Chapter 3
Slick
Present day
“Hey, Beef!” Seeing him enter through the front door, I wave him on over.
“Slick.” Giving a chin jerk, my brother crosses the busy restaurant, joining me at the bar at the Wheel Inn, the business that’s owned by the Satan’s Devils MC. Recently we purchased the building next door and have expanded, adding a bar where people can just come for a drink and get bar snacks instead of, or in addition to, having a full-on sit-down meal.
We keep a light presence here, just enough to make citizens feel safe, but not outnumbered, and not enough for them to think they were in a biker bar if they didn’t already know.
Beef surveys the full tables around us and motions toward them with his hand. “Seems like we’ve hit it about right here.”
He’s not wrong, both bar and restaurant are heaving. A good crowd for a Saturday night. Some attracted, of course, by flirting with the edge of danger being in the rumoured biker-owned premises. And it’s that thought that has my eyes returning to a woman who I’ve been watching for a while, debating whether she’s here for that very reason. Her mode of dress seems to scream she may very well be out for a walk on the wild side tonight. And the glances she’s been throwing my way suggest she’s equally interested in me. If I’m reading it correctly, and I’m rarely wrong on these things, I’ll be getting lucky later. Who am I to turn down something offered on a plate?
I nudge Beef. “Think I might have it fuckin’ made tonight.”
He barks a laugh as he looks over to where I’m pointing my beer. “I could so hit that.”
“I’m gonna, Brother.”
As he raises a quizzical eyebrow, I narrow my eyes. I was here first. Judging the situation correctly, he snorts and offers a good-natured grin. “Looks like it’s the sweet butts for me, back at the compound. See you later, Brother, and don’t forget to glove up.”
As if I would. I’m never going to get caught in a trap. Nor have an old lady. Been there, done that, and won’t be risking it ever again.
When Beef leaves I shoot the shit a little with the bartender, not wanting to approach too soon, which might make me appear too over keen or needy, using the time to pointedly survey all the women before making my move. I order another beer and ignore her for a time, while taking the opportunity to check her out in the mirror over the bar. When she starts to fidget and her face falls, it’s then I drain my beer and go over.
As she looks up her face splits into a relieved smile. Checking I’ve read all the signals right, I lean down and speak into her ear. “Name’s Slick. You want it?”
At her nod, I curl my hand round her arm and lead her through the now emptying restaurant, steering clear of the staff closing up for the night. Using the staff entrance at the back, I take her outside, pausing once in the fresh air to light up a cigarette. I offer the pack, but she declines. Blowing out smoke I notice her eyeing up my bike. Woman, you’ve got no chance. I’m not letting a skank I don’t know anywhere near that—or any woman I do know for that matter. If she wants to experience biker cock it’s going to be up against the nearest discreet wall which happens to be just around the corner of the building and where I’m leading her now. Yeah, I might have done this a time or two before.
“You ready for me sweetheart? Am I gonna find you wet?” I don’t wait for her answer, just throw down my half-smoked light, the end burning amber on the ground. Her jagged breathing is the only encouragement I need, signalling her excitement at the coarse words I used. She gasps as I slide my fingers up under her short skirt and into her already dripping slit, every sign showing she’s thoroughly turned on at the thought of such illicit activity.
I circle her clit, my fingers expertly slipping inside and finding that spot that will make her go wild. Her pussy’s not exactly tight, but it will do for a quick fuck. She closes her eyes and her head rolls back as she spasms around my fingers. Okay, job done, that didn’t take too long. Now for my turn. Undoing my jeans, I release my cock and have it covered with latex before her breathing evens out. I lift her against the wall, her legs go around my waist and then, without fanfare, I thrust inside.
She gasps and I grin. Yeah, lady. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? A long, thick biker cock. Holding her up with one arm, my other hand against the wall, I start thrusting, my balls already boiling with the need to come.
Fuck! That phone vibrating in my pocket alerting me to a text is putting me off my game.
There it goes again. And again. How many fuckin’ people are trying to message me? Shit, just give me a fuckin’ minute will ya? I’m kinda in the middle of something here. I try to ignore it, and hammer in once again.
Another vibration! Fuck, it better be something fucking urgent else someone’s going to get their head torn off for this. And right now they can take that to the fucking bank. Frustrated, I let my cock slip out of her cunt.
