CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
At five twenty-seven, T walked into the clubhouse.
He had no trouble following his nose to the kitchen. Manda was there, making her chicken dinner. It smelled great, and she looked pretty as could be bustling around the big kitchen. She had her hair up in a messy bun with silky locks hanging down her right cheek and her nape, with a dish towel tied around her little waist.
The bad news was that a couple of the brothers were already there, sitting at the kitchen table drinking beer and watching her cook. Webb was fine, he was seventy if he was a day, with a balding head and a face deeply lined with the sorrows of life. He was also married to a woman still as feisty and jealous as when he was a young buck.
The other guy, who had his back to T, was a big dude with short brown hair and a Flyers' cut with the bottom rocker hidden by his wooden chair.
His hackles up, T nodded to Webb. Then T wasted no time striding across the kitchen and leaning over Manda's shoulder as she straightened from checking a baking dish in the oven. "Mm-hmm, now that smells awesome," he approved, taking a deep breath of woman and chicken in sauce.
She closed the oven door and turned to smile up at him, her face flushed with heat. "Hi. It's just chicken-noodle bake. Nothing fancy. It’ll be ready in a few."
He laid his hand on the curve of her hip. "Anything that smells like that, and you cooked it—who gives a shit if it’s fancy? I'm hungry, it'll suit me to a T." Then he waggled his brows at her. "See what I did there?"
She shook her head, but she giggled. "Yeah, I see. So I need to know, do you eat salad? Because your brother Webb does, but your other brother Rav informed me 'not unless he was starving and that's all there was, which he ain't and it isn't, so no'."
At this, T turned and looked to the table in surprise. "Yeah, I'll eat whatever, babe," he told her, patted her absently, and then moved toward the newcomer, reaching out his right hand. "Rav? Shit, brother, I didn't recognize you without all that long hair. Whatcha doin' back here? Thought you were in the wind, nomad for good."
Rav rose, a slow smile sliding over his raw-boned, tanned face. He shook hands, his grip strong. "T, good to see you."
"You too, man. Lemme pop a beer, and I'll join you." T turned and made for the frig, where he grabbed a cold bottle of hefe and brought it back to the table. He popped the top, tossed the cap into the ashtray in the middle of the table, and took a long pull. "You been in the Dakotas, right?"
"I have," Rav said, leaning back in his chair. He wore a black tee with a howling wolf under his cut. "Spent the winter working security at a casino near Sturgis."
"The Black Wolf," T said, eying the shirt again. "Recognize the shirt. So, how'd you like working for the Wolves?"
Rav shrugged. "Not too bad. 'Cept they ain't Flyers."
"So, you didn't come back to let us know you're switchin' clubs?"
The other man's eyes narrowed. "Fuck, no. You tryin' to pick a fight with me, big man?"
T shrugged. "Not unless you'd said yes. Other'n that, glad to see you back. Been some changes around here, all good."
Rav's gaze flicked to Manda, and he smiled. "So I see. Club pussy that cooks, too—that's a good thing."
"Yeah, no." T set his bottle down sharply. "She ain't club pussy."
Rav looked back to him, his brows going up. "She yours?"
"She's under our protection," T said. "That means respect."
Rav shrugged. "Can't blame a man for tryin'. Although looks to me like she needs more protection than she’s gettin’.”
T scowled. “That’s why she’s here. Wasn’t a brother that done that to her.”
Rav nodded slowly. “Glad to hear it. That pretty redhead, Kit, still around?"
T grinned. "She is, but she's taken. Her old man's nomad, they live over in Coeur d'Alene."
"Damn. Who's she with, Jack Moran? I heard he claimed a woman."
"He did, an' they live over there too, but Kit's with Keys Younger." And Remi Redhawk, another good guy even if he wasn't a Flyer, but that was a story for another day.
Webb chuckled. "They ain't the only brothers to claim old ladies. Both the Vankos are taken."
"Jee-zus," Rav said slowly, his brows high. "Next you'll tell me Rocker's settled down to one woman—and we all know that ain't never gonna happen."'
Webb and T just looked at each other and laughed.
Rav stood, shaking his head. "That's it, I'm outta here. That shit's contagious around here. Must be in the water."
T guffawed. "No, it's the beer. And it's too late, 'cause you already drank some. So you might as well stay for supper. It’s gonna be awesome."
Moke walked in. "What's in the beer? I was gonna have some."
"You better worry," Rav told him. "'Cause you're single too."
Moke looked to T, who waved him off. "Never mind, bro. You had to be here."
