by Chiah Wilder
“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.
“I’m good,” Flux replied.
Club girls. Puck was right about how they knew how to make a biker feel like he was a damn king. Flux had loved all the attention they’d given him, and before he’d married, he loved all the fucking he could do with so many different women—it’d blown his mind. But not anymore. The only woman he wanted to be inside of was Maggie, and the realization of that startled him.
“What’s with the fuckin’ monk act?” Throttle handed Flux another glass of Jack filled to the brim.
“Maybe more whiskey will loosen the pipes,” Rags added as the others whistled and laughed.
“I’m just tense is all. Seeing those fuckin’ Pistons took me by surprise.” He took a sip. There was no way in hell he was telling the guys about Duchess. He didn’t need their ribbing, and he didn’t need to be reminded that he was acting like a damn wuss over her.
“Swearing off pussy? Now I’m fuckin’ concerned, bro.” Throttle clapped him on the back so hard that the blow stuttered through his jaw and down into his toes before he grunted and shook off the attention.
“No way. I get enough on the road. Chicks love a man with a cut and a Harley.”
“Fucking amen.” Smokey lifted up the beer bottle.
“I’d love to keep chatting like we’re in some fuckin’ sewing circle, but I gotta talk to Hawk. Is he around?” Flux put down his empty glass and pushed away from the bar.
“In his office,” Throttle replied. “We’re gonna have church once Banger gets here.”
“I’ll see you in a few,” Flux said as he walked out of the main room.
He knocked roughly on the vice president’s door until Hawk called out and told him to come in. Flux opened the door and closed it behind him.
“You got here early.” Hawk blew out a thick cloud of smoke and tossed a joint at Flux. “Banger’s stuck and can’t get here until late, so he wants us to proceed without him. I’ll go round up the brothers—it’s church time.”
Flux tucked the joint in the pocket of his cut and followed Hawk out of the room. Soon, all the members sat around a large table in the conference room. Flux tipped the folding chair against the wall and closed his eyes. Surrounded by his brothers in their sacred space, Flux could almost forget the horrors of his past—due to the simple fact that he was where he’d always felt the most comfortable—with the Insurgents. But there were shadows beating on the doors of his subconscious, everywhere he looked in the clubhouse. A small smile whispered across his lips as he remembered Alicia and him fucking on this very table. If Banger had known, his ass would’ve gotten a beatdown, but Alicia had loved the excitement of doing something that was so taboo in the biker world. You could be so fuckin’ crazy, babe. The memory made him grimace, and he put his head in his hands.
“Church is now starting.” Hawk knocked the gavel against the wood block on the table. “You all know we got a damn problem with the fuckin’ Pistons. Flux spotted them in Kremmling and he’s here to tell us what the fuck he found out.” Hawk jerked his head at him. “The floor’s yours, brother.”
Flux shook away the cobwebs from his mind and rose to his feet. It didn’t take him long to establish the situation. Satan’s Pistons were selling on the Insurgents’ home turf without an agreement, which was a major breech of respect. The rival club was selling to locals as well as out-of-towners, which could bring danger to the Insurgents MC if someone accidentally overdosed and word got back to the damn badges. The Insurgents had a tenuous relationship with the badges to keep hard drugs out of their territory and the badges would look the other way on some of the shit the MC pulled. The Night Rebels, the Insurgents’ affiliate MC in southern Colorado, had the same type of relationship with the badges in their county. The fact that the Pistons had set up shop in the same county where the Insurgents national headquarters was, opened up a ton of headaches and potential problems for the MC. The fact that they were being disrespected by the fucking Satan’s Pistons took their rage to a whole new level.
“This isn’t something we’re gonna stand for. I don’t even think we need a vote, am I right?” Hawk asked.
There were various grunts and yells and curses of outrage around the table.
“The dirty rotten bastards are gonna pay for their disrespect!” Wheelie said while pounding his fist on the table.
“Damn straight,” Axe added.
