“But, Doc,” I’d told her smirking. “I just have to lie there while a bitch takes care of my cock. Don’t even have to move a muscle, well, perhaps one.” I winked.
She hadn’t cracked a smile, nor in any way seemed embarrassed. No, that was me, when she’d asked, “And when you ejaculate, do you not breathe deeply?”
Damn Rattler for reminding me of yet another joy in life I’ll have to wait to experience again.
Gradually, the rest of the brothers, summoned by the prospect, wander in, all pausing to greet me and tell me they’re glad to see me home. By the time the sixty minutes are almost up, it’s a full complement that walks into church.
My chest aches, and the bullet wound in my leg is hurting me. I try to keep the grimace off my face as I enter and take my chair. At the head of the table, Bullseye, Saint, Freak, the enforcer, and Tempest, our sergeant-at-arms, are already seated, arms folded across their chests.
Piston takes his place, followed by Woody, the road captain. Then Stalker and Paint, whose arm is still in a sling – which reminds me I’ve got to thank him properly, and buy him morefuckin’ tobacco. As a gesture, I raise my hand in salute, which he accepts by giving me chin.
Rattler takes his place beside Genie. Winchester is next, looking far healthier than a man who was knocked out stone-cold should. Finally, after a minute’s wait, Words enters, looking almost as pale as I am.
Bullseye grimaces when he sees him. “Bad day?”
“The worst,” Words replies, mouth tight and turned down. “Fuckin’ four-year-old kid. Hit and run. Head-on collision. I warned the parents about viewing the body, but they insisted. It was hard enough for me, but for them?”
Words runs the funeral home in our small town. He also conducts the ceremonies, gets the graves dug and bodies either buried or cremated. The latter is a very useful service to the club for when we need to dispose of a body. Words got his name from how he can give fancy eulogies, but sometimes dealing with the emotions of the living can take a toll on him.
Like the others, I murmur an incoherent condolence, and accept that his contribution to the meeting will probably be negligible.
The gavel crashes to the table. Church is in session.
“I know we all want to officially welcome Short back to the land of the living,” Bullseye starts. Nods, chin lifts, and salutes come toward me from around the table. “He’s still under medical care, so we’ll keep this meeting short.” He pauses, then looks at Tempest. “Any sign of the Mojave Devils?”
“None,” the sergeant-at-arms states. “Maybe they’ve crawled back under the rock they came from. But I don’t like that they must have had eyes on the club to plan the ambush that took out Short, Winchester and Paint.”
“I’ve checked the clubhouse for bugs.” Genie, our tech guy, leans forward. “All clean.”
“Could they have hacked our systems or phones?”
Genie gives a deliberate shake of his head. “I’ve looked into it. Our encryption, courtesy of Pippa,” he pauses to give a chin lift of acknowledgment toward the VP, whose old lady he’s talking about, “is the highest level of security.” He frowns. “If the Mojave Devils could get through it, then no one could hide from them, not even the Secret Service themselves.”
“Ace wrote the goddamn software,” Freak comments. “It will be invincible.” He might be Ace’s father, but paternal pride doesn’t bias his sentiment. His teenage kid’s got mean skills.
I feel it’s time to interject my contribution. “However, they knew we were heading down that road. They found us.” Looking around, I see I hold their attention. “While they came up with a cock-and-bull story, they were searching for an old pal who’d had his own reasons for jumping clubs…” I have to pause to wait for the snorts of derision to die down. I have to join in with a chuckle before continuing. “They all but admitted they’d put a plant in our club, and were fishing to see if we’d discovered that, and if so, whether we’d killed him. They obviously thought that was the likeliest conclusion, but there was enough room for doubt. I think that’s why they left us breathing.” Just breathing, in my case, but that I don’t add. “If we’re innocent, they don’t want a war with the Kings.”
“Well, they’ve fuckin’ got one. No one puts bullets in our members and gets away with it,” Rat puts in.
“Griz, or Skunk as we now know him, was a flake.” Paint agrees with my assessment. “As far as they know, he could be off chasing pussy.”
Words snaps out of his funk to interject with a scoff. “Not unless he’s found someone in Hell to consort with. His body’s been burned to ash.”
Winchester just waves his hand. “What they said. I was out of it.” He offers a sheepish smile to go with his words. “I didn’t hearfuck all to form an opinion once they knocked me out.” He rubs the back of his head and winces.
The VP looks around the table, then back at the prez. “They gave information away rather than gained any. So, how about we go on the offensive? Speak to their prez, tell him we don’t take kindly to them trying to infiltrate the Kings of Anarchy, and telling them to back off before they get more heat than they can handle?”
“I almost died,” I growl.
“But you didn’t because I sacrificed my tobacco for you?—”
“Shut the fuck up, Paint.” I turn on him, wait a second for him to back down, then roll my eyes when he pointedly rubs at the bandage on his arm as if to garner sympathy. Ignoring him, I add, “Think we need some compensation as well as their prez’s word they leave us alone.”
Prez’s eyes land on me. His intense stare makes me want to squirm as if I’m an insect under a microscope. Silence descends over the whole table and seems to stretch on, while in reality it’s no more than a few seconds until he thumps the table, points his finger directly at me, and barks, “Now that’s the kind of fuckin’ idea I like. They injured our own and, as far as they know, for no goddamn reason.” His head spins, his focus on Genie now. “You get me their prez’s details, and I’ll make contact. Let him know this disrespect to the Kings won’t go unpunished. They want to start a war about their missing member, then they can have one.” He pauses to grin. “Especially as they fucked up and mentioned he was put here as an informer. If they act upon any of the information he supplied, our routes, which we know now are compromised, then any Mojave fuckin’ Devil passing through our territory is ours.”
“The routes are blown, Prez,” Freak reminds him.
Bullseye grins. “We know that, they don’t.”
