F*CKERS (Biker MC Romance Book 7)

by Scott Hildreth

  “I might do that.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “No. Not that I can think of.”

  “Write me that manuscript,” she said. “The dystopian.”

  “I will.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  “Talk to you soon, Michelle.”

  “Bye.”

  I hung up the phone and stared blankly at the computer’s screen. I’d become attached to the characters and loved the story. But. Michelle was right. I couldn’t let the hero die. If I continued to write, however, I feared that’s where things were headed. I needed to take a break and see if there was any way for me to redirect the course of my character’s lives.

  There was only one place that I could find true serenity. The ocean. I went there each time I needed to think, clear my mind of clutter, or make a difficult decision. It was where I spent all my time as a kid, and where I believed heaven to be.

  In my mind, it was where my parent’s souls remained.

  I walked along the beach that afternoon until the sun folded behind a layer of low lying clouds. Upon realizing the day had escaped me, I sat cross-legged in the sand and watched the sunset.

  In doing so, my mind cleared, and all the pieces fell into place. As if someone had flipped a switch, everything in the story made sense.

  I gazed at the darkening horizon and grinned.

  The book was about me.

  Chapter Nine

  Bobbi

  Sitting in my father’s kitchen while solving the world’s problems over a cup of coffee was how I spent most of my Sunday mornings. It was something we both looked forward to. I peered over the top of my coffee cup and considered telling him how different my life had become after Tate left. Not seeing him or talking to him was troubling me much more than I would have expected.

  When it came to discussing matters with my father, I needed to be prepared for a debate regarding the topics I chose. I simply wasn’t sure that I wanted to have a heated conversation about something as arguable as me having interest in a biker who was a felon.

  He gazed into his cup of coffee and then shook his head. “I think this son-of-a-bitch has a hole in it. I would have sworn I just filled it.” He stood and turned away. “Have they fired that asshole, Perry, yet?”

  “Not yet. I doubt they will. He’s got them convinced that he’s a necessary part of the facility’s operation.”

  He glanced over his shoulder as he walked toward the coffee maker. “I think he’s an unnecessary asshole.”

  I laughed at his remark. “He is. I can’t stand the way he treats people. And, he’s not afraid to tell the inmates what he thinks about them. I think it’s awful.”

  “From what you’ve said, he’s just itching to get his hands on one of those guys. I can’t imagine what would happen if he did. It might not end the way he has it planned.”

  I was taught to be unbiased. Even so, I couldn’t help but see Perry as anything but an asshole. While my father added cream and sugar to his coffee, I wondered how open-minded he’d be about Tate. After a few seconds of contemplation, my mouth spoke before my mind could stop it.

  “One of the inmates was set free the other day. Prosecution dropped the charges before he went to trial. He’d been locked up for several months while he was waiting for his hearing. Then, they just let him go. It was weird.”

  “Pretty good fellow, was he?”

  “I thought so, why?”

  He faced me and sipped his coffee. “You wouldn’t have mentioned him if he wasn’t. I raised you, remember?”

  For as long as I could remember, there were two beings I had to answer to. God, and my father. Bullshitting my father was like bullshitting God. Through both of their eyes, I was as transparent as glass.

  “He was really nice,” I said. “He was one of the few I talked to every day.”

  “Not the bank robber? I’m guessing they didn’t let him go.”

  “No.”

  “The biker?”

  “Yeah. The biker.”

  “Wasn’t he in for felon in possession of a firearm?”

  “You’ve got a good memory.”

  “I don’t have much to remember.” He chuckled. “You’re the only one I talk to.”

  He studied me as he sauntered to the table. “What was his other case?” He sat down and then met my gaze. “The first one?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The case that made him a felon in the first place? What was it?”

  I suspected he’d be understanding of what Tate was charged with. If for some reason he wasn’t, befriending Tate would go against his wishes, and that wasn’t something I was prepared to do.

  “Starting a riot,” I said.

  He let out a laugh. “I’m guessing it wasn’t a peaceful gathering of townsfolk.”

  “Actually, it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

  “Not as bad as it sounds, huh?” He raised both eyebrows and grinned. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Remember that kid that got shot at the gas station in Compton?”

  “The black kid who was holding a gas pump? White cop thought it was a gun?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “How in the hell do you think I’d forget that? I was so damned mad when that verdict came out. Still mad about it, to tell you the truth. Son-of-a-bitch killed an innocent kid, and got off without so much as a slap on the hand. Justified shooting, my ass.”

  His anger toward the incident gave me some comfort in telling him about Tate’s past conviction. “Well. He was charged with starting a riot in protest of the not guilty verdict of that officer.”

  He sipped his coffee, and then set the cup aside. “Anyone get hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Shots fired?”

  “No.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Was it a peaceful protest?”

  “Pretty much. People picketing.”

  “Bikers?”

