PREGNANT FOR A PRICE: Kings of Chaos MC

by Kathryn Thomas

  “Where ya been, brother?” Mills called out.

  I walked into the Kings' clubhouse and looked around. Mills and some of his guys were over at the pool table, drinking and playing. A few of the others who weren't in Mills' inner circle were sitting at a table, engaged in quiet conversation over their beer.

  I walked over to the bar, and Tommy handed me a cold one. He gave me a small nod – he wasn't in Mills' faction, but I didn't know if I could exactly count him in mine. Not that I really had a faction. I sat down at the bar, not wanting to wade into the middle of Mills and his sycophants.

  “Took a ride,” I said.

  “I heard,” he replied.

  He handed his cue to one of his guys and sauntered over to the bar where I was sitting. I'd only been away a little more than a week, but I could see that he'd changed. He exuded an air of arrogance and cockiness. You could see it in the way he walked – with a strut and a swagger.

  Murdering all of those people certainly seemed to agree with him.

  He took a seat on the stool beside me, and Tommy handed him a beer – though, I noticed that he hadn't popped the top like he had for me. I wasn't sure if it was an intentional slight or if I was just seeing things that weren't there. Either way, Mills looked pretty put out that he had to open his own beer.

  Clearly, he was beginning to think of himself as royalty – and we were his subjects who were to obey his every command and cater to his every whim.

  “Where ya been, Damian?” he asked. “I've tried calling.”

  I shrugged. “Phone was off.”

  “And where were you?”

  I took a long pull of my beer. “I didn't realize I needed to check in with you.”

  Anger flashed across his face as he stared at me. “You're the VP of the club. We need to be able to contact you any time, day or night.”

  I looked around the clubhouse – Mills' guys were staring daggers through me. Everybody else seemed to be trying to ignore us and pretend we weren't even there. There was definitely a different air in the clubhouse. It was one of resignation. One of a group that had been beaten down and demoralized. One that was being crushed beneath the thumb of a tyrannical leader.

  “Looks like you had a handle on things just fine,” I said. “Besides, Crank knew how to get in touch with me if any serious shit went down.”

  Mills sighed, and the irritation on his face only grew. He grabbed his bottle and took a long pull. Mills apparently didn't like that he couldn't bring me to heel like some of the other guys. That I wasn't afraid of him. That I wasn't about to bend to his will. That I had never been afraid to stand up to him – something he'd never liked. And nothing that had happened with the Fantasmas or his newfound arrogance did a damn thing to change that.

  “That's not the point, Damian,” Mills said, his voice tight with anger. “You're the goddamn VP, and I need to have access to you twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

  “Huh,” I said and took another sip of my beer. “Is that in the club's charter? Because I don't recall ever reading anything like that. Don't recall that being in my oath of office either.”

  He slammed his bottle down on the bar and stared at me. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. The clubhouse had already been subdued when I walked in, and it only seemed to grow quieter. I just chuckled and shook my head.

  I'd stared down the barrel of an AK being held by an Afghani with really bad intentions – if Mills thought he could intimidate me with a few hard looks, he was sadly mistaken.

  “Why are you such an asshole, Damian?” he hissed. “What is your problem?”

  I turned on my stool and looked at him. “And why are you bustin' my balls so bad, Mills?” I said. “You upset that you can't train me to be at your beck and call like your little puppy dog posse over there?”

  “I can't even begin to tell you how much you're pissin' me off right now, Damian,” he growled. “I should strip you of your VP patch right now.”

  I laughed in his face. “Yeah, good luck with that. First of all, you have no cause. Second of all, you can't make an arbitrary move like that. And I highly doubt you can muster up the votes.”

  “Don't push me, man. I can get the votes I need to—”

  “Without cause? Yeah, good luck. I, on the other hand, could move to have you thrown out of the big chair. See, unlike you, I have cause.”

  I knew I shouldn't even start down this road with him. My inner voice told me to pull back, but he had me so pissed off, I couldn't seem to control myself. I wanted to shut my mouth, but I just couldn't. On the outside, I was calm and collected, but inside, that dark and abiding well of rage was boiling over, and I just wanted to stick it to him.

  “Yeah? And what cause is that?” Mills spat.

  I took a sip of my beer. “Heard a bunch of the Fantasmas – guys who may have been able to step into Mendoza's place – have found themselves dead. Somehow.”

  “And what the fuck does that have to do with me?”

  I shrugged. “You tell me. Multiple gunshot wounds aren’t exactly a natural death.”

  His bark of laughter was sharp – but nervous. “Sounds to me like the spics are duking it out with each other to see who gets to be the King Burrito.”

  “That's one way to look at it.”

  “Is there another way I'm not seeing here?”

