F*CKERS (Biker MC Romance Book 7)

by Scott Hildreth

  “Appreciate ya.”

  “How many of them?”

  “From what I hear, about ten.”

  “How many of us going?”

  “The six of us, plus whoever else will volunteer.”

  “You going to be calling a meeting about this?”

  “Was planning on having it tonight,” he said. “I was going to call that shitty little flip phone of yours and let you know.”

  “I hate thinking you were going to do this deal without me.”

  “I wasn’t,” he said. “I was going to give you a ring. No shit. You and about sixteen other motherfuckers.”

  “Like I said. I’m in.”

  “I’ll count on it, then. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of volunteers. We always do.”

  I didn’t care who else was coming in on the raid of the dope house. All that mattered was that I was there, and that I was one of the first men through the door. “You know damned good and well that this is the only family I’ve got. Can’t have people threatening my family, Crip.”

  “I’m well aware, Brother.” He slapped his hand against my shoulder. “Appreciate ya.”

  There was no doubt we’d be met with force in the raid. MS-13’s men would be up all night, high on dope. Catching them sleeping wouldn’t be an option, regardless of what time of day we chose to go.

  There was one thing I needed to get resolved before we went. I tossed my empty beer bottle in the trash and turned to face Crip. “Let me know what time the meeting is. I’ve got to get something done before we go. If I don’t answer, just tell me what time I need to be here.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Just have to finish a job I started. Just in case I don’t make it back.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and clenched his jaw tight. “We’ll make it back.”

  I’d researched MS-13’s activities for some of the books I’d written. I knew any encounter with them would be a blood bath. Keeping that bloodbath one-sided would be near impossible.

  “Appreciate the nod of reassurance. I know who the MS-13 is, brother. This isn’t going to be a fucking picnic. Let me get this thing knocked out, and a few things in order, and then I’m in.”

  “Do what you need to do.” He said with a nod. “When we go to take care of these motherfuckers, I’ll do what I need to do to make sure we all make it home.”

  If there was a man in our midst that could make that promise, Crip would be that man. A former Navy SEAL who wouldn’t hesitate to put his life on the line to save the lives of the men he loved, Crip was much more to me than a president.

  He was not only one of my best friends, he was my older brother, and my mentor.

  I slapped my hand against his back as we embraced in a hug. “Appreciate it.”

  As we broke the embrace, he looked me over. “Glad your back, Brother.”

  My focus had been elsewhere for the few weeks that I’d been out of prison. I worked best under pressure, and now that I had no alternative but to finish writing the book, I’d certainly do just that.

  Being done with it would leave me with no further obligation other than taking care of the family I’d sworn an oath to be loyal to.

  As my mind raced with the thoughts and activities of the characters in the book, I sauntered to my bike. After I lifted my leg over the seat and sat down, I reached for my helmet, and then met Crip’s gaze.

  “Filthy Fucker Forever.”

  He lifted his chin slightly. “Forever Filthy Fuckers.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Bobbi

  There weren’t many patterns that Tate followed in the stories he wrote, but there were a few he seemed to follow in structure. His male characters were very family oriented. If there wasn’t blood family in the hero’s life, he always had a close bond with someone else that he considered family.

  The heroines, however, all seemed to have suffered some type of loss and were left to live with that loss. Be it a parent, a friend, or even a sibling, they all suffered significant loss. In the end, the heroines had the hero to act as their foundation for a solid future. I wondered if the heroines expressed loss was indicative of Tate’s belief that women made sacrifices in life that men didn’t.

  In real life, a woman’s sacrifice in a relationship was lifelong. In the absence of a man cheating or becoming an entirely different person, a woman rarely – if ever – divorced her spouse.

  A man, however, seemed to be willing to leave his respective other at the mere thought of something existing that might better serve his needs or desires. The woman always got the short end of the stick in real life.

  Always.

  It seemed Tate not only recognized that as being true, but expressed it in the background and backstories of his heroines.

