His Bold Heart

by Ella Goode

  I whirl around in surprise. “Um, no. She went to join the rest of our group.”

  “You look thirsty,” the guy says and gestures for one of the roving waitresses to come over. He’s slightly under six feet and good looking in a default sort of way. I think it’s his dimples that appear at the corners of his mouth when he smiles at me. “What will you have?”

  “Nothing, thanks.” I turn to go to the backroom and join Grant when the guy grabs my wrist. Not hard, but it surprises me. I realize I haven’t been in this situation before. In Fortune, everyone knew I was Grant’s and no male touched me like this there. I got plenty of hugs and the older members would ruffle my hair but this guy—boy, really—is flirting with me. I don’t even know if this is normal.

  “Don’t drink? That’s cool. Let me buy you a Coke.”

  “No, really.” I twist my wrist away from his grip. “I have a boyfriend.”

  He glances around. “Seems like you are all alone. Come on, let me buy you drink.”

  He takes two steps closer and I nearly pass out from the stench of liquor that wafts from his breath. He’s been here a lot longer than I have.

  “I have a boyfriend,” I repeat, enunciating each word carefully. “And I really need to go.” Because if he steps out of the backroom and sees you this close to me, I’m afraid of what will happen.

  “Is there a problem Chelsea?” Thank goodness it’s just Abel. He stands close and crosses his arms.

  “This your man?” Dimples asks. He steps forward too, pushing his chest out and crowding me close to Abel.

  “No, he’s a friend.” I turn and try, once again, to move toward the back.

  “So you were lying about having a boyfriend bitch?”

  “He’s drunk, Abel. Drunk. Let it go.” I push Abel square in the chest but at six two he’s immovable. But when Grant appears in the doorway of the pool room, sees Abel standing rigidly next to me, the situation has just taken a turn from irritating to potentially dangerous. I shove Abel harder and am able to move him an inch. “Grant’s coming,” I hiss.

  “Good,” he grunts.

  “Who the hell is Grant?” Dimples rocks forward.

  “You shut up.” I whirl and stab the drunk guy in the chest. “And you,” I turn back to Abel. “Grant is on parole. He cannot get into a fight.”

  “What the fuck is going on here?” Grant stops and folds his arms across his chest, the black t-shirt creeping up higher showing a hint of his shoulder tats.

  “Nothing baby. I’m parched.” I tap my throat. “You have a beer back there for me?”

  “This your man?” Dimples asks. “This leather wearing thug? You into that?”

  Grant growls and for a sober man, that low rumble would probably be enough to scare him off, but Dimples is too drunk to feel fear.

  “Yes, very into that.” I walk away then, hoping that Grant and Abel will just follow me but when I get only two steps before I realize that neither of them are moving.

  “You touch my girl?” Grant’s voice is low and menacing.

  “The chick was sad-eyed and alone. A guy leaves a hot piece of ass like that alone is a guy who’s not very interested in her.” Dimple shoots back.

  Grant’s hands drop to his side and a fist forms in his right hand. I throw myself at him and he instinctively catches me when I crash into him. “No fighting. You are on parole. I do not want you to go back. You do not want to go back. All that time you spent keeping your head down and doing your time and pretending like you were okay with what happened will be for nothing. Please, let’s go and play pool.”

  His muscles bunch under my hands and for a moment, I fear I’ve lost him. And then he tilts his head back and inhales, long and deep. “All right, baby.”

  He gives a half laugh, humorless and almost angry. Over my shoulder, he points a finger to Dimples. “I suggest you find somewhere else to party for the rest of the night. I’m taking my girl back to play some pool. Later on, I’m going to come out and if I see you, I’ll hit you so hard that your dead relatives will feel it in their graves.”

  He doesn’t wait for Dimples to respond. Instead, he grabs my hand and walks swiftly back to the pool room. Just inside the door, the Misery guys are all standing close to the entrance, some of them are holding cue sticks as if they’re weapons. The other occupants, a half dozen guys and a couple of girls not counting Mandy are pressed up against the wall.

