by Hamel, B. B.
“The fuck,” Clutch said.
“They’ve been doing that all night,” Dow said. “We’re running out of glasses.”
Noble just shook his head.
I sighed. “You guys want a round? On me.”
“Sure,” Noble said.
Dow gave me a thumbs up and Clutch just nodded.
“Whisky all around then,” I said, and walked over to the bar. I had to elbow my way to get close to bar top before resting my elbows on it, sighing.
“TomTom,” I called out. “Four whiskies.”
He looked at me, frowning. Poor kid looked haggard and busy. “Okay,” he said, hustling to get the drinks before more Rebels tried to get his attention.
I stood there for a second and then felt something pinch my ass. I shot straight up, whirling around. “What the hell?” I asked.
This guy was just standing there, grinning at me. He was missing a front tooth, and his beard was patchy and graying. “Girl, you was making it too tempting,” he said, “just sticking that round behind out there.”
“My behind is not yours to fucking touch, creep,” I said.
“Don’t be like that, girly,” he said. “It’s just a little pinch.” He stepped closer to me. “I could do more, if you like.”
“Back off,” I warned.
“Or what? You’re just some club slut. Maybe I’ll take you home tonight, see how the Demon sluts treat their guests.”
I didn’t hesitate. I took one of the glasses TomTom had just placed down on the bar in front of me and smashed it right into the guy’s head.
He went down in a crash of broken glass. There was some blood, but a lot less than I’d expected.
“What the fuck!” another guy I didn’t recognize said. “You fucking bitch. You just killed Bubba.”
“He’s fine,” I said. “He’s lucky I didn’t cut off his fucking dick.”
“You mouthy whore,” he said. “I’m going to rape your stupid cunt right here.” The man stepped toward me.
I grabbed another glass, ready to defend myself.
But I didn’t have to. Clutch loomed up behind the man and tapped him on the shoulder.
“The fuck you—” he said, turning, but he couldn’t finish his sentence. Clutch smashed his fist into the guy’s mouth, cracking his head back.
I had to move fast to get out of the way of the guy as he fell backward and smashed into the bar.
Clutch followed up, taking the guy’s face and smashing it against the bar twice. The man collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
Clutch looked around him. It was dead silent. “Anyone else?” he asked calmly.
Nobody moved.
“See this girl?” he asked, pointing at me. “This is Larkin’s daughter. This is the girl Jetter claimed, and I’m in charge of protecting her. If anyone touches her, talks to her, or looks at her weird, I will fucking murder you. Understood?”
Nobody responded.
He looked at me. “You got those drinks?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Here.”
I handed him two glasses and slugged back the third, finishing it off.
“TomTom,” I called out, “two more.”
He was already there, pouring them out.
“Good job,” he said softly. “Really nailed that guy.”
“Thanks,” I said, grinning.
I took the glasses and followed Clutch back to the table. He put them down and then whirled on me.
“The fuck are you doing?” he asked.
“What?”
“Why would you get in a fight with these psychos?”
“The one grabbed my ass and said he was going to rape me,” I said, anger flaring. “Was I supposed to let him?”
He clenched his jaw. “Just be careful,” he said, and stormed off.
I sat down at the table. Noble and Dow were grinning at me.
“What?” I asked them.
“You two bicker,” Noble said.
“Yep,” Dow agreed, “you bicker.”
“So the fuck what?” I snapped.
Dow just laughed and sipped his drink while Noble shrugged.
I turned away from them, annoyed. Clutch was busy tossing out the two guys. They were up and moving, though barely. I felt a little relieved that we hadn’t killed either of them.
Clutch didn’t have to be such a dick to me. It wasn’t my fault that guy came on to me.
But Noble and Dow were right: We did bicker. If it was obvious to them, it was probably obvious to everyone else. I needed to be more careful in the future. I needed to remember that I didn’t care what Clutch thought of me.
I finished my second drink fast, anger and confusion swirling through me. The MC had just gotten so much more dangerous, and I was going to have to be careful.
I wasn’t safe anywhere.
Clutch could protect me, keep me safe, but I wasn’t sure he could save me.
22
Clutch
Not long after throwing out those asshole Rebels, I took Janine back to her apartment. She didn’t seem to want to go, but she didn’t argue either.
Which was good, because I didn’t have the energy for it. She was quiet on the ride back and went right up to her room when we got there, not bothering to say a word.
I collapsed onto the couch and grabbed a bottle of whisky from my bag. I drank right from the bottle, too lazy to get up.
I could see two lines moving down a long, flat plane, and those two lines were slowly moving toward each other. The line on the left was me and Janine. The line on the right was the merger with the Rebels. Neither line was very straight or strong, but they were moving forward anyway, faster and faster.
That was how it all felt to me, at least. We were moving together on a collision course, and there was nothing I could do to stop any of it. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to stop that shit. I wanted Janine, wanted to sneak into her room right then and fuck her sweet, tight cunt again and again until she begged for more, but I couldn’t. And I didn’t want the Rebels to join the Demons, as much as they would help us in the long run. We all held a grudge against those bastards, and none of us wanted them inside our club.
