Connor

 

I had to admit it: the temptation to follow Princess up into the bunk room was pretty fucking hard to ignore. As I watched her pretty little ass sway up those stairs, I came this close to leaping up after her—fuck Montengo and this sinking ship of a motorcycle club.

 

But I knew better than that. I was better than that.

 

So I took a deep breath, bit the bullet, and turned back towards the meeting hall, where Montengo was raging up a storm.

 

“I want her back!” he thundered, punching his fist so hard against the wooden table that it splintered. “Now!”

 

“Now, President Montengo,” Smitty murmured soothingly, as if he was talking to a toddler. “Those were Minghelli’s men. Tom Minghelli’s! I recognized them. We can’t just go charging in there without some proper planning and resources—”

 

“Resources be damned!” Montengo warned. I was getting nervous. His hand kept drifting over his pistol, which he had holstered by his pocket. Would he be crazy enough to start shooting? I thought. You never knew with Montengo.

 

He continued raging. “I don’t care how many men or how much money it takes! We can’t let her be taken!”

 

“But, John,” Smitty purred again. “We simply don’t have the resources or the men. The club has been hemorrhaging money for years now, and …”

 

Montengo’s voice suddenly quieted, somehow making it even more menacing than before. “I don’t want to hear another word about the MC’s sorry finances, all right? I am sick to death of it!” With that, he placed his hand clearly on the butt of his gun.

 

Smitty frowned and looked away from Montengo, obviously frustrated but not afraid. He wasn’t, anyway. I was torn between fear and wanting to joke about how sick I, too, was of the goddamned finances.

 

Montengo’s eyes glittered. His knuckles turned white on the gun, and he licked his lips, a moist, snake-like motion. At last, he sighed, and the tension relaxed. His hand slid away from the holster and hung limply at his side.

 

“I’m sorry, Smitty,” he murmured. “I know you’re a good friend to the club, but … that’s Sam Michaels’ daughter! Think of the good she could do in our hands, and the damage in another’s!”

 

“Actually, sir,” I interrupted, feeling duty-bound to tell him my suspicions. Smitty, however, cast me a forbidding look, and I fell silent.

 

“That is true,” Smitty acknowledged. “I recommend, then, a small, stealthy force that can sneak in and out of Minghelli’s compound hopefully without notice, rather than an all-out assault. Agreed?”

 

Montengo nodded. “Agreed,” he grunted.

 

“I would also suggest that this force be made up of volunteers only,” Smitty continued. “It would be a very dangerous mission, and we can’t in good conscience send—”

 

“I’ll volunteer!” I blurted immediately, interrupting Smitty. Everyone looked at me in surprise, but I had my own reasons for volunteering. I’m gonna get to the bottom of this Princess/Honi/Farrah clusterfuck if it’s the last thing I do, I thought.

 

Meanwhile, the rest of the men in the meeting room glanced at each other uncomfortably. I saw Joey, who had been hanging around in the background until this point, step forward and wave his through air. “Me, too,” he said, nodding at me. “If only to protect your dumb ass.”

 

After Joey, it wasn’t hard to get several more people to step up and volunteer. That was one of the nice things about a motorcycle club. Nobody ever wanted to look like a pussy.

 

“All right!” exulted Montengo, clearly overjoyed with how things had turned out. “Connor, I put you in charge. Start planning immediately. You’ll go tonight, at midnight.”

 

“Hear, hear!” the volunteers thundered, and then we dispersed.

 

As everyone was milling out of the room, Joey came up to me and whispered, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

 

I grinned. “As much as I ever do.”

 

“Right. We’re all fucked then,” he laughed and clapped me on the back.

 

# # #

 

I went to my office next, poring over maps and diagrams and wracking my brains as to the best way to attack the Minghelli compound without getting us all killed. After about two hours of this, I noticed my stomach growling, and sent a new recruit out for food,making sure to tell him to order for Princess, too. I liked her curves. I didn’t want her losing weight.

 

After about another two hours (and the lovely meal the hopeful kid brought me) it occurred to me that perhaps I should be consulting Princess about all this. She obviously was intelligent, knew a little bit about what was going on, and wanted Honi/Farrah back almost as much as Montengo. I had seenw it in her eyes.

 

I cleaned up my papers, rubbed my temple, which was aching from so much concentration, and plodded my way up the stairs to the bunkroom.

 

In the motorcycle club’s heyday, this room would have been lined with whores, all brightly lit and clean. But, as everything was fucked now, it was only Princess, holed up on the farthest bed from the door, curled up into a little ball as if sleeping. But when I approached, I saw that her eyes were hard and awake, glaring at the world.

 

“What is it?” she demanded, sitting up as soon as she saw me.

 

“Me and a few other of the men are making a plan to go rescue your friend,” I told her.

 

Her eyes widened, her mouth flickering between a smile and a worried frown.

 

“It’s too dangerous,” she said at last. “The Minghelli family … you don’t know how strong they are.”

 

“And you do?” I shot back, suddenly annoyed. She was smart, but she was still a whore. She needed to respect me.

 

She didn’t wilt at my tone, however. She just stared right on back. “You tell me,” she snapped. “Minghelli’s men just waltzed in here, took exactly what they wanted, and marched right out with nary a casualty.”

 

I opened my mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again. She was right.

 

Then, something occurred to me.

 

“Wait a minute … how did you know they were Minghelli’s men?”

 

She blushed and looked away. No fucking way, I thought. I’m not letting her get away with that shit! I grabbed her shoulder and whirled to face me.

 

“Come on, Princess!” I demanded. “You know something, don’t you? I order you to tell me! Besides … it might help you to save your friend.”

 

Princess sighed. That seemed to be her deciding point.

 

“Minghelli …” She started. “Minghelli is after something he thinks the daughter of Sam Michaels’ has. I suppose he thought Venus Michaels had it first, because his men broke into the Berth of Venus, and when … and when she didn’t turn it over, they killed her.”

 

Her voice broke on her final words. I saw tears glistening in her eyes even as she fought to hold them back. Somehow, I was touched.

 

“Wow, Princess,” I said. “I didn’t realize you cared so much. Venus must have been a great Madam.”

 

Princess nodded. “She was the best, even if … others didn’t appreciate her. Her whores were always well-fed, well-clothed, well-paid, and protected to the best of her abilities.”

 

She scowled suddenly, and then continued, as if speaking to herself, “And I thought Honi knew that!”

 

There was that name again. Honi. I assumed it applied to the woman calling herself Farrah Michaels, but I couldn’t be sure. I wanted to press and demand Princess answer me, but I held back. She was, at long last, answering my questions. Best not to push it, I thought.

 

“So what…what does Farrah Michaels have, then?” I asked gently. “What did Venus Michaels die to protect?”

 

Princess sighed, and then, to my surprise, nestled her face in my shoulder. “I can’t tell you,” she murmured. “It’s too dangerous … not just to Farrah Michaels, but to Tom Minghelli himself.”

 

“A danger to Minghelli!” I gasped. “Christ! What the fuck could it be?”

 

She didn’t answer, but instead buried herself deeper against my body. Her hand found my chest, and then worked its way slowly downward, finally pressing against the bulge in my pants. I sensed she was trying to distract me, but … hot damn! A man could use a little distraction.

 

“All right, Princess,” I growled. “Take your clothes off.”