Prince: Devil's Fighters MC

by Kathryn Thomas

  Her mother huffed and puffed and made indignant noises but finally just went into the bathroom and slammed the door without another word. The operator answered, and Susan asked for an ambulance, reciting the address, as well as her credentials. The bus arrived in less than ten minutes, and it took Susan and the two large men to move her intoxicated father to the gurney, where they strapped him down tight.

  Her mother came out at the last minute in a full face of makeup and with her hair done. She climbed into the back of the ambulance to accompany her husband to the hospital. Just before the doors closed, she shot Susan a hateful glare, and Susan turned away, closing up the house and climbing in her own car. There was no way she was going to stay at the house, especially since her mother would be calling Emma, Susan’s sister, any time now.

  No, she’d go to the hospital to make sure her father was checked in, see that the doctor in charge knew the circumstances, and then she would leave. She had to work tonight, and she was already missing a class today that would leave her behind the curve. It was the last thing she needed. She’d check in later, when there were some test results or some kind of news to give her.

  Instead of going home, she went to the station, deciding she’d rather sit there, with some of the firemen who actually liked her than stew for the next three hours at home alone until her shift started.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Nine men filed into the Court Room, as the Steel Talons called it, and Jim took his seat on the far side, tossing his feet up onto the old oak table that dominated the room. As he looked around, he saw faces as grim as his own staring back. Everyone except Ari felt the same sense of foreboding hanging over their heads, and Jim certainly didn’t like where the club was headed.

  If Ari hadn’t insisted on going into enemy territory out of greed and had listened to some of the ideas the rest of the brothers had for new investments, they wouldn’t be in this position. But as it was, their fate rested in the hands of Rechoncho and all of his Diablos Blancos minions. Ten percent of the take wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy anyone undertaking the risk they were asking. Jim would have snubbed his nose instantly at such an arrangement, and he knew it had been a mistake to send Sauza back to ask his president to agree to the terms.

  Half a million dollars in counterfeit money, every two weeks, with the feds already looking for the culprits, was far too risky to make a measly ten percent for making the run. If Jim was in the Diablos’ position, he would demand twenty. But Ari was a hard son of a bitch, set in his ways, and Jim wasn’t the only one who thought he was purposefully trying to start a war.

  Meeks closed the door behind him, and all nine of them were seated. Ari cleared his throat, and Jim lit a cigarette. He was going to need the nicotine to keep his peace through this meeting.

  Ari leaned forward in his chair and said, “We all know why we’re here. Those damn Diablos demanded some kind of payoff if we’re going to be running in and out of their territory.”

  It was a warped perspective of the truth at best, and Boxer, who sat to Jim’s left, put a warning hand on Jim’s arm to stop him from arguing. Ari continued, “I’m taking advantage of the situation and trying to ease our own risk factor. I told them that, if they’d meet us halfway on every run and take the unfinished product the rest of the way, then come back and return the completed product at the same halfway point, they would earn themselves ten percent of the cash. Sauza offered a little resistance, but he’s taking it home to Rechoncho, and I’m hoping the man sees reason.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Tipper asked. He was a small man, and he didn’t say much, but he was smart, and Jim could see the wheels spinning in the man’s head. Tipper already knew the answer.

  Ari spread his hands wide, as if the outcome was completely beyond his control. “I’m doing everything I can here. But I’m afraid we’re going to have a war on our hands.”

  “Couldn’t we just hear them out and find a happy medium?” This came from Donnie, who didn’t usually speak up. It surprised Jim. “I mean, we’re bankrolling already, and it’s going to get better now, with the smaller bills we can run anywhere. How bad could their demands really get?”

  Ari’s brows knit together, and Jim swore he smelled sulfur on the man’s breath. “You know the policy, Donnie. If we give an inch, they’ll come back and ask for a mile. We can’t start negotiating now.”

