It’d been a week since the rodeo had ended in Tucson, and he and Maggie had gone their separate ways, promising to meet up in Kremmling. She’d invited Flux to come to Greeley with her to spend a few days on her family’s ranch, but he wasn’t into meeting parents and getting the third degree, so he declined. But stepping inside his motel room, he wished like hell Maggie was with him, and he couldn’t wait until he heard the hum of her pickup’s V-8 engine as it pulled into the parking lot.
Flux threw his bag on the bed and lit up a joint. It’d been a while since he’d been back in Colorado, and the cool air blowing in through the open door felt good after the stifling heat of Tucson. The only thing missing is Duchess. Fuck.
Leaning against the doorway, he stared at the rippling waters of the Blue River that cut through the town. After spending all their days and nights together in Arizona, being without Maggie for the past seven days was damn hard, and every inch of him felt the fucking loss. Yeah, Flux was more than ready to get his hands on Duchess again.
He inhaled deeply then slowly blew out. He’d had sexual droughts before, but never for longer than forty-eight hours over the past year and a half while his grief had been especially hard to tame. Now that grief wasn’t his main motivator, his feelings were even harder to hang up and ignore than they’d been before, because it seemed like Flux was feeling things all the damn time. The fucking floodgates were open and a part of him would give anything to dam them up. Before, his life had been a steady flow of predictability and pain, with chasers of drugs, booze, and one nighters to numb things up nice and good. Now? A whirlwind of emotions swirled inside him like he was on some fucking out of control Tilt-A-Whirl ride.
Flux raked his fingers through his hair. It’d been a long time since he’d missed someone, not since … Alicia. Fuck no—I’m not going there. He flicked the blunt on the ground and smothered it out with the toe of his boots. Damn this woman. Since he’d met Maggie, he’d been breaking his cardinal rules all over the place and paying for it every time he scanned the lot for Duchess’s truck. Whenever he’d turned into the dirt lot in Tucson and saw the cherry-red pickup, it’d immediately put a dumbass grin on his face. I’m fuckin’ hopeless—a damn lost cause when it came to Maggie and wanting to hear her voice, to smell her skin, and taste her on his lips.
Flux shut the door behind him and headed out to the rodeo setup to check out the stalls and tack area. I need to get my shit together. If he didn’t get his feelings on lockdown, there was no way he would be able to make Maggie think things were still nothing but casual fucking between friends. But it sure as hell didn’t feel casual between us in Arizona. And the way she’d pretended not to cry when they parted ways after the rodeo made him think they’d crossed over the friends-with-benefits line a while back.
Flux killed the engine, hopped off his bike, and made his way to the fairgrounds. Once there, he made a quick, brisk walk through the area, noting that Maggie didn’t seem to be anywhere, and he ignored the disappointment that wrapped around him. Fuck that. The screech of wheels exploded behind him and he spun around and saw Chet kicking up dust with his truck. Loud country music blared from the open windows, and Flux turned around and walked toward the back area, wanting to avoid a confrontation with the cowboy. Flux had narrowly escaped getting canned after he beat the pussy’s ass in Tucson, and if Maggie hadn’t pleaded his case with Charlie, Flux would’ve lost about two grand in wages.
He pivoted outside of the stables, and his brain tracked something out of the corner of his right eye. Something shiny. Flux spun around and his gaze landed on a row of Harleys, six of them. What the fuck? It was damn surprising to see any biker at a rodeo, no matter how slow of a night it might be … but six?
A shuffle of footsteps made Flux hustle away behind one of the stalls, and he watched as a tall, lanky dude in jeans and a leather cut walked over to one of the bikes. The biker had a wrench in his hand and he knelt down and started fussing with the rear axle nut. The guy stood up and turned around then bent over one of the saddle bags. It was at that moment when Flux’s eyes widened and his initial surprise morphed into a scowl as soon as his gaze fell on the dude’s cut and MC patch—Satan’s Pistons, Arizona. All the small hairs on Flux’s neck stood on end. There was no fucking way the rival club’s assholes were here to take in dinner and a goddamn rodeo show. Something’s not right.
