Page 19

Tank

I mount Winnie and wait for my signal to roll out, at the backs of my brothers. Marx raises his fist and the roar of our motorcycles wakes up the night, a low rumble like thunder as we idle. My Pres raises his finger in the air and circles it. One by one we pull out, heading toward Roxburgh and the little pissant that needs to be taught a lesson. Don’t fuck with the DRMC.

A little down the road we see the signs of where Jimmy was hit, the rubber of his tyres staining the road, a mirror lying broken to the side where he said he came off his bike for a moment. I’m amazed the kid had the speed and strength to get back on it and back to the safety of the clubhouse.

My brothers and I hold our fists up as we drive past, and we all speed up a little, eager to get our hands on the little scumbag that Whitney’s fucking. I mull over the facts in my mind again, how coincidental it all is. If I had a brain like Chewy’s I’d be able to calculate the odds of Mira’s stalker and our ex-bunny crossing paths, but I don’t. I only have my brain and my brain and my gut is telling me something else is going on. I turn the facts over in my mind as I ride, the vibrations of Winnie beneath me and the wind in my hair helping me on a physiological level. My shoulders lower, my breathing steady, any tension gone from my body and lulling me.

“Roman.”

“What’s that brother?” Judge’s voice comes through over the bluetooth in my helmet.

With what happened to Jimmy, Marx insisted we wear helmets tonight. We’re also strapped into some fucking fancy ballistic shirts that are lined with kevlar on the front, back and sides. Thanks to Tombs Security, we’re fucking bulletproof.

“Sorry brother, just thinking some shit through,” I tell Judge.

“Is Roman the answer or the problem?”

“Don’t know. Maybe both.”

Judge doesn’t answer, but I notice him pull closer to the group, tightening up our ranks, I follow lead and in a tight unit we navigate the streets of Roxburgh until we’re parked outside of Spinners, the neon sign casting the street with a pink glow. Jules parks his SUV behind us, having come with us because Chewy needed her “special things”.

“I feel like I’m going to catch something in there,” Rider gripes.

“What are you talking about? This place was ranked ‘No. 1 Strip Club in 2004’ according to the sign,” Nitro points out, trying hard to hold his laughter.

The SUV door opens and Chewy’s booted feet dangle for a moment before she drops down out of the vehicle into the street. She leans into the open door, messing around with something. She pulls back with her goddamn gator in her arms.

I’m used to seeing him strapped to Rhodie’s chest or in the stroller Chewy uses. He has fucked up feet so walking isn’t so great for him, but I know he’s been doing rehab. We all know because Rhodie and his Ol Lady won’t stop updating us. He’s also usually dressed in some weird ass outfit, but tonight he’s in a black harness with a spiked lead that Chewy has a hold of.

“Is it me or does Chomper look a fuckton bigger than usual?” Dex murmurs.

“Nah, he definitely looks bigger,” Savage replies.

“That’s because this isn’t Chomper. This is Gretchen,” Chewy states, like we should all know that.

“Who the fuck is Gretchen?”

“The Landrys female gator,” she answers like that’s obvious.

Jules sighs, “The Landrys brought her with them. It’s gator mating season. She’s popular, being fucked too often. That answer your questions?”

“Not really,” Rider says under his breath, but judging by Jules’s face the conversation is over.

Without another word Marx leads the way. The security on the door stares at us as we walk past, whispering something into his sleeve, then looking panicked as Chewy in her long leather coat slowly leads Gretchen past, a huge smile on her face. No doubt with that entrance we’ll be meeting Big D real soon. Stepping into the dimly lit club, I’m assaulted by non stop bass being pumped through the speakers, the neon lights bouncing off the shiny bar in the corner. The place is packed. At least three different stag nights seem to be crammed in here. The girls on stage and working the crowd all have glassy eyes, look incredibly thin, and at least four of them look young. Too young.

“What is this fucker into?” I mutter to myself.

“We’ll soon find out,” Jules answers, nodding toward the behemoth making his way to Marx.

Three other men dressed in cheap suits surround our group although I note the ones near Chewy keep their distance. Flanking our sides and back they usher us through to a weirdass function room, a single table set up in the middle with Big D front and center.

“The D. R. M. C.” Big D says, sounding out each letter as if he just learned to read. “You come to do business?” He takes a long drag of the joint that’s been flapping around in his mouth.

