Blaine sat in the van and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Fuck. A virgin? Now she was definitely too naïve and innocent to be with a man like him. He could’ve beaten the shit out of all three of those college boys, but had held back on her behalf. The gun was overkill, but turning to a pistol was second nature to him. It was his experience that what can take an hour of discussion and negotiations, can be expedited ten-fold with the presence of a loaded firearm.
He opened the van door to chase Olivia into her house, but as he was about to step out, he changed his mind. He slammed the door, put the van in gear and headed back to the clubhouse. Crater, and Freddie were inside the dark living room, slumped into the worn couch and smoking a joint.
“How was your afternoon buddy?” Freddie smirked.
“Fine,” Blaine said bluntly. “Where’s Zeb?”
“I think he’s back in his office getting his dick sucked again.”
“I wonder if he ever gets tired of it?” Crater mused.
“Tired of it? Dude, the wrong girls have been sucking your dick,” Freddie said as he inhaled a toke from his pipe.
“Fuck. Shut up you guys.” The last thing Blaine needed was to be a part of this particular conversation.
“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Crater asked.
“I guess his little guitar girl didn’t put out,” Freddie drawled and smirked.
Blaine froze. His pent up sexual energy combined with the disrespect from Freddie made him explode. He grabbed Freddie by the neck and pulled him off of the couch.
Freddie raised his hands, “Blaine, buddy. I was just kidding.” He managed to croak out through Blaine’s grip.
Blaine stood, breathing heavily, clenching the boy’s neck tightly. Freddie flailed and clawed at Blaine’s hands.
“Blaine. Let him go. He was just joking around.”
But Blaine kept his grip tight. The prospect’s face turned blue as his feet kicked the air.
“BLAINE,” Zeb’s voice boomed across the room. His mentor’s voice shook him out of his fugue state and he dropped Freddie to the floor. Freddie grabbed at his neck and gasped for air.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Crater asked.
“Blaine. Get in here,” Zeb yelled.
Blaine strode wordlessly past the group of men and into Zeb’s office.
“You want to tell me what that was all about?”
“Nothing.”
“Look. The prospects expect to be roughed up, but make sure you’ve got a good reason.”
“They were disrespectful,” Blaine said, and dropped heavily on to one of the rickety office chairs.
“Fine,” Zeb said. He leaned back and cradled his head with his huge rough hands.
Zeb was a handsome man for his age. His face was leathery and worn from years of riding, but the wrinkles worked for him. In his youth, he could’ve been a model, with his wide shoulders and natural washboard abs, and he had grown into his fifties with grace. Blaine saw how women were vulnerable to his looks, and had watched in amusement as the eyes of socialites and rich women, followed Zeb as he walked by. His presence commanded attention throughout any room.
“What’s up Zebbie?” Blaine asked and pulled out his phone to see if Olivia had messaged him. Nothing.
“Do you want to fucking pay attention?” Zeb asked calmly.
Blaine clicked off the screen and placed his phone face down on the desk. “I’m all yours, Boss.”
“While you’ve been out playing farmer and frolicking with school girls, I figured out who is vying for our territory.
Blaine leaned forward, suddenly very interested, placing his elbows on his knees.
“The buyers fucked us over, didn’t they?”
“You got it. They were in bed with the Scorpions. One of my sources down at the station pulled in one of the buyers, and guess whose gun was in his glovebox?
“You’re shitting me,” Blaine said.
Zeb pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out Blaine’s prized gun. Blaine took his gun in his hand and caressed the shiny gold handle. He teared up. He had missed this gun more than he missed some of the old dead and gone club members.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Zeb said. “You haven’t been yourself these days.”
Blaine wiped away the tears that threatened to spill out on to his cheeks.
“It’s a woman, isn’t it?”
Blaine nodded.
“Wow, I’ve never seen you get this way about anyone before. Be careful buddy. Don’t let this woman cloud your judgment. I’m going to need you fully present for battle.”
“What are we going to do?”
“We are going to fight back. There’s no way those fuckers are moving in on my turf.”
“Tell me when and where. We can pull all of our ammunition out and go in there, guns blazing. Or, take a page out of their book and just blow up their clubhouse.”
“We can keep beating the body, but we need to cut off the head.”
Blaine nodded. “Those guys are harder to find than a virgin in a whorehouse.”
Zeb pulled out a worn police file folder. “My sources tell me that the cops have a source deep inside who has risen up the ranks.”
“Jesus, how much are you paying this source to give up that kind of info?”
“As much as it takes,” Zeb said, with a glint in his eye. “The powers that be are meeting later this week at the barn where you were ambushed. Do you have a good feel for the lay of the land there?”
“I mean, yes. But it was hard to take in minute details with gun barrels in my face.”
“Get a small team of the best shooters together. I want you to get out there tonight and scope it out. We are going to ambush them at their meetup, just like they did to us. Don’t take your bikes. Hide the van. You know the drill.”
“Are we scaring them, or getting rid of them?”
“Take them all out.”
“Got it boss.” Blaine stood up and felt the adrenaline start to pump through his body. It had been years since he had been sent out on a mission like this one. The future of the club was in his hands. If they fucked up it would be bad. First of all, they would all be dead, secondly, it would lead the club into an all-out turf war.
“I’ve got Skinny working on a real firework show for the clubhouse that will go down at the same time. That should put a big enough dent into their membership to prevent an uprising.”
“Alright.” Blaine tucked his gun into the waistline of his pants. It felt so good to feel the metal next to his lower back; like the hand of a woman, protective and loving.
“Oh, Blaine. One more thing. There’s going to be a woman there. Do your best to keep her out of the line of fire.”
“Jesus Christ. That could be impossible.” Blaine shook his head, surprised. Then it dawned on him, the woman was the source. He wondered how Zeb had gotten control of her, but he had his suspicions. “That could change our whole battle plan. Less spraying, more technical shots.”
“Do what you gotta do,” Zeb said. He strode around the huge desk and grabbed Blaine into a rough embrace. It was rare for Zeb to show emotion and it instilled in Blaine just how dangerous and important the mission was.
He stood back and slapped Zeb on his big arm - “I’ll report back tomorrow afternoon and we can get started with the battle plan.”
“See you tomorrow,” Zeb said.
Blaine turned and left, his mind formulating his army and his plan.