Separated MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 10)

by Bella Knight

  Gregory took them out for track maneuvers, first just evasion techniques, then with his people with laser pointer “guns.” He would never point a gun at anyone, especially clients, even if the gun was supposedly unloaded, unless he intended for someone to die. He was lucky that Henry had some laser pointers on the premises. He ended the class with a primer on lightweight body armor.

  As he made his way towards the bike, Bobbi showed up on her brand-new Sports Glide. She came to a stop directly in front of the class, took off her helmet, and shook out her blonde hair.

  “My name is Bobbi Granger. I have a Harley dealership just up the road. This is a brand-new Harley Davidson Sports Glide, with removable gear for when you want to go light. Anyone want to test drive one?” Every hand except Danny’s shot up.

  Gregory laughed, waved to Bobbi, and got on his bike. His new one was coming soon enough. He guessed that it was a win-win for both Bobbi and Henry, with Henry receiving a cut of her sales. He thought a minute, and guessed it had been Lily’s idea to help Henry pay off the facility, faster. He swung by Sonic, waited on his peanut butter shake, chicken strips, and cheese fries, and answered numerous emails. He made it to work alive.

  “Gregory,” said Bannon, “Meeting in ten.”

  In order to protect himself from bodily harm, Gregory held up the payment for the defensive driving class. “We have a new account. Got a defensive motorcycle driving class.”

  “Well, quit teaching it. Send someone else, one of the Valkyrie Soldier Pack.” Bannon swung a file at Gregory as if to punch him in the stomach with it.

  “I am sorry,” said Gregory. “Henry sprung it on me, and the money was excellent.”

  “Go,” said Bannon. “We both need clones.”

  “We do,” agreed Gregory.

  He changed clothes in his office. He took the meeting for a new client, corporate security. A mass shooting out of a hotel window some time back had terrified both hotels and corporations. They were jumping trying to get everyone trained to a higher level, and to have better screening procedures for both employees and guests. Everyone was a little jumpy, and Bannon and Gregory were kept hopping —filling the need to make businesses safer. He went over everything from a shooting that had involved a divorced woman, her new boyfriend, and a jealous ex —to the mass shooting, explaining how he would train people within an organization to spot guns, sound alarms, increase cameras, and other ways of spotting and tracking evildoers. They clients signed up.

  After back-to-back meetings, some new clients, some involving hand-holding, some with him gently insisting that they get paid for their work, Gregory was exhausted. He put on his biker togs, and took the elevator down. Bannon was still working, a long-distance phone call. Gregory pulled out of the garage, and turned on the street. The distinctive throaty growl of Harleys had him looking. It was someone on the brand-new Harley he’d seen that morning, with the distinctive black vented jacket and red helmet he’d seen that morning, on Danny. The jacket was distinctive, precisely because it didn’t have patches like his own Nighthawks emblem. There was a bike in front, and the company moose car in back. He saw something that shouldn’t be, someone with a long coat in summer. He slowed, pulled out his gun, and saw the others rabbit away in an almost-on-the-ground turn in his rearview mirror. He focused as the gun came out of the trench coat, a blonde, the hint of a hand. He shot, twice; one-two, then lowered the gun and parked the bike. The woman was down, gun fallen to her side, blood coming out of her arm, a hole from back to front, at waist level. He pulled off his helmet and stalked toward her. The Harley in front, circled back, gun on the downed woman.

  His earphone beeped. “Got her, I see,” said Bannon. “Sit tight.”

  “Stay down!” said Sayan.

  “One woman; early thirties… wait.” He got closer, then saw the wig. “Still a woman, not blonde. Brown hair. Still alive.”

  Sayed touched the woman’s throat. “Alive.”

  “Bus and cops two minutes out. I suggest holstering the weapons,” said Bannon in his ear. Gregory holstered his gun, and Sayan did the same.

  They took out their IDs, and held them up, as the cops came up, guns out but pointed down. “Shooter,” said Gregory. “Got it all on camera. We’re security for a VIP. Sayan, where is our VIP?”

  “With me,” said Bannon. “We’re on lockdown.”

  “My boss says the VIP is upstairs. This woman needs medical attention, and should be under arrest.”

  “We’ll see,” said the first cop, Montoya. “You the shooter?”