It didn’t matter what I wanted though. There were forces at work bigger and stronger than me, forces that’d been at work for a long, long time, probably longer than I’d been alive. Only Larkin and Jetter and the other old-timers and council members understood all this shit.
I knocked back some whisky, got good and drunk, and passed out on the couch. That was about all I could do at the moment, and I was pretty damn good at that at least.
* * *
I woke up to my phone ringing.
I had a slight hangover tinge in my skull as I groggily grabbed my phone. It was barely after five in the morning.
“Yeah?” I grunted into the receiver.
“Clutch, it’s Larkin.”
“Yeah, prez?”
“We’re going on a run in an hour. I need you with us.”
I paused. “A run?”
“We got word of a Mezcal drop in the area. We’re bringing in our best guys and the Rebels are bringing theirs.”
“Shit,” I said. “What about Janine?”
“TomTom and Slip will watch her,” he said. “Come now.”
“Got it.”
I hung up the phone and got off the couch. I didn’t have time to make coffee, so I just walked over to Janine’s door and gently pushed it open.
She was sleeping wrapped in a sheet, a single perfect leg hanging out.
I knocked on the open door. She stirred slightly.
“Janine,” I said.
She woke slowly, opening her eyes. “Clutch?” she grumbled. “What are you doing?”
“I have to go,” I said. “TomTom and Slip will be here to watch you.”
“Okay,” she said. “Where are you going?”
“Got a job.”
She sat up and the sheet fell away. She was wearing only a thin, tight white T-shirt, and
I couldn’t help but stare at her perfect breasts through the fabric.
“When will you be back?”
“Soon as I can. Be nice to the new guys.”
“Sure.”
She stared at me for a second. I wanted to say something to her, but what was the point?
I turned away and left.
* * *
The other guys were already there by the time I pulled up outside the clubhouse.
Noble, Dow, and Ford were the guys from the Demons. I only recognized the one Rebel, the short man with the crazy eyes. They were all sitting around the bar, the nervous energy before a fight buzzing around everyone.
“Clutch,” Larkin said as I approached. “This is Burke, Clinton, and Lavoy.”
Clinton and Lavoy were big guys, heavy and mean looking.
“Boys,” I said, nodding.
“This is Clutch,” Larkin said. They nodded back to me.
Nothing like the impending promise of death and violence to bring a group of men together. I couldn’t help but smirk to myself as I sat down next to Ford and signaled for the pledge behind the bar to bring me some coffee.
“Now that we’re all here,” Larkin said, “I’m going over the plan.”
The pledge put the coffee in front of me and I sipped it gratefully.
“It’s simple. We got word last night of an early morning exchange between the Mezcals and some local dealers. Apparently this is a pretty big one, with lots of money on the line.”
“Where’s it going down?” the man named Burke asked.
“Desert,” Larkin said. “Out off the highway. About a half hour from here.”
“How many guys?” Dow asked.
“We’re not sure. They’ll likely be pretty armed since there’s a lot of cash involved, so we need to be ready for some serious resistance.”
“We can handle that,” I grunted.
“This should be simple,” Larkin continued. “We know where it’s happening and when. We’ll roll up, kill the bastards, and take their shit. We’ll be back by breakfast much richer.”
The two big Rebels, Lavoy and Clinton, both laughed. Ford gave them a look but didn’t say anything. The two big idiots probably didn’t realize how seriously dangerous this mission was.
“That all we know?” I asked Larkin.
“That’s it.”
“What about the drop site?” Ford asked. “Any cover? Any way to ambush them?”
“No, nothing,” Larkin said. “They’re out in the flat desert.”
“So they’ll see us coming,” Burke said.
“Seems like a bad plan,” Noble grumbled.
“I’m open to suggestions,” Larkin said. “As it stands, we have the element of surprise. We can roll up on them fast and hit them before they really know what’s happening.”
“Not when they’ll see us coming for a mile,” I said.
“When is the drop happening?” Burke asked.
“An hour.”
“We better go then. If we can get there early, we won’t need to roll up on them.”
“What do you mean?” Dow asked.
“Something we did in the military,” Burke said, standing up and grinning. “Boys, what do you know about camouflage?”
* * *
I felt like I had dirt in my fucking mouth.
The sun was damn hot, even in the morning. I was covered in layers of dirt and plants, painted all over my body. My vest and clothes were caked with the shit, and I had to stay incredibly still.
We hauled ass as soon as Burke finished explaining the plan, and fortunately we got there before the Mezcals or their dealers could show up. Once there, Burke proceeded to cover us in mud and tumbleweed shit, caking it all over our bodies, and then placed us all around the area.
I couldn’t see shit from where I was except for a small patch of area just in front of me. This felt like a hugely stupid idea, just laying out in the fucking open like this, but it was too late for second-guessing.
I could hear the bikes coming in the distance.
