, hey?” Fritter asked, wiping his hands and gesturing with the rag to Tiny’s truck.

  “Ribs are still pulling a little,” he admitted, pausing to light his smoke. “I’ll wait another week. Take a short ride, see how that goes.”

  “Don’t want to lose you to the cage, man.”

  Knuckles grinned around his cigarette. “Ain’t happening.”

  “See you at the clubhouse.”

  “You got it.”

  Not just his ribs stung as he climbed into the black Ram. Nor did his pride tweak to be behind the wheel of the cage. The smell of Tiny’s cigarettes still lingered. Fucking shitty Pall Malls.

  Tank was pulling up to the clubhouse as Knuckles parked. Fritter and Buck were right behind them. He snagged his kutte from the back and shrugged it on as they entered as a group. The place always smelled like old beer with a faint hint of piss.

  Spaz was already in the Board Room when they came in, laptop open in front of him.

  “What’s up, Spazzer?” Knuckles asked, sinking into his chair with a groan. These fucking ribs.

  “Don’t know yet.”

  Knuckles fell still. “We got trouble?”

  “We have to wait.”

  Tims and Rusty joined the table, but before Knuckles could subtly ask why Tims was slacking on Jolene duty the night before, Jayce joined the proceedings. He shut the double doors and took his spot at the head of the table. The Rebels weren’t formal to the point of having a gavel, but Jayce still rapped his knuckles on the table to bring them to order.

  “All right. Some weird news down the wire this morning. So, I’ll let Spaz explain what happened.” Then Jayce nodded at the tech officer.

  “DA Martin Dervish, Kern County,” Spaz began, then looked up at the group.

  “I know that name,” Tank mused, one eyebrow down in concentration.

  Fritter was nodding. “Yeah. Well, he’s a DA.”

  “The one that put my old man in prison,” Jayce filled them in.

  The group, as one, made sounds of understanding. “Oh yeah,” Knuckles contributed to the noise. “What’s up with that lying bastard?”

  Jayce’s old man was serving life for icing a guy. The call was bullshit. Not because Mad Dog hadn’t done it—he totally had, the victim was a rat—but the evidence they had on him was bunk. The cops had, apparently, found the murder weapon in Mad Dog’s saddlebags on a random traffic stop.

  It wasn’t the correct weapon. Mad Dog had disposed of said knife, to expressly not have it found on his person. Ever.

  Not only that, the knife wasn’t found on the roadside search. Mad Dog had been arrested without cause in Kern County, and two days later the knife magically appeared, mysteriously out of eyesight of anyone who’d been at that roadside stop.

  Yeah, he’d done the crime. But he’d been very pissed off that he’d gone down that way. It was an affront to the man that people thought he was stupid enough to be speeding down a freeway with the evidence of a homicide with him.

  Not that Knuckles had ever done anything that stupid.

  That had been eleven or twelve years ago. Knuckles couldn’t exactly remember. He’d still been a prospect at the time. Jesus, thinking back, he’d been a kid, still sporting a damn sunburn from Iraq when Mad Dog went in. Knuckles had been brought to Markham by Chip, SAA at the time—before he’d fallen in a shootout with the Mad Gypsys.

  That felt like ages ago.

  “So, what about DA Dervish?” Fritter asked, then giggled at how ridiculous that sounded.

  “He’s been arrested,” Spaz answered, leaning back towards the laptop. “Kern County Sheriff Garry Turk was arrested last month accepting bribes from known prostitutes to ignore his duty and not arrest them. To save himself, it looks like he folded faster than a Wal-Mart patio chair. It started this huge unravelling of corruption. We got extortion, bribery, and false convictions based on planted evidence within the Kern County District Attorney’s Office.”

  As one, all heads at the table swiveled to Jayce, who was already nodding. “That includes my old man’s case. Been talking to Clark already this morning. He could be released within in the month.”

