“I’ll kill you for this,” Dom growled as he and Monica mounted his bike.
Colt nodded. “If you come back here, you will never leave. Do I make myself clear?”
It was just before noon and the eighteen former members of the DVMC had been stripped of their colors. As everyone expected, they hadn’t given them up easily. Every man, and a handful of the woman, had to have their asses kicked, beaten into near unconsciousness before their colors could be removed. Only Monica had given hers up without a fight, unwilling or unable to fight.
“Someday that bitch of yours will get hers,” Monica snarled, staring daggers at Sierra, her voice nasally from the swelling of her face and nose.
Sierra said nothing, her arms crossed across her chest. It was over and she had nothing to say to that bitch anymore.
“You’re not very smart,” McKenzie piped up cheerfully. “I guess having your ass handed to you three times isn’t enough.”
Monica sneered, the expression making her bruised face even less attractive, and gave McKenzie the finger. “You, too. All of you cunts. If I ever catch you out—”
Colt’s hand flashed out and took Monica by the neck. He didn’t squeeze hard, just enough to let her know he was serious. “You may want to watch your tongue if you want to keep it,” he rumbled before releasing her.
Monica shrank back, holding a hand to her neck where Colt’s fingers had pressed in on her already tender throat. She knew all too well how dangerous he could be, and without the protection of being a member of the club, she didn’t want to push him too far.
Dom blipped the throttle on his Harley before he and his followers roared away, disappearing in a cloud of dust in moments.
“Bitch,” Colt murmured before turning to face his brothers and sisters. “Who needs a drink?”
“Colt, are you sure?” Gunner asked. “That’s a shit load of money.”
“Look,” Colt said in exasperation. “Nobody is going to want to come here when it’s as hot as shit in the clubhouse, okay? We’re used to it, but the high rollers who can afford to blow fifteen grand on a weekend aren’t going to want to sweat their asses off.”
“I know,” Gunner grunted as he stared at the estimate to air-condition the clubhouse, “but if we keep spending like this we’re not going to have anything to operate on. There’s no guarantee the bank loan is going to come in.”
It had been over a month since the DVMC had purged its problem members, and activity had been frantic. Fletch had taken over as Vice-President and Gunner, Harrison and Nic had resumed their duties as Treasurer, Secretary and Sergeant at Arms.
Less than a week after Dom’s group left, Colt and Fletcher bought suits and pitched the club’s proposal to Gold Mountain Bank. The bank, at first, balked at the idea, but when they looked over the business plan, Vicki’s artwork for the patches, the architectural plans for the interior of the clubhouse, and saw the amount of cash the club had available, they began to take more interest.
The members had been working furiously to execute the club’s vision, gutting the inside of the clubhouse and hiring an architect. The firm had rushed the interior design for bar and common area for the bank proposal, an easy job as they were starting with a giant box, but the firm was still working on the rest of the interior and the outside.
“It’ll come through,” Colt assured him. He wasn’t worried about the money. He’d seen the greed in the bankers’ eyes. Bringing in fifteen men and women each week, all with deep pockets, would be a boon to the entire area. Of more concern was the paperwork required to legally operate a brothel. Even in freewheeling Nevada, home to Sin City, there was still plenty of paperwork for something like that.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am. Stop worrying! Jesus, you’re worse than an old woman!” Colt teased.
“Colt, it’s my job to worry,” Gunner replied with a grin.
“Appliances are here!” Blu called from across the vast open room, her voice echoing.
Colt grinned as Gunner rolled his eyes. “You know where they go,” Colt called.
“How’s it going?” Sierra asked later as Colt sat at his desk. It was a beautiful oak piece that wouldn’t look out of place in a CEO’s office. It did, however, look out of place sitting in the middle of the concrete floor in what would become the President’s office of the Sons of Sin Motorcycle Club. The rest of the club’s new furniture would be delivered once the walls were up, but Colt needed some place to work so he had the desk delivered early.
“Fine,” he growled as he threw his pencil down and beckoned her to him. “I can remember when I thought this was a good idea.”
She settled into his lap and grinned at him as she plucked at his shirt. “Not as much fun as robbing stores?” she purred.