  “She’s the assassin, I shot her twice,” said Gregory. “My gun’s in the holster. Be happy to put it in an evidence bag if you’ve got one.”

  “Luis,” said his partner, a very small, dark-haired woman named Rew. “Got lots of weaponry under here. I see a knife in her boot, another gun in the other boot. Another gun holster, small of her back.”

  “Well, then,” said Montoya. “Let’s disarm her, shall we?”

  Sayan and Gregory went in to the substation for questioning after being relieved of their weapons. They were dead-silent until their company lawyer, Austen Heitland, showed up. He was ex-military, with blonde hair, blue laser-like eyes, and a fast walk, and he was one hell of a lawyer. They told their story —twice. Bannon sent over the security camera footage. Sayan and Gregory clammed up and refused to talk, demanding that they be let go, and that Sayan get his gun back, as it hadn’t been fired. They got the gun and left.

  They remained silent until Bannon and Star showed up in a company car. They got in. “I will personally pay for a third of the new Harley you want,” said Bannon. “They towed your old one. Good luck on getting it back. That tape’s all over law enforcement, and our client has seen it. He’s ecstatic that he’s still alive, and that whatever the hell you taught him today worked.”

  “Evade and escape,” said Gregory. “Standard stuff.”

  “Fuck that,” said Sayan. “He made a shot he swore in class you can’t make, firing on a bike. Hit her twice, including the gun hand.”

  “I noticed,” said Bannon, dryly. “Woman’s name is Belle Fiero, Beautiful Fire, street name X. She’s a shooter, a very good one, great at blending into crowds and disappearing. Makes daylight shots like that all the time. The FBI is very, very happy to have her in custody. They gave a shout out to the locals, made them let you go.”

  They pulled up at the Doghouse, and ordered beers, jalapeno poppers, stuffed mushrooms, and sliders. “What a day,” said Thandie. “Got to hear about the brand-new Harleys for free, almost from the horse’s mouth.”

  “What?” said Bannon.

  “Bonnie pigeonholed one of their designers,” said Gregory.

  “Good god,” said Bannon. “Do tell.”

  They had an extensive discussion about what Bonnie said, and Gregory and Bannon listened, mesmerized. They ate their way through the sliders and half the mushrooms before getting to the poppers and recounting the shooting to each other.

  “I saw her,” said Thandie. “Who the fuck wears a trench coat in the desert in the summer? Either an insane person, or a shooter. Hair too nice for a crazy. So, I turned and leaned hard, and Danny did what I did, on a dime. Perfect. Right into the garage. Ran some evasion, but got us to our elevator fast. Got him in and on lockdown.”

  “Kept the principal safe. I’ll drink to that,” said Bannon. They all drank.

  “I whipped back around,” said Sayan. “Once I saw her go down, I figured one, it was over, and two, my squealing around behind them in the moose car wouldn’t help. They needed to be sure she was down, and that there were no other shooters. If she had a spotter, I didn’t see one.”

  “No glint. Nothing I could see,” said Gregory. “He’s right. Neither one of us saw a spotter.”

  “Richland literally dragged me to the window,” said Bannon. I saw you, and her down. Made Richland watch while I pounded to our elevator. Sent a few down the stairs. Still had another client in the building, late meeting, finish
ing off paperwork. Saw our fast response. Added on a few lines to the contract, upped our fee.” He took a drink. “Can’t buy publicity like that.” The waitress came to refill their beers, and they all switched to water or Coke. “Hate to eat and run, even with the adrenaline, but I’ve got stuff to do,” said Bannon. “Stay and eat, talk, whatever, on me.”

  “We’ll head out,” said Sayan and Thandie.

  “Got a wife and kids,” said Gregory. He really wanted to stay and chat, but, like the others, he was wiped out. Bannon paid, and they all went out to the parking lot.

  “Need a ride?” Thandie asked Sayan.

  “Can use one,” he said. “No helmet.”

  “No problem,” she said, putting hers on easily, and handing him a second one from just inside her seat. “Never know when you need to take someone for a ride.”

  He laughed. They rode for a while. She took the long route. They lived in the same apartment building. Bannon owned the building and gave his employees a twenty-five percent discount on the rent.

  She parked. “Still adrenalized,” she said. “Wanna come up? This is gonna sound weird, but how about the kickboxing gym?”