  I narrowed my eyes and gave him a small smirk. “Yeah, maybe some ambitious MC leader, seeing the void in power left by the – demise – of Fantasmas leadership, starts looking at ways of expanding his own power and so launches an offensive against his rivals,” I said. “Take out what's left of the strongest, you have incompetent leadership. The rival MC becomes a non-factor and is, essentially, taken off the board. Then our ambitious MC leader steps in, steps up, and becomes the new lord of the land.”

  Mills drained half the beer left in his bottle, looked to his guys, and then finally back at me. His face was darkened by anger, but I also saw the nervousness in his eyes. I'd scored a pretty direct hit, and he knew it. What was worse – at least, for me – was that he knew I knew it. He knew I had grounds to call a vote to strip him of the gavel. The question in my mind was – what was he going to do about it?

  And the uncertainty about the answer to that question is what made me nervous. It made me mentally kick myself over and over again because I knew I'd gone too far. I never should have taken it that far, but I'd lost control of myself and had continued to talk when I should have just shut the hell up while I was ahead. But no, I had to continue running my damn mouth.

  And in the process, had made myself a liability. And a possible target.

  “That's quite the story,” Mills said, sounding a little less confident and cocky than he had a moment ago – but trying to cover it with a lot of bluster. “It'd make quite the action movie.”

  “Wouldn't it though?”

  He polished off the last of his beer and put his bottle back down on the bar. He cast another look at his boys – he was obviously afraid of losing face in front of them – and then turned to me with an expression on his face that dripped with scorn and hatred.

  “Look, I don't know what you think you know,” he said, “but I can tell you that what you're thinking is pure bullshit. And if you keep running off at the mouth like you are, there will be consequences.”

  I smirked at him. “You threatenin' me, prez?”

  He shrugged. “Just giving you the lay of the land.”

  “Huh. Sounded a lot like a threat to me.”

  “Call it what you will,” he said. “I don't give a shit. But you better watch your fuckin' P's and Q's around here, boy. Things are changing – and you really don't want to be caught on the wrong side of that wave when it comes crashing down.”

  I chuckled and shook my head. I couldn't believe the balls on this guy. But then, given what he'd done – and was still doing – maybe I should. Mills was drunk on power and was only continuing to chug from that bottle.

  “You're o
n notice, Damian,” he said. “Best watch your ass.”

  I snapped him a salute. “Noted. Thanks for the warning, prez.”

  Mills glared at me for a moment before motioning to his boys. All of them staring hard at me, I laughed and gave them all a wave as they walked out of the clubhouse. I sighed and finished off my beer. Tommy immediately handed me another one, giving me a small smirk.

  “Thanks, man,” I said.

  “We've missed you around here, brother,” he said. “There's some crazy shit going down.”

  “So I've heard.”

  “Seriously, man.” Tommy leaned closer and pitched his voice low. “Mills is out of his fuckin' mind. Did you know that he and his attack dogs fuckin' capped some of the Fantasmas – ones who weren't in the barn that night?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I heard somethin' about that. He's really trying to wipe them out. Be the big dog on the block.”

  Tommy shook his head. “That ain't what it's about at all, brother.”

  “No? Then what's it about?”

  I had my ideas and theories, but I was anxious to hear it from somebody who'd been here – who was in the know. Tommy didn't have a declared allegiance to either of the factions within the Kings – he was smart and tread the middle line. I knew him and knew he was a good guy – and knew that he thought Mills was as big of a prick as I did.

  But he was loyal to the MC and always tried to do right by the club. Even if it meant we'd butted heads a few times over the years, it was something I respected the hell out of him for.

  “I don't have concrete proof or anything,” he said. “He's keepin' it all pretty close to the vest right now. Just him and his inner circle.”

  I shrugged. “That's cool. What have you heard though?”

  He cleared his throat and looked around, obviously afraid to be overheard. It said a lot – the fact that he was worried about somebody overhearing him. It used to be that the clubhouse was a free speech zone. We were always free to speak our minds without fear of consequence or repercussion. This was our house.

  Obviously though, with the rise of dictator Mills, things were most definitely changing around the MC. And not for the better. Something was going to need to be done about that. I just didn't know what or how yet. But I'd figure something out. He was dragging the Kings down into the shit, and I didn't like it. Wouldn't tolerate it.

  “Way I heard it,” Tommy said, keeping his voice down. “Mills is wiping out the Fantasmas because he has plans to take up some of the holes they're leaving behind. Holes in the drug and gun business.”

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered.

  “I hear he's been talking to the guy who used to supply heroin to the Fantasmas,” he said. “Getting distribution channels set up and shit. Same deal with the guns. We're apparently going to be running both.”

  I sighed and took a long pull of the beer Tommy had given me. “Yeah, I kinda figured that's the way he was going. I'm not all that surprised.”

  “That's some shit I don't want to be involved with, man,” he said. “I'm sure the money would be great. But you can't spend if you're rotting in prison. I already did a nickel, and I'm not anxious to go back.”