“No. But a hell of a lot safer,” he replied as he gave her a quick kiss. “Once we get everything up and running it will be easier, but, right now, I’m about to tear my hair out. If this was the old DVMC, where everyone was always knifing each other in the back, we would never get this thing off the ground.”
“Poor baby,” she breathed in her best sex kitten voice. “All stressed out, stuck behind a desk.”
“Ha ha, very funny. You try to keep track of, and schedule, all this shit. I can’t schedule the plumbers until the carpenters get here and get some walls up, and they won’t be available to start for a week yet. And the air-conditioner people, fuck, don’t even get me started on them. It’s a four-week lead time on the units, and they won’t even schedule until those arrive.” Sierra began to giggle. “What?” he asked.
“You! You sound like a business man. Worried about schedules, and lead times, and shit like that.”
Colt chuckled. “You’re right. One of the hazards of going legit, I guess. Let’s get out of here! I need to stretch my legs.”
He led her out into the parking lot and threw a leg over his hog, Sierra plopping down behind him. “Where are we going?” she asked as they fastened their helmets.
“Don’t know. Don’t care,” he replied as he thumbed the big bike into life. “Anywhere I don’t have to think about schedules and lead times for a while.”
Sierra closed her eyes and allowed the hot desert air to flow over her, relishing the feel of the wind over her bare skin. Her first time on a motorcycle was when Colt kidnapped her, and she’d been terrified. Terrified that she was going to fall to her death on the speeding bike, and terrified what he might do to her. Now, after a couple of months riding behind him, she couldn’t imagine traveling any other way. She was relaxed and confident in the saddle, no longer afraid of the bike or of Colt. She smiled as she tipped her head back and held her arms out into the rushing air. This was freedom, baby!
Colt smiled as he saw Sierra’s arms slowly stretch out. She did that on nearly every ride now and he’d asked her what she was doing after she did it several times. Her response, “Flying,” made him smile. The open road had its hooks into her deep, and he couldn’t imagine anyone else riding bitch with him. Not anymore. The road may have its hooks deep into Sierra, but she had her hooks deep into him.
She drew her arms in and wrapped them around Colt’s taunt body, allowing her hands to rest loosely in his crotch before giving him a brief teasing tickle. Over the past month, she’d been thinking about Colt’s murmured confession of love. He hadn’t repeated it, and she hadn’t brought it up. She wanted to hear it again, when he didn’t think she was sleeping, to make sure he meant it. When he did, she was ready with her reply. I love you, too, and she did. She wasn’t all sloppy over him, not yet. It had only been a couple of months, after all, but she was falling for him, and falling hard. She was seeing the man he truly was under all that black leather and swagger, and she like what she saw. She liked it a lot.
The entire DVMC turned out to watch the arrival of the equipment. Bulldozers, graders, backhoes, loaders and paving machines were arriving in mass on trailers pulled by snorting and bellowing semis. A white pickup pulled to a stop in a cloud of dust and a tall lanky man stepped out.
“Colt?” the man asked as Colt stepped forward and extended his hand. “Jack Skellon, nice to meet you. I’ll be your on-site supervisor for the job.”
“Nice to meet you, Jack,” Colt said giving the man’s hand a firm shake.
“You’re kind of off the grid out here, aren’t you?” Jack asked, looking around, his eyes settling on the roaring generator.
“Not for much longer. As soon as your people are done, Nevada Energy will be out to run some lines and hook us up to power. With the price of diesel, that damn generator is killing us.”
Jack chuckled. “Tell me about it.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “These bad boys drink enough of the stuff, and they aren’t running twenty-four seven. Listen, I’ve got some paperwork here I need you to fill out before we can get started. Let me get it out of the truck while we unload.”
Jack turned and rummaged in his Ford a moment, reappearing with a stack of papers on a clipboard and a pen. “This is just the standard waiver. It states that if we dig up any unmarked cables or pipes, it’s your responsibility to get it fixed.” Jack looked around again. “Probably won’t need that, but sign it anyway.” Colt grinned then signed. Jack flipped the page. “This one states that if we run into any unexpected issues after construction begins, we’ll bill you at time and materials. Probably won’t need that one either, but it has to be signed.”