He taps something in his lap, and Whitney climbs out from under the table, hair a mess, saliva and god knows what else all smeared across her face. She plops down in Big D’s lap, whispering in his ear, and running her fingers through his greasy, lank hair. Marx gives her a look that would send a grown man running, but all she does is lick her pumped up lips and bat her eyelashes. Marx ignores her, walking closer to the table they’re sitting at, kicking out a chair and lowering his bulk into it.

“You clearly don’t know us if you think we’d ever do business with fucking scum like you,” Marx answers in a bored tone.

Big D smiles. Which is a reaction I didn’t expect. Usually jacked up little shitheads like Big D jump straight to anger when they feel like they’re being belittled. His reaction has me shifting slightly.

“Oh, I know all about the little Devil’s Rose MC.” He takes another long toke, blowing the smoke in Marx’s direction. “Marx Paxton, eldest son of Mad Dog Paxton. Momma was a whore who ran away and left her little boy all alone. Awww.” He pokes his bottom lip out with a pout. “It wasn’t til Rhodie’s momma came along that you got any real type of love.”

Marx gives nothing away, not outwardly, but I know my Pres and the line of his shoulders is pulled tight, like a coiled snake.

Big D waves towards Rhodie, “What was it like sharing your momma with a kid whose own mom didn’t want him?” He snorts, “Oh, and how’s your little Ol Lady? I hear she’s, how did you put it babe? Defective?”

Rhodie moves to step forward but Chewy’s hand on his arm calms him immediately. She steps to his side, twinning her fingers with his. Jules flanks her.

“Oh! It’s the blank faced twins! Don’t think I don’t know your secrets. Jules. I know you like to fuck with Fox and Nitro. The question is, do you fuck fuck them, like they do each other, or just share bitches with them?” He laughs hysterically, throwing himself forward, hands flat on the table to hold himself up.

A swift movement to the side catches my eye and Big D’s laughter turns to howls. Whitney screaming bloody murder next to him as Chewy holds up the finger she just cut off. His so-called bodyguards reach to pull their weapons but me and my brothers beat them to it, our guns already trained on them.

“No one talks about my people like that,” Chewy says in her flat voice. She dangles Big D’s finger in the air, then drops it, straight into the waiting mouth of Gretchen who makes a snapping sound, swallowing the treat.

“You’re fucking crazy! Rhodie, how can you want this crazy bit-” Whitney’s cut off by Judge slapping a hand over her mouth and shoving her into an empty seat next to her boyfriend.

“Well, now that pleasantries are out of the way, why don’t you tell us about the woman that came to you wanting information on us? You know, the one that sent her man to kidnap my brothers’ Ol Ladies?” Marx says, his voice cold and steady.

“He died bleeding from the ass,” Chewy adds, concentrating on getting the blood off her hands with a baby wipe her brother passed her.

Big D takes two deep breaths and pulls himself together as best he can. There’s sweat beading on his forehead and he looks terrible. “I’m not telling you shit,” he spits at Marx, rocking a little in his seat.

“OK.” Marx waves at Chewy who steps forward, her knife at the ready.

Big D tries to pull his hands away but Jules has his wrist held tight to the top of the table.

“Which one do you want me to take?” Chewy asks, brows raised, waiting for Big D’s decision.

“None of them, you crazy fucking bitch!” he sneers, struggling to get out of her brother’s hold.

“Well, that’s not an option I’m afraid. Tell you what, I’ll take the ring finger, that way you can still count to three on this hand, and you won’t have to skip any.” She smiles gently at him, which causes him to flinch. “On three. One. Two,” Her knife comes down and his finger rolls on the table.

Big D screams, his men jumping at the sound. The one my gun is trained on looks ready to fucking run out of here and never come back.

“You said three!”

She gives him a funny look. “Everyone knows you never do it on three.” She holds up his finger, peering at it long enough for him to peek at his missing appendage and then start gagging. With a shrug she drops it into Gretchen’s waiting mouth. “Good girl,” she pets her head.

Marx folds his arms across his chest, cold gaze on Big D, who looks more like Little Sick D, and raises his brow.

“Fine! Fuck, if I tell you will you fuck off?” He’s sweating and looks really fucking green, like he could pass out at any time. Fucking pussy.

“Baby! Stop! Don’t tell these assholes anything!” Whitney screeches from the sidelines. “Don’t say another word!”

Judge sighs deeply and clamps his hand over her mouth again.

