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Church
“Brothers...” Viking, our club prez, looks around the table at each of us. “We’ve spoken about the heroin coming in over the border. I have an update from the Nomads. They’re in place and keeping watch at the time until we’re ready to bring some heat on the cartel. Right now, we gotta focus on breaking in these new prospects and getting the other clubs on board as backup.”
Nightmare sits forward, the subject instantly infuriating him. “I’m ready to ride any fucking time of the day or night. Already told my ol’ lady to prepare for it. We should be with the Nomads, not breaking in a bunch of yellow-bellied fucks.”
It takes everything in me not to burst out with a chuckle. This is serious, and it’ll piss off my cousin and Nightmare if I laugh. I’ve always used humor to deal with shit, though. I only got dubbed “Blaze” from smoking my share of weed when I was younger and getting the flames tatted on my arms. Besides, “giggles” isn’t a hardcore biker name, and my uncle’s Widow Makers MC wasn’t a place for pussies. The Oath Keepers MC isn’t either, but shit isn’t quite as twisted in this MC as it was in the former.
“I’m ready, too, Night, but we’re sticking to the plan. Speaking of...” Prez turns to me. “You get shit sorted out yet with the school?”
“I spoke to her,” I share, not keen to tell him how it went. The brothers will be all too happy to find out that I’ve met a woman who’s not easily bent to my charms. I’d get shit for days from them, and I’m not in the mood to deal with it, even if it is good-natured.
His brow rises, impatiently waiting for details. The man’s face is like a slab of granite, fierce in every expression. I’ve had to face his anger in the past, and it wasn’t fun. Thought I’d die that day. It works to his advantage; fewer people will fuck with an MC if the prez looks like he’ll pop off your head with his bare hands and not flinch. Viking’s big ass could do it, too.
Exhaling, I meet his stare and confess, “She threatened to have me removed from school property. I need Torch to add me to his daughter’s approved visitors list.”
Torch and Nightmare huff; both had previous run-ins with the woman, while the other brothers either smirk or outright chuckle. The dirty bunch of bastards. I’d like to see them do any better this early on. They sent me in to charm her; they’ve gotta give me a chance to do that much.
I’ve got Odin, my cousin, who’s Viking’s younger brother and our VP beside me, then sits Viking, who’s my other cousin and Prez. After Prez is Torch, the club’s death dealer and finally, Nightmare, an original member and one of Viking’s closest friends. This end of the thick slab of oak is full of grouchy, broody fuckers, unlike the other half. The opposite side of the table seats Sinner and Saint, the club’s hell raisers; Chaos, Smokey, the club treasurer, and lastly, Mercenary, our newest patched transfer from the Chicago charter up north.
Thankfully, the prospects aren’t allowed in church—only the club officers—or we’d really be packed in. It’s hard enough to breathe in this room with everyone smoking weed or puffing on cigarettes that, when we have visiting members, half are forced to stand against the walls. When Viking built this place, I don’t think he was anticipating having one of the largest active charters in the Oath Keepers MC. If we keep growing like we have been, he may need to think of expanding the compound. We could move church into the bar, use this room for storage or something, and then build on a new, bigger bar for everyone to use. I need to stop watching the HGTV channel; it’s making me want to build shit, and I don’t have time for it.
Mercenary speaks up, his deep throaty rasp commanding attention. “Why don’t we just have this chick replaced if she keeps causing this much shit at the school? It seems smart to me that we introduce more of our own into the fold around the compound. You’ve got Scot’s ol’ lady with the bar down the road; it’s convenient to have her keeping a lookout for any incoming. My ol’ lady owns the local track and can store shit for us when needed.” He gestures off to the side in the general direction of his wife’s business. We all stare, waiting to hear where he’s going with this. It seems like a good idea if it’s feasible.
Glancing around, Mercenary continues. “The Oath Keepers has a doc on payroll inside the clinic, besides 2 Piece putting in his free time patching us up. Spin’s got that tattoo shop which connects him to a lot of the younger people around here, as well as the seasoned birds. Twist does all that bodywork and painting with Spin whenever a local has a custom car or bike. You’ve got Princess and Avery, who help by taking care of the compounds and the club sluts when needed. Odin’s ol’ lady does all that baking for the farmer’s market downtown, which people can’t seem to buy quick enough...why not branch out farther and have someone at the school too? If you think about it, the more we’re integrated into the community, the more they accept us.”