Most of the DVMC wandered back to the clubhouse to escape the heat as Colt signed each form presented to him while Jack’s crew began to unload the equipment. In two weeks, the rutted, dusty, fifteen miles of bad road, along with the parking lot, would be covered with a smooth ribbon of bitumen.
“That’s it,” Jack said after Colt signed the last form, stating that DVMC was responsible for the security of the equipment at night. “Once we’re unloaded, we’ll get out of your hair. We’ll be back tomorrow to start pushing the road. Just make sure that permit is prominently displayed, okay? Nothing annoys me more than having my equipment idling and my guys standing around, burning your money, while some pencil neck has to find a permit for the inspector.”
“I understand,” Colt chuckled as he took the permit from Jack. He was getting to be an old hand at this stuff.
“I didn’t even know you guys were out here.”
“Been here almost twenty-five years,” Fletch replied. “The club picked it up cheap after the mine dried up.”
Jack grunted and scratched his head. “You’re a motorcycle gang?”
“Club,” Colt corrected with a lopsided grin and small shake of his head. It’s always the same.
“Club, then,” Jack repeated. “You guys must be doing okay to afford this much pavement.”
“We do okay. We’re branching out. This is going to be a new resort.”
Jack’s laugh sound like a braying donkey. “Resort, huh?”
Colt chuckled at the man’s reaction. “That’s right. You married?”
“Divorced.”
“Look me up in six to eight months. I may comp you so you can help spread the word.”
Jack looked at Colt and decided the man was serious. “Okay, I’ll do that.”
“I guarantee you’ll have a good—” Before he could finish he heard a crack then a shrill ting! It took him a second but then he realized what the sound was. “Get down!” he roared as another bullet splattered off a piece of heavy equipment.
“What the fuck’s going on?” Jack gasped as they cowered behind his truck.
“Don’t know. Stay here and don’t move. Let us handle it.” Colt jerked his head before he, Fletch and Harrison darted for the clubhouse. He heard several barks of gunfire, but had no idea where the bullets were going.
“What the fuck is going on out there?” Grayson asked as the three burst through the doors into the clubhouse.
“Somebody is taking pot shots at the contractors,” Harrison growled as the rest of the club came running, weapons in hand, passing three pistols to Colt, Fletch and Harrison.
“Out the back,” Nic ordered. “We’ll split up and come at them from the sides. Positively ID your targets so we don’t shoot each other.”
“What about me?” Chains asked.
“Nic, get Chains a gun,” Colt ordered. “Chains, I need you to stay here. If anyone comes through that door that shouldn’t, you kill their ass, you got that? It’s all up to you to protect our sisters.”
Some of the women were armed, including herself, but having Chains bulk at the door still made Sierra feel better, even if he wasn’t back to a hundred percent. She could tell Chains wasn’t happy about being left behind but he nodded, grim-faced.
Nic started pointing. “Grayson, Chili, Pep, Greg…you’re with me. We’ll go around to the south. Harrison, take Carson, Skip, Lyle, and Blade and circle around from the north. The rest of you go with Colt and keep them occupied.” Nic grinned. “If one of you assholes shoots a brother, I’m going to kick your ass, so watch your targets!” He glanced at Colt. “You ready?”
Colt and the rest of the brothers bolted through the door, scrambling for cover as gunshots rang out in the still desert air. He skidded to a stop beside Jack as the rest of his men fanned out among the equipment, a few moving from cover to cover as they worked their way to the pinned down members of Jack’s crew.
“You okay?” Colt asked as he pressed his back to Jack’s truck.
“Yeah. What the hell is going on? Why are they shooting at us? Who is shooting at us?”
“Some old friends,” Colt mumbled as he peeked around the front of the truck.
“With friends like these…” Jack muttered.
Colt popped up over the hood of the Ford and started firing in the general direction of the shots. He had no target, but it didn’t matter. His job was to keep eyes on him while Nic and Harrison slipped out the back. As he began firing, the rest of the DVMC opened up, filling the valley with the roars of handguns.
