“Long Live the Renegade Souls.”
The Renegade Souls MC 50th Anniversary celebrations. Colorado.
“That’s Ruby and now Luxe. I’m gathering a girl squad to rival you and your boys, Biker-man.” Giggled Zara burrowing into his ribs as far as her little bump would allow her to.
Rider laughed lightly, pleased she was so damn happy with herself. “You know you sound like Dr. Evil assembling his henchmen when you say it like that, Icy.” Fuck. he loved that joyful sound. He’d drag a hundred women into the club for his girl to befriend if it made her happy.
“I’m hungry, biker-man.” Zara’s lips nuzzled his roughened cheek and Rider boiled a heated growl turning his hard body into hers, cupping the back of her skull he was about to dive into a kiss when. “Jesus fuck. I’m sitting right fucking here, Prez. Maybe shelve the porn a little, yeah?” A disgusted Hawk grouched.
Rider turned to his friend and VP. His hands stayed right where they were, he could give a fuck who was around if his girl wanted kissing. “You need a woman, Hawk, so you can get off my dick.”
Zara burst out laughing. “That sounded so wrong. I mean, if you and Hawk want a little alone time, I can-----.” She giggled again when Rider gently dug his blunt nails into her ribs.
Hawk just looked disgusted. So, his usual face then. Rider bent down to whisper something naughty in his girl’s ear to turn her pink and she pinched his belly telling him to behave. Never.
“Fuck this. I need to get back to Texas. Do something useful.” Hawk muttered shaking his head. It was then his Zara piped in, a cheeky grin on her face. “Are you rushing back to anyone special, Hawk?” Maybe Rider was seeing shit through beer goggles ‘cause he could have sworn Hawk blanched a little. It was gone a second later and Hawk turned his VP gaze towards him. “Your little queen has gotten mouthy this year, Ri.” Rider grinned. Fuck if she had. He loved it.
He’d received more fist bumps, back slaps and hugs the last days than he’d ever had in his life. Standing tall by the doorway, looking out on the acres of land he owned, the corner of Rider’s mouth twitched. Not a square inch of ground was visible now, what with nearing five thousand members of every chapter of his club gathering and inside was no better, packed to the rafters. Everyone had come, save for a few of the older retired men who couldn’t make the long journey this far this time of the year, preferring the sunnier climates to the Colorado snow, it was all in honor of Homer and his club legacy. Fifty years today he began the Renegade Souls MC and the grim reaper as his witness Rider vowed there would be another gathering in fifty years’ time, with the club stronger, bigger, and better than ever.
Feeling a pounding in his chest, that pride rising as he looked out, caught the eye of many of his own men he’d patched in, they waved and carried on with their games. He’d handpicked each and every one of them and he trusted them with not only his life, but his club as well. Shit hadn’t been easy the last ten years, there was plenty of times he’d considered tossing the gavel in, walking away, but then one of his boys would remind him of why he was enduring the struggles, why the fight was necessary. And when he looked over at Zara laughing with Ruby and Sebastian perched on her lap, her bump poking out of her tight shirt, he knew he’d made the right move.
Through hardships, deaths and downright dirty times, Rider and his boys had weathered everything that had come at them and for what it was worth, as much he’d worry about this new strain of Russian coming through his town, the handshake he was forced into giving Grigori, Rider was more than fucking certain the RS would go on long after those bratva were kicked out of town.
Because those fucknuts were missing one key element to Rider’s operation.
He looked across at Hawk, Grinder, Preacher, Arson, Lawless, Tag, Snake, Capone, Red Light, The Butcher, Pretty-boy, Reaper and lastly, Texas.
Him and his men had loyalty. Brotherhood. When things got tough there was a kinship at the roots to maintain their strength.
Smiling the kind of smugness only an MC president could feel, the beat of Club first in his chest, he looped an arm around Zara’s slim shoulder when she sidled up to him, felt her fingers tuck into his belt loop, and he led them back inside.
They had two days of celebrations to begin.
******
Rex Marinos was the archetypal sort of asshole and he knew it. Doing some of his own celebrating in the library of his mansion in Austin cradling a half-filled glass of whiskey, he rested the glass on his considerably large gut. He knew what today was and it curdled his hatred more than ever that he was not at the helm to lead.
Angry eyes cast around the room. Fucking library. He rolled his eyes. His old lady threw a couple of books on a shelf and called it a library. Like that bitch had ever read a book in her illiterate life before. Whatever kept her whining trap shut, he supposed.
But nothing was dampening his lifted spirits.
Not when he’d just finished a well-informed and beneficial phone call from a new partner, his plan was finally taking form after months of delicate overseas negotiations.
He wasn’t one hundred percent happy for what he had to do. But whatever got him back on top of the dog pile by the quickest means necessary and at the end of the day he was versed in putting a bullet in the temple of men who no longer had a use to him. The same would be said of the Russian underboss the second his help was obsolete.
The little punk nephew of his would learn some lessons and soon, if he wouldn’t get out of Rex’s way quickly he’d do it the hard way, he had no fucking problem putting a bullet in Rider’s chest.
He felt alive, invigorated even, with a new lease of life coursing through his alcohol soaked blood stream, for the first time in years he was a man with a purpose, no longer would he have to suffer through listening to another one of his old lady’s fucking charity lunches day in and boring day out, he was tempted to put the bitch six-feet under. He hadn’t been so animated since he was the one who held the MC gavel, who was judge and executioner, the man everyone feared.
Draining his whiskey, Rex rose from behind his desk to go and greet his company, ran a hand through his thick hair, sweeping it back off his face. He kept up the pretense of family with his sons and their wives and children, even while his mind was busy.
He smiled, shook hands, kissed cheeks, pretended he liked the whore he was married to by slipping an arm around her thick waist, pinching the fat there in warning of her opening her big fucking trap again and saying something to embarrass him as she was prone to. Rex laughed with his brother and his gentle wife, shared cigars with him on the back porch, talking of the good old days as they were inclined to do on these special days. Rex and Ajax might be outcasts nowadays but they knew how the club should be run and one day they’d see it so again.
And all the while he kept it to himself just how fucking hard he was going to destroy that little shit Rider for taking his club off him.
And then he’d reign once again.
Bigger and better than ever.
With the Russian mafia under his fucking heels.
THE END