Dominic
The rampant sex with Erica had exhausted me until I was able to sleep. But then, in the small, desolate hours of the morning, the pain gripped me until I awoke. Erica was still sleeping. Her hair was fanned out behind her head, and her hand was thrown over her face, like a woman who’s just received terrible news. It made me smile, to see her looking like this, so I gave her nipple an affectionate squeeze before weaving to the bathroom.
Her bandage had already filled with blood. If I was going to heal quickly, I would need to do more. Fortunately, the Broken Spires had a medic––a veterinarian in his old life––who could patch me easily. I washed it the best I could, covered it again with fresh gauze, dressed, then tiptoed as quietly as I could from Erica’s room.
I decided not to wake her. Surely, after last night, she would want nothing to do with me. She’d had her fill, being fucked silly by a biker. Now, she was free to return to her happy, normal life.
I gathered up my belongings, and I left.
Twenty minutes later, Thunder was at the curb, his car idle as he waited for me to bend into the passenger seat. He was one of the few Broken Spires who actually had a car, for I knew from long experience, there were situations in which one can come in handy.
Like this for instance.
I loved my bike, but the smooth, easy ride of his Lexus was much preferable to the roaring jaunt that it would offer.
“Jesus Christ, Dom, what happened?” He asked, as I gingerly buckled the seatbelt around my waist. I smiled. Thunder never missed a thing. As briefly as I could, I relayed to him the events of last night.
“Damn it, man,” he sighed, slipping swiftly and surely through traffic. “You’re lucky you didn’t get killed, and luckier that dame you were with wasn’t killed, either. Did you find out anything useful?”
I told him my suspicions regarding an alternate leader of the heist, besides La Gancho, of course. Surprisingly, that pronouncement made him grimmer than my brush with death.
“Yes, I suspect that also,” he said. “But be careful in how you bring it up in the meeting. You know how determined those guys are.”
I nodded in agreement. Managing a biker’s club was a lot like transporting explosives. There is power, yes, but so much unpredictability.
Fortunately for me, most bikers are a nocturnal bunch, so Thunder was able to take me to the Vet to stitch me up before the meeting. He was a wise man, who had entered the biking profession too old to ever be a grunt, but that did not mean that the Broken Spires did not value his skills highly. Without asking any questions other than what he absolutely needed to know––what caused the wound, for example––he fixed me right up. Of course, not being a licensed doctor, he did not have any access to pain medication. But a shot of whiskey and a deep breath is all any respectable Broken Spire needed.
I spent the day recuperating, smoking cigarettes in silence with Thunder. He was the Vice President of the Club––the position directly under me––and I appreciated that, in other clubs, this would have been a source of suspicion. Hell, La Gancho maintained power over the Crooked Jaws only by having anyone he viewed as a rival conveniently “eliminated” before things could progress too far. But I trusted Thunder. Not only was he a loyal VP, but a life-long friend as well.
Difference numero uno between the Broken Spires and the Crooked Jaws.
At last, it was time for us to leave. We took Thunder’s car; the stitches were in, but my side was still sore. After a quiet drive with smooth jazz, to get me into the bargaining mood, we pulled up to the Broken Spires clubhouse.
On the surface level, it appeared just to be another biker’s bar––less seedy than most, but still with that familiar aroma of cigarettes and cheap beer. What one wouldn’t see, however, was the level beneath; in the old days, the bar owners used it to conduct illegal gambling games. The Broken Spires, however, offered them a much more lucrative and reliable business.
Thunder and I parked and waited. It was important for the high-ranking members of the Broken Spires not to be seen entering the bar all at once. It would make far too tempting a target for our enemies. As we watched, I saw the sergeant-at-arms and the road captain slink in, casting cautious looks over their shoulders as they did so. I supposed that, despite the Vet’s discretion, news of my injury had somehow gotten out. At last, with a nod from me, Thunder and I exited the car and marched––proudly, and without a hint at the wound punishing my side––into the bar.
The secret entrance was through a utility closet, by the men’s bathrooms. It was perhaps less-than-glamorous, but as I had learned a long time ago: a gaudy biker is a dead biker. Thunder and I knocked, paused in order to give the men downstairs time to arrange themselves, and entered.
They saw me, and immediately they were silenced.