  “Everything okay?” Junior asks quietly.

  “Yeah,” Grant nods brusquely. “Chelsea here is thirsty though.”

  Junior turns to a whip thin male with a goatee and a rattail. His acne marked face makes me wonder if he is even of legal drinking age. Fly, get the girl a drink.”

  Fly nods and nearly sprints out. He must be a prospect.

  “Who’s winning?” I ask.

  “He is.” Junior and Big point to each other simultaneously and then laugh.

  “I guess it’s time for a new game.” I walk over to the abandoned table and gather up the balls to be racked. The other patrons seem relieved and re-start their own games.

  Too bad it is a short lived relief. As soon as the balls are racked, Junior decides to needle Moose.

  "Went by your house the other day," Junior leans over the pool table and lines up his shot. “Susan was there but Mia wasn’t. In fact, Susan wouldn’t say where Mia was. You happen to know?”

  Moose takes a long draft of his beer before answering. “She’s around.”

  “Haven’t seen her in a while.” Junior pockets one solid and lines up the next one. “In fact, I haven’t seen her in about four months. How about you Big? Seen Mia around?”

  Big leans against a stool, his big thighs spread and his pool stick resting between them. He chews on a toothpick as he watches the scene in front of him. “Can’t say that I’ve seen her either. Not since she got out of the hospital. Went by myself a couple months ago to see if the girls needed anything. Susan looked real stressed. Wouldn’t allow me in though.”

  “Not really any of your business.” Moose’s color is high. He’s hiding something and everyone knows it.

  “When the club started paying her bills, it became our business,” Junior replies. There’s a lot of anger in his voice. Mandy’s hand creeps into mine. I squeeze it tight.

  “You aren’t paying her bills anymore are you?”

  “And why is that? Did she miraculously get better? You send her off on an all-expense paid vacation to Florida?” Junior hits the two ball too hard and it pops out of the corner, rolling back onto the felt.

  He walks around the corner of the table and intentionally brushes by Moose, knocking him off balance. It’s the wrong move although Junior doesn’t know it. Moose is already on edge from yesterday and the little physical aggression from Junior is too much. Moose cracks his pool cue against the side of the table and launches himself at Junior.

  All hell breaks loose. Big jumps in immediately, pulling Moose away from Junior. Moose swings his head back and cracks it against Big’s nose. Blood spurts from Big’s face, spraying Moose and Junior.

  Abel grabs me and Mandy and pushes us against the wall. His broad back shields us from the action. I hear cursing and then Wrecker shouting. Glass breaks and someone screams. Beside me Mandy is hyperventilating and begins to cry.

  “This is fucked up,” she sobs. I put my arms around her. “Why is it always so fucked up around him?”

  “It’s going to be okay.” I rub her back, trying to send her some calm.

  “How can you stand it? All this blood and violence? I hate it,” she cries. “Hate it!”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. The biker life isn’t an easy one. I’ve seen a lot of fights in my short life—even between friends. That’s what happens when guys with a lot of testosterone get drunk and high together. Sometimes it spirals out of control. Throw in a woman and things get really messy. And some clubs are just bent on breaking the backs of others. At meet ups with my mom, before she hooked up with Judge, I saw p
lenty of knives, guns pulled, fists thrown and blood all around.

  And with Judge, I wasn’t sheltered from it either. Guys fought. Oh hell, sometimes the women fought. Once BangBang’s wife got into it with a sweet butt who had the temerity to try to come on to BangBang while Danilo was there. Danilo took that sweet butt to the ground, ripped out her extensions and clawed up her face but good.

  Then she left BangBang. Moved out the next day.

  “It’s going to be all right,” I say but my weak words do nothing to stop Mandy from crying so I just hold her while Abel stands guard.

  Soon three burly guys tumble in from the entry way. I’m not sure how they manage it but Junior and Moose are separated and we’re all kicked out.

  23

  WRECKER

  "What the hell was that all about?" I spit out at the two men the minute the nut-freezing cold hits us. The door of the bar slams shut as the bouncers shove us out into the street.

  "Nothing." Junior swipes a hand across his face.