  “No. It was just angry citizens. I read the report in his file. According to him, he was riding down the street and pulled over when he saw the people protesting. According to the cops, he changed a peaceful protest into a riot. A few windows were broken by protestors who were throwing rocks and beer bottles, and that’s what brought on the charges.”

  “Is he a Hells Angel?”

  “No.”

  “Is he that kind of biker? The kind that rides in a gang?”

  “He’s not a Hells Angel, but yeah. He’s in a biker gang.”

  “Tattoos?”

  I laughed. “Yeah.”

  “Wears a leather vest with a logo on the back and such?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s why they charged him. That vest and that insignia made him a target.” He reached for his coffee. “That was his original crime?”

  “That’s it.”

  “What about the second charge. Why’d he have a gun?”

  “That’s another good one. Get this. He was in a bar and a fight broke out. He stepped in to help a guy who was being beaten by a group of men, and when things got out of hand, someone handed him a gun. That someone was an ATF agent, and when he accepted the gun, he was arrested. That’s why the US Attorney’s Office dropped the charges. The ATF agent set the whole thing up.”

  “Both incidents are a perfect example of the risks associated with the choices we make.”

  I looked at him in disbelief. “So, he shouldn’t be a biker because of the risks it brings?”

  “I didn’t say that. Regardless of who he might be, a good portion of society will always look at him with jaded eyes. They’ll see him as the biker that’s portrayed on the news. The one who shoots up the other bikers in a bar fight or manufactures dope for a living.” He reached for his coffee. “Does he have a job?”

  I laughed. “You’ll love this.”

  “He’s an aeronautical engineer?”

  “No, better.”

  “A hairdresser?”

  “Almost. He’s a romance novelist
.”

  Midway through a sip of his coffee, he coughed the drink into his cup and then looked at me no differently than if I’d just told him I was going to have triplets. “He writes romance books? Like your mother used to read?”

  Until the day she died, my mother always had a paperback in her hand. She read while she cooked, while she watched television, and while she rode in the car on the vacations we took as a family. It was her love of reading that prompted me to follow in her footsteps at such an early age.

  They were a little more graphic than the novels my mother read, but for the sake of conversation, I agreed. “Just like mom used to read.”

  “He sounds like an interesting fellow. Is that why we’re having this conversation? Because you find him interesting?”

  “We talked every morning for the entire time he’s been in there. Then, when they dropped his charges, Perry walked him out without telling me. He took him out the back, and I know he did it just so he couldn’t say anything to me on his way out.”

  “I’m sure he did.” He scowled at his coffee cup and pushed it aside. “And, you’re upset because you didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Is that it?”

  He gazed across the kitchen table and waited for my response.

  It wasn’t exactly why I was upset, but it was part of it. After reading two dozen of his books, I couldn’t help but wonder exactly who Tate Reynolds was, and just what might become of our friendship.

  I dropped my gaze to the table. “Kind of. Yeah.”

  “You’re wanting to get to know him a little more?” he asked. “Is that it?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Have you read any of his stuff?”

  I looked up. Despite my struggle to prevent it, my face went flush. “Twenty of them.”

  “Damn. How many has he written?”

  “Forty-something.”

  “Jesus. He’s been busy, hasn’t he?” He gave a few nods of approval, and then looked at me. “Pretty salty stuff?”

  “It’s really good, actually. Why?”

  “Well, from that look on your face, you’ve enjoyed it to the point you’re embarrassed. I doubt they’re like those Harlequin novels your mother used to read that had Fabio on the cover, are they?”

  “Not exactly.”

  He pushed his chair away from the table, and then looked me over. “What’s the problem, Bobbi?”

  He could tell something was troubling me. There was not much sense denying it, so I decided to own it.

  “He’s really a nice guy,” I said. “It bothers me that we didn’t get to talk before he left.”

  “Your buddy Perry saw to it that he didn’t get a chance to say anything to you.”

  My gaze dropped to the table. “I know.”

  “There’s more to it than that, though. Isn’t there?”

  There was. I couldn’t decide just how much I wanted to tell him, though. I couldn’t lie to him, but that didn’t mean I had to tell him the complete truth, either. Not unless he asked, anyway.

  I looked up and met his gaze. “I’m just. I don’t know. I want to see him again. I want to talk to him. You know, without the restriction of having a steel door between us.”

  “Now that things are different.” He raised both eyebrows. “Things might be different.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  He reached for his coffee. While he sipped it, he studied me. “I’ll go back to my original question. What’s the problem, Bobbi?”

  In short, the answer was easy. So, I gave him the short answer. “I miss talking to him.”

  It was true. I did. It may have seemed inconsequential to most, but short of Andy and my father, I talked to no one. Talking to Tate for 5 minutes a day over the course of two months was a significant achievement. It was more interaction with the male species than I’d had in the last three years combined.

  My father rested his chin in his hands and looked me over. “You’re quite resourceful. I’m sure you can find him if you want to. But. I don’t think that’s what you want right now. I think you’re hoping that those books give you an insight to just who the man on the other side of the cell door was.” He arched an eyebrow. “Am I far off?”