“Steel wants a part of this too,” Jax said. The president of the Night Rebels MC had an ongoing feud with the Pistons.
“We’re gonna show them what happens to fuckers who disrespect us and try to set up shop in our county.” Smokey crossed his arms over his broad chest.
“When are we gonna show them who’s boss?” Animal gritted.
“We’re gonna handle this situation quickly, quietly, and with as little mess as possible while still sending a blunt fucking message,” Hawk replied.
Flux cracked his knuckles and leaned back in his seat, hands behind his head. “Are some of the Night Rebels gonna help us out?”
“Diablo, Steel, Army, Goldie, Muerto, and Sangre are on the way as we speak. They’ll stand by us. Our Colorado Springs chapter is ready to jump in too, but I think we can handle the pussies on our own.” Hawk steepled his fingers. “How many fuckers are in Kremmling?”
“I only saw three but there were six bikes out in the parking lot,” Flux replied.
“Sounds like we got enough back up,” Rock said.
“Yeah … Banger wants me, Rock, Throttle, Smokey, Animal, Wheelie, Jerry, Hubcap, and Tank to go. With the Night Rebels and Flux, we should be good. We should head out first thing in the morning and handle this shit before it gets even more out of hand. Of course, we’re gonna kick their asses in the dark of night—we don’t need witnesses or fuckin’ badges interfering. We’ll get a lay of the land and what the situation is all about. We’ll take our cages and get dressed like fuckin’ rodeo dudes.” Hawk’s last words got a rise out of the members and they guffawed and joked about looking like cowboys.
Flux cleared his throat. “No offense, but there’s no fuckin’ way any of you are gonna pass for rodeo spectators. I suggest a couple of you hang out in the stands, but if you all come it’ll totally tip the fuckin’ Pistons off.”
“I didn’t mean for all of us to show up in a group,” Hawk said, shaking his head. “We got this under control, dude. If there isn’t anything else, then church is over. Don’t get fuckin’ wasted tonight. We gotta bring all we got tomorrow.”
The strike of the gavel signaled church had ended. Chairs scraped against the concrete floor and the members shuffled out of the room and headed to the main part of the clubhouse.
Flux stood up and stretched as he looked at the departing members. A tremor of something like grief, but deeper, squeezed tight in his chest. He massaged his hand over his heart.
“You good?” Hawk bent down and took a beer out of the mini-refrigerator then handed it to him.
Flux downed it in three long pulls.
“More?”
“No, that’s good,” Flux replied.
Hawk nodded, and Flux glanced around and saw that they were the only two still left. He looked down and then back up again. He had a sinking suspicion that shit was about to get real between them. But anyone would be a fucking fool not to notice the signs of the siren’s call working its way through his bloodstream, the lifestyle flaring back to the forefront of his brain.
“You know, you can only fuckin’ deny it for so long, bro.” Hawk’s penetrating stare bored into him. “Eventually all that shit you got buried will eat you alive if you let it.”
Flux grunted.
“I know going nomad was good for you.” Hawk took a gulp of beer. “Is all that shit inside you still fuckin’ with you?”
“Yeah, but it’s not as strong
as it was.”
“Good to hear that. You needed a fuckin’ break, but we need you back as an active member. Seems like being on the road’s helped you deal with all that tragic bullshit that went down with your family.”
Again, Flux grunted, knowing that only one thing had helped him. Maggie.
“Think on it. It’ll be good for you to be back with your MC and riding with us.”
“Yeah.” Being back for just a few hours showed Flux how much he missed the camaraderie and belonging to something so real and so loyal.
The rattle of glass against metal jarred him, and he looked up as Hawk turned away from the trash can.
“You staying the night?”
Flux shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I’m heading out. I have to pick up my kids from day camp.”
“How’re they doing? And how’s your old lady?”
Hawk chuckled. “The kids are ornery as fuck, and Cara’s busting at the seams with our third kid.”