Flux ducked back into the stalls so the fucker wouldn’t see him, and as he walked to the far back area of the ring, his gaze darted around just to make sure none of the other assholes were about. He stepped into a small room at the end of the twist of hallways, fished out his burner phone, then punched in Hawk’s number. Flux thrummed his fingers against his thigh as he waited for the VP to pick up.
“Hey, bro. Where the hell are you?” Hawk’s deep voice rumbled through the phone.
“In Kremmling. I’m still on the fuckin’ rodeo circuit.”
“I didn’t know they had rodeos there.”
“Well, you’re not exactly in on the rodeo grapevine.” Flux chuckled.
“Yeah, I don’t even know what the hell they’re about.” Hawk laughed.
“Right, so why the fuck do you think six Satan’s Pistons would have their fuckin’ asses here in this tiny-ass town? I saw six of their damn bikes in the rodeo lot. My gut’s telling me this shit stinks real bad.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a long pause. “What the fuck? Those assholes are in Colorado?”
“And at the rodeo. See why I’m calling?”
“Yeah. Those fuckers are up to something on our turf. Banger’s outta town with Belle and the kids, but I’ll give him a call. I’ll call Steel too. The Night Rebels practically annihilated the fuckin’ Pistons last year. Steel’s not gonna be too happy to hear they’re back and pulling shit.”
“I’m not sure what the hell they got going on with the rodeo, but I’ll keep a tight eye on that shit and see what I can find out.” Flux cracked open the door and his gaze swept up and down the aisle, double-checking for anything off.
“Can you get your ass to Pinewood tonight?” Tension etched Hawk’s voice.
“Yeah. I’ll head over as soon as I get a chance after the show tonight. Cool?”
“Yep. See you then, bro. Watch your back.”
“Always.” Flux coughed and crossed his arm, staring off into the distance as the silence between them spread thick. “I was gonna tell you I was back in Colorado—”
“Don’t start with the mushy shit, dude.” Hawk cleared his throat. “It’s good to have you back.”
“Yeah,” Flux answered gruffly, his throat choked with emotion.
Neither man didn’t get to say anything else because Hawk terminated the call, and Flux stared at the small burner in his palm. His fingers clenched hard around it until the parts bit into his palms from the pressure, and he was forced to let it go or crush the thing into bits.
Not until that moment had he realized how much he missed his brothers and the club life. How the Insurgents were still his home. It’s been too long. The thought was sobering while he stood in the middle of the empty room blinking into space. Flux really thought he’d left all his good emotions behind after the murder of his family, and he never expected to feel this way about anything or anyone again. But without missing a beat, his heart yearned for his club. He wanted more than anything to hop on his bike and head over to Pinewood Springs. He chuckled thinking of the looks on the members’ faces when he strutted inside the clubhouse. There’d be a kickass party in his honor without a doubt, and Rosie would definitely make a beeline for him. But the only one I want wrapped around me is Duchess. Fuck, if he got any sappier, he’d have to sign up for a role in one of those Lifetime movies Maggie watched.
Flux rolled his shoulders and pocketed the phone. Now was the fun part. Playing it cool and acting like nothing was doing while not letting the rival MC get a whiff that he was sniffing around them. Plus, he still had a full rodeo set to work tonight.
During the steer wrestling competition was as good a time as any to root things out and see if he could find out why the fucking Pistons were in Insurgents’ territory.
Flux shrugged off his cut and folded it carefully. For a while he had to be just one of the rodeo hands and not an Insurgent. He opened the door and strode down the hallway toward his locker.
* * *
An hour later and Flux was finished setting up the area he was in charge of. He’d broken down and sent Maggie a text asking where the hell she was, and she sent back some smiley faces and told him she was running late but would be there in a few. Elation at seeing her again battled with anger at having contacted her first like some lovesick pussy. Before he could figure out what the hell was going on with him, he heard several sets of footfalls behind him. Without turning around, he stepped aside, and three Pistons shoved passed him.
