Page 110 of Devil’s Disciples

He looked up. “If you say so.”

I couldn’t decide if the remark about Kimberly fucking the cop was meant to piss me off, or if it was truly what he thought had happened. Cops annoyed the fuck out of me, and if anyone knew it, he did.

We grew up in Great Falls, Montana, one hundred and twenty miles from the Canadian border. Be it my hatred of cold weather, the desolate countryside, or my desire to live somewhere that simply had more to offer, I decided after I graduated high school that I wanted to get as far away from Montana as possible.

San Diego, California was the clear winner. The city offered everything that Great falls didn’t. Weather suitable for year-round motorcycle riding, beaches, and two million people to hide amongst.

There were five of us that grew up together: Baker, Goose, Ghost, Tito, and me. We made a pact in third grade that we would remain inseparable. The fact that we moved fifteen hundred miles away – as a group – confirmed our loyalty to one another.

Upon settling in San Diego, we started an unconventional motorcycle club, and later added a sixth man – a military vet from Texas. Focusing on each of our individual strengths as small-time thieves, the club stole from those we felt weren’t worthy of their wealth. As we grew older and more experienced, our jobs became more complex. Now with more than ten years of experience robbing Southern Californian’s of their treasures, no one’s money was beyond our grasp.

Ghost was built like a professional body builder. He was the resident chief mechanic, go-fast guru, and the only member of the club that was willing to talk without chastising me for my thoughts. Although I was close friends with all the men, he and I talked about things I wouldn’t eagerly share with the other men.

“Maybe I’ll go by there and check on her,” I said under my breath.

“That cops probably taking a shower right about now,” he said without looking up. “Hell, he might whip your ass for nosing around.”

“No cop’s whipping my ass,” I assured him.

He straightened his posture, looked me over, and shifted his attention to the Mustang’s wiring harness. “Cop’s know all that pressure point stuff. Bet the fucker can touch your wrist with his thumb and bring you to your knees.”

I hadn’t had my ass whipped since I was in kindergarten, and he knew it. I choked on a laugh. “Bullshit.”

“He’d wad you up in a ball if he wanted to,” he taunted.

I twisted the toe of my boot back and forth on the floor between us. “I’d squash him like a fuckin’ bug.”

His eyebrows raised slightly. “Only one way to find out.”

There wasn’t a man on earth I feared, cops included. I tossed my bottle in the trash and turned toward my motorcycle.

He chuckled a low laugh. “Where you going?”

“Heading to Goose’s place.”

“Not going to stop by that gal’s house, are you?”

“I might,” I said over my shoulder.

“Better take a couple of the fellas with you,” he said dryly. “Just in case that little cop wants to protect what’s his. Might take three or four men to whip him.”

I didn’t need help kicking any man’s ass, and I was prepared to prove it. I stomped to my motorcycle and snatched my helmet off the handlebars.

“Pic’s or it didn’t happen,” Ghost shouted.

Baker, the MC’s president, came around the corner as I was lifting my leg over the seat of my bike. He leaned his lanky frame against the concrete column and gave me a look.

“Pretty early for a beer run,” he said. “Where you going?”

I pulled on my helmet. “To take some pics.”

He stroked his beard and looked at me the way he always did. Like I was an idiot. “Of what?”

“Little cops and big tits.” I buckled the helmet’s strap and fired up the bike. “In that order.”

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Kimberly