  His heroes didn’t cheat. They were all faithful to their heroines, protective of them, and never abused them. From what had become the norm in romance writing today, it was a refreshing change to see heroes be just that, true heroes.

  I set my Kindle aside. His men – all his men – lived by a moral code that every man could benefit from adhering to. Through their course of travels in the books, if they encountered others who seemed to have lost their moral compass, they redirected them, often using violence or the threat of such as leverage.

  The real world would be a better place if it were filled with the men of Tate’s books. I couldn’t help but wonder if the men in Tate’s life – the men he rode with – were similar to the men he wrote about. Intrigued by the thought of such men existing, I gazed at the ceiling and considered the notion.

  After a few moments, I decided it was wishful thinking. Real-life men didn’t actually possess such qualities. The books were fiction for a reason. They were nothing more than fairy tales for adults. It was nice to think about such things, but the heroes in many books were custom-tailored for the stay at home wife that had nothing better to do than read and dream.

  A dull thud of a knock my door brought me out of my subconscious slumber. I gazed across the room and grinned.

  “I’m coming.”

  I peered through the peephole. Holding a plastic bag in each hand, Andy rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

  Wearing a grin, I opened the door. “Good afternoon.”

  He ducked underneath my arm and headed straight for the kitchen. “It’s still morning. I wanted to get here before lunch,” he said. “To make sure you had plenty of points.”

  “I’ve only used five, so far.”

  “We’re going to use seven, and you’re going to love it.”

  I closed the door and turned toward the kitchen. “Seven, huh?”

  He nodded. “I looked it up.”

  Considering his sweet tooth, I was curious as to what he had planned. He had only good intentions, but his snack suggestions often left me telling him no due to the caloric content.

  “What are we going to have for seven points?” I asked.

  He waved his hand toward me and then brushed the bags to the side with his other arm, as if to hide them. “Go sit down. Don’t bother trying to peek in here, either. This is a surprise.”

  I gave him a look.

  “I’ll tell you when I’m done,” he said.

  I let out a sigh and walked to the living room. “Fine.”

  Facing away from the kitchen as he prepared the snack made the wait a little more interesting. The sound of silverware and pans clanking around only added to my curiosity. Soon, the faint aroma of peaches found its way into the living room. My mouth salivated at the thought of eating a peach. It seemed I’d all but forgotten they existed.

  In five minutes, he walked into the living room holding two bowls. He handed me one of them. “You can thank me later.”

  I looked at his seven-point masterpiece. Ice cream, a halved peach that had been cooked and drizzled with caramel, and a decorative spritz of whipped cream stared back at me.

  Seven points my ass.

  “This is not seven points.”<
br />
  He sat across from me and wagged his spoon toward the contents of his bowl. “A cup of Halo Top ice cream. Four points, and it’s infused with protein. Fat free Cool-Whip, 0 points per two-teaspoon serving, but they call it a point if you double that, and I did. So, one point. Two teaspoons of brown sugar, two points. Four, plus one, plus two is seven.”

  He scooped up a bite with his spoon, raised it to his mouth, and ate it. “Dear Lord. This is heavenly.”

  With slight reluctance, I took a bite, making sure to get a piece of peach, ice cream, whipped cream, and the melted brown sugar all at once.

  Upon tasting it, my eyes went wide. I hadn’t tasted anything so heavenly in years. I swallowed it, looked at the bowl, and then at him. “Holy crap.”

  He raised his spoon. “I told you.”

  “What did you do to it? It’s…” At a complete loss for words, I gazed down at the bowl of creamy caramel peach goodness. “It’s…”

  “I halved two peaches, cooked them face down in a skillet for a few minutes, and then flipped them over. Then, I added a little brown sugar. The heat rising from the skillet melts it. Add the ice cream and the whipped topping, and voila!”

  “This ice cream doesn’t taste like it’s good for you.”

