Extreme Measures

by Kimmie Easley

  The gentle giant grunts a short affirmative.

  “How are things going in here?” I ask Bonnie. She appears to have everything under control and offers a firm nod, taking her job very seriously.

  “We’re holding steady,” she says.

  “Good, have Bear bring out more brisket for the grill. Have a prospect tap another keg. The liquor is for the boys only.”

  Bonnie nods for a second time.

  I make my rounds, checking in on Patsy. “Looks like most everyone’s made it in.”

  “Yeah, have you heard from Ronin?”

  I shake my head and lower my gaze to the floor. “No, how about you? Anything from Clint?”

  “He sent a text. So far, things are quiet. I’m sure the Prez is just busy. His head is probably focused, you know?”

  It makes my heart sink into my stomach like a cement brick when she attempts to comfort me. It should be the other way around. I simply bob my head and leave it at that, with my gut thick and heavy.

  I check my phone again to make sure it’s on. It’s is. Of course, it is.

  Just as I shove it back into my pocket, half a dozen patch members head straight for the door. They huddle in a tight pack talking with Herc. Once done, they disappear out the door, followed by the flooding roar of the parade of bikes taking off.

  I jog across the room. “What was that all about?”

  “Prez. Backup.”

  I wring my hands, shaking them loose. “What is it? Is he ok?”

  He raises his massive shoulders, clenching his gigantic jaw.

  “Well,” my mind races. “Should you go? He might need you a lot more than we do.”

  He’s shaking his noggin before I finish my statement.

  “But…”

  “No,” he demands.

  I take the hint and back down, sick to my stomach and lightheaded. I track down Tammy and corner her. “What do you know?”

  “Nothing, I swear.”

  I move in close enough to smell her cheap hair dye. “You better be telling me the truth.” My chest heaves and burns.

  “I am, I promise. Herc doesn’t talk to me about the club. Hell, he doesn’t hardly talk at all.”

  That, I believe. “Sorry, I’m just anxious.”

  “No need to apologize to me. I get it. Can I do anything? You need to eat.”

  “I’ll eat when they’re home. Both of them.” I tune out the rest of the conversation. My thoughts are rooted on Brendan and what he’s enduring right this very minute.

  “Hey, are you doing ok?” Jessa slips up behind me. The streaks on her pale face indicate that she’s been crying.

  I try to play it off because I can see she’s riddled with worry. “Same shit, different day.” I rest my arms around her trembling shoulders. “How about you? This is one of Bear’s first recon runs.”

  The words prove to be her undoing, and she collapses into my comforting side. She sobs harder with every passing second.

  “Ah, honey, it’s ok. It’s all gonna be ok. Everyone will come back whole, ready for some grub?”

  “Do you really think he’ll be ok? I know what can happen to a prospect in a warzone.”

  “Jessa, we love Bear. He’s one of the family. Seriously, let’s get you a plate. I’ll even eat a little something too.” I figure it’s worth it to break my own rule to make sure Jessa’s ok.

  Make sure my people are good.

  Whole.

  My responsibility. My club. My family.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ronin

  The cool wind against my flush skin causes chills to break out along my arms. It’s time we perform a little recon on the Diablos in attempt to track down Brendan. My gut boils at the mere thought of his name.

  I was so hard on the kid. I wish I could take it all back now. Just support him. Stand up for him. And if I had known about him, I’d like to think I would have done everything in my power to protect him from that psycho mother of ours.

  We roll up to the apartment complex to get a better view of the Diablos’ clubhouse. They use the basement as their own personal armory. With half a dozen meth labs upstairs.

  Goddamn morons.

  That’s the difference in a fucking gang and a club.

  We sit and wait, eagle eyes on the complex from all angles. I’m gonna find my brother, and I’m going to find answers.

  I give Duke a head’s up.

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Tale a couple of prospects and follow every, single person who comes in or out of that cement cesspool.

  “On it.”

  We tuck into our various hidey holes, ready to wait them out.

