Fighting Mac (Charon MC)

by Khloe Wren

  All the renovations were now finished and the new gym looked fucking fantastic. I’d led a crew of about a dozen men over the past couple of weeks to get the job done. In that time we’d torn down walls, put new ones up and painted the entire place, inside and out. The club had put up the money to get several new pieces of equipment, and we’d set up a small locker room for the men and a separate one for the ladies. Now, the place looked as good as any city gym I’d ever seen. Excluding the backroom, that is. We’d left that basically untouched for the old-timers and macho idiots who didn’t want women anywhere near their ‘space’. There was even a separate entrance back there for the precious fucking snowflakes.

  Today was the first day we’d opened to the public. Chip, the man who’d been running the gym for the last who knew how many years, had agreed with me, when I suggested we open the general gym area this week and hold off starting classes until next week. That gave us time to get names down for the first classes. As much as I was happy to teach the sessions, I didn’t want to be wasting my time in an empty fucking room. It also gave us time to hopefully find a female instructor for fitness classes. I was good with self-defense and martial arts shit, but bouncing around to music was not ever going to be something I was prepared to do.

  “I’m sure when you’re holding your kid in your arms at the end, you’ll think it’s all worth it.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure I will. But until then…”

  As Eagle spoke, Scout strolled up and stood with us, looking completely out of fucking place with his leather cut, black t-shirt, jeans and biker boots.

  “You did good, brother.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at the man. Even weeks after patching in, I still got a buzz out of being called brother by the prez. Only patched-in members got that honor, and after spending nearly a year prospecting, it felt good to be included with all the other full club brothers.

  “Thanks, Prez. The boys all worked their asses off and got shit done fast. I wasn’t sure we’d be able to pull it off so quickly, but I’m fucking glad we have.”

  Well, I was half glad, half pissed off, actually. This renovation had taken all my time and energy for the past three weeks. I’d spent a week with Chip planning everything out before we started the actual physical work that took the rest of the time. But now that was done, I was back to having too much free time on my hands. If I wasn’t busy, I started to think, to remember. And there wasn’t any fucking point in it. The past was done. Nothing could be changed about the choices I’d made so recklessly.

  Yep, absolutely nothing would bring back Beatrice. And nothing could change what I did to gain vengeance for my sister’s murder. Somehow, the sweet innocent Bee had gotten mixed up with a gangbanger. Neither our folks nor I even realized she’d had a serious boyfriend. It wasn’t until her body was lying cold on a morgue table, covered in bruises and wounds that we knew exactly how much we’d let her down. I still couldn’t figure out how she’d managed to keep it all from us. Still wished she’d told me about him sooner, so I could have dealt with the prick. Before it cost my sister her life. Fucking bastard.

  I didn’t regret that I’d killed him. No way. But I did regret how I went about it. I’d known how much power that gang of his had in our area of L.A., had known my only way to win over them was with someone more powerful. There had only been one option, really. The mob.

  “You okay there?”

  I shook my head to clear the images of blood and gore and focused back on Scout.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Just drifted off there for a moment. I need to eat. Skipped lunch.”

  Wasn’t sure going with the whole low-blood-sugar angle would work, but I sure as shit wasn’t talking about what was really going on in my head. Especially here.

  Eagle slapped me on the back. “I’ll go to that little cafe up the street and grab you something. Back soon.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Eagle strolled out the door and I could feel Scout frowning at me.

  “For the record, I don’t believe you. Being hungry doesn’t make your skin go that odd shade of gray, brother. But I’m not gonna push you. Just know, if you ever need to talk shit through, my door’s always open.”

  If I hadn’t opened up about my past to Eagle and Taz, who’d literally been to war with me, I wasn’t going to start spilling my past to Scout any time soon. Still, I appreciated the offer.

  “Thanks. This shit isn’t something that needs to be talked through. It’s just past crap that pops back up every now and then. Honestly, I’m solid.” I needed to get Scout off this line of thinking, fast. I was feeling a little too raw with the images fresh in my mind to keep my guard up for long. “You find a VCR player yet?”