  Thandie nodded, put her helmet back on, and took him to the gym. Both of them had clothes there. They suited up in sleeveless shirts and shorts, and warmed up with jump ropes and the heavy and speed bags. They watched some sparring, then they went at it. Somewhere along the line, they let the adrenaline coursing through their veins give them speed and power. They weren’t holding back much, and both were trained soldiers. She got a split lip; he got a bloody nose. They kept at it. Soon, activity slowed as people showed up to watch. They moved fast, light on their feet, ripping in and darting away. He called a halt, and held up her arm. They stood, gasping for breath, as a ripple of applause and some cheers went by. They got down, gasping for breath.

  They showered, and she took him to a basement bar with a dance floor. They had shots, and danced, and found themselves fondling each other’s hips. He kissed her, tentatively, and she pummeled him with her lips. She dragged him out, and they were kissing, pushing each other away, gasping for breath, and kissing again. They switched to Cokes, and danced off the alcohol. She drove them home. She took the curves, tight and low. They stowed the helmets, and she dragged him up to her place.

  Staci was playing a protracted video game, shouting into her mic. Ikram was in her room, the door shut tight, blaring music to cover the sounds of Staci’s yelling. No one noticed as Thandie and Sayan slipped into her room. She shut and locked the door, and didn’t bother turning on the light. They kissed up against the door. She pushed him away, stepped over to the dresser. Took out a box of condoms, took one out, and stuck her hand down his pants, making him gasp. They ended up against the door again.

  They dropped their jackets, ripped each other’s shirts off and over their heads. He pulled off her camisole, and the globes of her breasts fell into his hands. Impatient, she dragged down his jeans, then hers, and they kicked off their shoes and pulled off their socks. She let him find her center with his fingers, clawing and gasping her way through her orgasm. She dragged him onto her queen-sized bed, impossible to miss in the small room. She straddled him, rolled on the condom, then slid onto him. She tightened, held him, making him moan, and then she rode him as hard as she could. She clawed his shoulders, and leaned down to nip at his neck and earlobes. He came, and she used wet wipes to clean them both up. They laid there, gasping.

  “You’re not Muslim,” said Sayan.

  “I noticed,” said Thandie.

  “My mother will kill me if I marry a non-Muslim,” said Sayan.

  “Then, we will fight, and fuck, and work together. Sometimes on, sometimes off, for when we get busy. Keep each other company until… whenever. No strings.” Thandie looked at him, stroked his face, kissed him, and grabbed his ass.

  “When you put it that way…” he said, and rolled over on top of her. Both of them were still gasping. “Woman, you’re going to kill me, I don’t want to lose you!”

  She hummed a ZZ Top song as he kissed her neck, her breasts. Then, they worked their way through the box of condoms. It was heaven.

  “Loss happens. It’s how you handle it that shows whether or not you are an adult, or just posing as one.”

  4

  NOT DEAD YET

  “If you woke up today, you’re not dead. Some days, that’s good enough.”

  In the morning, Sayan and Thandie silently ate a non-pork breakfast, difficult to do as the ladies usually loaded up on bacon or sausage breakfast sandwiches. Thandie whipped up some apple (brown sugar) oatmeal with pecans and orange juice. They all went in to work, Staci and Ikram as a double on Staci’s Harley she had rebuilt herself. They made it in, and did laps at the in-building health club, then stints with weights. They all had a competition thing going, but no one wanted to get put on the injured list. Injured meant sitting at a desk doing volumes of paperwork in the supposedly-paperless office, a fate worse than the actual injury. They showered and dressed in the “company uniform” of black pants, a black tee, gun in a shoulder holster or back rig, black boots, gun and/or knife hidden in one or both of the boots, and a light jacket to cover the gun. They took the elevator up.

  Their VIP Danny was there, shaved, dressed, and none the worse for wear from yesterday’s excitement. He ran up and shook Thandie’s hand. “You are so fucking awesome,” he said. He then shook Sayan’s hand. “Heard you helped take the shooter out. Thank you.” He took in Sayan’s slightly off-kilter nose and Thandie’s lip. “What happened? You looked fine when I left?”

  “Sparring,” said Bannon, coming in behind them. “Working off steam from feeling juiced.”

  “Juiced?” asked Danny.

  “Adrenaline rush,” said Star. “Sparring keeps you frosty. Ready.” She smiled at him. “Just doing our jobs, Sir.”