Flux heard the love and pride in the vice president’s voice, and for a split second, he regretted his nomad life, but he pushed down the feelings and smiled. “When’s the due date?”
“In a month.”
“Congratulations. You gonna have a boy or girl?”
“Boy.” Hawk walked toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning. If you go back tonight, lay low and watch your fuckin’ back.” With a lift of his chin, Hawk walked out of the room.
Flux stared out the window at the Rocky Mountains, remembering how many times he’d ridden around the back roads with Alicia pressed against him. Then Maggie’s face filled his mind and he wished like hell she was with him now so he could take her on a ride to Crystal Lake and they could screw under the tall fir trees. Maggie was slowly chiseling away at the armor around his heart. She was patching up the leak that created the nightmares from the past in his brain. A part of him mourned the dissipation of pain because it had been his way of life for so long, but another part rejoiced in the freedom of letting it go.
Duchess, I fuckin’ miss you.
Flux walked into the main room and joined Rags, Smokey, Tank, Animal, and Hubcap at the bar. Without asking, the prospect placed a bottle of beer and a shot of Jack in front of him. He picked up the shot, clinked glasses with his brothers, and let the liquid slide down his throat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Maggie
“What’re you doing?” Maggie hissed at her phone, devoid of messages before she shook it angrily and stuffed it back in her pocket. Normally she didn’t get bent out of shape if she didn’t see a man she was dating for more than a week, but no matter how hard she focused on other things, all she could think about was Flux. Why the hell don’t you call me? Maggie had scoured the motel parking lot and the fairgrounds, but he was nowhere to be found, and he hadn’t answered any of her texts in the past several hours. While she was independent and he had a reputation for being elusive, after what they’d shared in Tucson, she had every right to think he would text her back in a timely manner so she could make sure he was okay. His motorcycle was gone too, which made her stomach drop whenever the notion of him being in an accident crossed her mind.
Maybe he doesn’t think he owes me an explanation as to where he is. Maggie shook her head. The truth was pretty evident. Every time they made forward strides in their arrangement, which had evolved into so much more on her end, Flux freaked the hell out, or at least that’s how it appeared to her. She didn’t know if she could handle hiding the growing feelings she had for him—not when they must be obvious as hell. There was no way Flux could really think what they had together was casual—but then she hadn’t heard anything from him.
He was baffling. One second he was shoving his deepest, darkest secrets at her, and the next, he was either retreating emotionally or physically as if she’d hurt him. And that was the last thing she ever wanted to do to him. Maggie bit the inside of her cheek and leaned against Odysseus’s stall. She hated the fact that his absence was starting to affect her performance. As much as she hated to admit it, her barrel racing career wasn’t her only concern anymore. She’d let Flux in and she’d never felt such need or want for another man as she did for the biker.
The way Flux looked at her was as if he never wanted anything or anyone else but her. It was intense and humbling all at the same time. Maggie knew he treated her differently than the other women he’d been with, mostly because they were one-night stands, but also because a few of his hookups who worked the backstage circuit had gone out of their way to talk to her about him.
Some of them were well-meaning and sweet, others were bitter and sad, still others were pitying their time with Flux. But with rumors spreading like wildfire, there was no doubt in Maggie’s mind that they all shared a common thread—no one got more than a night with the guy. After that, he booted their asses to the curb the second he was done with them.
A few of them had asked what new moves Maggie had tried on Flux to get him to stick around and she’d shut them down pretty damn hard. That was absolutely no one’s business. Besides, if she knew why Flux was still sticking around, other than for the amazing sex, she’d have a few of the answers she was looking for herself. And yet, here she was with him pulling back again. He’s ignoring me. Oh, Flux. Damn you!
Maggie sighed and closed her eyes. Despite everything, and regardless of how logical she tried to be about things, she’d gone and fallen in love with him. Stupid move on her part, but it wasn’t anything she’d planned. Actually, Maggie had gone out of her way to convince herself he was just very good at scratching an itch without any emotional attachment. What a fool I’ve been. She’d been hoping that Flux felt the same way about her, but that’d clearly been a delusion and nothing more on her part since he didn’t give enough of a shit to let her know that he was all right.