“Stay outta the fuckin’ way, cowboy,” one of them snarled as they kept stalking toward the back of the fairgrounds.
Flux was amused for a split second that the fucker would mistake him for a cowboy. He waited until they disappeared before he followed their footsteps, which led him to the normally empty backrooms in the rodeo that some of the staff occasionally used to have illicit hookups. Each rodeo had rooms in the back for the performers to relax between shows or decompress before they had to go on, but more times than not, they were used to fuck buckle bunnies or carry out clandestine affairs. A few times, Flux had walked in on the married owners’ of various rodeos banging one of the secretaries or a sweet young thing. So why the hell are the Pistons in this part of the arena? He doubted that they came all this way for a quick fuck.
Flux quietly walked down the narrow, dimly lit, and abandoned hallway. The Pistons must’ve gone into one of the rooms. It was like some cop show or some shit. All he needed was freaky, stressful piano music. A majority of the doors were wide open, but the first closed one Flux came upon, he heard plenty of grunting and moaning so he knew what was going down in there.
The next closed door was still the slightest bit open, as if someone had closed it so quickly, it didn’t have time to latch. Without any hesitation, Flux saddled on up to it and put his ear to the slight space.
“… you would pay premium for this kind of juice anywhere else, but since you’re repeat customers, I’m willing to knock a little off.”
Flux’s entire body tightened as he listened to the same Piston’s voice who’d cursed him just a while before. The fucker kept extolling why he was peddling his shit at the rodeo, and Flux put two and two together all kinds of quick: they were juicing the damn bulls. No wonder the one that came after him in Tucson had Hulk tendencies. Bigger bulls meant better performances, which meant better shows, which meant more bets and, ultimately, more fucking cash in the riders’ and bull owners’ pockets. A little under-the-table deal or two didn’t hurt the damn profit margins.
White-hot anger shot through him and he willed himself to stay put and not barge into the room and beat the shit out of the three fuckers. Play it cool. Detach your emotions from what’s going on. You’re here to get info to give to the club. He inhaled and exhaled several times then focused back on what was going down in the room.
“Same stuff? No bullshit? It’ll make him grow even bigger?” Another, higher-pitched voice broke out, and Flux recognized it as Eddie’s—one of the owners of several top-rated bulls. It was one of his who practically gored Flux in Tucson.
The veins in Flux’s temples throbbed. Play it cool, dude!
A tall, built biker with long black hair moved to the side, and Flux could read the patch on the front of his cut: “Demon.” President.
“The fucker’ll look like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Vin Diesel combined. Should make you some serious money,” Demon said as he rocked back on the heels of his boots.
Flux moved away from the door since the asshole had stepped in his line of vision. He plastered his back against the wall behind him, his pulse pounding out of his skull as he fought to hear what else was going down in that room.
“Yeah, we want it to go down just like in Tucson, except I don’t want to be on the fucking bull. That would be ideal,” Chet drawled, his accent a little more nasal after getting his nose bashed in by Flux’s fists.
Flux wiped the corners of his mouth. Of course, that fucker’s a part of this scheme. What about this shit wasn’t up the asshole’s alley? Chet was a greedy, no-morals pussy who had to feed bulls steroids as a way to make himself feel like a man. Flux had heard the talk among the women staffers about Chet’s lack of prowess between the sheets. It had only reinforced what Flux had already thought about the lame ass excuse for a man.
“You got anything else that we talked about for my uh, performance?” Chet asked.
If the guy was buying Viagra, Flux was going to lose it and blow his entire cover.
“We got plenty of Adderall. No need to get the shakes on me. We’re delivering some premium grade shit to some of our customers, too, mostly meth, if that strikes your fancy, pretty boy,” Demon said, irritation creeping into his voice.
“No, the pills are fine,” Chet croaked.
“That’s right, I figured you weren’t one for the hard stuff.” The three Pistons laughed.