  *

  After a long night of surveillance, I let the boys grab a nap back at the clubhouse. Most opt for a piece of ass and a hot meal instead of sleep.

  The bitches are busy these days.

  “Hey, baby, how you doing?” Jolene climbs into my lap, holding out a mug of steaming coffee.

  “I’d be better if I knew what the hell she was doing here.” I jerk my chin toward the kitchen where Val is elbow deep in pancake batter. I hate the way it was making me think.

  The way it makes me remember.

  Eighteen years ago

  The air is different today. My eighth birthday. It starts off as a decent morning. Val is in a good mood, and my step-dad is nowhere to be found.

  Just the way I liked him… gone.

  I didn’t have high hopes as far as my birthday plans. Every year is a hot mess. I usually get hit, and let me tell you, he rarely missed.

  But this year, the vibe is different. My eyes are immediately drawn to the gift sitting in the center of the small, dining table. I feel like I have tiny bubbles blasting through my chest, thinking this must be what it feels like to be drunk.

  I know about drunk because of my mom and step-douche.

  I want so much to touch that present. But what I want even more is to stick my finger in that batter that my mother is stirring. It has to be my birthday cake. Vanilla. She dips out when she hears a loud knock on the door, and I see the opportunity.

  I putter across the kitchen and stick my forefinger into the bowl before popping it into my mouth.

  Ewww. I wrinkle my face.

  The bitter tinge of raw pancake is stuck to my tongue, and I grimace a sour face. It isn’t birthday cake batter at all, and my taste buds pay the price.

  My mother giggles from the archway when the back door flies open, and in stumbles my step-dad. Within an hour, they are both high as a kite, smoking off pipes in the bedroom.

  I got a bruise that year for my birthday. No cake, and I still don’t know what was wrapped up in the Spiderman paper.

  And today, here she is standing in my kitchen, flipping flapjacks like she’s family.

  She is not family.

  “She has to be somewhere,” Jolene offers. “And I really do believe she’s worried.”

  “Yeah, I’m real sure.”

  “Hey, you guys want one? You probably need to eat.” Val hollers out from where she stands in front of the stove.

  I hate the way she tries to appear motherly, and it makes me want to puke.

  I guide Jo up off my lap, giving her ass a slight squeeze before popping up to my feet. “Not hungry.”

  Jolene follows me out the front door where I light up.

  “A little early for weed, don’t you think?” I notice the way her eyes are encased by dark circles that she’s tried to conceal with makeup. It’s not her best work.

  I pull in a long drag and hold it in my heavy lungs. I twist my smirk. “Breakfast of champions, baby.”

  She takes the bait and hops up on her tiptoes, tugging on my beard, pulling me in for a solid, full kiss. She releases a soft moan into my mouth, and my dick twitches, forcing me to adjust myself in my jeans.

  “Better stop before I bend that sweet ass over that picnic table.”

  She carves a delicious smile, all for me, and it builds a pit in my gut to have to
leave her again.

  “I hate that you have to go.”

  I perch my chin on top of her head and snuggle her tight to my chest. “I know, babe. I know. I have to handle this shit. The boys won’t be able to hold out much longer.”

  It’s a mere twenty minutes later, and I’m back to ripping up the asphalt. This is the second meeting I’ve had to cancel with the good pastor too.

  I chuckle to myself when I remember how he tried to stand his ground.

  “You can’t keep me in the dark, Steele.”

  I can see him and his sweater vest all in a huff with his godly feathers ruffled over his gun order.

  “I can just buy from Keller.” His attempt at a threat is futile, and comical.

  “Listen up, Klein. I have some pressing family business. So pressing that I felt the need to cancel on you… twice. So, how do you think it’s gonna play out if I have to rip myself away to come kick your ass? Can you picture that, Klein?”

  “Yeah, well, you got twenty-four hours.”

  “Fine,” I say, throwing him a bone. He’s a prick with a bad case of little man syndrome.

  I hang up and prepare to meet with Duke, Troy, and Bear.