  “Bullshit,” said Danny. “I want you two on me today.”

  “They will be, in shifts,” said Bannon, opening the door for all of them. “Staci, Ikram, first shift. Sayan and Thandie, my office to go over your schedule.”

  Everyone said, “Yes, Sir.” Danny nearly did, but he just followed Staci and Ikram into the small conference room. He was scheduled for desert four-wheeling, and was looking forward to it.

  They stood at parade rest in front of Bannon’s desk. “I don’t care what you do off hours, as long as there’s no permanent injury.”

  Star fought to control her face. The headboard had a gouge that hadn’t been there before. That’s probably permanent, she thought. No, semi-permanent. Can sand it down and repaint.

  Bannon smiled. “Both of you acted to protect the principal. You did it on camera, by the book, and Sayan, you survived police custody. Two thousand dollars was paid into each of your accounts this morning. Now, go and serve and protect our clients.”

  “Sir, yes Sir!” said both of them, simultaneously.

  “Dismissed,” said Bannon. They filed out.

  Bannon put them on swiper duty, changing the codes on all the employee cards, something done every other day. He also had them scan any documents not already scanned, which weren’t many. Bannon despised paper. He then had them take a child to school.

  Little Daisy was a rock god’s child, and her driver was sick. The school had the children of diplomats and major players, and they had their own on-campus security. They then got to pick up Danny from off-roading, and take him skydiving. They all loved it. Their instructor was a former Marine, and he got a kick out of watching professionals jump while simultaneously protecting a target. No one shot at Danny for the rest of the day.

  Bannon spoke to the Chief of Police Medwin Murata, and discovered that the hit woman had been hired by a business rival of Danny’s, as they had suspected. A company named 3D4Mi had been developing a similar process to Danny’s, and it was partial fury at being bested, and rivalry, and fears he would develop something just as amazing —and smash their company into the ground. The CFO had hired
it done. Bannon promised to inform Danny, and explained that, yes, protection would continue until he got onto a plane, if he so desired.

  Bannon informed Danny when he got back, on yet another adrenaline high, after jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. “I got an idea, in the air,” said Danny. “Flying above the sky. Ultralight metals, you know. And heat-resistant ceramics.” He chuckled. “I’ve decided that I can’t retire. I’ve gotta do better than those guys who tried to off me.” He laughed. “Develop something, then take my Harley and my money and go somewhere awesome again. This is the best damn vacation I’ve ever had.”

  “Glad you’re enjoying it,” said Bannon. “Do you wish to continue protection?”

  “Of course!” said Danny. “They weren’t the only company with a bead on me. Love the ones with me. Especially Thandie and Sayan. They have eyes everywhere.”

  “Want to go to a pool tournament at Caesar’s tonight after a motorcycle ride around Red Rock?” asked Bannon, shutting off his computer. He’d work well into the night, but he could work from home.

  “Let’s do it,” said Danny, standing up.

  “See you in about four minutes,” said Bannon.

  He dressed in his own private washroom, and sent his suit to be dry cleaned. His admin changed them out with fresh suits every day; a Wolfpack member was the runner for their dry cleaning. He changed into black jeans, leaving on his black top and putting his black boots back on. He put on his vented motorcycle jacket, and stepped out of his office.

  Bannon locked the office. “Day shift, Red Rock ride followed by a pool tournament at Caesar’s, dinner on me. Swing, have at it.”

  Sixteen men and women surrounded Danny and Bannon. Richland locked up and followed. They got on their bikes, and Bannon led the way to Charleston, then out to Red Rock. The light was still strong on that summer night, the wind warm on their faces. They rode the curves, watching the mountains go by in all their glory, from red to gold, sand to ocher. They screamed into the wind, and rocked out to tunes. They had to tell Danny to cool his jets; his bike took off faster than theirs, and he needed to be in the middle of the pack. They sent some of them on ahead, and let him let out the throttle on a straightaway, whooping and hollering. They put on some Aerosmith, and dreamed on, taking the curves low. Bannon pulled in front, and led them to Parker’s, a high-class steak and seafood house. They had grilled steak and shrimp, the non-cow-eaters sticking to seafood. They drank red wine and lemon water, and talked about their day, careful to use no names or identifying characteristics in front of Danny.