“We’re an MC of our word. You tell us what we want to know, we fuck off.” Marx says. Big D looks sceptical, but he doesn’t really have a lot of options seeing as his men are outnumbered and Chewy is more than happy to keep slicing parts off the man.

“Ugh, OK, OK.” He takes a couple of breaths, nursing his hand against his chest in case Chewy wants to cut off another digit. “Don’t know her name, blonde, really short, slicked back hair. She runs a disposal business in Ironwood.”

“Svetlana,” Tav says, sharing a look with Jules who nods in agreement.

“And how do you know her?” Marx grills him.

“I use her, ah, services sometimes.” He swallows thickly.

“You’re a piece of shit,” Marx says, standing to his full height.

He holds his hand out, waiting for Big D to take the bait. All of us except for him know what’s going to happen next. We don’t let a slight go unpunished. He stands on wobbly legs, using the table to hold him upright. I would almost feel sorry for him, but I don’t. He slips his hand into Marx’s and six soft pops ring out in the room, five of Big D’s men hitting the ground while red blooms across the front of Big D’s slightly off white button down.

“That’s for Jimmy,” Marx says softly.

Whitney stops her incessant fucking screaming for a minute to glare at us all, her hands fisted by her sides. “I will fucking ruin you, you hear me?”

“Good luck with that,” Chewy says, wandering up to her with Gretchen. She corners Whitney against the wall, then turns slightly to look at Marx. “Pres?”

Marx tips his chin at her, giving her the green light. Whitney whimpers, eyes like fucking saucers, whining, pleading with Marx.

Chewy tsks at Whitney, drawing her attention. “You breached your contract, Whitney. Gretchen here is going to make sure that the punitive damages DRMC is seeking are paid in full.”

“She’s so hot when she talks like that,” Rhodie says, watching his woman with dreamy eyes as she and Gretchen advance the bunny that started this shit storm.

The ex-bunny screams, her eyes roll back and she falls to the floor.

“Didn’t anyone tell her that you never play dead around a gator?” Chewy shakes her head, removing a container of something from her pocket. Whatever it is has Gretchen looking excited. I think.

Chewy tips the contents over Whitney’s prone body, humming an upbeat tune. “There you are girl,” she unclips the lead from Gretchen and I turn away when the gator opens her jaws wide, the snapping sounds on flesh causing a ripple down my spine.

“Pres,” Switch yells, grabbing my attention as he stands over Big D. “He’s still breathing.”

“Leave him. He’ll die, or he’ll wear a colostomy bag. Either way, he’ll know never to fuck with the DRMC.” Marx takes one last look at the carnage in the room then leads us out of the weird ass function room and out the front doors, stopping abruptly when we see Roman and Sasha leading four women out of Spinners, coats draped over their half-naked bodies.

“What in the fuck are you doing here?” Marx growls.

“Ah Marx, fancy seeing you and the DRMC in these parts.” He ushers the one nearest him into the back of his car.

“Roman, I’m only going to ask one more time, what the fuck are you doing here?” Marx’s jaw clenches.

“I’m taking four trafficked young women home to their families. As you know, I. Don’t. Deal. In. Flesh.” He stares Marx down, and for once there is something honest in his eyes. Maybe there’s more to him than we think. “Besides, I thought I’d check out the club. I’ve heard the last guy who ran guns and drugs here is feeling a little unwell. There may be a gap in the Roxburgh market for me,” he smirks at Marx who glares at him and steps back.

He gets into his car along with Sasha, and the four scared young women who look more than happy to be getting out of here. His window rolls down, slowly showing his face. “My men will clean up the mess,” he nods toward the back end of the building. “Good night Marx, I’ll be seeing you soon, I’m sure.” He gives a finger wave and drives off.

“I really fucking hate that guy.”

Mira

The men have been gone for half an hour and I’m already getting antsy. I tried writing, but nothing is sticking at the moment. In my novel the FMC has been kidnapped after she made a series of terrible decisions where she knew better than everyone else blah blah blah. She’s currently in a dank basement and her kidnapper is about to be revealed. Am I going to go with her love interest’s jealous ex, or her jealous ex? Decisions, decisions.

“Mira, you’re a writer, do you think you could perhaps give Jovie a little authorly advice?” Remy asks, taking a short break from whatever it is she does on her computer. I know it’s super important hacker-y stuff, but that’s as far as my knowledge extends.

“Sure can! How can I help you, Miss Jovie?” I ask her seriously.

