“I’m just saying this is going to be trouble, that’s all,” Whiteshirt said as he spun the beer on the table. Their contact on the docks had just left, $250 richer, after informing them the Saracens had lost a load of guns. A major load of guns.
“We didn’t have anything to do with it,” Ironside pointed out.
Hafdan Gustaffson, Whiteshirt to his brothers, shook his head. “I know we didn’t have anything to do with it, but that doesn’t mean they won’t think we did.”
Bjorn Lothbrook grinned. He appreciated his best friend and VP’s caution, but sometimes Whiteshirt worried too much. “You’re worse than an old woman. They know we’re pulling out of guns. Hell, we handed them our drug business. If we’re trying to get out, why would we bother stealing their guns?”
“And you don’t worry enough. Maybe they’ll think we did it just to fuck with them.” Ironside was a good man, and a better leader, but he sometimes forgot the leader of the Saracen’s wasn’t as logical and level headed as he was.
The Teutonic Knights and the Saracens were the two major outlaw clubs in Cleveland. The Knights were formed in 1951, the Saracens five years later. The two clubs had fought viciously over territory and the gun and drug trade until the ‘80s when a stalemate was reached. Under Ironside’s grandfather’s rule, the Teutonic Knights had taken over the lakefront and the downtown, from the town of Rocky River south to I-90 in the west to Euclid and Cleveland Heights down to highway 322 in the east. The Saracens controlled the territory south of I-90 to the 480 bypass, from the banks of the Rocky River in the west to Highway 176 in the east.
Since then, the territories hadn’t shifted much and the two clubs had settled into a Cold War mentality. After Ironside’s uncle and father were busted in a drug deal gone bad, Bjorn had taken his place at the head of the table and immediately made aggressive moves out of their illegal activities. Under Ironside’s leadership, the Knights had gotten out of the drug business already, and were working their way out of guns, moving aggressively into bars and strip clubs, taking them over as they came up for sale or, when necessary, opening one from scratch.
They weren’t completely clean. They still ran three escort services and a half-dozen happy ending style massage parlors, but even those were on the docket to be phased out as their upstart porn studio, Black Knights Studios, or BKS as they called it, came online. Before, their income had come from guns, drugs, and whores. Now it came from supplying the hard men of the docks and the tie-wearing pansies of downtown with booze, naked broads, and, for mostly for the tie-wearing set, upscale pussy.
Since they were no longer directly competing with each other, things had improved with the Saracens in the last five years, but there was still a lot of bad blood between the clubs, and the standing death warrant if you were caught on the wrong side of I-90 was still in place.
As they moved out of the guns and drugs, the Knights had started turning a blind eye to the transportation of contraband passing through their territory, so long as the goods stayed on I-71 and no patched member of the Saracens crossed the I-90, but that left the Saracens exposed until their goods were in their territory or loaded onto a ship. It was an unspoken agreement that had stood for two years, but it looked like someone got greedy and took advantage of that exposure.
Nothing happened on the docks the Knights didn’t hear about, and they’d just heard that a load of guns coming in from Europe left the docks on schedule but never made it south of I-90 where the Saracens were waiting.
“What do you suggest we do?” Ironside asked. “It’s not like Andrew and I can get together over a beer and sort this out.”
Whiteshirt grimaced. “I’m not suggesting we do anything. All I’m saying is we should be ready in case the Saracens decide to make trouble.”
“Okay. That sounds like a good idea,” Ironside agreed. “What do you suggest we do?”
Whiteshirt began to squirm and Ironside grinned. “That’s what I thought. You’re going to give yourself an ulcer worrying about everything all the time. If you have an actionable suggestion, we’ll move on it, but until we know when, where, or even if, the Saracens are going to come at us, there isn’t a lot we can do.”
“Yeah, okay,” Whiteshirt agreed. Ironside was right, but it worried him they could be sitting on a ticking time bomb and Ironside was acting like it was business as usual.
“Honey, you ready to go?” Ironside called. He’d excused his squeeze while he conducted business, but the business was over now.
The big-titted blonde sauntered over, beer in hand, and slid into the table beside him. “Any time, but can I finish my beer first?”
Ironside nodded. “Sure. I’m in no hurry.” He still had more than half his beer to go, too, and he knew from experience that once Honey Mettle got a couple of beers in her, she got hornier than usual. She’d also been on the rag for the past several days, but she’d informed him on the ride over she’d stopped spotting, and he knew she was always got super horny for a few days after her cycle. The one-two punch of hormones and beer? No, he didn’t mind waiting for her to finish her beer a bit.
They were finishing their beer, Honey slowly stroking Ironside’s cock under the table, when the woman walked in, a small duffle slung over her shoulder. Ironside grinned and nodded toward the door, causing Whiteshirt to turn. He looked the woman over and turned back to Ironside with a smile. The woman was definitely Ironside’s type.
Tall with big tits, she was a big girl, but in all the best ways. Whiteside’s grin widened as Honey glared at the newcomer as she moved toward the bar and settled on a stool. She obviously knew the newcomer was Ironside’s type, too.
