Calling in all their resources and favors, it still took hours for the Knights to clean up the mess. With two totaled vehicles, thirteen dead, including two Knights, and three wounded, the Knights had to scramble to remove all traces of what had gone down before the cops got wind of it.

 

“How did they know you were at the BKS?” Ironside asked as he and Whiteshirt sat in kirche trying to figure out what had happened.

 

“I don’t know. We obviously have a mole,” Whiteshirt said.

 

“We suspected that.”

 

“Yes, but this confirms it.”

 

“This has to stop. We’re bleeding each other too much.”

 

“I agree,” Whiteshirt said. “But how?”

 

“Call Andrew? See if we can call it even?”

 

“He’ll never agree to that. We’ve mauled them much more than they have us.”

 

“It’s worth a try.”

 

Whiteshirt shrugged. “It can’t hurt I guess. I’m more concerned about the mole.”

 

“You’re not going to blame it on Peyton again are you?”

 

“I don’t know. She’s the only new variable in this. I still can’t get past you thinking that her showing up when she did doesn’t mean anything. Did she know we were going to the studio?”

 

“I don’t know how. I didn’t know. Why were you there anyway?”

 

“Taking pictures for insurance, doing a little cleanup. Could she have found out somehow?”

 

“No.”

 

“Maybe someone called her? Maybe she’s passing information and doesn’t even know it.”

 

“No. Nobody called her.”

 

“How can you be so sure?”

 

“Because my cock was inside her all night last night, and again this morning! Why did Honey lie?”

 

“She won’t admit she lied. She claims she saw something, though she did finally agree that maybe it wasn’t a phone she saw.”

 

“Who did you tell you were going to the studio?”

 

Whiteshirt snorted. “Only everyone. I asked for volunteers to help with the cleanup.”

 

Ironside slapped the table. “I hate this fucking shit! This is why I want to get us out of all this illegal shit! I’m so fucking tired of the backstabbing and the killing!”

 

“Me too, brother. We’re moving as fast as we can.”

 

“I know, but I’m not sure it’ll ever end, not until the Saracens are dealt with. Every time something goes wrong, they think it’s us.”

 

Whiteshirt grinned. “Well, we did cost them a load of coke and a shipment of guns. Not to mention the guns they lost that started all this shit.”

 

“That’s exactly my point! We didn’t have jack to do with the first shipment of guns that went missing, yet the first thing they did was try to hit one of our houses.”

 

Whitehshirt shrugged. “Give Andrew a call,” he suggested. “Maybe your idea is just crazy enough to work. The worst that can happen is he won’t bite. If he doesn’t, we’re no worse off.”

 

Ironside sat his phone on the table and then flicked through contacts until he found Andrew. He hadn’t called Andrew since he phoned to tell him the Knights were out of drugs and pulling out of guns.

 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve calling me after the shit you’ve pulled,” Andrew growled.

 

“You’re the one that started this when you hit Canfield.”

 

“Don’t play innocent with me. You took our load of guns.”

 

“If you have proof of that, show me, and I’ll hand over the brother who did it. If a Knight did it, it was unsanctioned.”

 

“How am I supposed to have proof when they just disappeared? But I know it was you.”

 

“You don’t know shit! We had nothing to do with it! Don’t blame us because your transporter fucked you.”

 

“What do you want, Lothbrook?”

 

“I want to stop the bloodshed.”

 

“Yeah? How’s that?”

 

“A truce. We call it even.”

 

Andrew burst into laughter. “Not fucking going to happen. Not after you sent that bitch Peyton in here.”

 

“We didn’t send her. She came to us because you fucked over her friend. You brought it on yourself.”

 

“Fuck you, Lothbrook! She’s nothing but a lying, cheating whore. Because of her a lot of my brothers lost their lives!”

 

“Cut the shit, Moore! The reason your brothers are dead is because you went up against us, and we fucked you, just like we did today. How many did you lose? Oh, that’s right, eleven! Eleven, Moore, to our two. How many did you lose yesterday when you tried to ambush us on the way to the airport? I know I killed six, including one with my bare hands. By my count, we lost three but you lost eight.”

 

“And I’ll make you pay for every one of them!”

 

“You can keep losing brothers, we both can, or we can stop it. Here. Now. We had nothing to do with the loss of your guns, but if you call off this war, I’ll guarantee Saracen safe passage on the Ninety to the docks so you can pick up your merchandise to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again.”

 

There was a long pause. “Send that Peyton bitch to me and I’ll think about it.”

 

“She has nothing to do with this.”