  Tank gave a low whistle as everyone absorbed this news. Mad Dog was the original, first ever, Red Rebels president. When Jayce was only twenty-five he took the VP’s patch. He’d had a different vision for the club from what his old man had started, and differences had brought them to fist fights a few times right at the table. Knuckles himself, as prospect, had to knock Jayce off his old man a couple times.

  What could he say? He’d wanted his patch. But obviously, Jayce hadn’t held it against him. The guy had given him his patch himself.

  Mad Dog’s hard line, hard drinking, hard living way of life had cost him most of his allies. Slowly, the club had...well, not softened. Not exactly. But they didn’t go looking to cause trouble anymore. They made sure any trouble they handed out was deserved and warranted.

  The killing that Mad Dog went down for was club sanctioned. The President didn’t usually take out rats, he would have had his SAA do that for him normally. But in this case Mad Dog took it personally. A hang around was helping the DA build a case against the club in exchange for a lessened statutory rape sentence, a man Mad Dog had considered a friend and vouched for.

  When he went inside, Mad Dog appointed Jayce as the MC’s new president. Then Jayce selected his officers. It wasn’t a temporary arrangement. Mad Dog was going in for life. He had fully expected to die in prison. Even so, the club struck a deal with the bigger, better-connected Bastard Banshees to keep him safe inside. Jayce and his old man had a strained past, but Jayce couldn’t stand the thought of his old man going out because of a shanking in the shower.

  “Have you talked to him yet?” Tank asked, elbows coming forward to rest on the table. He was the only one that made the monstrosity of pressboard and chrome look small.

  “Not yet. Clark said to wait until we hear back from the interim DA to find out for sure. He thinks we should just play it cool. And, if it comes to it, we...” Jayce covered a cough. “We graciously accept justice.”

  Buck shook his head. “Fuck. The way lawyers talk.”

  “Will he come back here?” Fritter asked, hand playing over the tabletop. Fritter became a prospect after Mad Dog had been convicted. He’d only know the stories.

  “He aged a lot in prison, guys,” Jayce said, oddly. “He’s...he’s not the same man he was. If he comes back here, I don’t think he wants this chair. But I do think he’ll want a spot at the table.”

  Knuckles studied his circle of brothers. This group was tight. Even the newer patches were guys that had been around a long time. Many hadn’t known any president other than Jayce.

  “He started this club,” Tank pointed out. “He wants a spot, I say he gets one.”

  “Of course,” Buck chimed in. “Like you said; he could be a changed man at the table now. Maybe he’s…milder.”

  “Yep,” Knuckles agreed, nodding, and turning his chair to face the head of the table more. “He gets a spot. I’d ride with him.”

  Jayce’s smile seemed conflicted, but he nodded.

  “His club, really,” Rusty said, still careful about talking at the table. His patch was still clean. “I’d say he has a place here.”

  “Me, too,” Tims chimed in.

  “And if he can still ride like he used to, we could use the manpower.” Tank looked around the group. They could all agree with that. Losing Mickey and Tiny so close together was creating a widening gap in the routes they were taking for Sachetti.

  “I’m for it, too,” Spaz piped up.

  “Thanks guys.” Jayce’s voice was quiet as he studied his hands. “I wasn’t so much
worried about getting an answer today. I was just saying we’d need a decision before he was released.” Then the Prez cleared his throat. “But thank you. And now Spaz has an update on the inquest into the fucker that killed Tiny.”

  Knuckles sat up straighter. They all did.

  “He’s going to be fired,” Spaz informed then, and there was a group sigh of relief at that.

  “Anything about him being hired for that shit?” Tank asked.

  “Nothing like that. But Turnbull’s been found out for hiring him. The guy flunked out of the police academy a few years ago. Not only that, he has a conviction for beating a man unconscious. The guy was left with permanent brain damage. Two reasons right there that the guy should have never been hired.”

  “So, why was he?” He had to ask. It sounded too stupid to possibly be that simple.

  Spaz smiled. The fucker had a good answer for them. “Turnbull’s fucking a woman at the DMV.”

  “How the hell does that guy even get laid, much less have affairs?” Rusty asked no one in particular. Maybe he was beseeching the universe to explain.