Before she can answer Cove butts in, “Her teacher told her that she needs to change the ending of her story, but her teacher doesn’t know anything.”

“Cove!” Blanche growls.

“But she doesn’t, Mommy! Jovie’s story is perfect the way it is,” she harrumphs.

“Well, why don’t you tell me about your story and what the teacher wanted you to change?” I say, looking at Jovie.

Cove opens her mouth and Blanche slaps her hand over it, muzzling her.

“Well, it’s about a man who eats way too much chocolate. He eats it every day. Then he eats so much chocolate that he gets diabetes and he has to have his foot cut off, but it doesn’t stop the spread of the infection and he dies.” I blink at her once, then twice, her large eyes staring back at me, waiting for feedback.

“Wow, what an imaginative story, sweetie.” I exclaim, darting my eyes toward a smirking Pops. “I, um, I think if you like it and are happy with it then it’s perfect just the way it is.” Good work Mira, nice solid advice and age appropriate.

“It’s not an imaginary story. It happens in real life,” Elio says, not looking up from his game of chess.

“That’s right, it does,” I answer, “My nana had a friend, Patsy. Patsy took her sock off one day and her toe fell off.” I tell the children. And then realize that maybe I shouldn’t have said that because kids this age probably don’t need to know about old folks’ body parts falling off.

“What happened after that?” Cove asks, edging closer. Even the Bigs and Landrys look up from their phones or petting my traitorous fat orange cat.

“Well, they had a cup of tea and then my nana, ah, tried to sew it back on.” I widen my eyes at Blanche in the hopes that she will distract the kids away from my story.

“Did it work?” Sage asks, looking incredibly interested. “I’m going to be a nurse. This is good research for me.”

“Well, no, it just kinda got more infected, and then they had to amputate two more of her toes.” I shudder. Patsy was a huge fan of sandals and I could never look away when her exposed two toes would come to visit.

“Happens to old folks all the time. Not me though, I like to keep myself fit. I bet you kids didn’t know I power walk 5 miles every morning, huh? And I go for an evening digestion walk,” Pops says to, well, everyone. “Even lift weights. Not to be some kind of gym bro, but to keep things working well. Did you know the main cause of erectile dysfunction is lack of blood flow? You know what keeps blood flowing? Exercise.” He nods at his sage advice, ignoring the fact that we have kids in the room.

“Thanks for the advice Pops,” Gus says drily, from his spot on the couch.

The Landry brothers are bright red and snorting, and Takoda at the bar is also trying hard not to lose it over Pops’ pecker advice.

“And another thing, never skimp on moisturizing. Good skin is important. Elio, why is skin important?”

“Because it’s the largest organ in the human body,” he replies, Pops nodding proudly. “And it’s home to 100 billion nerve endings. Which means any part of the human body can be treated in lots of different ways to bring excruciating pain to the victim making them spill information like a singing canary.”

The room goes silent and we all stare at the dark-haired little boy.

“Huh, now where on earth did you learn that?” Pops says sidling over to Elio and giving him a large-eyed stare. Which would work if Elio was actually looking at Pops.

“Sidney Carver Tombs! You better-”

“Shit, I forgot to take my evening fart walk. I better do that now. Don’t want to get trapped gas. I’ll check the perimeter while I’m out.” Pops pulls up his chino’s another half inch and hot foots it out of the common room as fast as his Skechers can take him. We all stare for a beat and then burst into laughter.

Blanche cuddles her youngest child and gently explains to him that perhaps using any of the body’s 100 million nerve endings would be very painful and a terrible idea and maybe we could just love the other person until we’ve gained enough of their trust for them to open up to us, instead of hurting them. Elio gives her a funny look and shrugs, packing up his chess set and heading down the hall, followed by the other two Littles.

“We got this Mom,” Niko says, he and Sage following after their baby brother.

“I need to see this,” Vic says, looking at his brothers. “That kid is going to run rings around Niko’s reasoning. It’s going to be the funniest thing we’ve seen since Pops ran away.” All three brothers grin and leave, following in the younger Landrys wake.

“Well, can I Just say that was really good parenting Blanche. Very good advice,” Remy says, smiling.

“And it’s all bullshit. The very best way to get someone to talk is definitely torturing all 100 billion nerve endings.”

Hmm, maybe my female character needs to dig deep into her inner Blanche? How great would that be? She hasn’t been a total weenie, but perhaps being locked in a dark basement will be enough to bring out her inner tough gal. I look around at the women dotted around the common room, all of them are wily and tough. I have a spark of an idea and get settled, fingers on my keyboard ready to bring my idea to life.