  “It most certainly is.” He leaned forward. “One of the editors for GQ went on a ten-day Halo Top diet. He was in his late twenties, and he was physically fit when he started. He ate five pints of ice cream a day, and nothing else. At the end of the diet, he’d lost fifteen pounds, two percentage points of body fat, and an inch and a half off his waist. At the end of the article, he measured his chest, and he’d gained two inches of muscle mass.”

  I took another bite. It was better than the first. “Seriously?”

  “After I read the article, I decided I better try it. It’s good, isn’t it?”

  Previously, I’d starved myself from all sweets on every diet I’d been on. Eventually, my sweet tooth got the best of me. I then binged on them, always gaining three or four pounds in a matter of days. At seven points, I could eat the peach ice cream delight every day and not worry about a thing.

  “It’s better than good.” I lifted my spoon. “This will be my new nightly snack. Seven points of heaven.”

  I savored the fruity ice cream treat, becoming more skeptical of the points total for the dessert with each bite. After I’d finished, I grabbed my phone and walked into the kitchen.

  Using my Weight Watchers points app, I scanned the ice cream’s empty container. Andy was right, a cup was only four points. Then, I scanned the brown sugar. Much to my surprise, Andy was right, again. I didn’t have to look the value of the peach up; unaltered fruit was zero points.

  I decided I was wrong about the heroes in Tate’s books. If the dessert I just devoured could be as satisfying as it was, and only seven points, anything was possible.

  Anything at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tate

  Crip had briefed the entire MC on the raid of the dope house. As we prepared to leave, the detective who had been meddling in the club’s business stuck his head in the shop’s open door and yelled for Crip to come outside.

  I turned toward Smokey. “What in the fuck is that asshole doing here at one o’clock in the fucking morning?”

  “The prick keeps showing up,” he said. “Personally, I think he’s loyal to Crip.”

  I was shocked by the statement. “Why do you say that?”

  He looked at the detective and then at me. “Fucker came by here the other day and was talking to us about MS-13 tagging places, and I noticed he had a SEAL tattoo just like Crip’s. Hell, they might have served together for all I know. Never been one to trust a cop, but it looks like he’s got our best interest at heart.”

  “Crip said it himself,” I said. “A cop’s a cop.”

  “I’m not saying I trust the prick. I’m saying I think he’s loyal to Crip.”

  “He makes me nervous.”

  He shrugged. “If it wasn’t for him, you’d still be locked up.”

  It was a good point. Still, I felt he was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. “A cop’s a cop.”

  It appeared Crip and the detective were in an argument. Crip’s shoulders were back, his chest was jutted out, and his nose was mere inches from the detective’s. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I didn’t need to.

  Crip was pissed.

  “Looks like he’s getting ready to smack that motherfucker,” P-Nut said.

  I started to feel nervous about everything. There was nothing good that would come from having a cop mysteriously stop by on the night we were going to raid a drug house. Just as I began to mention my concerns, Crip turned away from the detective and walked into the shop.

  Every man stared back at him with concern in their eyes.

  He raised his hands in the air. “Listen up. We’ve got a change of plans. That dope house we’re headed to has nine teenage girls being held in it. The girls from the news that were kidnapped over the last week or so. We’re going in, taking care of the men who are there, and we’re leaving. That cop standing outside is going to take care of the girls after we’re gone.”

  He scanned the group of men, folded his arms over his chest, and let out a long breath. “This wasn’t my plan, fellas. That prick showed out of the blue. I’m just as shocked as you are. I realize this might spook a few of you from wanting to be involved, but I can assure you, this isn’t a set up. That man’s a cop, but he’s not here to cause us any harm. He’s here for those girls, and that’s it.”

  “Cop’s a cop,” P-Nut said. “You said it yourself.”

  Crip looked at P-Nut. His eyes slowly thinned. “I’m not inviting the son-of-a-bitch to a kegger or the club barbeque, P-Nut. He doesn’t even know where the house is. He only knows that the men we’re after are holding those girls against their will.”