“What the fuck?”
“Sorry babe. Gotta look at this.” Easing my phone out of my jeans when they’re shrugged down over my hips isn’t easy. Swearing, I pull them up and finally succeed in sliding the damn thing out, my engorged angry dick knocking against my hand as if showing he’s extremely unhappy about the interruption. Peering down I read the message which has already been sent half a dozen times by the prez, the VP, and a number of others.
Code Red. Followed by the name of a hospital in the south of Tucson.
Fuck! My cock instantly starts to deflate as I feel a sharp pain, like a punch to my gut. There’s not enough information, and immediately I’m imagining the worst. Damn Mouse and his fucking insistence on using codes. Red means a brother is down, but gives me no clue as to who it is, or how serious. Quickly tucking my now flaccid cock away, I zip myself up.
“Slick?”
I look down at the woman whose name I didn’t bother to discover, she’s still leaning against the back wall of the Wheel Inn, her dress pushed up to her waist, her panties hanging off one ankle. “Sorry babe, gotta run.”
Leaving her with her mouth gaping open, I run to my bike, step astride, take out and put on my safety glasses in a quick practiced move, the woman already forgotten. Who the fuck has been hurt? And how badly? Unable to consider it might be anything worse, starting the engine I roar off into the night, twisting the throttle and knocking up through the gears fast. Whoever it is, it must be serious, otherwise they’d have just called Doc to come to the clubhouse. This must be beyond anything the ex-Army medic can treat.
As I ride I think over what had been planned for today, but can’t think of anyone who might have been heading into danger. No runs scheduled which would leave us exposed. Nothing had been discussed at church last night which had bothered us, or nothing out of the ordinary. No, today’s been a usual Saturday, brothers relaxing and doing the shit that makes them happy. What the fuck has happened?
Arriving in record time, I’m chilled to see the number of Harleys parked outside the emergency room. It looks like everyone’s here. Backing in on the end of the line, I switch off my engine and listen to the cooling engine ticking, rubbing my hand over the smooth bald dome of my head as I try to prepare myself for bad news.
Taking a breath, knowing I’ll be getting no answers sitting out here, I get off and go toward the entrance, in two minds as to whether I want to hurry or not, not overly eager to hear what I suspect won’t be good.
If you can believe what you see on television, you’d expect an emergency room to be a hive of activity—trolleys being pushed, people shouting orders, medical staff running around, patients bleeding over the floor, and relatives screaming and crying. But here everything appears to be orderly. There’s even a couple of nurses standing chatting, laughing, and sharing a joke. My fists clench at my sides. If one of my brothers has been hurt, why the fuck aren’t they doing anything other than hanging around? But causing a commotion won’t help me get answers. I satisfy myself with a glare in their direction as I smartly step up to the reception desk.
I don’t have to say anything. One glance at my cut and, with a look which I can interpret as thinly veiled disgust, the man behind the computer screen doesn’t wait for me to speak before telling me in a bored voice, “Family room. Down that corridor, take a left, then third door on the right.”
Suspecting it’s not the first time tonight he’s give the parroted instruction, I spin on my heels and follow the direction he’s pointed. Opening the door, I notice immediately the room’s far too small to comfortably hold the number of people waiting inside.
My eyes scan quickly, calculating who’s here and who’s missing, but with all the bodies milling around, sprawled over the available chairs and spilling onto the floor, it’s not easy to immediately spot the omission. It looks like everyone’s present, including the old ladies, and even little Amy, who’s snuggled up on the president’s old lady’s lap. An undercurrent of low conversation comes across as a background murmur, and Carmen and Sandy are sniffling. Sophie’s leaning against Wraith, her eyes rimmed red.
Drum’s eyes flick to me and he raises his chin, then stands and comes over. I see lines etched deep on his forehead. “What, who is it, Prez?” My voice breaks with emotion.
With his hand on his beard, he gives a shake of his head and swallows before giving me the answer. “It’s Heart and Crystal. They’re in a bad fuckin’ way.”
“What the fuck?” My eyes widen. “What’s fuckin’ going on, Prez? What’s happened?”
Now his hand touches my arm, a gesture of comfort. “We don’t know what the fuck happened, Slick. They were out for a ride, citizen reported it in apparently. The bike was down, off the road, Crystal and Heart both unconscious. They haven’t come round yet, far as we’ve been told.”