“Hello, everyone,” I said, and nodded to the inner-circle of the Broken Spires. Though we sometimes disagreed, I respected every single one of them: Thunder, the VP and my closest friend. Dorian, the sergeant-at-arms. Fernando, the road captain. Tristan, the Secretary. These were men who could be trusted, who deserved to know the truth.
“Last night,” I told them, “I was attacked. The Crooked Jaws are growing bolder. My instincts tell me that someone is working alongside or even above Marco Herrera––”
“Ridiculous!” Fernando interrupted. “La Gancho would never permit anyone to rival him in power. You should know that better than anyone, Dominic.”
Another President may have come down on him for speaking out of turn, or even for the veiled insult he had just sounded. But I valued Fernando for his forwardness and his bravado. It was what made him a great road captain.
“I would agree with you, Fernando,” I responded politely, “except there is more. I don’t think that this new force is what we would call a ‘typical’ biker. Because of that, La Gancho may feel less threatened.”
I told them about the Crooked Jaw’s complaints, overheard at the biker’s bar. Then, I gave them a minute or so to mull it over.
“So the question is, then,” Thunder offered at last, “how, if at all, does this affect our plans. Dorian?”
Dorian, the sergeant-at-arms, sighed deeply and then began his recitation. “Well,” he said, “we do know that the Crooked Jaws have been involved in some major money laundering scams, much beyond their usual practices.”
“He’s right,” supplied Tristan. “Usually, they just stick to dealing, but we have evidence that they have become involved not only in that, but in prostitution and child slavery, too.”
I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Drugs were one thing. People chose to do drugs. Slavery, though? That was a whole different matter in my book.
“Our plan,” Dorian continued, “was to strike this enormous cash flow at a vulnerable point, before it could be distributed––”
“Yeah, bankrupt them for good!” Fernando roared, interrupting again. “Make the Broken Spires the top dogs, once and for all!”
“Fernando,” I cut in, and with only his name silenced him. I stood, careful not to wince as my side unbent. “It is a good plan,” I said, nodded to the men in the room, the masterminds behind the heist. “But we still don’t know how they are organizing all this. As we’ve said, it’s not Herrera’s style. Perhaps, we should delay until we find out more. We don’t want to walk into a situation too dangerous for us.”
I, of course, did not believe this. Nothing was too challenging for my Broken Spires. But it was important to at least sound the word of caution.
“Bullshit!” Cried Fernando. “We continue as planned! No skulking coward hiding in the shadows is going to keep me from this heist!”
“That’s one for,” I said. “Thunder, what do you think?”
He looked at me sadly.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, boss,” he sighed, “But last night you were almost killed. I know you’re looking to retire soon, and you want to go out with a bang…but, I’m afraid that desire will make you more likely to go out with a bullet.”
Fernando snorted at these words, obviously thinking Thunder a coward, but I knew better. I trusted his instincts, and he obviously sensed something was up.
“Tristan, what do you think?”
He chuckled. “Hell, you know what I’ll say. We need more funds. We want the money.”
I nodded. That was to be expected. “Dorian?”
“Hey, it’s up to you, boss,” he said, raising his hands. “We’ve trusted you this far. You’ve never lead us astray.”
I gazed around at my men. One against. Two for. One abstaining.
It was, indeed, up to me.
“Alright, men,” I declared. “We are going to do this. There are still a few more details that need working out, though. Dorian? Thunder? You good on that?”
“You got it, boss,” they replied. Thunder might have wanted to call the thing off, but now that we had decided, I knew he would follow me to the end.
I just hoped that “the end” involved me lying on a beach, soaking up some rays and perhaps getting my cock sucked. Not, you know, the sort of end that involved any one of us six feet under.
“Very good,” I replied. Then, I nodded to each of my men in turn, and left. Dorian could handle the details of the rest of the meeting.
Thunder followed silently behind me. It was not until we were past the secret entrance, out through the bar, and getting into his car that he voiced his concern.
“Are you sure about this, boss?” He murmured. “No one will look down on you if you change your mind.”
I thought about the group of men––eager, violent, and energetic––working out the details of the heist down below. Then, strangely, I found myself thinking of Erica. Of how my actions had put her in danger and how, despite my best efforts, I ended up helpless––my life had relied entirely on hers.
For the president of the Broken Spires, that simply would not do.
“Yes, Thunder,” I responded. “I am sure.”