* * *

“Remy, are you seeing what I’m seeing?” The tone of Gus’s voice breaks me out of my writing fog. Flicking my gaze down to the little clock in the corner of my laptop I’m shocked when I find I’ve been tapping away for over an hour now, oblivious to what is happening around me.

“Yeah, I see her. What is she doing?” Remy replies, clicking all sorts of buttons. “This is earlier footage, looks like her car broke down or something.”

Gus and Remy lean forward, looking at all the security footage, playing on a montage of tiny screens. Looking around the room I notice the Littles, Blanche and Mama Debs have left the room, as have Lovely, Ana and Nat. I have no idea where the Landrys have gotten to, leaving me, Gus and Remy and Takoda here alone. Even Pops is somewhere, probably with his woman.

“What do we want to do? We can’t leave a woman on the side of the road at this time,” Remy says, looking up at Gus from her seat.

His eyes narrow, and he nods then turns to me. “Mira, does this woman look familiar to you?”

I look over my shoulder and then point to myself. Me? Why would he be asking me for any type of input. I’m new here, and aside from knowing that the men all rode out to try to get information from this Big D dude, who, by the way, has a terrible villain name, I have no idea how I can help in this sitch.

Snorting has me looking at Remy, who has her lips pulled between her teeth, trying hard not to laugh.

“Ah nuts! Out loud again, huh?”

“Yup, babe. Out loud,” Gus nods. “I’m only asking you because we know your stalker or whatever is female and most likely a mega fan. Would you be able to recognize someone who most likely goes to your signings and things?”

My lips screw up as I think. Not to toot my own horn too much, but I have a lot of fans. I can see upwards of 100 women all wanting their books to be signed at each singing. It’s a long day but even so I appreciate them all and try to chat with each and every one of them. I look back to Gus and nod, feeling pretty confident that I’d recognize someone I’ve spoken to. I may not remember all their details, but I should be able to recognize a face.

Gus waves me over and I peer at the screens in front of Remy, taking in the tall, thin woman on the screen. She has dark hair and aside from that she looks pretty normal. Looking back to Gus I shake my head.

“Remy, do you have enough to run facial rec? For some reason she seems familiar to me but not quite. Almost like I know a sister or aunt or something,” Gus mumbles.

The woman looks up at the camera on the front fence and waves. Gus’s brows pinch, but I can see on his face he still can’t place her.

“Fuck, we’ll have to let her in, just not yet. I’ll get Mama Debs, the kids, babies and their moms into the safe room.”

“What about the Landry brothers?” Remy asks, eyes still on the screen.

“I’m going to post them around the clubhouse, just in case. I’ve been around long enough to know that shit can hit the fan at any time around here.” He looks around the room. “And where the fuck is Pops?”

He mumbles to himself as he takes off down the hall to get everyone where they need to be. Seeing Gus like this, and not as Chewy’s older brother or Ana’s husband, you see why he’s the head of his family business and friends with Marx.

This whole time Remy has been tapping away on her computer, eyes glued to the screen. She must feel me watching her because her eyes cut to mine for a moment. “She’s talking to me through the gate.”

“Like through a speaker? Do you have the hearing of a bat or something because I can’t hear anything,”

Remy pushes the hair back on her left side, showing me some fancy device that hooks around her ear. It also does not make anything any clearer for me.

She huffs out a laugh, “It’s a bone conducting headset. Leaves me able to hear everything around me. And before you ask, I’m typing my responses, the AI voice at the gate responds for me.”

I try to low whistle, instead just blowing at Remy. “You know this place just keeps getting better and better,” I shake my head. “I mean, you could probably do with a few more illegal activities to make things exciting, but still, I’m glad I’m here. It’s going to make my book super authentic.”

I gaze longingly at my laptop, but I know that this situation probably calls for my full attention span or something. Gus’s heavy footsteps grow louder as he nears the common room, cutting a path straight to Remy and reading the woman’s responses online.

“Takoda, do you mind heading out and meeting this woman at the gate?” Takoda nods, stepping out from behind the bar and heading out.

“We sure about this Gus?” Remy asks. It’s a very good question.

“Not at all, but we can’t leave her out there.”

Remy nods and watches a tiny Takoda move closer and closer to the gate.

“Buzz her in Remy.”