  “You get laid,” Knuckles pointed out, earning a flip of the bird in return.

  “This asshole that killed Tiny is her son. Turnbull hired him as a favor to her.”

  “She must be fucking hot,” Fritter stated, totally deadpan.

  “Not really. Kinda chubby. But according to a few messages back and forth, she takes it up the ass.”

  “Oh,” said Knuckles, Rusty and Jayce in unison, like that explained everything. And it kinda did.

  “So, he is that desperate to get laid,” Knuckles went on.

  “That’s two questionable incidents since he took the Sheriff’s position,” Jayce pointed out. “Still baffling that he won that election.”

  “Anything else on the IA investigation? Other than that?”

  Spaz shook his head at Tank’s question. “Far as I can tell, they’re keeping their investigation out of the system until it’s final. I can’t even track down a single email into the Kern’s Sheriff’s office. Although, they might be a disaster because their Sheriff and DA under investigation. Either way, it’s all being done offline.”

  “Smart people,” Jayce muttered. “All right, that’s it. Just wanted the word out on my dad. No idea when he’d be let out, or if we’ll even get much of an advance notice. It’s a miracle he hasn’t done anything to make that sentence longer.”

  With that they were dismissed and Knuckles absently wondered if Neenie was around, but as he rounded the corner into the clubhouse it appeared as though she’d already gleaned onto Rusty. Lately, he’d started to think Rusty was becoming her new favorite.

  But why the fuck should that bother him?

  After a look around the room, he decided—with no small amount of surprise—that he didn’t want to be here anymore. None of the other girls were quite hitting the mark.

  With a jolt, he wondered when he’d been laid last.

  Days. A week? No way it’d been that long.

  But yeah...it had been.

  Holy shit.

  He cast worried eyes around the room again, feeling an ache between his eyebrows from frowning. This wasn’t right. His skin should be crawling from need.

  But no, he really had no interest in what was on offer. A new blonde, one who’d been very caring during his recuperation, helping Neenie keep his pillows nice and fluffed, slid up beside him and wound her supple arm around his waist.

  “Knuckles,” she purred, rubbing on him so that he could feel her nipples. Ah, no bra. His dick stirred. “You need some company?”

  He smiled down at her. Her name was Bunny, or something equally stupid, but she went off like a rabbit and that snatch was so, so good and tight. Despite that thought his cock didn’t even get half-mast.

  So weird.

  “I think I’m coming down with something honey,” he said lamely, kissing her on top of the head and giving her ass a squeeze. “I’m heading home for a bit.”

  She didn’t look torn up, but then again, she was a natural sweetbutt.

  His head was bit messed. That was all.

  Tims was starting a game of pool, but Knuckles took him by the collar as Rusty was racking the balls.

  “Punch out of work early last night?” Knuckles asked, keeping his voice low.

  Tim blinked, surprised. “What?”

  “I got a call at closing. Dog had to take a beer bottle to the head to keep Jolene from leaving with some out of town asshole when she was too tanked to be walking.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Did you punch out, or do you suck at this shit?”

  Tim’s eyes got wider. “No, no way. I was right outside their place until morning.”

  “She wasn’t there. I brought her home this morning.” He jabbed the kid in the forehead with a finger. “You were watching an empty house.”

  “Shit.” Tims looked honestly panicked. “I’m sorry. She must have snuck out late. I saw the lights go out in her room at around one.”

  He mulled that over, that uneasy noisiness pushing to the front of his brain. Shaking it back, he clamped a hand on Tims’ shoulder. “I believe you. And I’m not going to say anything because I’m worried about Jolene. And I don’t want her embarrassed.”

  Tims nodded along. “Yeah, of course, man.”

  He headed for Tiny’s truck again, wishing he was well enough to take the bike for a good long ramble. That used to clear his head.

  Rolling up to his house at not quite four in the afternoon was an odd feeling, as was the relief to be approaching his front door with no plans for the night. The buzzing in his skull was still there, background noise. But he really wanted time alone.