 

“She has everything to do with it!” Andrew snarled. “She beat the shit out of my VP’s old lady. She busted a pool cue over my head. I know she was sniffing around for information to feed to you. I know it was because of her you took my girls. Send her to me, and we can talk about the war.”

 

“Not going to happen.”

 

“Good,” Andrew said, his voice cold and hard. “I’m going to enjoy sticking my cock up your ass.”

 

Ironside’s phone bleeped as the call ended.

 

Whiteshirt snorted. “That could have gone better.”

 

“Fuck him. We need to find the mole and make an example out of him or her.”

 

“You really think it’s a brother?”

 

“No, but if we’re going on a mole hunt, we can’t rule anyone out.” He smiled. “Present company excluded.”

 

“What about Peyton?”

 

“I don’t think it’s her, if only because of today, but I’m not ruling her out.”

 

Whiteshirt nodded, somewhat mollified. “I wish Dolch were here,” Whiteshirt said. “He found the last chick who was fucking us. He was a sneaky bastard, and that’s what we need right now.”

 

Ironside nodded. “I wish we had all our brothers back.”

 

Whiteshirt nodded in silent agreement.

 

***

 

“This sucks,” Ironside snarled as the cab pulled away from the curb. He was the fucking President of the fucking Teutonic Knights, and he was reduced to taking a cab.

 

“You still have your car,” Peyton said softly. Ironside had been a foul mood all day, and she knew he was hurting over the loss of his brothers, though he tried to hide it.

 

“We’re a fucking motorcycle club, not a classic car club.”

 

“Would you rather take a cab?”

 

He snorted. “No.”

 

“When is your bike supposed to be out of the shop?”

 

“At least another week. They’re waiting on the new motor to ship.”

 

“Take me for a ride in your car? It’s going to be a beautiful night and you can put the top down. It won’t be like on your bike, but it beats a cab.”

 

He looked at her a moment, then softened. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I haven’t had it out in months. I need to drive it anyway.”

 

***

 

After a light dinner, she stood in front of the garage door as it rumbled up. She was kind of into bikers, one in particular, but not so much bikes. What she did like, however, were fast and sexy cars, and the one sitting in Ironside’s garage made her itch for a ride.

 

She slid into the passenger’s seat, being careful to not ding the door, as Ironside quickly wiped the dust off the car with a mop on a stick. Car gleaming again, he settled into the driver’s seat and stuck the key in the ignition. “Let’s see if it starts,” mumbled as he twisted the key.

 

The car cranked over slowly, then barked to life. He grinned at her. “Another couple of months sitting and it wouldn’t have started,” he said.

 

“See! You need to do this.”

 

He grinned and put the car into gear before creeping out of the garage. As the door lowered he revved the car, the supercharger whine clearly audible over the deep base rumble of the exhaust.

 

“God, I love that sound!” she said as the top retracted and the windows lowered into the doors.

 

“You like fast cars?” he asked as the top tucked away.

 

“God, yes! Don’t you?”

 

“They’re okay,” he said as he crept into the street, being careful so the car wouldn’t drag, but as soon as he was clear of the drive, he matted the throttle. The car screamed, the rear tires howling in protest as the car began to crab sideways down the road.

 

Even though she was sort of expecting it, Peyton screamed in excitement as car began to slew sideways, the tires unable to cope with the horsepower. Ironside banged the car into second, the tires still wailing at their rough treatment as the car accelerated so hard she was afraid her seat back would snap and she would tumble into the rear seat.

 

“Holy…shit!” she laughed as he let off the gas. She turned and looked over her shoulder at the cloud of tire smoke left in their wake. “How much power?” she asked, her heart still thudding in her chest.

 

“It dyno’d at 640 at the rear wheels.”

 

“Jesus!” she laughed. “This thing is a real panty dropper! Do it again!”

 

***

 

They motored out of town, wandering along the edge of Lake Erie on Highway 6. Each time Ironside dipped deep into the throttle, whether it was to pass a slower car or just showing off at a stop light, and the car squeezed her back in the seat, she could feel her excitement rise. It was dark, the heat of the afternoon cooling, and the stars and moon were bright overhead. They were alone on the dark stretch of highway, the only light the car’s powerful headlamps spearing into the darkness and the occasional flash of light as they passed a house set off the road. With a smile, she reached over and began to caress his thigh, her fingers dragging down the inside of his leg.

 

As her hand gripped his cock, he pushed up into her hand. He couldn’t do much, not behind the wheel, but the road was straight and the traffic light. Her nimble fingers worked the buttons on his fly until she could reach inside. He snarled softly as she dragged him out, his cock hard from her slow caresses. She took him into her hand and stroked him slowly until she unhooked her seatbelt and bent over to take him into her mouth.