BRANDED: Wild Aces MC

by April Lust

  Forcing myself to look away, I told myself she wasn’t going to leave me. Everything was fine and she loved me too much to just up and go.

  I only half believed that anymore.

  Digging into the back pocket of my dark jeans, I found my cell phone and yanked it out. I had a number scratched out on a small piece of paper with jagged edges, torn out of some address book that was now stuck to my phone. I separated the two and stared at the paper pinched between my thumb and forefinger.

  I frowned. Everything inside me told me this was a bad idea. Worse, it was a dangerous idea, and if I fucked this up a lot of people were going to be in a bad way. My people.

  Unfortunately, it still had to be done. We didn’t have a lot of options these days.

  Smoothing out the paper until I could read the numbers, I made the call. The phone on the other end rang only a few times before someone picked up. A man’s deep, rough voice came through the other end.

  “What?”

  Taking a deep, calming breath, I tried to sound like this didn’t scare the shit out of me as I spoke. “Blade?”

  “Who wants to know?” the man said. I could hear spitting come through the receiver.

  “Max Riley,” I answered smoothly, taking on the air of authority I needed to deal with not only another motorcycle club, but the leader of said club. “I thought we should talk business.”

  There was a pause and what sounded like someone covering the phone, then some muffled yelling. I tried not to hold my breath, and kept my head held high. That wasn’t for the benefit of Blade, leader of our rival gang and what might be our only hope for surviving the Slayers. Blade obviously couldn’t see me through the phone, but, despite initiation being over, there were still several members of the club hanging around.

  Maybe they weren’t really watching me or paying attention, but if they could see how nervous I really was, they would start watching me. It was important to not show weakness to these guys. Most of them wouldn’t do anything drastic over it, except for a few loose cannons, but I didn’t want to have a reason to test that. And besides, if a leader was weak, the club was weak, too. I didn’t want my guys to be weak.

  After what felt like an hour of waiting, Blade finally got back to me. “All right. Let’s talk business.”

  “We need to discuss the expansion…”

  The Slayers were technically our rivals. They had started as a relatively small group, completely non-threatening, at least to us, and in the time of the Preacher, they weren’t big enough to be a concern. “Let them be,” the Preacher used to say, and we did, because no one expected any trouble for them.

  Maybe that’s where we fucked up; we should have been watching them. More than that, we should have been flexing our authority over the whole thing. How were we supposed to hang on to our territory and strength if we just let a bunch of fledgling hooligans creep up on our turf?

  But it was too late to worry about that. Fact of the matter was, the Slayers had gained a following and they were growing quickly in size. Worse, we’d lost a lot of members in the last few months. Many left because they couldn’t deal with the Preacher’s death. Though these were the toughest of guys, many of the older ones had softer centers. The Preacher was important to them and when he died—when he offed himself—a lot of the older members gave up.

  The lifestyle wasn’t for them anymore if the Preacher wasn’t leading them.

  I tried not to take it personally. It was no secret that I was next in line for the position of club leader. Sure, a lot of the guys whispered it was because I’d been sleeping with his daughter since high school, but that wasn’t it. The Preacher was important to me before I’d ever even met Lucy and I knew and he knew before I’d ever even joined that this life was going to be for me.

  I didn’t really care what people thought of me and how I got the position. All I cared about was whether they listened to me when I had to bark an order at one of them. For the most part, they did, but there had been a few who couldn’t handle the change. Not for any particular love of the Preacher, but because they didn’t think some young punk should be in charge and giving them orders.

  That was the other reason we were losing a lot of members. Our size had gone down by at least a forth, maybe even closer to a third, and it was starting to cost us.

  Money was short, tempers were shorter, and pulling us up by our bootstraps was getting awfully hard these days. In the end, I made the call I had to: work with the Slayers.

  “Yeah, we agreed already, didn’t we?” Blade asked in irritation, the coarse sound filling his voice and making it come out nasally. “You’re just gonna have to trust us, Max boy.”

  I gritted my teeth. I didn’t like the nickname and I didn’t like Blade. And more to the point, I didn’t fucking trust him. Not with anything and certainly not with my boys’ lives. Unfortunately, he was right. I was going to have to trust him if I wanted this to work. I sighed. “Yeah, sure, sorry, Blade. We’re finishing up here, so gimme an hour or so. We’ll meet at the warehouse.”

  “All right. Fine.”

  We hung up and I tried to quell the anxiety that shot through me at the thought of meeting with the Slayers. Strictly speaking, the Sin Reapers were a pretty straight group. We owned a legitimate body shop in town and our business stayed clean most of the time. Of course, we did some drug running on the side, but it was usually just a little MJ, maybe some steroids or speed, but we tried not to do anything too big or too noticeable. I was aware of the police and so long as we kept under a certain line of business, no one was going to care much one way or the other. It was when we got too big or sold to a bunch of dumb kids or got ourselves dealing with the real black hats, like the drug cartels, that we would start getting picked up. I didn’t want us looked at and I didn’t want that kind of shit on my conscience.