* * *
Stick Vanko strode through the main room of the clubhouse . He nodded to Streak, who looked up from a thick book he was studying on the bar. Looked like a textbook . Stick filed this information away for later, and continued on, looking for the man he'd come to find.
Loud laughter echoed out of the kitchen. Stick stopped in the doorway.
The lights were on, savory smells wafting on the air. T's new woman was at the stove, that was good. Earning her keep here under their protection.
Webb, T-Bear, Moke and Rav sat at the table, beers in front of them. Rav looked up, and Stick jerked his head toward the meeting room. Rav rose immediately, and followed Stick around the corner of the wide hallway and into the meeting room, now empty and quiet.
"Close the door," Stick ordered. He turned and cocked one hip onto the edge of the long table, arms crossed. "What have you got for me?"
Rav crossed his own arms and rocked back on his heels, a big man in his thirties, and comfortable in his own skin.
"You know I spent the winter working security at the Wolves' Casino," he said.
Stick nodded.
"Well, that kind of job, a man sees a fuckuva lot. High rollers, losers, the whole gamut. The Wolves are running a tight operation, raking in the money."
"Ain't all theirs, though," Stick commented. "Way I hear it, one of the eastern tribes came in with big investment money, and they also take a big cut of the profits."
Rav nodded. "They do. So, the Wolves do all right, but they run businesses on the side."
Stick smirked. "We know."
Rav gave him a look of interest, but didn't ask, which was smart because as a nomad, Stick wouldn't share details with him. "There's other local operations running alongside the casino, too, as I'm sure you know."
"Whores and drugs," Stick said, without much interest. "So?" He wouldn't tolerate that shit, but the Wolves weren’t his club.
"So, a few weeks ago, I overheard a convo," Rav said. "Couple of guys in one of the private poker rooms. They'd been playing all night, drinking to match, or I don't guess they would've run their fat mouths there. I was out in the hallway, waiting to lock up the rooms for the night. Anyway, one of 'em asks when the first shipment is gonna show. I didn't think much of it, but then the other guy says 'Got a couple guys recruiting in Cali, one in Seattle.'
‘And by then, I figure out he's talking prostitutes. Now I'm listening for serious, 'cause if Chains is getting into that trade, I'm gone. But then the guy laughs and says 'I even got my cousin recruiting over in Spokane area. Course he's a dumb so-and-so who can't keep his hands off the merch, so his gals will likely show a little banged up'."
Stick went on the alert. "You get a name fpr this cousin?"
Rav grimaced. "Not sure, tell you the truth. Unless it's some kinda weird nickname. Raisin, or something like that?"
"Rezan," Stick corrected.
Rav looked to him, surprised. "Yeah, that was it. Fuck, you know this guy?"
Stick sighed. "Rezan Faro. Da, unfortunately, we do—know of him, that is. He’s the one roughed up the little blonde, Manda. She was in the hospital for three days."
Rav made a sound of disgust. "He have a chance to whore her?"
"No. T-Bear got her out. She was beat-up, but otherwise okay. So, you talk to Chains about this?"
Rav grimaced. "No. And here's why... these two ass-holes mentioned another name. Chaske Firewalker."
“Govno," Stick muttered. This was a new twist, and an unpleasant one. "Hawk's oldest son."
Chaske had just been here in Flyer territory, for the better part of two days and nights. Had he met with Faro while he was here? Was that why he'd come on the trip? And if so, did his father, the Black Wolves' veep, know about his son's ambition to be a pimp?
Finally, was the Wolves' offer to supply ammo to the Flyers intended merely as a smoke-screen for trips to pick up women? Spokane had been on the pipeline for transport before, and likely still was. But not through Flyer territory, by God.
"All right," Stick said. "Thanks, brother. This is good information."
"Glad I could help, anytime, anyway."
"You headed back to the Dakotas?"
Rav met his look straight on. "To tell you the truth, I'm ready to come home."
Stick smiled slightly. "Nomad wasn't all you thought it would be?"
Rav grinned, dipping his head to scratch his thick hair. "No, not really. Got fuckin' tired of having no one I could trust, you know? Can't really let down outside your own club, and the Flyer chapter in Sturgis, honest to God, they're more concerned about ridin' around looking tough at Rally than anything else."
Stick chuckled. "I've noticed this. Listen, you want to stay for good this time, we can find a place for you at the table. The brothers will have to vote of course, but..."
But that was merely a formality in this case. Rav was well liked by most of the chapter, and he was good at his chosen profession, working security. Both made him an asset.
