CHAPTER TEN
It was nearly noon before T woke to the cursing, laughter and horseplay of the clubhouse on a Saturday morning.
He reached up and shoved hair out of his face and sniffed. The familiar smells of his own dirty laundry, old motorcycle boots, and leathers. But also, m-mm, coffee, bacon, and was that cinnamon? Yes-sss. One of the old ladies was in the kitchen.
He shot out of bed, grabbed his pants and a tee from the top of a pile and hustled them on, then headed across the hall to the bathroom.
He paused to poke his head into the kitchen as he passed. "Save me some o' whatever smells so good, an' I'll be your slave forever, darlin’!"
Pete's woman Lesa turned from the stove to smile at him, and her tall, blond man grinned from nearby where he stood with a cup of coffee. Both were all showered up and shiny, both in jeans and boots. Lesa in a pretty top the color of a berry, Pete in a black plaid western shirt, and his leather cut. "Better hurry then, T."
"Just remember I'm bigger'n you, Brews, and we'll get along fine." Their laughter followed him down the hallway.
He took a piss, paused long enough to splash water on his face and swipe back his damn, wild-ass hair in a knot at the back of his neck, called that good enough, and headed back to the kitchen.
When he arrived, Pete was seated at the big table, with a loaded plate before him. "Aw, man," T said with delight. "Coffee cake an' cheesy eggs. My favorite." And bacon. Bacon was everyone's favorite, obviously.
Lesa handed him a full plate, and he plunked into the chair beside Pete, grabbing the coffee cake and taking a huge bite. Warm, doughy cinnamon goodness melted in his mouth as he chewed. "Ass so gd," he moaned. "Leave Pete f' me, darlin'."
She set a cup of coffee beside his plate, and patted him on the shoulder. "Can't, T. I'd have to kill you for leaving a mess everywhere you go, and then I'd be all alone."
He forked up a bite of eggs, cheese melting off the sides. "Right, like your man's Neaty Petey." M-mm, the eggs were even better, all cheesy with bits of onion and peppers cooked in the mix.
Pete winked at him. "Nyet, but she loves my big dick so much she lets me get away with being messy."
Lesa snorted as she slipped into the chair on the other side of Pete, with a much smaller plate of food. "No, he loves my lady parts so much he's learning to pick up after himself."
Both men stared at her, and T chuckled richly. "Lady parts?" he repeated. "Fuck, you been readin' them sexy books again, darlin'."
Some of the shit women fantasized about was fuckin' silly, but some was pretty awesome. T wouldn't mind dressing up as a pirate or warrior and doing a little marauding of his own, if a woman was so inclined.
Pete chuckled, a dirty sound, and reached to touch Lesa under the table, in a way that made her jump in her chair. "Milaya moye, is that why you wanted me to come to bed wearing nothing but my cowboy boots, hat and a rope last night? "
His fiance's eyes went wide, her cheeks pink. "Pete Vanko! You shut it, or I'll toss your boots, hat and your—your rope out our second story window."
Both men guffawed at this, because she'd once tried to toss everything Pete owned out his second story bedroom windows. She'd made pretty good progress by the time he stopped her, too.
Pete leaned over, clamped a hand around the back of her neck, and pulled her close enough to kiss. Then he grinned at her. "I’ll teach you to talk dirty. Just repeat after me, sladke moye. Pussy. Pete loves my pussy. No, better yet, Pete takes excellent care of my pussy."
She gave him a flustered, loving look. Then her eyes filled with pure deviltry. "Oh, honey. You think I won't? PETE VANKO TAKES EXCELLENT CARE OF MY PUSSY!" she hollered, right in his face.
Rocker and Moke appeared in the doorway. Moke ignored them on his way to the coffee pot, but Rocker stopped, lifted a hand to shove dark, messy hair from his face and gave the couple a smirk. "Glad to hear it," he said.
Lesa gave a squeak of dismay and ducked her head, hiding her face in her hands.
T-Bear and Pete roared with laughter, and Rocker chuckled as he took his turn at the coffee pot. "You'll have to clue me in how you made that happen," he said to Pete. "Wouldn't mind hearin' her little sis singin' my praises when asked."
T nodded. "You could no doubt get her to do it if you give her enough shots. Our little darlin' is a wild one when she gets her drink on."
Rocker smirked as he sat across from T, cup of coffee before him. "You got no idea. And I ain't sayin', so don't ask."
"Damn," T muttered, stuffing a piece of crisp bacon into his mouth. "You guys are way too close-mouthed lately. Used to hear some awesome shit."
Pete smacked him on the back of his head. It hurt, and caused T to spill his coffee, which he'd just picked up. "Ow!" he complained. "The fuck was that for?"
Pete gave him a look that reminded he was the Russian Iceberg's little bro, and had plenty of that ice in his own makeup. "That talk was about strippers and club pussy. A man doesn't talk about his old lady that way, not if he's worth his cut."
This was true. T looked to Lesa. "Sorry, darlin'. No offense." He glowered at Pete, however. Cheezus, claim an old lady and a brother turned into a raging prude. Next, Pete would be wearing a tie and going to church on Sunday mornings.
Lesa gave T a smile. "None taken. Anyone want more coffee?"
She refilled cups, ‘cause she was nice like that. Could take the excellent waitress out of the Hangar, but she still noticed when her man and his brothers needed refills.
Then she brought the rest of the coffee cake and the skillet of eggs over and set them in the middle of the table, took her own cup of coffee and headed out, after giving Pete a kiss. “See you in a little while.”
When she was gone, Pete waggled his brows at T. "Now you could share your latest hookup with us. Heard you had a 'date' last night."