  Moose sneers. "Nothing is right. Stay out of my fucking business."

  "You're in the same club," Chelsea interjects. "How isn't it his business?"

  "Fuck you, little girl. Just because your --"

  "Don't even say it," I warn. Abel holds me back.

  “Let’s go. Let’s all go back to the club. I think Moose has something to share with us.” Abel tilts his head toward Big who gives him the chin up of acknowledgment.

  Big and Riot grab Moose by the arms when he tries to break away.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Big says. “You’re coming with us.”

  “Riot,” Chelsea’s new friend calls out. The slender guy stops and half turns toward her. Resignation and hope war on his face lit up by the street lights.

  “What is it Mandy?”

  “Come home with me.” There are tears in her voice.

  My chest tightens in response. Goddamn, I fucking hate tears. I am fucking useless against them.

  “I’ll meet you there. Just give me like a half hour. Maybe an hour.” There’s a tinge of desperation in his voice. It matches hers too.

  “No. Right now.” Chelsea whispers something to her but she jerks away. “You need to come right now or there will never be a chance for us.”

  “You fucking that real estate guy?” Riot growls, still not full, looking at Mandy.

  She pales. Her breath puffs out like tiny smoke rings from the cold. “He’s nothing to me. Just come away with me. Let’s go back to what we had. It was fun. We drank, partied, had sex.”

  He sucks the lower lip into his teeth. “We can still have all that.”

  Distracted by the girl, his grip on Moose loosens. Moose takes advantage and wrenches out of Riot’s grip. Abel sighs and strides forward to help Big bring Moose down.

  “We gotta go. Chelsea, get the truck.” I throw her the keys.

  “You just do whatever your man tells you too?” Mandy sneers, her once pretty features are mucked up by the running mascara and the ugly curve of her lips.

  “Mandy, honey, why don’t you come with me. We can get some coffee. When Grant and the boys are done, they’ll come get us.” Chelsea beckons her with a hand but Mandy backs up like Chelsea is diseased.

  “No, I do not want to be part of a blood bath. I do not want to worry about where every penny is coming from. I just want a regular life.”

  “Then fucking go. Go find your fuck head accountant or whatever and have a boring-ass beige life. I’m done with you,” Riot shouts.

  “Truck, Chelsea,” I holler. I’m done with this whole shitshow. It’s fucking cold out and I want to take care of the Moose business and take my girl home. It’s been a long-ass day.

  Chelsea throws one more look at Mandy and then turns away, hustling down the street toward the truck. I see a taxi across the street and wave him over. Leaning in, I hand him a three twenties. That should easily cover wherever it is Mandy needs to go.

  “Mandy, here’s your ride. Go home.”

  Sniffling, she climbs into the cab. “There’s something wrong with you. All of you.”

  “Maybe so, but we’re all adults and this is what we’ve chosen. You’ve got a different route and that’s fine.”

  “Your girl is too sweet to be part of this mess.” She slams the door shut.

  I slap a hand on the roof of the taxi and point at the driver who rolls down the passenger window for me. Leaning down, I stare that girl straight in the eyes so she sees how serious I am. “You stay the fuck out of my business little girl. Chelsea’s been mine since she was fourteen and she’ll be mine until the day we both die. Don’t fuck with shit you don’t know nothing about. I don’t care if you are friends with Chels. She needs them. But you fuck with her in any way and you’re done. Do you get me?”

  She stares at me wide eyed.

  “I’m going to need a verbal response here. Do you get me?” I repeat low and hard.

  She nods slowly. “I get it,” she says quietly and then covers her mouth to prevent a sob from escaping.

  I tip my chin up and then gesture for the cabbie to take off.

  “Problem?” Abel asks.

  “Don’t think so.” I rub my chin as I watch the tail lights speed away. “Where’s Moose?”

  “Duct taped and stuck in the back of the truck.”

  “We going to bring him home and stick him with Paulson?”

  Abel grunts. “Seems like the right place for him.”

  “Well that should scare the piss out of Moose, eh?”