All seven of us were covered in this shit and placed all around. We were supposed to lay motionless until Burke gave a whistle. Then we’d pop up and open fire.
It was a stupid plan, a dumb fucking plan, but it was probably better than the alternative. At least this was a plan. The other idea was just to roll up on them and try to kill them before they could kill us. At least this way we’d be surprising them.
The bikes were coming toward us, slowly but surely. I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were nearby and getting closer every minute. I breathed deeply to try to keep my heartrate still, and although the only thing I wanted was to jump up and start shooting, I knew that was a mistake. We needed to wait for everyone to arrive and then make our move together, or else we’d ruin the whole thing.
And I wasn’t going to lay on the ground covered in dirt for no fucking reason.
My anticipation was through the roof as the bikes got closer and closer. I kept myself steady, refusing to give in to my desire to get up and start blowing the fuckers away. After ten minutes, I could hear that the bikes were right on top of us.
Then suddenly they stopped getting closer. The bikes were idling, which meant I couldn’t hear a word the guys were saying. I couldn’t see them, either, since they weren’t in my line of sight. They were to my right, and I guessed there were at least five of them.
They were right fucking on top of us.
But nothing was happening. We kept waiting, probably waiting for the dealers to get there with the cash. The bikes just kept running and nothing happened. They didn’t find our guys, and none of us jumped up early.
Fifteen more minutes and then I heard the cars coming, not as loud as the bikes, but loud enough to announce themselves from a distance. I caught sight of these big black trucks, hauling up dust and shit as they tore across the desert.
Not long after that they passed out of my sight and I heard their engines die. Doors opened and shut, and the bike engines finally cut off.
“Carlos,” a man called out. “Good to see you.”
“Same to you, brother.”
I heard some footsteps and more voices, but they were too far away for me to make anything out.
Fuck, I was ready. They were all there, sitting out in the open, and none of us had been caught. I couldn’t fucking believe this was working, but they were probably too busy worrying about their own deal to look around and spot some fucking big-ass bikers covered in camouflage just waiting to kill them.
A minute passed. I could barely wait. My adrenaline was pumping, coursing through my veins, anticipating the violence that was about to happen.
Then I heard it. Two whistles, clear as day.
I rocked back, dirty flying off my body and spraying everywhere as I brought my rifle up level.
I had about two seconds to take in the scene. There were seven Mezcals, three of which were standing over near a group of white guys I didn’t recognize, probably the dealers. There were more dealers standing back by the trucks, big-looking guys, probably armed.
And then there were our boys, popping up all around them. There were only seven of us, and we were way out numbered, but the Mezcals and their clients didn’t stand a fucking chance.
Only problem was, we were spaced weirdly. The deal wasn’t happening right in the middle of our loose ring. Worse, there were some guys directly across from me.
But there was no time to rearrange.
We started firing, and all hell broke loose.
My gun felt like a hammer in my hand, summoning down death from the sky. I blasted the first Mezcal I saw, tearing his body into shreds. The other Mezcals standing around their bikes were torn to pieces by the others, and I quickly turned my fire onto the group in the middle.
They scattered and tried to draw their weapons, but too slowly. I kept firing and lit them up, tearing their bodies into bloody shreds.
Down toward the trucks, the dealers drew their weapons and
actually started to return fire. I dropped to my stomach, getting down low, and fired at one of them, tearing up his leg. He dropped with a scream.
The dealers fired back, but it was a slaughter. They weren’t ready for it at all, and we had automatic weapons. The number of bullets we were pumping into them more than made up for the difference in manpower.
There was just nothing they could do. The scene was a bloody mess of screaming, dying men, and I felt my blood coursing through my body, excitement ripping through me. I lived for this, for the destruction of my enemies, the enemies of those I cared for.
I couldn’t stop myself. I kept pulling that trigger, firing again and again, tearing into their bodies, killing them. They dropped one by one, and although a couple of the dealers tried to find cover behind their cars, we got them eventually.
And as I fired, she came into my mind. Janine, her body, the way she looked at me earlier that morning, her shorts barely covering her amazing body, the sleep in her eyes. I was killing these men as much for her as I was for my club, maybe more. They were our enemies. They were the reason she was stuck in this fucking no-win situation, why I couldn’t have what I wanted.
Again and again, bullets flying, bodies tearing apart.
Finally, I heard another whistle, weak over the sound of guns blasting.
I let go of the trigger, my weapon falling silent. The Mezcals and the dealers, they were all dead. The only sound was silence, the silence of death and destruction.
“Fuck!” someone yelled. “Lavoy!”
I stood up, scanning the area. Partially across the way from me was Lavoy. He was lying on his back, not moving.
Burke was the one who had yelled, and he got to him fast, the rest of us just behind him. Lavoy was lying in his own blood, a bullet wound in his chest. He opened his mouth to gasp, to say something, but nothing came out.
He was dead a minute later.
“Shit,” Clinton said. “Fucking bastards.”
“They’re all dead,” Larkin said. “He was a good solider.”
“Fuck you,” Clinton said, getting in his face.