Turning, I slam my fist into the wall, my breath catching in my throat. “Fuck, they gonna be okay?” But one look back at Drum and I know he can’t reassure me. “Fuck.” My eyes go to little three-year-old Amy. Both her fucking parents? Life wouldn’t be so fucked up as to take them both away, would it? “Was it an accident…?” Or did someone deliberately run them off the road, I finish the thought in my mind.
The prez shakes his head when he speaks it’s through gritted teeth. “We don’t know anything. I’ll take a couple of the brothers and run out there in the mornin’ and see what we can find. The citizen who called it in didn’t see it happen.”
“I’ll come with.” If this was done on purpose the motherfucker who did it will pay.
As Drum jerks his head in recognition of my offer, Blade comes over, followed by Dart, and both nod at Drum. “We’re goin’ for a smoke. Wanna come, Slick?”
Having only just got here, I need a second to get my head around what’s going on. But as I open my mouth to refuse the suggestion, a man in a white coat appears in the doorway.
“Family of Crystal Norman?”
Brothers stand up, or at least give him their attention. Drum takes the lead, his hand circling around. “That’s all of us.”
“That’s me,” a new voice interrupts.
From my vantage point by the doorway I see the doctor’s been followed by a middle-aged woman. She’s scruffily dressed, a woollen cardigan wrapped around her that’s seen better days, dirty and worn with burn holes from cigarette ash. Her hair’s in a mess as if it hasn’t been brushed, and her face is pinched, her lips thin. I immediately dislike her.
“I’m Crystal’s mother,” she states as I finish making my inspection.
“Right, er…” The man, who I assume is a doctor, looks flummoxed.
“Any news, you tell us together.” From the sneer on his face, Drummer cares about as much about the newcomer as I do. If she’s not an addict I’ll eat my fucking hat. The doctor pushes back his hair, at a loss what to do. He glances down at the woman and wrinkles his nose. Yup, he’s caught a whiff of her too. I feel fleeting amusement expecting he’s wondering what’s worse, a roomful of bikers or this distasteful woman.
“Crystal,” Drum prompts, using the voice no one with any sense would argue with. “How’s she doin’?”
After a quick nod to show the prez’s encouragement has worked, the doctor looks down and composes his face into the one he probably always wears when delivering sad news. When he peers back up he tells us, “I’m sorry to inform you that Mrs Norman didn’t make it. There was excessive bleeding on her brain. We did what we could to relieve it, but she died on the operating table.”
Female gasps and cries of despair, bitter denials from my brothers. I put my hand against the wall to hold myself up. Crystal? No! There must be some mistake. He must be wrong. My eyes go to Drummer, and then to Blade and Dart. The expressions on their faces must match the one on mine. Crystal? Dead? I ate the breakfast she cooked only this morning. Shaking my head in disbelief, I look behind the doctor to the woman who’d introduced herself as Crystal’s mother, quickly realising there’s far more emotion in the room than outside in the hall.
“You could have told me that on the phone,” she sneers. “And saved me a trip down here.” As she glares at the doctor she continues, “And what about that piece of shit with her? He dead too?”
His eyes widening, the doctor turns around. “Ma’am, we contacted you as you were on her records as her family. We need someone to identify the body.”
“I’ll do it.” I don’t know why I jumped in, but I had the sudden feeling I should be the one to do that service for my club brother, not this woman who clearly hadn’t been distressed at hearing the terrible news.
The doctor looks sharply at me. “And you are?”
“Heart—Dale’s brother.” For me it’s true in every sense of the word.
“Ah, her brother-in-law. That will be acceptable.” He nods and seems relieved. I don’t bother to correct his erroneous assumption, doubting he’ll probe further. It’s clear he’s not too keen to spend longer in this woman’s company either.
“What about her husband, Dale? Any news of him?” While Carmen’s bitch of a mother had asked the question in a different way, Prez wants the answer we all need to hear.
“I’m sorry. I’m not treating him. I can’t tell you anything.”
Fuck. It’s bad enough to lose Crystal, the vibrant young mother who not only loved and cared for her husband and daughter, but all of us in the club. To think I’m never going to see her cheerful, smiling face again. The thought tears me inside, and I’m not ashamed to say I feel my eyes leaking. We can’t lose Heart as well.