  Jesus, it was official. He was now an old man.

  Once inside he put away the sleeping bag and pillow he’s slept with on the couch the night before, then inspected the fridge.

  “Shit,” he mumbled, remembering he’d never been much for grocery shopping. The stores were all open still, but he didn’t want to go out. He just wanted to stay home.

  Good thing he was adept at ordering pizza. He called in his usual to his favorite place then sat his ass down on the couch with a satisfied sigh. Shove a beer in his hand and he’d be a sad cliché. Good thing he’d given up booze.

  A frantic knocking started on his door just as he was reaching for the TV remote.

  “Knuckles!”

  The frantic little voice made him rush to the door, yanking the heavy oak one inwards and pushing the storm door out. Annie’s eyes were wide, her face pale. It made his worry triple.

  “Annie,” he greeted her, trying to keep his voice light. “What’s wrong?”

  “My mom won’t wake up. I think she’s sleeping.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  With a frustrated huff, she took his hand. “She’s hurt. You have to come with me.”

  With a half-amused, half-concerned grin he followed the little redhead halfway down his driveway, around the little picket fence, across their driveway and back up to the cracked front stoop. Annie pushed the door open and maintained her hold, so he followed her into the house. She wasn’t letting go of him.

  “She’s in here.” Annie pulled him down the hallway, and he took a moment to realize this house had a similar layout to his, it was just backwards and didn’t have an upper level. Then quite suddenly he was standing in a woman’s bedroom.

  “Curly, not sure your mom would want me in here,” he said, no longer nearly as amused. The buzzing got worse, but Annie just tugged on his arm and led him to the door next to the closet.

  It was a small bathroom. Knuckles was realizing his bedroom didn’t have an en suite bathroom, but that was interrupted by the sight of Annie’s mom, crumpled on the floor.

  “Shit,” he exclaimed. Annie dropped his hand finally, then in a rush he was on his knees next to Danielle. She was slumped on her side, back to the vanity and toilet. He pushed her dark hair out of her face and almost recoiled. Her lip was bleed
ing? What the hell? She looked like she’d been really worked over. “Annie?” He cranked his head around to look over his shoulder. There she was, hovering next to the door jamb. “What happened? Did she fall?”

  Annie’s teeth worried at her lower lip.

  “Tell me, sweetie,” he asked, trying to be patient. “She’s really hurt.”

  “We went into the city to clean today.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I remember that.”

  “We went to a guy’s house. She asked me to wait in the car because he was home. And he usually wasn’t home. Then she came out, not long after that. She was upset. She was bleeding and she looked scared.”

  Knuckles turned back to the woman on the vinyl flooring. That buzzing got louder, brought on by concern. Assuming she’d just passed out and hadn’t injured herself after falling, he turned her head his way, patted her cheek and softly called for her attention. “Hey. Hey, Ms. Prince? You okay?”

  There was no reply. He pulled up an eyelid, and her eyes were pinned on him, pupils wide open.

  “Shit,” he repeated, rising up on his knees and turning the sink on. He yanked the hand towel off the wall, wet it with cold water, then pressed it to her forehead. “Ms. Prince?” he said, louder. “Come on, wake up. Ms. Prince?”

  “Is she...dead?” Shit, Annie sounded close to tears.

  He shook his head. “No, no honey. She’s not dead.” He gave the woman a rough shake. “Ms. Prince? Danielle? Come on, Danielle. Wake the fuck up.”

  Chapter Eight

  Dark. Swirling shapes. And then, suddenly, light. And noise.

  “Wake the fuck up!”

  She cringed as she was jostled. God, that hurt. And she was so uncomfortable. Where the hell had she fallen asleep?

  She risked cracking one eye open, and the face looking down on her wasn’t familiar. She knew this bathroom, but who was this guy?

  “Danielle? You okay?”

  She swallowed, and struggled to sit up. A hand helped her, adding support between her shoulders. As she changed position the world spun crazily, and she had to close her eyes and reach out...for what, she had no idea. Another hand caught hers, warm and dry. And strong.