  “Where’s he at?” I question.

  Duke breaks out from the group. “In the container.”

  Troy directs his gaze behind him, straight to the blue and white shipping box. A grin twitches as I pull my gloves from my cut pocket, tugging them on, and I can’t stop thinking about how much I’m going to enjoy this.

  I roll the tight muscles in my stiff neck. “I’m going in alone.”

  Clint steps forward. “That don’t sit right with me, Prez.”

  His statement draws a grunt from Herc, the Enforcer.

  “Yeah, I don’t give a shit. Open it up,” I demand.

  The shipping container is empty other than a single figure. I recognize the hostage duct taped to the metal, folding chair as Pipe, the Diablos Road Captain.

  He’s been worked over real good, and one eye is solid blue and swollen shut.

  I reach over, and jerk open the crusty eyelid, revealing a veiny pool of white. “Wake up, son. We’re just getting started.” I rip the tape from his dry mouth. “Where’s my brother?”

  Pipe levels his eerie stare as he spews a mouthful of bloody spit at my feet.

  Adrenaline surges through my body, accelerating my rage. I ball up my right hand into a tight fist, landing it square against his jaw. Not once, or twice, but four times before backing away.

  His head falls backwards on his thick neck before he rolls it back up to meet my gaze. “That all you got?” He pops off a sarcastic smirk.

  I pivot and scan my surroundings. Nothing, until I spot a loose chain hanging off the metal door. Snagging the chain, I coil it around my knuckles, giving it a firm tug to restrain the links.

  I raise my shoulder high in the air and bring it crashing down against his eye socket, bone cracking under the weight.

  “Where’s my brother? Come on, Pipe. This won’t end well for you.”

  To his credit, he’s a loyal fuck. He scoffs, spitting blood through the air. “And what? Leave me alive to live the plush life of a rat? I don’t think so.”

  “This is the last time I’m going to ask. Where’s my brother?”

  Pipe shuts his eyes tight, reading my next move, gripping the butt of my .357, stepping out of splatter range and squeeze the trigger, adding an extra bullet straight through the heart without a second thought.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jolene

  For a bunch of shits who don’t shower or change their clothes, the laundry mounts like we’re a goddamn day care center. It’s even worse since the crew stopped in for a quick layover before heading back out to look for Brendan.

  I fold the second load of towels when Val knocks on my bedroom door. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks.” She offers a faint smile. “You mind?” She motions to the rocking chair in the corner.

  “Sure.” Now, I can’t help but wonder what has her so social all of the sudden. “What can I help you with?”

  “It should be me asking you that. Can I help with the laundry or something? Seriously. I want to show my thanks. You’ve been real good to me.”

  “Well, Val, I’m not one to turn away someone in need.”

  “Guess I didn’t think of it like that. Me being someone in need.”

  I tilt my head and squint my gaze. “Aren’t you?”

  Val swipes at a stray tear sliding down her trembling cheek. It causes me to drop the purple towel, and I sit on the edge of the bed. “Hey, we’re gonna find him. You need to believe that. Ronin won’t stop until he finds him.”

  I don’t bother explaining that he’ll rip apart any Diablo in his way. He may not act like he cares about the boy, but family is important to him. The moment he realized that Brendan needed him, he became family. The moment he could relate to his little brother, sitting in that chair across from the principal. The moment he stood up for him, Brendan became family.

  “I need to tell him I love him. I have to tell him I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” She bends forward, lowering her head between her knees trying to catch her breath. I don’t know what to say, so I walk over and pat her on the back.

  “Please don’t be nice to me.” She sobs into her open hands.

  “Look, here’s a little piece of advice. No one like a martyr.”

  She pops her wounded gaze up to meet mine.

  “Don’t look at me like that. You have to stop playing the victim. Stop acting wounded and butt hurt. Take on the role you were given. You were blessed with Ronin, and you fucked that up royally. You got a second chance, and the kid’s a fucking mess. And to be perfectly honest, it’s not up to you. It’s up to Brendan. It’s up to him and what he wants. What’s best for him. What you want isn’t important anymore. It comes with parenting.”