Flux blew out a long, silent breath and tried his best to contain the need to bust into the room and rearrange Chet’s face all over again. Clearly the bastard didn’t learn his lesson. He doubted a second beatdown would make things any simpler for him either. There was the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the distance, and Flux ducked into the nearest empty open room, shutting the door behind him.
As soon as the footfalls died away again, Flux made his way to Charlie’s office and told him he was sicker than hell and blamed it on the chili he’d eaten the night before. Since he’d never called off work before, Charlie believed him—hook, line, and sinker—and told him to take the night off.
Flux scanned the parking lot again, hoping to see Maggie’s truck, but it wasn’t there. There was no way he could wait for her to show up, club business took precedence, so he revved up his bike then hauled ass out of the parking lot and drove like a bat out of hell to Pinewood Springs. The shit that Satan’s Pistons were doing in Colorado was totally unacceptable, and it would change the entire underworld landscape of his club. As he put miles between the rodeo … and Maggie, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that nothing was more important than the Insurgents.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Flux
When Flux arrived in the parking lot of the Insurgents’ clubhouse, he checked his phone and saw that Maggie had left a simple message asking him if he was doing okay. He tried to remember the stupid, light-headed-bitch-boy glow the text gave him as he headed into the clubhouse to piss all over everyone’s parade with the news about the damn Satan’s Pistons selling dope in Insurgents’ territory. More than anything, he wanted to text her back. His fingers were practically itching with the need, but he knew she’d have a slew of questions, and there was nothing he could share with her about any of this since it was club business.
Three other texts came in right as he was about to open the door to the clubhouse. Flux’s mouth went into a grim line and he switched his phone to silent before stuffing it into his pocket. The second he was out of there, Maggie would know it. That was a promise, but at the moment, he needed to keep his shit screwed on tight and help out his brothers—that took priority. Flux squared himself up, pushed through into the clubhouse, and smiled when the familiar smells wrapped around him: weed, booze, and pussy. I’m home.
“Fuck! Is that you, Flux?” Throttle asked as he slipped off the bar stool and strode over to him.
“Who else were you expecting?” Flux joked as he let Throttle pull him into a bear hug.
“Hawk said you’d be here tonight. Damn, it’s good to see you, bro. How’ve you been?”
Flux followed Throttle to the bar and picked up the shot of Jack that stood waiting for him. He threw back the whiskey, wincing
as it burned down his throat. Several members seated around the club’s tables jumped up and came over to greet him as if he’d come back from the dead. Everyone wanted a hug—including a few of the club girls, who rubbed all up on him like he was a fucking corn cob and they were a stick of butter. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rosie crossing the room, her low-cut top leaving little to the imagination. Flux lifted his chin at the prospect who put down another whiskey neat in front of him.
“Long time no see.” Rosie’s sultry voice washed over him as the strong floral scent of her perfume wisped around him.
Flux took a step back and Rosie’s hand fell from his forearm. “Yeah … how’ve you been?”
“Okay. How long are you here for?” She took a step toward him.
Flux took another one backward. “Just today.”
“Too bad.” She ran her fingernail down his black T-shirt. “You’re looking real good, Flux.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled then picked up the glass and brought it to his lips.
“Go on and get outta here, Rosie. We got shit to discuss with Flux,” Smokey said as he came up beside him.
Rosie nodded then leaned into Flux. “Later,” she whispered in his ear then sauntered away.
“She’s got the best damn fucking ass,” Smokey said.
“What about Tania?” Animal asked as he sidled up to the bar. “You don’t know Tania,” he said to Flux. “She’s been with the club for a year now. Damn, is she hot.”
“But Rosie’s still got the best ass.” Smokey brought the beer bottle to his mouth.
No, Duchess has. She’s got the best of everything.
“You can get some sweetness later,” Rock said. The sergeant-at-arms clasped Flux’s shoulder. “Good to see you again, bro.”
“You too,” Flux answered.
“Maybe he can have a quickie. I bet you’re tired of those rodeo bitches. You need a club girl who knows how to please a biker,” Puck said, and the other men guffawed.
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