  Jim scoffed. “That’s funny, because if we’re going to survive a war with Rechoncho’s men, we’ll have to negotiate with the Diamondbacks to get some firepower.” The Diamondbacks ran weapons out of Wyoming. The distance between the two clubs kept them from rubbing each other the wrong way, but the Talons had never particularly been friendly with the militant group, either.

  “Better them than the Devils,” Weasel grunted as he twirled his scraggly beard around his finger. “And if we tell them why we need their help, I bet they give us a major discount. They hate anyone that’s not white or straight.”

  “Exactly,” Ari agreed. “So, since I’m told we’re better off as a democracy, I’m putting this to a vote. We got two options. We can listen to the counter-offer and consider it, or we can make a trip to Wyoming and see about bonding with the Aryan brotherhood out there.”

  Jim said nothing. The last vote would be his own; that was his tactic. He sat on the far side of the table, beside Ari, so he could get a feel for what the rest of the group wanted before casting his ballot. He didn’t just listen to the votes; he watched his brothers’ faces for signs of concern.

  Now, he paid close attention as the vote went around the table. By the time it was his vote, there were already six in favor of working with the Diamondbacks, and Jim’s vote wouldn’t matter. With all eyes on him, he shook his head. “I don’t want a war. My vote doesn’t matter now, but I would vote for a truce with the Diablos.”

  Only Tipper and Donnie had agreed, which meant the decision was made, but he knew damn well that Boxer and Willie would have voted the same, if they’d gone with their intuition. That would have turned over the vote, but Ari would’ve made their lives hell for it. Instead, Ari stood with a triumphant grin and stuck out his chest like some puffed-up rooster.

  Jim wasn’t sure when he’d started to hate the club president. In his younger days, he’d had a lot of respect for Ari. But somewhere along the way, Jim had grown up, and he’d seen too much of the world to believe that Ari had their best intentions at heart. Greed was his game, and eventually, it was going to get them all killed.

  He walked toward the back of the clubhouse and out the back door, lighting another smoke, and Boxer joined him, saying, “That went well.”

  Jim laughed. “You are a sarcastic son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

  Boxer lit up his own cigarette with a shrug and said, “We got an extra twenty years out of the bargain. If we die tomorrow, we can at least be grateful for that. Without Foreman, we’d both probably have done something stupid like overdose as teenagers. At least we got to be adults. Hell, you even got to fall in love once.”

  Jim nodded. Foreman – Aaron Morgan – had actually been the foreman on the construction crew both his and Boxer’s dads had worked for. When the boys were twelve, their fathers had been working on a job site, up on a beam four stories high. The beam had fallen, landing both men on the ground, and several steel posts had fallen on the pair, crushing them. Foreman had seen Jim and Boxer as troubled youths, with mothers too overcome by the loss of their husbands to be bothered with raising boys on the cusp of puberty, and he’d stepped in as a father figure.

  “I guess we did,” Jim agreed. He hesitated, remembering the day Foreman had brought them to the clubhouse for the first time. “Do you ever regret joining the MC?” Jim asked.

  “Hell, no!” Boxer’s response was enthusiastic. “It’s the best I could hope for. I didn’t do so well in school, bro. You know that. And I’m not exactly Mr. Charming, but I get all the women I want.” He laughed. “I remember the look on your face, Wade. We walked in he
re, and some chick with these giant tits was sitting on Ari’s lap. He had his face buried in them. You looked like that wolf in the cartoon with your eyes bugging and your tongue dangling six feet out of your mouth.”

  Jim laughed, too. “I was fourteen years old. I’d never seen a pair of knockers before, except my own mother’s.” From that point on, there’d been no turning back. While he and Boxer hadn’t attended the big parties or ridden with the club, they’d been junior members. They’d had jobs, earned money to support themselves and their mothers, and grown into men with the club.

  “The club is all I got, Wade,” Boxer said, somber now. “This is all I’ve had since my mom died. I don’t have any other family except you and these brothers. Even Foreman’s gone.”