  But the problem was, the Slayers cared a little less. It wasn’t that we didn’t do our fair share of illegal things, but we had rules and requirements and limits. They didn’t.

  Blade had made it pretty clear that, in the end, he didn’t care what kind of shit got run through the club so long as it made him a buck or two. The only part he got pissed about was when he dealt in arms deals. Selling guns got tricky, and with so much backlash and gun control commotion these days, he didn’t want it coming back on him. Besides, you never knew when you picked up the wrong kind of gun. A cop killing kind of gun.

  It was nice to know he at least had common sense, even if he didn’t have much in the way of morality.

  As I slipped the phone back into the pocket, I noticed Bills standing nearby. He had his arms folded across his chest and was watching me like a hawk, which was not unusual, to be perfectly honest. I headed over to him.

  “What’s the word?” Bills asked as I got closer.

  I shrugged my shoulders, feigning casualness and calmness. I didn’t want him, especially, to see how much this whole thing rattled me. Splitting territory with the Slayers was a bad idea, and I knew it, but I was running out of members and options pretty damn fast.

  “We’re set for tonight. The warehouse in the industrial district. Meeting’s set for an hour and a half.”

  Bills nodded. He was a little unhinged, I thought at times, but he’d always been loyal to the Sin Reapers. The Preacher had considered him a lieutenant, much like I did now, and there was no question that whatever else Bills might be into, he was definitely the guy you wanted on your side during a fight. He was going to come with me tonight as my body guard and backup, just in case things took a wrong turn somewhere along the way.

  “Blade gonna be there himself this time?” Bills asked me as we watched several more of the boys start filtering out, their bikes revving in the distance and their girls laughing.

  Last time we’d set up a meeting with the Slayers, it hadn’t exactly gone as planned. Blade had been set to be there, but he hadn’t shown, letting one of his boys go instead. Granted, I probably liked the old boy better than I would like Blade,
but it was a bit of an insult to us that Blade wouldn’t go himself.

  It set our plans and negotiations back quite a bit. It had nearly started a goddamned war between our clubs and I was silently grateful it hadn’t come to that. We didn’t make a habit of killing people, but it happened. Not usually on my watch, but I’d thought it before and I’d think it again: the Slayers didn’t have much in the way of morals.

  “Yeah, he’ll be there,” I said confidently, though that was hardly what I was feeling. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if Blade didn’t show in person this time, but I was pretty sure it was going to get us all into a lot of trouble. There was no way we’d be able to salvage this joint venture if he ditched on us twice. I’d have to cut the whole thing loose and the territory would be in real danger.

  This way we’d just split some of the territory in the area between our two clubs, work out percentages and good faith payments for selling or working in each other’s areas. There was a chance things could go south anyway, that we’d end up losing our asses, but there was also the chance things could go our way. If the Slayers continued to do their deals—illegal or otherwise—we’d get a piece of any of that that happened in our designated territory. Likewise, if we did deals on their turf, we paid a small fee to them. Since we were far less likely to be dealing in the more illegal—and admittedly profitable—side of the law, we stood to earn a lot more money from it, but they got territory out of the deal. We’d have to give up some of ours so there’d be a fifty-fifty split, but I wasn’t worried about territory. What was the point if there wasn’t a club left to do a damn thing with it?

  There wasn’t any kind of guarantee this would work and, in my gut, I couldn’t make myself trust the Slayers, but what choice did I have? I had to do something and I was all out of ideas these days.

  “He’d better,” Bills muttered as we headed towards our bikes. We’d be the last two to leave and we wouldn’t be going home.

  I thought of Lucy waiting for me. I thought of the things I’d rather be doing with her and to her, but business had to come first tonight. Still, I hoped she’d call. That she’d tell me she was okay and we were okay and everything was okay.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked it again, but there were no missed calls. I couldn’t help my frown, but resisted the sigh I wanted to send along with it. Resolving to at least let her know what was going on, even if she wasn’t in the mood to return the courtesy, I sent her a quick text.

  Business tonight. Be home late. Don’t wait up.

  I put my phone back into my pocket and when Bills handed me the pistol, I took it easily, tucking it safely away in the back of my jeans. I hoped we wouldn’t need it, but I wasn’t going in there unprepared.

  Slinging my leg over the side of the bike, I nodded towards Bills. He’d follow me down the hill and back into town, then we’d head over to the industrial district. No one would be around this time of night and that place especially didn’t have a lot of traffic.

  I revved up my bike and we headed out of there. I tried not to think of the cold metal pressed against the skin of my back and I tried not to think about how Lucy had left that night. Instead, I did my best to focus on the dark road and the cool night and the rumbling sound of my bike filling my ears.