Her phone went off and she dug in her pocket, nearly dropping it as she fumbled to the main screen.
Flux: With friends. Won’t be back ’til the morning.
Curt, short, and straight to the point. Damn it, what was wrong with him? Why was he so hot and cold?
Maggie: What the hell? Where r u?
Flux: I told you—with friends.
She groaned in exasperation.
Maggie: R u in Pinewood Springs?
A long pause.
Flux: Yeah. Gotta go.
“Fuck you!” Maggie said out loud as she shoved the phone back in her jeans pocket. Licks of anger made her tremble, and she needed a place where she could be alone to clear her head. If anyone saw her face now, they’d immediately know the deal. She was never a good poker player and word was all across camp that she and Flux had a thing. The last thing she needed was a bunch of bullshit questions about what was wrong and where was Flux.
Maggie glanced at the big clock above the stands and saw that she didn’t have time to go back to the motel and veg for a bit. Deciding to go to the backrooms where employees went to screw, Maggie stalked down the hallway as she pushed down the well of unspoken feelings that beat against her ribcage. She pushed open a door and burst in on what looked like a meeting of some kind.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” she sputtered, looking at the circle of men, one of whom was holding a prescription bottle in one hand and a boatload of syringes in the other.
The guy wore a biker vest, was tall as a redwood tree, and looked ready to kill. Maggie had no doubt in her split-second assessment that he wouldn’t hesitate to fuck up her day or slit her throat for what she was witnessing at that moment.
“What the fuck are you doing in here, Princess?” the biker growled. “Go the fuck back to where you belong.”
But Maggie stood like a statue with her mouth opening and closing while she digested the biker and Chet, who was standing next to Eddie.
“What the fuck?” Chet lunged forward and Eddie grabbed him by the arm.
It was enough of a distraction that when she heard more footsteps coming up from behind her in the hallway, she whirled
around to them. With any luck, they wouldn’t be an enemy. Maggie fumbled out of the doorway then slammed the door behind her before she started down the hall at a fast jog.
She heard a door jerk open behind her but didn’t glance back. Any kind of pause would be the difference between danger and safety; she instinctively knew that with an absolute certainty.
“Oh fuck,” she cried out, startled as she ran headlong into Jack, one of the rodeo clowns, who was leading a girl by the hand.
“I’m sorry. Hi … uh, I’m just going to … uh—”
“I didn’t see you, Jack. Sorry. I’m off to the stables.” Maggie pointed past him down the hallway and tried to move around them, but froze in her tracks when a light whisper brushed against the back of her neck and she sensed another warm body at her back. All of the hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. She bit back a whimper and brought her hands into fists at her sides.
“Don’t think I’m letting this go, bitch. You’ll pay for putting your fucking nose where it doesn’t belong,” Chet said in a low voice that was almost a growl.
His words made her whole body go numb, but she was sure Chet had a smile plastered on his face so that if Jack noticed him, all he’d see was a rekindle of Chet and Maggie’s old flame. Certainly nothing dangerous.
“It’s okay, Maggie. I’ll see you later.” Jack dodged around her with a nod. “Hey Chet, you’re back here too, huh? Guess the rooms are getting used up pretty good.” Jack snickered.
Maggie didn’t wait to hear Chet’s answer before she flew down the hallway with only a little bit of regret that the asshole saw her flee from him in fear—again. But if it was going to come down to her safety and her pride, it was no contest.
It wasn’t until Maggie was outside that the rest of what she’d just witnessed came back in stark clarity. If only I could rewind all this and never have gone into that damn room. Covering her mouth, Maggie tried to take it easy as she power-walked across the parking lot. The last thing she wanted was to look too suspicious in case anyone came out with a mind to silence her before she had the chance to tell Charlie what she’d seen.