  Jim nodded. “I know that. We’re both alone here.” Except for Susan. The thought ran through his mind unbidden. He pushed it away; he wouldn’t rely on Susan as family. They would never be that close. They led separate lives that would come together once in a while for a mutual release. He stood next to the person he trusted most in the world, and the others on that short list were somewhere in the building behind him.

  Boxer turned to face him, eyes burning with conviction. “The only difference is, I would die for this club, Wade. That’s how committed I am. I’m not sure you’re there anymore.”

  Jim didn’t want to admit it, but Boxer was right. There had been a time when his loyalty to the Steel Talons was that deep, but now, he wasn’t sure anymore. Ever since Trina died, he’d questioned his commitment. He wanted more than just brothers. He couldn’t tell Boxer or anyone else the truth, but he wanted passion and tenderness, something to counteract the hard, cold demeanor he encountered here on a daily basis. Tossing his butt, he smiled. “Come on, Boxer, we’re brothers more than anyone else here. I would do anything to have your back.” That was the most he could say and still be honest.

  “I know that,” Boxer said, turning to go back inside. Jim stared after him, wondering what was going through his best friend’s head. He had a suspicion Boxer was preparing to die in the war that was inevitable, and Jim didn’t like it. He had to keep a positive outlook, maintain some hope of making it out alive, and that was going to be really hard if Boxer couldn’t keep his head straight.

  Concerned but determined, Jim followed Boxer’s trail, heading to the bunk to get some rest. He hadn’t slept last night after he’d left Susan’s house, and he was dead tired. He’d need his rest if he intended to make the run back to Diablos territory and then another to Wyoming.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  When Susan hadn’t heard a single word from her family or the hospital the following morning, she assumed her mother was too angry to call and that none of the other medical professionals involved felt she deserved the consideration. Frustrated and unsure of how to spend her day off, she flopped back on the couch and called the hospital, hoping to get someone who would tell her something.

  But after sitting on hold for several minutes, she gave up. She growled in frustration, and she grabbed the phone, dialing the only person she thought might be able to help her. Eric picked up on the third ring. “Hey, pretty lady. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

  A reluctant smile crossed Susan’s lips. “I don’t think you’ll find it so pleasurable if I answer that question.”

  “Try me,” he taunted.

  “My father’s in the hospital. I had him taken in yesterday, and my mother and probably my sister are there with him. There’s no way I’m going up there to check in on him, but I can’t get anyone to tell me if they’ve found out what’s wrong.” She sighed. “I don’t want to bother you on our day off, but people up there listen to you. They respect you. Maybe you could get some intel for me.”

  “I’m sorry, Susan. That’s got to be hard. Do you have any idea what’s wrong with him?”

  “Other than the fact that he was drunk at nine in the morning?” she laughed. “Well, he’s probably in detox right now and cranky as hell. Aside from that, I have a gut feeling the drinking has burned up his liver. But like I said, no one told me anything.”

  “You’re probably right.” Eric mumbled something under his breath. “You’ll owe me, but because we’re friends and you deserve to know about your own family, I’ll find out.”

  “Consider it an IOU. Thank you, Eric.” She hung up and stared at the ceiling. More than anything, Susan hated being bored. You should be studying. But she didn’t have the patience or the attention span for it. And if she stayed here all day, she would spend her time thinking about Jim. That wasn’t going to fly.

  Of course, just his name floating through her head gave her an idea. It wasn’t her usual pastime, but it would keep her busy while she waited to hear back from Eric. Eagerly, she got off the couch and headed to the shower. She dressed quickly, slung her wet hair into a clip, and grabbed her keys.

  The nearest motorcycle shop was a ten minute drive, and when she got there, she sat in her car for a long time, watching the variety of people filtering in and out of the store. There were dozens of bright, shiny bikes, lined up in perfectly even rows with sunlight glinting off the chrome and polished black paint. She’d never understood the obsession with motorcycles. She’d never been on one in her life, and she didn’t think she ever wanted to.

