Chapter Five
After church, thebrothers shuffled to the main room where they had shots of whiskey and tequila waiting for them on the bar. They spoke in low voices, the mood somber. Even the club girls knew to keep their distance; a few of them even rose up from the couches and padded down the stairs to their rooms.
The cause for the consternation among the brothers was that heroin was in their county, and it’d affected their president in the worst way. It had slipped into the area like a thief in the night, robbing sense and self-respect from the ones who gave in to its false promises.
“We gotta find out if the Satan’s Pistons are bringing the shit into our territory,” Crow said as he threw back his shot of whiskey. Crow had been a patched member for a little over a year, but his computer skills made him an asset to the club. He used to live in Arizona and was well acquainted with the Satan’s Pistons MC. He’d had a couple of run-ins with them when he was a teen, and the long, angry scar that went from his rib cage past his belly button was his badge of honor. He’d been attacked by three Pistons one hot summer night when he was out in the desert with his girl. The bikers had stolen his car and wallet, raped his girl, and sliced his side, leaving him for dead. But he didn’t die; he grew bitter, and hatred consumed him. He crossed the Arizona border and ended up in Alina, Colorado, where he met a couple of cool bikers on Harleys. He followed them to the Night Rebels clubhouse and three years later he was a patched member.
“I wouldn’t put it past the fuckin’ Skull Crushers to be in on this. When we and the Insurgents kicked their asses a couple of summers ago, they calmed the hell down, but I bet they’re getting antsy. They need money. I wish the prez would give us the go-ahead so we could throw their motherfuckin’ asses outta our territory once and for all.” Muerto kicked over a stool and several members looked over, then turned back to their conversation. They were used to the club secretary’s short temper. At six feet, black hair past his collar, ebony eyes, and furious tats of demons, skulls, and bloody knives adorning his chest and arms, he exuded danger. One of his favorite things to do was fight. Steel, Paco, and the other brothers saved his ass several times when his temper boiled over. His dark features mixed in with his angry rebelliousness, drew women to him.
“The asshole Crushers aren’t in on this. They don’t have the brains or guts for it.” Paco dunked his chip in a bowl of salsa on the bar.
“I dunno. They’re stupid enough to get mixed up in it.” Muerto signaled the prospect for another beer.
“I’m with Paco on this one. If an MC is involved, I’d go with the fuckin’ Pistons. This is right up their alley.” Crow’s hazel eyes brimmed with hate.
“What do you think, Steel?” Paco crunched on his chip.
“I’m not sure an MC is involved in this. The Skulls would be signing their death warrant if they are, and the Pistons know if we traced this to them it’d be war.” Steel leaned against the bar and looked at his brothers. They wore the faces of concern, loyalty, and determination. He knew they’d take to their weapons and engage in battle with the Pistons if they were involved in this mess.
“The damn badges are lookin’ to us to solve the problem. Lazy asses.” Crow hopped up on one of the barstools.
Steel nodded. “They always do. Fuck, we should be getting a cut of their pay.”
Paco, Muerto, and Crow laughed.
The Night Rebels and the sheriff’s department had an understanding: as long as the brotherhood kept hard drugs out of Alina, the sheriff would turn a blind eye to their illegal gun running. It’d worked for the past decade, until now. And it ate up the brothers that the junk had slithered into their territory.
Ruby, Alma, and Angel came into the room and walked over to them. Steel tilted his chin at them. Ruby cozied up to Crow. “You guys gonna just stand around and talk all afternoon?” She rubbed against him like a cat in heat.
Crow grinned and slinked his arm around her small waist. “You got something better in mind?”
She put her finger in her mouth, then traced Crow’s lips with it. “Uh-huh.” He sucked her digit into his mouth as he cupped her ass cheek. “Let’s go have some fun, baby,” she rasped.
He nodded at the brothers and walked away with her.
Angel looked pleadingly at Muerto, who laughed, scooped her up in his arms, and walked toward the basement stairs.
Alma ran her fingers up and down Steel’s arm. “You wanna have some fun too? It’s been a while for us.” She stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his chin.
Steel looked at her big brown eyes and silky dark hair.I should take Alma to my room and fuck her good and hard. She’s dying for it.Alma had the looks he loved: dark hair and eyes with an olive complexion.Not blonde and pasty like the mouthy social worker.
“What do you say, dude? Poor Alma’s practically begging you for it,” Paco said.
Steel pushed her away gently. “Sorry,chica, but I got work to do.” He turned to Paco. “You interested?”
The vice president’s gaze lingered on Alma’s well-endowed chest. “Fuck yeah.” He looped his arm around her and drew her close to him.
Steel saw the look of regret in her eyes. “Then it’s all good.” He strode out of the room and went to his office. Instead of sitting behind his desk to attack the mountain of paperwork he had to go over from the various businesses the club owned, he went to the window and looked out at the Harleys that were parked in the lot adjacent to the clubhouse. The chrome sparkled under the afternoon sun, and he had the urge to take a long, hard ride to clear his head. The last thing he wanted was a war with Satan’s Pistons.
He ran his fingers through his long hair, exhaling loudly. A knock on the door broke his concentration. “Come in.”
Paco came into the office, darting his eyes from the desk to Steel and then back to the desk. “Need some help with the paperwork?”
Irritated by the intrusion, Steel looked back outside. “Nope. I thought you were with Alma.”
“I will be. She’s doing something.”
“What?”