Suddenly Crystal’s mother pushes in through the door, squeezing past the doctor and pushing Drum aside. She marches into the room and stands in front of Sam and points to the sleeping child in her arms. “I’ll take the brat.”
“What?” Sam’s arms tighten around Amy. “No. No way. She stays here with us.” Sophie moves closer, looking prepared to physically help the prez’s old lady keep hold of the child should the woman try to take her by force.
“I’m her grandmother. Her mom’s gone, so she belongs with me.” These are not caring words. She sounds cold and callous.
“Her dad is still alive. And until we know anythin’ fuckin’ different, she stays with us.” Drummer’s voice is low but fierce. He’s going to allow no argument.
The raised voices have woken the kid. Amy looks up, her eyes bleary, little fists come up to rub them. Pain slams into me once more. How the fuck do you tell a child, just turned three, that she’ll never see her mother again? Gazing up at Sam, Amy cries in her innocent high-pitched voice, “Where’s mommy? I want my mommy.” Well, even if she doesn’t understand what’s going on her distress isn’t surprising, she’s in a strange place at a time she should be asleep in her bed.
Sam’s at a loss what to say and just shakes her head.
“Yer mom’s gone. You’re comin’ with me.”
“Gramma?” She might recognise her grandmother, but from the way she snuggles further into the protection of Sam’s arms, she clearly doesn’t have much liking for her.
Seeing the woman standing her ground, Drum steps close enough to wrap his hand around the scrawny arm of Crystal’s mother. “Her parents left us in her care, and that’s where she’s fuckin’ stayin’. At least until we know what’s happenin’ with Heart,” he growls menacingly. I nod my head, he’s made the right call. Letting that sweet little kid go with a woman like that? No fucking way. There’s something off about her, and I don’t just mean what I can smell.
With narrowed eyes, Crystal’s mom silently challenges the prez. It’s a battle of wills and, as I expect, Drum wins. She looks around and must see she’s outnumbered. With a sneer, and a mumbled, “You haven’t heard the last of this,” she turns on her heels and goes out. I swear the air in the room becomes easier to breathe as soon as she’s gone.
I watch as the doctor, still standing in the doorway, follows her with his eyes as she disappears down the hall. After a few seconds, he turns back and lifts his chin approvingly toward Drummer. Then, addressing me, says, “I’ll get someone to let you know when Mrs Norman’s been taken to the morgue. I’d appreciate you identifying her formally.” And with that he leaves.
“What the fuck was all that about?” Blade’s shaking his head.
But before anyone can answer him, the door opens again, and this time two people step in. Neither of whom I’ve ever seen before, but their air of suspicion immediately gives them away. It’s the heat.
Drum’s on the uptake as quick as myself, and from the stiffening of postures around the room, we’re not alone. As they walk in their eyes glance warily around. The prez steps forward, immediately taking charge. “Drummer, President of the Satan’s Devils.” Then he waits.
“Detective Archer,” the man starts, then indicates his companion, “and Detective Hannah.” He pauses for the information to sink in. “There was an accident tonight out on the highway. A fatality and severe injury we understand. Members of your gang were involved.”
“We’re a club not a gang.” Drum’s eyes blaze in response. “And that’s not news to us. Why the fuck else d’ya think we’d all be here?”
The man I take an immediate dislike to, the woman, Hannah, he’d called her, well, maybe I’m influenced by the fact I wouldn’t kick her out of bed, or not too fucking fast, but she looks okay for a pig. She looks sympathetically at the women, who are crying, and when her eyes fall on the child her face softens.
And it’s the female detective who speaks next, taking the lead. “Well, Drummer, we don’t know much at the moment, such as whether there was any other vehicle involved. We need to find out if it’s a case of reckless driving or whether there could a charge of manslaughter or murder. We’re here as a courtesy to inform you we’ll be investigating. It will help us to know any information you might have.” She pauses and looks around. My brothers and I stare back with shielded expressions. She nods slowly. “Anything you may know could assist as we try to piece together what happened. We’re taking this seriously. A young woman has died today.”
Fuck, that’s all we need. Fucking law investigating us.
When Archer opens his mouth I know I’m right to be concerned. My eyes half close as he says with a sneer, “Yeah, we need to know what enemies your, er, club’s got.”