  At the same time, Jim was just like so many of these people. They perused the inventory and touched the bikes reverently. It was almost a cult-like worship. To her, they were as terrifying as an angry bull at the rodeo, and she couldn’t comprehend the intense love for the beasts. But unless she could figure it out, she would never know what made Jim tick, why he felt so loyal to the club, or why he rode on two wheels instead of four.

  Susan stepped out of the car and walked through the lines of bikes outside, trying to get a feel for them. She tried to absorb the positive, enthusiastic energy of the shoppers and admirers. But nothing struck her. She turned to leave, but she looked back to the shop and decided to see what was inside. There were more bikes and lots of gear. Maybe something in there would catch her eye.

  She browsed the shelves and racks, enjoying the feel of the leather jackets beneath her fingers and reading the sarcastic and lewd comments on some of the shirts. She thought several of the helmets were pretty while others were just silly. Still finding no tingling sensation within her, Susan returned to the motorcycles inside the shop, considering them more carefully. She read the information on a couple of them, details about the size of the engines, speed, fuel mileage, and prices.

  As she came up on the next one, she admired it. No, it didn’t give her a sense of excitement, and she didn’t feel an instant connection. But it was a beautiful piece of equipment, painted a solid shiny black with electric blue lightning bolts on either side of the tank. It was covered in chrome – handlebars, wheels, décor – and it looked fierce and classy, all at the same time.

  “Who would have thought I’d find you here?” The voice made Susan jump, and she stared straight into Jim’s incredible eyes. He smiled, full of charm. “I thought you had a serious vendetta against motorcycle clubs. You never told me you had a secret love affair with their rides.”

  Embarrassed to be caught here, Susan rolled her eyes. “I don’t. I just… ” She trailed off, not wanting to explain her reason for coming here today.

  He chuckled. “It’s alright, Susan. You can admit it. Lots of people have strange fetishes they don’t feel comfortable talking about. And a lot of them hide behind the guise of hatred for it. I see the way you’re staring at that machine.” He pointed to the bike she’d been checking out. “I guess the real surprise here is that you have impeccable taste. In fact, I might just have to ask you to take your hands off my ride.”

  “I have as much right to be here as anyone else,” she countered. Why did he always make her feel defensive? “And I don’t have a fetish. I just wanted to see if I could understand the passion people feel for these death machines.” She glared at him. “So tell me, smartass. Tel
l me why you love bikes so much. Explain it to me so I can understand.”

  Jim stared at Susan, taken aback. He’d been teasing her, but now she was adamant – and almost passionate – about wanting to understand what was so special about riding. That only added to the shock of seeing her admiring that particular ride. She probably hadn’t realized that the four bikes in front of her were here inside because they were sold and customized. “Okay, but first, let me ask you something.” She raised an eyebrow. “Did you not see the ‘sold’ sticker on that one?”

  She frowned and checked it, blushing. “It’s not like I was going to buy it.”

  “You’re damn straight you’re not, because I already did.” Her expression was the epitome of surprise, and he laughed. “You honestly thought I was joking about that? Come on, I had to replace the one you saw in a pile on the road beside me. I had some work done to this one yesterday—a few personalized details added—and now I’m here to take her home.”

  She didn’t say anything for a minute, then she finally smiled. “I don’t like bikes as a whole, but this one caught my eye because it’s pretty. Not in a feminine way. I wouldn’t want to insult your manhood. But I think it’s a beautiful design.”

  “I’m glad you approve of my taste.” He closed his eyes and thought about the sensation he got from riding. “The reason people literally become addicted to riding is because it’s like flying. You aren’t caged in a box, there’s always wind in your face and your hair, and you can go as fast as you want. It’s refreshing, and there’s nothing in the world that can make you feel so free. It’s truly liberating.”

  He opened his eyes, hoping to find revelation in Susan’s face. Instead, he saw confusion and doubt.

  “I just can’t see that,” she said. “When I look at these, I see the lack of enclosure as less protection. The air blowing at me, I think, would just annoy me and make it hard to breathe. And as for speed, I scare myself in my car if I don’t pay attention. I don’t need an unbridled horse that can gallop three times that fast without breaking a sweat.”