  A little over a month ago, just before we got patched in, the shit hit the fan in a big way when Silk was snatched by the L.A. mob. Turned out her father, John, who’d died on the plane that hit the south tower in the 9/11 attacks, had been keeping ledgers of crimes committed by several groups. The L.A. mob was one of the organizations he’d focused on. Through a reporter, the mob had learned Silk’s father’s bag had missed the flight and was still at the L.A. airport, so they’d needed Silk to get it for them. Only thing was, when she went to get the bag, it wasn’t just one damn book, but six of the fuckers.

  John hadn’t been happy to just rip off and dig up dirt on one organization. Nope. Bastard went after six that we knew about: L.A. mob, N.Y. mob, Charon MC, Iron Hammers MC, Ice Riders MC and Satan’s Cowboys MC. In order to keep Silk safe, the club gave the L.A. boys their book and the N.Y. mob one, but had copied the thing first, of course–you know? Just in case. Although, in the weeks since we’d killed three of Sabella’s goons and given him the bodies and the ledger, we hadn’t seen any sign of them, so hopefully that was all done with. I was extra grateful that I’d not ever met Antonio Sabella in my younger years. Things could have really blown up if I’d been recognized. Eagle and Taz thought my connection with the mob was through distant relatives, and I wanted it to stay that way. Didn’t need anyone knowing how closely I was really linked with them.

  But all that shit only dealt with two of the ledgers, and we still had to deal with the others. Especially the one on the Iron Hammers MC. They were a club based down in Galveston and our closest rivals, constantly pulling shit trying to take over Charon territory. John’s book on them led us to a safety deposit box that contained photos and VHS videos. The photos were of some seriously fucked-up shit. Teenage girls being held down and drugged up, or raped. Scout was trying to locate a VHS player to watch the videos, but personally, I didn’t think he was trying too hard. We all knew those videos would be more of what the photos showed, and no one wanted to see that shit if they didn’t have to.

  “Nah, haven’t found one local that I can borrow. I could buy one off the net but honestly, I’m starting to wonder if we should even bother. We all know what shit they’ll contain. The photos were hard enough to fucking look at, but videos? That shit would turn even my stomach. I like my porn to have consenting adults in it, fuck you very much.”

  I huffed a laugh. “Yeah, no one in their right fucking mind would volunteer to see that shit. So, any ideas on what we’re going to do about it?”

  Scout ran a hand over his head and adjusted his ever-present bandana. The club president was an old-school biker, complete with bushy beard and bandana wrapped around his skull. He truly did stand out like a sore fucking thumb here in the gym.

  “Still trying to come up with something that won’t end with a bunch of our brothers lying dead in the street. Although after yesterday, we may have an ally against them.”

  That got my attention and I turned away from watching the few people working out in the gym to face him.

  “What happened?”

  I’d been so buried in getting this place up and going, I hadn’t been keeping much of an eye on the news, or anything else for that matter. Scout rolled his eyes at me before he turned toward the back of the room.

  �
��Let’s head into the office. Chip and the others can hold things down out here for a while.”

  The need for complete privacy had me even more curious. I led the way back to the office and shut the door behind us as fast as I could.

  “What the hell happened?”

  I was starting to really regret not keeping an ear to the ground while I’d been working. Obviously I’d missed something major.

  “Fucking shoot out. That’s what happened. Clearly you’ve had your head up your ass, brother. Down in Galveston, yesterday, late morning, half the fucking Iron Hammer boys pumped a cafe full of lead.”

  I slumped down into the chair behind the desk.

  “Fuckin’ hell. How many dead? Any word on why?”

  “The why was a Satan’s Cowboy who’d been dealing on their turf. And there’s seven dead.”

  “They leave anyone alive?”