  This would all be over soon.

  Chapter 5

  Lucy

  I pulled up into the driveway and turned off the engine, but I didn’t go inside right away. I just sat in my car and stared at the dark house. I assumed my mother was already in bed. I should have just gone home, but I wasn’t ready to deal with Max and all the shifting emotions between us. The violence still clung to me and I needed to soothe it away before I faced him, because I wasn’t sure how I’d react to the excitement in his eyes when we were alone together.

  Would I do the same as I always did, just fall into bed with him, spread my legs, and let him fuck me until I screamed his name?

  Probably. That was the thing about me and Max: we’d been together so long and the love between us still wouldn’t go away. The passion wouldn’t either. Every time Max slid into me, it was like the first time, but so much better. I didn’t care where we did it or from what angle, didn’t care if he were rough or demanding or sweet and slow. I didn’t care, because so long as he was touching me, things couldn’t be bad.

  Which was why I needed to put some distance between myself and him before I went home. I needed to think clearly and I wouldn’t be able to do that on a night like tonight.

  My phone buzzed and I pulled it out of my jacket pocket to check it. I’d gotten a text message from Max.

  Business tonight. Be home late. Don’t wait up.

  I frowned as I read it. I’d received god knew how many of these messages since I’d first gotten involved with Max. They were little reminders that he was thinking of me, yes, but also warnings. Between the lines they said, The cops might pick me up tonight, babe, but don’t come get me ’til you get the call, or, I’m taking care of a drug deal, official club business, and I’m not sure if the other guy’s packing, or my personal favorite, I’m going to fuck you hard when I get home, babe, because things were bad tonight and your warm body is the only thing that will bring me back.

  That last one took me a little while to fetter out, but when I finally clicked to it, I knew to be ready. Sometimes it was by wearing something slinky or nothing at all; sometimes it was by undoing his pants and sliding my mouth over his cock until he came. It all depended on the message and how he was when he got home, but he was never disappointed. I took pride in knowing I could fix whatever was wrong for him in that moment, but there was a growing part of me that wished there simply wasn’t anything wrong for him in that moment. Or any moment. But I could only do so much, and so long as he was leader of the Sin Reapers there would be trouble. It came with the business.

  This message, I wasn’t exactly sure of. I knew business was obviously something that either bordered on illegal or flat out was illegal and being home late meant he wasn’t sure how it would go. But don’t wait up? That seemed unusual. It sent a chill through me, making me wonder just how bad of a thing he was doing tonight.

  Pushing aside my worry for Max and my general mood, I popped open the door to the car and stepped outside, closing it behind me. There was a single light still on in the kitchen, but it told me Mom definitely wasn’t up, because it was the light she left on when no one was home or she was asleep, but it was safe to come in. It used to be the light she left on for Dad.

  I used the spare key I had on my keychain to unlock the door, then headed inside. I was quiet, just in case Mom was already asleep, and locked the door behind me. I headed to the hallway that led to the back, careful to avoid the door that I knew led to my father’s garage. It was always locked now, but I didn’t want to remember the door or what was behind it, so I stuck to the right side of the hall until I reached my mom’s bedroom.

  I was about to decide she was just asleep when I saw the light come on from beneath the door. Her voice called out gently and muffled through the door, “Lucy, honey?”

  Mom wasn’t being lazy or overemotional or anything like that by being already in bed by the time I’d gotten home. Generally speaking, she was as tough as her husband had been and there wasn’t a soul who doubted it. Some of the guys might have whispered that it was grief that kept her in bed or that it was depression or something else like that, but those who knew the family knew mom suffered from a leg injury years ago. She didn’t talk about it—I suspected it had something to do with the club and with Dad because she wouldn’t give me so much as a drop of information on what happened—but I knew it caused her a good deal of pain every now and again. The injury itself had been from before I was born, but on and off it would flare up again. Now, as she was getting older, it was getting worse. Suddenly she was limping a lot more and some days she wouldn’t even get out of bed.

  “I’m here, Mom,” I called, reaching for the door handle. I wasn’t sure I really
wanted to talk right now, wasn’t sure if I could, but I knew it was better than wallowing in my own thoughts. Besides, my mom was perceptive. She’d know something was up if I didn’t sit and talk with her.

  I pushed the door open and found her sitting in bed, her legs up and a stack of pillows fluffed up behind her back so she could sit up. We’d moved a television into the room not long after Dad died; she said the noise helped to distract her enough to sleep at night. I had a feeling the pills did more to distract her than anything else, but I didn’t force the issue. What my mother did was her own choice and nothing I said was going to change that. Especially since the more you prodded, the deeper she dug her heels into the ground.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, motioning towards her legs, which were covered by several layers of blankets even though it seemed to me that the house was plenty warm.