CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
SHORT
Ilead the way toward the back of the clubhouse, noticing from a glance back that Doc’s fast on my heels, flanked by Freak and Tempest, with the VP and prez following behind. Before we exit through the rear entrance, Pippa emerges from Genie’s domain and offers Saint some papers.
Multi-tasking, as the documents change hands, the VP takes advantage of the interruption by planting his mouth on hers in a blatant display of affection.
“For fuck’s sake, put the Fed down,” Doc growls. “Now that’s something that the Mojave Devils would never do – have a fucking traitor in their camp.”
Finishing their kiss without hurrying, and totally ignoring Doc, Pippa pats Saint’s chest. “Hurry back, babe. You know what these pregnancy hormones do to me.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. It’s going to take a long time before I get used to a woman telling the VP what to do, and his reaction? He just smirks as if he’s won the lottery.
On some basic level, perhaps I do understand. My mind flits back to how Bronwyn felt as she rode me last night. My dicktwitches at the memory. Now, maybe if it were her telling me to hurry home, I would be smirking too.
Shaking my head in amusement, I resume my way to the barn with a smile growing on my face. It doesn’t take a genius to realise Pippa’s dug up some dirt on the man who’s following my footsteps. And I, for one, can’t wait to find out what she’s unearthed.
“Where the fuck are we going?” Doc bellows, as his fancy shoes are not making good footing on the uneven ground that our biker boots are much better suited to.
“To the barn at the back of the compound,” Prez snarls. “You think we want to hear the boy screaming?”
“Closet works just as well,” Doc growls and trips as he encounters a large rock in his path. Nobody puts out a hand to help him, but luck’s on his side, for now anyway, as he stumbles but doesn’t go down. I swallow my disappointment, reminding myself he’ll soon be getting what he deserves.
He brightens as the isolated barn comes into sight. “He’s in there?” So eager, he pushes past me, but I let him go. The door’s locked, and he’s not getting inside without the key. I grin as he turns after unsuccessfully trying to gain entry, his cheeks red with rage. “Get over here. I need the boy now.”
I reach his side, open up my hands, and show him they’re empty.
“Who’s got the fuckin’ key?” he demands.
That would be our prez, who is currently twenty feet or so back with his VP, examining the papers Pippa had provided. From their satisfied glances, I reckon we’re going to have some fun when we get Doc inside.
I step out of the way when Prez eventually joins me, and have to hide my grin when he pushes Doc aside, using far more force than needed, to get him out of the way of the lock. After turning the key to open it, he steps back, indicating Doc to enter. Themotion-sensing lights, powered by the solar panels to the rear, come on immediately.
“What the fuck?” Doc stops abruptly.
It’s quite obvious the room is empty, except for the plastic sheeting covering the floor and a chair set right in the middle, where the prospects would have set it up earlier. Said prospects will also be responsible for cleaning up the inevitable mess when we’ve finished. Did I say I was glad my prospecting days were behind me?
Doc spins, shouting, “Where’s Trip?”
“Not fuckin’ here,” Prez snarls, using a hefty shove that sends Doc stumbling into the room.
Freak and Tempest jump into action immediately. Taking hold of Doc, they force him down on the chair, and have his hands zip-tied to the arms, and his feet chained to the legs, before Doc realises what’s happening to him.
Once he does, he’s not particularly happy about it. “Untie me now!” Doc screams, struggling at his bonds. “You’ve fucking done it now. I won’t be treating you filthy criminals any longer.”
“No, you won’t,” Prez replies. “We’ve decided we don’t want your grubby hands anywhere near us.” He stands in front of our prisoner, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re right. We live outside the law, but we’ve got principles, and we’ve decided we can’t put up with your shit any longer. We’re dispensing of your services immediately.”
Doc pales, as if realising the precarious position he’s in. And he can’t fail to notice he’s got four one-percenter bikers staring angrily at him. Now that his medical services are no longer in play, he’s got nothing to offer or bargain with. “Is this about Trip? Hey, Short? You said you’d pay for the boy. Well, now you’ve got my attention. I’m listening. We can make a deal?—”
Prez slashes his hand through the air. “No fuckin’ deals. And I’m not known for my patience. You better start talking if you ever want to be a free man.”
Half turning away, I hide my smirk. Doc’s a dead man. Whether or not he does any talking, he certainly won’t be walking. Nobody does, not when they’re brought to this hidden, isolated barn. Well, actually, Pippa was one of the few to make it out alive, but the traitor, Griz, whom she’d unveiled, had died in her place.
Doc eyes him carefully. When he speaks, his expression is one of cunning. “What do you want me to tell you?”
Impassively, Prez replies, “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps you could enlighten us on what you told the Mojave Devils about our club for a start. And then you can take the reciprocal stance, and tell us about their setup.”
Guilt flashes across Doc’s face. “I’ve told them nothing.”