Rav's jaw tightened, and his eyes glistened. He nodded.
Stick rose, and clapped his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Welcome back."
* * *
Supper that Wednesday evening was a cordial affair.
Moke, T-Bear and Rav were there. Webb's equally skinny, but startlingly blonde and bejeweled wife Velvet joined them. She was outspoken , funny and fussed over her man, which Manda thought was sweet. She also treated the younger Flyers like overgrown teens, which was hilarious.
And she complimented Manda's cooking, which was just plain nice.
Manda's hot dish, sprinkled with crispy bits of potato chips, and oozing gooey goodness, was a hit. The huge baking dish soon emptied, along with the salad, which had come from a bag of mix, and the basket of rolls warmed in the oven.
Rav seemed nice, although he had a certain look in his gray eyes that made Manda glad she sat beside T for supper. Not mean, but somehow wolfish.
Afterward, about seven by the vintage round clock on the kitchen wall, loud voices were heard in the main room, and the music volume went up.
"Thanks for supper," Moke said to her, and rose to leave.
T put a hand on Manda's thigh and gave it a warm squeeze that she felt through her jeans, not painful but it stayed with her all the same. She remembered he'd touched her that way on their 'date'. "I'm gonna head out there and talk for awhile ," he said. "You wanna come with?"
"No, thanks," she told him. "I'll wash the dishes, clean up my mess." Then she'd go hang out in her borrowed room. She was still leery of ‘hanging out’ with T’s brothers in groups.
Velvet rose. "C'mon, honey," she said in her cigarette roughened voice. "Let's you and me clean up together. You cooked, I'll wash anything that can’t go in the dishwasher."
"Thanks," Manda said, "But maybe I should wash, and you put things away, so I don't put everything in the wrong place."
Velvet laughed, and flapped a thin hand with long, silver nails. "Like anyone 'round here would notice, or care if they did."
"Hey," T said, grinning at the older woman. "Sara might. And we don't wanna piss her off."
"You let me worry about Sara," Velvet told him. "Webb and me are her number one babysitters—we got an 'in'."
"That's true." T ambled away, though not before pressing a soft kiss to the top of Manda's head. His beard tangled in her hair and ruffled it, but she didn't mind a bit.
Velvet grinned, but said nothing—about that. She did however chat about everything else under the sun while smoking a cigarette, and drying pots and pans and putting them away in cupboards and drawers.
Since Manda loaded the dishwasher and started it first, there weren't too many dishes. Not that she minded. Cleaning up with friendly company didn't seem as much of a chore. And here, there was room to move, room to put everything away without leaving it piled precariously on counter-tops, the stove top, and even the table itself.
After they were done, as if by magic, Webb appeared to collect Velvet, and the couple left Manda alone.
When she walked out into the hallway, she stopped short. Rav leaned against the wall across from the kitchen door, right next to her bedroom door. His head was down, his hands were up as he fiddled with something on his phone, one of his feet was up behind him, his boot planted against the wall. Manda hesitated, and then moved to pass him, on the way to her room.
He reached out a long arm, and barred her way, tipping his head to the side to peer into her face. "Hey," he said in his deep voice. "You sure are pretty. Since you don't have a man, you up for a little private party, just you and me?"
Manda took a step back and sideways in the other direction. "No. Thanks, but no."
He raised his brows, and looked her over. "That a permanent no, or a not tonight no?"
"Both," she blurted, and then tensed, in case he took offense, as a big, admittedly handsome in a rough way, biker man in his club's domain.
He dropped his arm and straightened, holding up his hands, palms out. "Whoa, there. No need to look scared like that. I get it. T's a lucky bastard."
Then he turned and walked away, back out into the main room. Manda blew out a breath of relief, and hurried to open the door of her room, and duck inside. She locked the door, and then went to curl up against the pillows on the bed, her phone in hand.
Then she ducked her head to her knees and started to giggle helplessly. Had that just happened? A hot, dangerous biker stranger accosting her and offering her a—a sex party for two? Rav Whatever-his-name-was was hot, no doubt about that. Geez, were it not for T-Bear, she might have been tempted by his offer.
She fell sideways on the bed, laughing so hard she soon had a stitch in her side. Breathless, she managed to draw a breath, then another, and calm down. But she lay there smiling to herself for a while. He'd offered, she'd said no, he'd backed off immediately and completely.
She didn't care what Det LaRond said, the Flyers were good guys.
When she stretched her arms over her head, and caught the scent of her own pits, however, she lost her smile. Euww, she needed a shower, like right now.