  “Well, when the shots started up, there were people running all over the damn place. They were actually fucking lucky only a few got caught in bullet shower. Naturally, no one saw a fucking thing. Except for one woman. A chick by the name of Claire Flynn. She ended up under the dead Cowboy. Guess he saved her by landing on her and taking the shots.”

  I looked up and caught Scout’s gaze. “That woman’s gonna be in a shit-ton of trouble if the Iron Hammers get hold of her. Where is she now?”

  His face looked grave, as though he was imagining the same nightmare I was. That fucked-up club would use her hard, then kill her slowly.

  “I spoke with Donald this morning. She disappeared after she was questioned. Crazy girl tried to do the right thing and report what she heard the Iron Hammers saying after the bullets stopped flying. She even gave fucking road names.”

  Donald was an older police officer here in Bridgewater and, from what I’d picked up, he often helped the club out.

  “What’s the bet the Iron Hammers have at least one member of the force down there on the books and they stepped in to help clean up the fucking problem?”

  “That was my guess too, but Donald said the wrong people are up in arms about her disappearing for that to be the case. And she literally ran off from the scene on foot. Alone. From what she told them before she ran, the cops were forced to bring in their Prez, VP and SAA. But with her missing and unable to make a formal statement, they can’t make any charges stick. Especially since the club’s inside man, or men, will be doing all they can to get the fuckers back on the street.”

  I rubbed a palm over my rough jaw, my need to protect this unknown woman rising up.

  “You got a description of her? Any way to track her down?”

  “I wish. All we have is her name, Claire Flynn. Donald said the only photo they have is her license and that’s not only out of date, but shit quality. He said he’d get us a copy of it, but don’t hold your breath that it’ll do us any good. He did tell me she’s got strawberry blonde hair and hazel eyes. I’ve got Keys looking into it too. He should be able to find something. If she knows anything about club politics, she’ll head this way. But the fact she was stupid enough to give that fucking statement in the first place would lead me to believe she doesn’t know shit and just ran off like a scared rabbit.”

  I hated to see a woman in trouble, and wished like fuck she was heading our way so we could keep her safe. But there wasn’t anything we could do about it unless she showed herself, especially if we didn’t even know what the woman looked like.

  “Aside from the girl, you thinking the Satan’s Cowboys will want to help us take the Iron Hammers down now?”

  Scout shrugged. “Not sure. I’m going to stand back and wait for a bit. See if they retaliate for the deaths. If we get lucky, we won’t have to lift a damn finger to get the job done.”

  I sat back in my chair to think over what might happen. This could start a fucking war between those two clubs. Would that provide us the in to get close enough to find out if the Iron Hammers were still abusing women? And if the Satan’s Cowboys did take out the Iron Hammers, what would that mean for the Charons? Or for any women the Iron Hammers were holding? The Satan’s Cowboys were a one-percenter club with a rough reputation. I had no idea how they’d treat a woman. Especially ones that were downtrodden after suffering years of abuse.

  Sadly, there wasn’t fuck-all any of us could do about it. And I knew it. Because even though the Charon MC was growing in numbers, but we had nothing on those two bigger MCs. It sucked, but our options really were limited at this point in time.

  CHAPTER 2

  Zara

  What a shitty, fucking day. And it was barely half-way through.

  I’m not sure what possessed me to tell the police what I’d overheard after the shooting. Well, that’s a lie. I knew full well why. I’d still been recovering mentally from the damn cataplexy attack. It always took me a while to get my bearings straight after an episode, and this young cop, Tom, caught me while I’d still been reeling. Bastard had taken advantage of it too, and now I was in more trouble than I knew how to handle.

  While I was speaking with Tom, an older officer approached, looking angry, and as he’d gotten close I’d seen his name tag read Frank Clarke. My blood had run cold as my throat closed up. The bikers had mentioned the name Frank more than once. I knew I couldn’t afford to panic. If I did that, I’d go down again, and then who knew what would happen to me.

  Without uttering another word, I’d shaken my head before turning and fleeing. I’d vaguely heard Tom call out after me but a deeper voice growled something and he hadn’t spoken again.