  “I'm not anxious to see you – or anybody else – get thrown into the hole, man. Or killed because of this goddamn madness.”

  “Yeah, not real thrilled with the idea of getting my ass capped either,” Tommy said soberly.

  I took another drink, my mind spinning. I'd assumed Mills was trying to step into that role and fill the void left by the Fantasmas. But to have it confirmed was a little overwhelming and I wasn't quite sure what to do with it just yet.

  “He can't just throw us into that business without a vote… can he?” Tommy asked.

  I shrugged. “We're so far out of bounds of club protocols, I don't even know which way is up right now. No, he's not supposed to be able to make unilateral decisions like that. He's supposed to call for a vote before we get into any new business.”

  “I'm tellin' you man,” Tommy said. “He's out of his fuckin' mind. He's on one hell of a power trip and thinks he's a goddamn king or something. Thinks we should be kissin' his fuckin' ring.”

  “Yeah, something's gonna need to be done about that.”

  “You have anything in mind?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet. But for now, just keep your head down. Don't rock the boat until we figure this shit out.”

  Tommy nodded. “No worries on that. I've gotten pretty fuckin' good at that lately.”

  “Hang in there, man. We'll find a way out from under this bullshit.”

  “Hope it's sooner rather than later.”

  I nodded. “I'm workin' on it. Thanks for the beer.”

  “Any time, VP.”

  I got up and walked out of the clubhouse. I'd gotten pretty much what I wanted out of the trip – information. Tommy's information hadn't been confirmed yet, but it pretty well cemented my own thinking. I had zero doubts that what he'd told me was exactly what Mills was doing. And there was no way in hell I was going to get caught up in that kind of bullshit.

  I climbed onto my bike, started it up, and roared out of the parking lot. I wasn't sure where I was going just yet, but I knew I needed to be away from there.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Damian

  I didn't even know where I was going until I pulled into Cara's driveway. Or maybe, on some deeper level, I did. Maybe there was some magnetic force that pulled me toward her house. I had no clue. I hadn't intended – at least consciously – to head for Cara's house and yet, there I was all the same.

  I shut down my bike and climbed off. I still wasn't wearing my kutte, and was doing my best to avoid looking the part of the hardened biker – but I was pretty sure the sound of my bike drew the attention of her neighbors. As I looked around, I couldn't help but see a few of the blue hairs looking at me from behind their curtains.

  I walked to the front door, but it opened wide before I had a chance to even knock. Cara stood in the doorway, looking all kinds of sexy in her yoga pants and T-shirt. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, and when she looked at me, she smiled wide.

  “Heard you coming,” she said.

  “Yeah, I guess I draw a little attention to myself.”

  She shrugged. “Glad you're here. Come on in. We were just about to have some dinner.”

  I glanced at my watch and saw that it was after six. I'd been so wrapped up in what was going on in my head that I hadn't even realized it had gotten so late already.

  I stepped into the house and closed the door behind me, following Cara into the kitchen. Austin's face lit up when I stepped through the doorway, and he threw up his hand to give me a high five. I obliged, lightly slapping his hand with mine, making him giggle.

  “How are you doin', buddy?” I asked as I ruffled his hair.

  “Good,” he said. “We're havin' pissa.”

  Cara laughed at his pronunciation and opened the oven, pulling out two boxes of pizza. She looked at me apologetically.

  “Nothing fancy tonight, sorry,” she said. “It was a long day at the hospital.”

  “Hey, no complaints from me,” I replied. “And I really doubt there's gonna be any complaints from this little rugrat.”

  Austin squealed and laughed when I poked him in the belly. I walked over to the cupboard and pulled out three plates, stopping long enough to grab some napkins. I set the table and then moved to the refrigerator.

  “There's some beer on the bottom shelf, in the back,” she said.

  I reached for a bottle, and then stopped myself. Instead of a beer, I pulled out three cans of soda and set them on the table. Cara looked at me, an expression of curiosity on her face. I gave her a small shrug – for some reason, I just didn't feel like having a beer.

  “Soda sounded good,” I said.

  She smiled and gave me a small nod as she pulled a salad out of the refrigerator. She dished it up and put bowls down in front of Austin and I. We looked at
it and then at each other, sticking our tongues out, making our disgusted faces – I'd never been much for salads.

  “If you don't eat some veggies,” she said, “you don't get dessert. And that goes for the both of you.”

  I sighed dramatically. “Yes, mother.”

  “Yes, mother,” Austin parroted and laughed.

  Cara laughed and shook her head as she started in on her own bowl of vegetation. I looked around the table as we ate and just felt an overwhelming sense of… rightness. We laughed, we talked, we joked around – it just felt so perfect. I almost had to stab myself in the hand with my fork to make sure it was real and that I wasn't just dreaming.