The moment his weapon was empty, Colt dropped back behind the truck to slap in another magazine. He only had nine shots left. He popped up over the hood, his gun at the ready, but held his fire. His guys should be closing in and he didn’t want to shoot a brother. After a moment of no return fire he began to relax. A moment after that he heard the bass rumbles of Harleys coming to life. He straightened and tucked his pistol away as the motors of the bikes revved, then moved away. He heard a couple pops of gunfire, but that was probably his guys shooting at the fleeing bikes.
Jack stood, ashen-faced. “We didn’t sign on for this. Maybe we need—”
“Wait,” Colt interrupted, his voice granite hard. “Look, I’m sorry this happened. We’ll escort you out to make sure nothing happens to you, then give me a week. I guarantee this won’t happen again.”
“I don’t know, Colt,” Jack said as all the men began to gather around. “I have a responsibility to these men.”
Colt raised his voice to be heard. “This shouldn’t have happened. This is on us. I was telling Jack we’ll send you out under armed escort to make sure you get to town safe. If you—”
“What about next time?” a man snarled. “Man, I got a family to take care of!”
“If you’ll give me a week, I guarantee this won’t happen again.”
“How?” the man demanded.
“We know who it was. We’ll take care of it.”
“How?” the man demanded again.
“You don’t want an answer to that,” Colt said, his voice becoming low and dangerous.
The men muttered among themselves a moment. “Why were they shooting at us?” another man asked.
“Bad blood,” Fletch said. “It wasn’t you, it was us.”
Colt stewed as the men looked at each other. “Will a grand apiece, cash, right now, help ease your concerns?”
“It’ll help,” the family man said after a moment as the other men nodded.
“Get it,” Colt said with a look at Gunner. “Luke, get a group together and get ready to escort these gentlemen out. All the way to their homes if that’s what they want. I don’t give a shit what you have to do, you keep them safe, got it?”
“Got it,” Luke said, nine other guys moving away with him toward the clubhouse to rearm.
“They’re gone,” Nic said as the two groups approached from the desert, “the chicken shits.”
“Was it who I think it was?” Colt asked.
Nic looked at him as if he’d grown another head. “Who else would it be?”
“But did you see anyone?”
“No. But you know who it was.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Gunner reappeared and began to count out hundreds on the hood of the Ford, handing a stack of ten to each man, the men nodding in thanks as they received their money.
“Give me a week,” Colt said again.
“See you in a week,” family man said with a smile, flapping the wad of bill for emphasis. “We need about ten more minutes to finish unloading and then we’ll be ready to go.”
“How’s the equipment?” Colt asked Jack as the men began to return to their tasks.
“We’re insured against shit like this. It’ll take more than some pop gun to stop a D9 Cat. I’ll give you this one because,” Jack made tic marks in the air with his fingers, “officially we hadn’t dropped the equipment off yet. But if it happens again…” He let the threat hang in the air.
“We’ll put a man on them all night until we’ve handled the problem,” Colt assured him.
Jack nodded once. “Fair enough.”
“The DEMC has to go,” Colt growled. The paving crew had just left and the entire club, with the exception of Luke and his men, was grouped together to decide what to do about the Death Eaters Motorcycle Club.
Though the DVMC had learned that Dom had formed another club with his followers at the edge of their territory, Colt had decided to let it slide. He had bigger things to worry about right now than Dom and his upstart club. So long as the DEMC left them alone, he was content to leave the DEMC alone. Until today.
“I agree,” Fletch said. “We gave them their chance, and even though they were stroking us by forming a charter in Tonopah, we left them alone. I think it’s clear now that we can’t have them so close to our territory. It’s going to be nothing but trouble.”
“I agree,” Nic growled. “We should have greased them when we had the chance.”
“Nic’s right,” Harrison added. “We gave them a chance and they fucked us. Now we have to fuck them. Hard.”
“I want in,” Chains said. “I can ride…and I have a few things to say to Keg, Patch, and Larson.”
“I bet you do,” Colt said. “Are we all in agreement? We all agree that the DEMC has to go, by any means necessary?”
Colt watched as every head in the room nodded. “Let’s vote it then. All in favor of pulling the colors of the DEMC, say aye.”
“Aye!” the voices called as one.
“Any opposed?” Colt asked.
There wasn’t a sound. Colt slapped his hand down on the desk as a gavel. “Motion carried. Nic, lets figure out how to get this done.”