  I’d been so fucking stupid! Everyone in this town knew not to speak out against the Iron Hammers. Now I was jogging along the footpath up to my house and wondering how long I had before someone would come gunning for me. I’m sure I made quite a sight, covered in blood and running like my life depending on it. Because it did.

  Thankfully, my little condo wasn’t far from the cafe. I charged in through the front door and within seconds had my bloody clothes off and in the bin. After giving my arms and face a quick scrub, I got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt before I pulled out my suitcase and began tossing random stuff in it. Clothes, toiletries, and the cash I’d been stashing under the mattress. It all went in, then I zipped it up and heaved it out to my car. When I went back to lock up everything, my neighbor and friend, Gemma, was standing on my front sidewalk looking worried.

  “What the hell happened, Claire?”

  “I can’t talk now, Gem. I gotta run. The Hammers shot up the cafe, and I had an attack. The fucking cops started questioning me before I could get my mind straight, so I talked about shit I’d heard. I’m in so much fucking trouble. I gotta go, and you need to get home before anyone sees you with me.”

  The color had drained from her face as I’d spoken, but she hadn’t moved.

  “Do you know where you’re going to go?”

  I shrugged. “No idea. But it won’t take them long to find out where I live. I have to get moving.”

  I turned back toward my car, tossing my handbag into the front passenger seat before moving around to the driver’s side.

  “Go north-east, get to Bridgewater. The club there, the Charon MC? They hate the Iron Hammers. Enough that the Iron Hammers won’t dare step in their territory. You’ll be as safe as you can be there.”

  “Thank you, but please, go back inside. Hell, go out somewhere and pretend you never saw me today. I don’t want you harmed because of me.”

  I’d hate for one of my very few friends to be hurt because I was a fucking idiot. She nodded once. “Good luck, and you know my number if you need anything.”

  Then, with a wince, she turned and jogged back toward her own unit. After one last glance to my home, I got in, started up my car and drove out my driveway. Hopefully it wasn’t for the last time.

  Tears pricked my eyes at the thought I might never see Gemma, my home or the things in it again, but it was better than being dead. I hadn’t been living in my condo very long, but it was still mine and
I hated being forced to leave it. After my parents had been shot down in my childhood home three years ago, I couldn’t keep living there. I’d used the money from their estate to buy my little home. It was small, but I didn’t need a ton of space. Taking a deep breath, I drove north, making sure to keep just under the speed limit. I didn’t want to do anything that would attract the attention of the police.

  I stopped at a gas station to fill up and after paying, I went to the ATM and drained my savings account. I didn’t want to be traced by having to use my card to pay for something. Speaking of needing to be untraceable, I also grabbed myself a new phone.

  Following road signs, which were thankfully regular enough I didn’t have to stop and sort out my new phone to use an online map, I was driving into Bridgewater a little over an hour later. But now what? I had no plan at all, other than to get out of Galveston.

  I drove around the town for a while, trying to get a feel for the place. It was small, not even half the size of Galveston, but it felt friendly. The streets were clean of trash and graffiti, and every store I passed looked like it had been recently painted. Seeing a sweet little cafe, I found a parking space and walked back to it. As I reached the entrance, a shiver ran over me and a flash of what happened this morning filled my vision. Pushing down the memory before it could affect me, I walked through the door and into the warm interior. November in Texas wasn’t freezing like further north was this time of year, but it was still cold enough I appreciated not having to stand out in it.

  Making my way up to the counter, I ordered a sandwich and a coffee. After I paid—in cash—the older woman behind the counter gave me an order number and I moved off. I spent a couple minutes looking over a bulletin board of notices before I found a table in a corner. I couldn’t help the sigh that escaped me as I sat. I’d made it to Bridgewater in one piece and if Gemma was to be believed, I’d be safe here. Maybe if I never went into a police station to finalize my statement, the Iron Hammers would forget all about me in time and I could return to my home? And pigs might fly.