It was T's turn to smirk. "That I did. But if you think I'm sharin' after you whacked me upside the head, think again."
Pete's face fell. "C'mon, brother. I've told you plenty of shit, before." His eyes narrowed. "I bet nothin' happened last night. Bet you couldn't get it up, and she was disappointed."
The others chuckled as T growled at him. "I did, and she wasn't. Had me my fill of that little honey pot." Well, that last wasn't true, but for four large, wasn't like he could afford to keep going back. Maybe once a month, though.
Although the reminder of Manda’s new profession killed what was left of his appetite.
Fuck, she shouldn’t be hanging out in a skanky cabin, waiting for her next john. She was the kinda gal who should be here, laughing with him and his brothers at the breakfast table, while they teased her like they had Lesa. He could picture the rosy blush on her pretty cheeks, and the way she’d giggle, her big brown eyes bright.
"Up in Rathdrum, huh?" Pete asked. "This some of the strippers from the Line settin' up shop?"
"Nah," T said. "Dude I met at the Line, though. Rezan Faro. Played cards with him in one of the upstairs games. Won some good money off 'im. Guess he wanted some back." And used Manda to get it. Well, T just might have something to say about that. His jaw tightened.
Rocker's front chair legs hit the floor with a clunk. T looked at him in surprise, and stiffened when he caught sight of the look on Rocker's face.
Whatever was in his friend's mind, it was not good.
"Rezan Faro," Rocker repeated, in a deep snarl. "Finally, remember where I heard his name. Listen, T, that little shit is bad news. Very bad news.’
‘He hooked up with one of the strippers from the Line last summer. Pretty gal, not real bright. Pearl, or Opal or some such. She was found beat half to death, out behind the club there. She wouldn't finger him for it, too scared, but some of the other strippers, Candy for one, says she knows it was him. Says he tried to sweet-talk her and Shar into turning tricks for him. Said he did not like it when they turned him down. Only reason I forgot about him was he left town. Guess he's back."
"And shitting in our territory," Pete added, an ugly look in his eye.
"Fuck!" T groaned as anger roared up through him, along with the sourness of regret. He’d left Manda there with that kind of pscho? "Fuck me, Faro’s kinda slimy, but then so are plenty of guys we know. This is bad, this is real bad.”
“That girl he beat up, she okay?" Moke asked.
Rocker grimaced. "Let's just say she ain't stripper fantasy material anymore."
"Fuck!" T shoved back his chair and rose, towering over the table and the other men. Rage built in him, a fiery furnace. "I gotta get Manda out of there—now!"
Rocker held up a staying hand. "Whoa, settle, brother. Don't go off half-cocked now. We got the meet with the Wolves here in a bit. Wait till Bounce, Stick and I are done with that, and I'll ride with you."
"I'm in," Pete said. Then he closed his eyes, and sighed. "Wait, fuck, no I'm not. Got our bi-annual Veterans' event today, free meal and beer for vets and their women. Lesa and I gotta be there, respect. In fact, we better haul ass."
"Yeah, you gotta go be there for the vets," T said absently, drumming his fingers on his thigh. Should he wait for backup, or just head back to the Pine Cabins by himself?
"I'll go, brah," Moke said. "We'll get your woman out, and any others Faro's got up there. Then, cops can't make him pay, we'll do it island style."
They all stared at him. "Almost afraid to ask, but what's island style?" Pete asked.
Moke smiled, showing his big white teeth. "Feed him to da sharks, brah."
"Got no sharks here in North Idaho," T said, baring his teeth right back. "But we got big, fuckin' bears, like me."
"Close enough."
"All right," Rocker said. "But we go in easy. Like we heard T had a good time, and we're just stoppin' by to have a look at the girls, see if we want us some. If Faro has any cronies up there, I don't want one of us gettin' shot in the back over this. And you two—" he pointed at T and Moke. "You wait for us."
T growled under his breath. "C'mon, man. Manda's up there alone with that creep."
Rocker gave him a hard look. "Yeah, and you ridin' in there in a temper may get both you and her hurt, or dead. You wait." He palmed his phone and then rose, jerking his head toward the door. "That's Stick. Our guests are almost here. I gotta go."
"He's right, bro," Pete said from the doorway, his gaze on T. "You ride in there all pissed off, showing your teeth, could end badly. You need backup."
"Fuck's sake, I heard him," T grumbled. "Rock, go have your meet. I'll wait." The club had a hierarchy, founded on solid tradition and blood. A brother went against the orders of the pres or other officers, he'd better be good at talkin' his way out afterward.
He helped Moke stow the leftovers in the big refrigerator, and then stomped off to clean up. If he was gonna see Manda, he should at least smell decent.
But, much as he loved a good, hot shower, today it failed to soothe him.
Nerves were jumping under his skin, and his mind raced. What if she was already in trouble? What if she was hurt? What if Faro chose today to hand her over to some abusive fuck-head of a john, or went psycho on her himself? Logic told T trouble was unlikely to strike quite so swiftly, but he could not rid himself of the nagging itch to go after her now.
He needed to do something to keep busy.
He pulled an old shirt over his clean tee and jeans, and stomped out to the garage. Moke was already there, with an array of parts spread around him from an old bike he was rebuilding.
T moved to join him, and without being asked, picked up a dirty gasket and a rag, doused it carefully with solvent and went to work cleaning it. They worked in silence for several moments, punctuated only by the clink of parts and the rub and creak of damp rags on metal.
Moke lifted his head, listening, and T heard the cargo bay doors going up next door.
"Black Wolves are here. Hope they got their shit together, so Stick can make a deal with them fast."
Moke nodded, and they went back to work.