  I chuckled. “Probably not.”

  “Your reading pace is what? A book a night?”

  “Pretty close.”

  “Well, here in a few weeks, you’ll have read everything he’s put out there. If you still think you need to talk to him when you’re done, I’m sure you’ll figure something out. If you wanted me to tell you I think you shouldn’t have interest in a biker who stands up for what he believes in, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  He didn’t tell me much, but he said what I needed to hear. I glanced at my watch, and realized the morning had somehow escaped us.

  “I think I’m going to go. It’s almost noon.”

  He smiled. “Keep me posted?”

  I nodded. “I will.”

  “Everything that’s meant to be, will be,” he said.

  I’d heard that phrase so many times, I’d come to believe it. “I know.”

  My fear was that my relationship with Tate had run its course.

  Chapter Ten

  Tate

  Crip was sitting on his motorcycle at the far end of the shop. With his hands draped over the handlebars and his head hanging low, it seemed something was deeply troubling him.

  I rolled to a stop and shut off the engine. “Where is everyone?”

  He cocked his head to the side and looked at me. “Out dicking around. Smoke’s got another job in La Jolla. Cholo’s with him. Pee Bee hasn’t made it in yet, and who knows where P-Nut is.”

  I hung my helmet on the bars and got off the bike. As I walked toward the fridge, he began to chastise me for my recent absence.

  “Speaking of someone’s whereabouts, where the fuck you been lately? Since you got out, you’ve been pretty God damned scarce.”

  “Just been trying to make ends meet after paying that fucking attorney thirty grand.”

  He coughed a sarcastic laugh. “Editing your ass off, huh?”

  I grabbed a beer. “Yeah. Something like that.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Want one?”

  “Appreciate it.”

  I reached for another beer and turned around. He got off his bike, walked to the work bench, and leaned against it. Using the toe of his boot, he kicked black scuff marks onto the surface of the concrete floor.

  “So, what the hell’s going on?” I asked.

  He looked up.

  I handed him a beer and then took a drink of mine. “You look like someone shit in your aquarium.”

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then gave me his typical stern glare. “We’ve got a little problem.”

  “From the look on your face, I’m going to guess it’s not little. Satan’s Savages causing problems again?”

  “Shit.” He took another drink. “I wish it was that simple.”

  “Never ran into anything yet that we couldn’t fix.”

  “I’m not saying we can’t fix it. I’m saying it’s going to be a pain in the ass. I can assure you of that.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  He nodded his head toward the shop door. “Notice that new paint on the front of the building?”

  “Didn’t notice it. Smelled it when I came in, though. I wondered what you fuckers have been painting.”

  “MS-13 tagged this fucking building. Cocksuckers have been going around tagging shit and claiming it. When the owners don’t give it up, they slaughter ‘em and take it. Then, they post up in it selling dope until they get run off. Their name isn’t on the lease, so they just leave and start fresh somewhere else.”

  Southern California was littered with gangs, but none were as ruthless as MS-13. Basically, the Mexican drug cartels had sent their hitmen to Southern California to sell drugs and kill anyone who opposed them, women and children included. They were fearless and lived by no moral code.r />
  My eyes slowly widened. “They’re heavy hitters. We sure this wasn’t just some kids dicking around?”

  “That fucking cop that told us Tank was an ATF agent? The same prick that arrested me? Well, that asshole came by here while we were getting ready to paint over the graffiti, and he told us about MS-13 tagging places from Chula Vista to LA. Said if we didn’t move out, they’d slaughter us and our families just like they have in other cities.”

  The MC had several members that talked a lot and did very little. There were also members that talked very little and were quick to volunteer to do the club’s dirty work.

  I was one of those people.

  I wasn’t about to sit back and let MS-13 – or anyone for that matter – threated the club, the men in it, or the families of the men I considered to be my brothers. “These are the same cocksuckers that kidnapped Cholo?”

  He tilted the neck of his beer bottle toward me and gave a nod. “Same bunch.”

  “We need to make a bold statement on this one, Boss.”

  He exhaled heavily. “I’m well aware.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m in.”

  “I’m not asking you to be in on this, Meat. Hell, you just got out of jail. I’m just explaining--”

  “Any time we’ve had to make a stand, I’ve volunteered,” I said boldly. “Why in the fuck would you think for one minute that I wouldn’t do so now?”

  I took offense to his statement. I’d been involved in the club’s dirty work since earning my patch ten years prior. The only to two members who had more time in the club than me were Pee Bee and Crip.

  “I didn’t say you wouldn’t. I said I didn’t expect you to.”

  “Well, prepare for a fucking surprise, then. I’m in on this deal.”

  “I’m planning on taking out however many of these pricks we can find, Meat. There’s a place over by the old ball diamond that they’re supposed to be using as a dope house. We’re going in, killing every last one of them, and beatin’ feet. I can’t have these pricks threatening my men.”

  I finished my beer and then spread my arms wide. “I’m in.”