I see Drummer take a deep breath before he replies, and in my view quite honestly, “We’ve no enemies that would run a brother off the road.” Yeah, we had in the past, but not recently, or none I can immediately think of. My brow creases as I wonder whether there could be someone gunning for us. Could Heart have upset someone we don’t know about? It seems unlikely. For a biker he’s a mild-mannered man.
But even if there was, we’d handle it ourselves and not give any intel to the cops. Our methods of retribution would be quicker and more permanent than theirs.
Hannah’s lips thin as she turns to her companion, and I get the impression there’s something on which they don’t agree. After staring at him for a second, she nods toward Drummer and passes him a card. “If you can think of anything that can help, that’s where you can contact me.” As Drum puts it in his cut without looking at it she adds, “Mr Norman’s motorcycle is in our shop, we’ll be assessing the damage.”
“You’ll let us know what you find?”
She points toward his chest and the pocket he’s just secreted the card in. “My number’s on there.”
Interesting.
My phone rings as the police leave. Fuck, that thing’s getting a work-out tonight. Taking it out, I see there’s no number displayed. I hover my finger over the disconnect key, and then have second thoughts. With all the shit going around it’s best that I answer. Going out in the hallway, half watching Archer and Hannah retreat, I answer. “Yeah?”
I grow cold as I recognise the voice, and it’s the last fucking straw I need tonight. “Fuckin’ get off the line, bitch. I’ve got nothin’ to say to ya. I don’t fuckin’ care whatcha got goin’ on. I ain’t helpin’ ya with fuckin’ nothin’.”
I end the call fast, leaning my forehead against the wall. Why, after all this time, is that bitch contacting me now? With Crystal gone and Heart’s life hanging in the balance there couldn’t be a worse fucking time for her to get in touch. Does she want to come crawling back to me? She’s got no fucking chance.
Footsteps approaching have me turning fast. Fuck, this place is busier than downtown Tucson at rush hour. It’s another damn doctor approaching. I step back inside, leaving the doorway free in case it’s our room she’s heading for. And it probably is, everyone else has made a beeline for it.
She acknowledges me with a tired smile as Drum crosses over. It looks like he’s met her before. “Doc, any news?”
Her face looks grim, and I close my eyes. Not him too. No. That would be too much to fucking take. Not Heart. I can’t lose my brother.
“Mr Norman’s still with us,” she starts, and when I glance over at what at first sounds like a positive update, I see she looks exhausted, lines on her forehead, her eyes reddened, cheeks flushed. “We lost him, but managed to bring him back.” As she pauses she brushes back a strand of hair that’s escaped from her bun. “I won’t lie to you, it was touch and go for a while, and he’s got a long way to go if he even manages to make it out of the woods.” Her face looks full of sympathy as she adds, “I’m sorry to say this, but you should be prepared. He might not make it.”
Dismissing her warning with a wave of his hand, as though he knows Heart will pull through, Blade asks, “What we dealin’ with?”
She lifts her shoulders. “He’s got a broken leg, broken ankle on the same side. Fractured ribs, he lost a lot of blood, and we had to remove his spleen. But it’s the head injury that’s worrying us. We’ve got him in an induced coma for now, and we’ll keep him under for a couple of days while we try to reduce the swelling. When we bring him round we’ll be able to tell a bit more.” Breaking off, she looks around, her eyes taking us all in. Unlike the receptionist earlier, there’s no judgement in her face. “Look, I can see the love you all have for him, and I assure you we’ll be doing our best.”
“Whatever it takes, Doc.” Drum’s hand brushes down his face, coming to rest on his salt and pepper beard. “Bring in consultants, don’t worry about the cost. Transfer him to a specialist unit if you need to. The club will pay whatever.” Murmurs of agreement meet his pronouncement.
A quick quirk of her lips, she replies, “That’s good to know, Drummer. And we’ll bear that in mind. For now I assure you he’s in the right place. We’ll know more… when he comes round.”
The slight gap shows she was thinking if. My breathing falters. Heart. Heart’s not only a member of the club, an officer, and our secretary. He’s the one who’s always there behind us giving silent support. He got his name for his gentleness, his generosity. As Crystal would have said, he’s got a big fucking heart. And if his own stops beating, it will create a hole so big it will take us a fuck of a long time to recover.
The loss of any one of us would hit the club hard. But if we lose Heart? Some of the soul will go out of the club.