  He looked at each of the men. “I’m not going to bullshit any of you fellas. These are the same cocksuckers that kidnapped Cholo and tortured his ass damned near to death. But. These pricks are taking over our neighborhoods, claiming our turf, and turning this city into a drug-infested mess. In ten minutes, I’m heading out in that van.”

  He looked at Stretch. “You driving?”

  “Always do, don’t I?”

  Crip gave a nod. “Appreciate ya.”

  “I need five men,” Crip said. “Five who can handle themselves when they’re getting shot at. I’m not going to lie to ya, this is going to get ugly, fellas. Who’s in?”

  “I’m going,” Cholo snapped.

  “I’m in,” I said.

  A few months prior, posing as a drug dealer, Cholo made his way into a dope house that was filled with young girls that had been kidnapped by MS-13’s gang, one of which was his wife. After killing the entire group singlehandedly, he made sure the girls all made it home alive.

  In retaliation, they kidnapped him a few weeks later, and tortured him for damned near a week. After pulling his teeth with pliers and smashing his toes with a hammer, he gave them no information about the club, or about their stolen money.

  Crip, Pee Bee, and a platoon of retired Navy SEALs rescued him, killing all of the men involved in the process.

  If for no other reason, I knew I’d be going to make sure the assholes involved didn’t continue to wreak their havoc on the city I called home.

  “You guarantee me this ain’t a set up,” P-Nut asked. “God damned guarantee me? Brother to brother?”

  “Without hesitation,” Crip said. “This ain’t a set up.”

  “Let’s do it,” Smokey said.

  P-Nut blew a cloud of smoke directly into Crip’s face. “I’m ready as soon as I finish this smoke.”

  Crip looked at Pee Bee. Pee Bee returned a cheesy grin. “I’m the Sergeant-at-Arms, Boss. Don’t even have to ask.”

  Crip looked at the rest of the group. “Keep van number two here and ready to roll out just in case. We might need to make a run to Tijuana if
anyone needs medical attention. We’ll be back in an hour. If we’re not, lock this motherfucker up and go home, fellas.”

  The entire street was pitch black. In neighborhood’s such as this, streetlights were shot out as soon as the lamps were replaced. The night’s only illumination was provided by the half-moon that hung low in the night sky.

  Dressed in black tee shirts, and wearing black nylon masks, we looked like a set of ninja sextuplets.

  “Sound off if you’re in this, fellas,” Crip said as the van rolled to a stop.

  “Lead the way, Boss,” Pee Bee said.

  “Ready for round two,” Cholo barked.

  Smokey gave a nod. “I’m good to go.”

  P-Nut scratched his forearms feverishly. “Let’s get out of this motherfucker, I’m starting to fucking itch. I’m in.”

  “Fuck these pricks,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

  Crip reached for the door handle and then paused. He glanced at Stretch. “If you hear sirens, get the hell out of here. Pick us up at the ball diamond.”

  “Got it.” Stretch said.

  Crip turned toward the back of the van. “Just like I said at the shop. No clear target, don’t take a shot. We’ve potentially got nine teenagers in here, and I don’t want them catching a stray. I’m taking point, Cholo and Peeb are at my rear. Smoke, Nut, and Meat enter the back door upon hearing the first shot. I doubt any of these gangbangers are wearing black headgear. So, anyone not wearing a black mask? Don’t ask questions, just shoot.”

  I pulled the slide back on my pistol, verified it was loaded, and then gave a nod. “Let’s roll.”

  The six of us nonchalantly walked through the yard of a home that was for sale, and into the back yard of the dope house. Smokey, P-Nut, and I turned toward the back door and Crip, Cholo, and Pee Bee crept around the side of the house.

  “You kick it,” I whispered to P-Nut. “I’ll go in first.”

  The sound of the front door being kicked in was followed by two gunshots. I gripped my pistol firmly, and inhaled a deep breath. The thought of dying danced around in my head, but P-Nut kicking the door off the hinges changed my focus.