  The more I talk, the more upset I get. Blood pumps, and my pulse races just thinking about the way she treated the boy.

  I can’t even bring myself to look at her. He’s missing because of the club, but he was made a pawn because of her.

  *

  Spices linger in the air, and garlic coats my tongue. My stomach flip flops, but I can’t bring myself to eat. The thought of spaghetti makes me gag. I grab a cold beer from the fridge and hope the bubbles help settle my queasy tummy, and the alcohol does the same for my nerves.

  Bonnie and Tammy help the bitches throw together enough food to feed an army.

  Patsy serves up paper plates, overflowing with noodles and marinara, with a nice slab of garlic bread. “Strawberry shortcake for dessert, guys. So, save some room,” she says.

  “Only if it’s made with Oxnard berries,” one of the patches teases.

  “Is there any other kind?” Jessa snaps.

  Val is quick on her heels, clacking after her asking for a job to do. The woman never putters out, not until she crashes. My sister rolls her eyes, and I can’t help but chuckle.

  The door swings open, and a prospect slips up to my side. “Hey, uh, there’s someone here to see Ronin. What should I do?”

  “Tell him that he isn’t here. He won’t be back today, and this isn’t a good time.”

  He peers down at me with a twitchy, bony jaw. “Check on all of the above. He insists on meeting with you instead.”

  “Me?” My hand is at my pounding chest. Visitors are not good during a lockdown.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, who is it?” I ask the kid.

  “Says his name is Klein. Pastor Klein.”

  “Ah, ok. Is it just him?” When the prospect nods, I continue. “Alright escort him in.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He gives a curt nod.

  I throw the dishtowel into the plastic bin for dirty dishes when the prospect rounds the corner with Klein in tow. The pastor skirts the soldier and pulls my arm, tugging my fingers to his chest, cradling it with his second hand.

  I feel a gnawing in my stomach and q
uickly snatch my hand away.

  “It’s so good to see you again, Jolene.” His smile is flashy and polished.

  “You too. Like the beanpole outside should have told you, Ronin’s not here, and he won’t be back today.”

  He moves in closer, forcing me to step backwards. “Yeah, that’s a shame. We haven’t been able to connect, and I thought I’d give it a chance. Hate to have missed him, but I do have to say, I’m glad I was able to run into you again.”

  The hollow glint in his eyes tells me he’s got something specific on his mind.

  “Yeah, so, what can I do for ya?” I just want to get him out of my way. “It’s a long trip back to Oceanside.”

  “Oh, I’m gonna be in town for a couple of days. Hope you’re not too tired of me yet.”

  I fight a shudder when Jessa spots the pastor. She must notice my discomfort in my tight, folded arms.

  “Hey, Pastor Klein. What brings you all the way up this north?”

  He’s taken aback by her abruptness when she sidles up next to him. “Just got some business to handle. How are you, Jolene?”

  Jessa smiles and nods. “Things are better every day. How’s my sister here treating ya? Hope she’s been an appropriate hostess.” She tilts her head at me.

  I shrug and widen my gaze.

  Klein takes the bait. “Maybe too appropriate,” he snickers.

  Jessa’s grin fades with distaste. “Well, I don’t know how your god would feel about you flirting with her. Or how Ronin would feel for that matter.”

  I gawk at my sister and her audacity. The pastor tries to laugh her off, but his attempt is pointless.

  He’s pathetic.

  “Calm down, now, girl. There’s no reason to be getting all riled up over an innocent, little joke.”

  “MmHmm,” she says, narrowing her stare.

  I decide I’ve had enough. “Ok, so, what is it you need?”

  He shakes his smug face. “Yeah, well, never mind about that. Just let that old man of yours know that I’m in town, please.”

  “Will do,” Jessa snaps in his direction.

  “Anything else?” I question the man in the argyle, sweater, vest and skinny tie.