Peyton settled on the stool and looked over what was on tap. “Warsteiner Dunkel,” she ordered before she pulled out her phone and dialed. As agreed, Melissa didn’t answer. “I made it!” she said softly. “The Teutonic Knights bar on the Mall. I’ll wait here.”
They’d picked the bar because it was the flagship bar of the Teutonic Knights, named after their club, it was well inside the Knights territory, and it was near the train station. Andrew, or the Saracens, would have to be crazy to try anything here. In a few hours, when Melissa could get away, they would walk the three blocks to the train station, buy their tickets, and be on their way out of the Cleveland and try to start someplace new.
She hung up the phone and dropped it back in her duffle as the keep sat her beer in front of her. She nodded her thanks and tossed a five on the bar before taking a small sip, closing her eyes at the rich smooth taste. She would have to nurse the beer because they needed to save every penny, but it sure beat the swill the Saracens seemed to prefer.
“I think I know her,” Honey said as she stared at the woman.
“Who is she?” Ironside asked.
“I don’t know her name, but I swear, I saw her at a party with a bunch of Saracens.”
Whiteshirt and Ironside watched the woman. The women of the two clubs hated each other as much as the men did, and while the men of the clubs spent their time trying to gut each other, the women had become their respective clubs eyes and ears.
“Are you sure?” Ironside asked. The woman didn’t act like a spy for the Saracens, and if she was, why was she here, in a bar?
“No, not sure. But I’m going to find out.” Honey smiled as she slid out of the booth. This was her chance to prove herself to Ironside. She was letting him fuck her stupid, but she hadn’t yet gotten him to make her his old lady. If she turned up a Saracen spy bitch, and kicked her ass right here in front of him, that would be another feather in her cap and prove to him she was more than just a place for him to stick his cock.
She’d been after Ironside since she joined the Knights as a club girl almost a year ago. She’d finally gotten his attention four months ago when he took her to bed, and she’d made sure he didn’t forget her. She’d worked hard to make sure he didn’t get tired of her by threatening to kick the ass of any woman who showed even a passing interest in him, and fucking him at every opportunity. Not that she minded the last bit, because, my God could he fuck.
“What are you doing here?” Honey demanded as she stopped by Peyton.
“Having a beer. What’s it look like I’m doing?” Peyton replied, turning to face the woman, then turning her back on her. “What business is it of yours?”
Honey couldn’t be sure it was the same woman, but how many six foot tall amazons could there be in Cleveland? “You’re out of your territory, aren’t you?”
Peyton felt her blood run cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Honey smiled as the other woman stiffened slightly. “Yes you do, you fucking bitch. I saw hanging on a bunch of Saracens at a party. You know what happens when a Saracens comes into Knights territory? We kick their ass.”
“I don’t want any trouble. I’m waiting here for a friend, then we’ll leave.”
Honey grabbed Peyton’s shoulder and turned her to face her. “You’ve got plenty of trouble now.”
Peyton stood. She was a good two inches taller than the other woman, but she didn’t want to fight. She could always circle around the block and wait for Melissa outside. She glanced around the bar, looking for help. It was the middle of the day and the only people in the bar were the barkeep, the bitch in her face, and the two Knights sitting in a booth watching the drama play out. There was no help to be found here.
“I’ll just go,” she said backing toward the door.
Honey closed, getting into her rival’s face. “It’s not that easy, bitch.” She wanted this fight, needed it to impress Ironside. She gave Peyton a hard shove. “You’ll go, all right, after I’ve kicked your ass as a lesson to all the Saracens bitches who come into Knights territory.”
Peyton took another step back, her hands up in front of her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Spies, bitch. You were sent here to spy.” She gave Peyton another hard push.
Peyton shoved her back hard. “I’m no fucking spy, and I’m not a Saracen!” She couldn’t catch a fucking break. A fucking party? She’d been to a lot of parties in the last three weeks, along with a bunch of other girls, but the only one where should could have been seen was where she and Melissa were trying to get one of the Saracens to pick them up and take them back to the clubhouse.
Honey looked to Ironside, smiling as he and Whiteshirt watched with interest.
“Should I go break it up?” Whiteshirt asked.
“She started it. Let’s see if she can finish it,” Ironside said as he motioned the bartender back when he started around the end of the bar to break up the brewing fight.
“What if Honey is right and she’s a Saracen?”
“Then after Honey kicks her ass, we’ll dump her back on the other side.”
“You don’t find it suspicious she showed up here just as we were finding out about the lost weapons?”
Ironside shrugged. “How would they know we were meeting? We didn’t know until two hours ago.”
***
Honey reached up and grabbed Peyton’s hair and jerked her head down and to the side. “I’m going to fuck you up, bitch,” she snarled, playing to Ironside.
Peyton grimaced in pain. She’d tried to back off, but this bitch was leaving her no other choice. “This is your last chance,” she hissed as she held the hand tangled in her hair.
“You think you want a piece of me?” Honey sneered. “Bring it.”