  “Think so,” Abel answers cheerfully.

  “Let’s take care of business and go home. Sorry you aren’t getting laid tonight.”

  “It’s all good. I got the number of a couple of girls so maybe I’ll follow up with one of them in a few days when I’m not worried about watching my back.”

  “Good call.” I slap him on the back. “See you at the Misery club.”

  The ride from the bar to the club did wonders for Moose. He is all kinds of talkative when we pull him out from the bed of the truck. I sent Chelsea home since all the members of the Misery club were in the kitchen of their clubhouse. Junior, me and Moose are sitting at the table. The rest of the members are standing around the room, watching the proceedings. Half of them probably have their hands on the butt of their guns.

  “They took her.” Moose admits. “They took her and they won’t give her the meds unless I keep delivering them the goods but the cook’s wife got shot and then their lab blew up and now I’ve got nothing.”

  Junior curses and backs away from the table. He grabs his neck and stares out the window. I spare the young president a glance and then renew my focus on Moose.

  “Tell us how Chief Schmidt from Fortune is involved.”

  “Up until a couple of months ago he and Trainor were producing some of the best meth this side of the Mississippi. When Trainor’s wife found out, she threatened to turn him in if he didn’t stop. She was afraid of people finding out but once you’re in, you’re in. Trainor told the Henchmen that he was done and they killed his wife.”

  “Now what?”

  “They want him to start cooking again. I told him that if he didn’t, he’d be next. I’m his keeper. The boot on his neck. If I got him back into cooking again, I’d get my sister back. They were supposed to give me the hand off location and time.”

  I push the paper toward him.

  “You were following me? Motherfucker, you have my fucking money!” The chair legs scrape against the floor as he leaps to his feet. He lunges toward me but Big and Abel hold him off.

  Junior pushes them both away and hauls Moose up by his collar. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “What are you going to do Junior? Kill me like your old man?” Moose screams in his face. Over their heads, I see Abel’s eyebrows raise slightly. Junior killed his old man?

  “You stupid fuck.” Junior pushes Moose against the closest wall and presses a forearm against Moose’s windpipe. No one stops him. “I cou
ld kill you right now with my fucking hands.”

  “This isn’t helping Mia,” Moose chokes out.

  Junior keeps up the pressure. It’s not good for any of us if Moose is taken out yet but this is Junior’s show and I’m not going to step in. We’ll figure it out if Junior decides it is time for Moose to go. So we wait. I glance at my phone. Almost one in the morning. I wonder what Chelsea is doing. Is she showering? Did she go straight to bed? Is she sitting up worrying about me?

  I start to text her but Junior’s control creeps back in and he throws Moose onto the chair. I tuck my phone away. Time to pay attention.

  “What more do they want from you?” Junior asks.

  “More meth. What else?” Moose drops his head into his hands, defeated.

  “Do you have it?”

  He shakes his head. “Trainor hasn’t cooked up anything. He’s too fucking scared.”

  “How much do they want?”

  “It’s a pound every delivery.”

  “What’s that work out to?” Abel asks. Good question. Since we don’t deal with drugs, I have no idea what the going rate is.

  “About fifty grand in street value.”

  Abel whistles through his teeth and there are a bunch of unhappy rumblings from the Misery crew.

  “I’m guessing you guys don’t have that kind of extra cash,” I say casually.

  “Does it look like we fucking do?” Junior throws his arm out. “We’ve been operating on fumes since—” he breaks off.

  “Since what?” Now we’re getting somewhere. “Either you trust us to have your back or you don’t,” I tell him. “I don’t care what you guys were doing before. I don’t really give a shit that Moose is trafficking meth. What I want to know is what the hell happened to the Misery club and do I need to be worried about my brother Abel here or my old lady Chelsea. Is this going to spillover to the Death Lords? That’s what I care about, not what illegal shit you all are into. Abel and I are ready to back you with our guns and whatever else we can provide. I think your plan to take the interstate is stupid as shit and we should take the backroads, but if you want to cruise down I-94 with a cargo full of hot goods, that’s what we’ll do.”