Viking relaxes back, his gaze beating down on Merc. Finally, he glances around, his expression lightening a touch. “Damn good idea. Any of you have a woman wanting work, or if you get one in the future, make sure she’s trying to get a job at one of the places around us. Smokey, I’ll get with you later to discuss our account balance and what we may be able to buy into locally. It’s about time we start thinking of the future in ways we haven’t already. I’m not talking about the money we bring in now, but something the club kids can have a piece of. Maybe a sandwich shop or something... I want them to have a way to be legit and not face bullshit bias harassment because they’re tied to us.”
I guzzle the rest of my beer, then ask, “So, I give up on the principal then? We just replacing her?”
Everyone’s attention falls to me again, and Viking scoffs. “Fuck no. Plan’s still in place with her. We don’t have the school board on speed dial to fire her ass, so get in there and get her to submit. She’s been a fucking pain to the club for long enough.”
Sweat breaks out across my brow at his words, but I nod regardless. They haven’t seen how fucking gorgeous she is. They’re like me, assuming she’s some uptight, boring, rule-enforcing, lonely cat lady. This is not the case at all; she probably turns down assholes while pumping gas or buying groceries.
“Anything else?” Prez questions, and we grunt out various no’s. “Then, get the fuck out!” He slams the gavel down, and we shuffle out, headed for the bar in the next room.
Torch approaches, folding his thick, tattooed arms over his chest. “So, the chat you had with her the other day was that bad, huh?” He’s fucking jack diesel; we should’ve called him Terminator or some shit. Back then, we had no idea how huge he’d become, though.
I nod. “I was gonna hit you up about it, but Princess has had me busy fixing her car. Viking’s had too much shit going on to do it, and I don’t like thinking of her without transportation.” Vike’s ol’ lady has become the little sister I never had. I’ve protected her since the day after the Widow Makers MC, and I had held her hostage. She could’ve had her ol’ man kill me, but she saved my life instead. I vowed from that moment on that I would do whatever I could to keep her safe. The vow evolved from a protection detail to her becoming my family and someone I’d consider a best friend.
“Did you get the car finished?” He sits on the stool next to mine, our broad shoulders making up a wall of muscle.
“Yeah. There was a coolant leak. Three hoses and a water pump later, and it runs like new. Pain in the fucking ass too.”
A beer is placed in front of me, along with a bottle of water for Torch. I nod my thanks to Frost, the prospect working the bar today. I had to train him, so I’ve been around Frost more than anyone else around here lately. He’s not too bad; he’ll make a good club member someday.
“We can pop smoke in a few, and I can get you added onto the approved list before I take care of some club shit. She’s a ballsy bitch, giving you the boot for that shit.”
“Bet,” I respond and take a long pull from the ice-cold beverage. I should grab some flowers or some shit and just get this over with. It’s probably a good idea to make my presence known to her as much as possible. She’s gotta learn real quick that she can’t get rid of me so easily. I’m going to be like a fly on her ass, hard to swat away and always buzzing to remind her I’m there.
Finishing off our drinks, we throw a quick munch on some lasagna that Princess was kind enough to make for the club’s lunch and head for the parking lot. As the heavy door closes behind us, a matte black Hell Cat pulls to a stop, doors opening wide to reveal the ol’ ladies from the other charter.
London gets out of the driver’s seat; she’s tall with big tits nearly spilling over her low-cut leopard-print top. She’s so damn curvy that the woman could make a man weep with her wide hips. Her hair’s black as night, tinted with blue, and the outfit she’s wearing has her looking every ounce of a pinup doll stepping from a magazine cover. She’s a bad bitch, the ol’ lady to the VP down the road, and she’s almost always knocked up. Who can blame a brother, though? I’m sure we’d all have her ass on lock-down if we were in his shoes.
Avery steps from the passenger side, her auburn hair cut perfectly in layers and shining. Her nose is peppered with freckles that have her appearing a touch more innocent than she is. She comes from a wealthy home and wears money with class. She flashes an easy smile at us while looking damn good in a silk shirt she’d refer to as a blouse, no doubt. She’s always in tight-as-fuck diamond-studded jean shorts that make her ass look like you could bounce a quarter off it. Not that any of us would ever go there; she’s like our Jude, claimed by two of our brothers. Surprisingly, she balances their charter prez and gun runner flawlessly. She could easily use her club status to her advantage but doesn’t; she’s kind, welcoming, and loyal—all traits we want in an ol’ lady of the Oath Keepers.
A tiny blonde climbs out of the back seat. Her hair’s so light, it’s nearly white and falls to her waist. She’s pushing maybe five feet at most, reminding me of a pixie; she’s the Oath Keepers’ very own Tinker Bell. She may seem sweet and an easy target, but she’s Twist’s ol’ lady, Sadie. He’s one of the craziest motherfuckers in the entire club—the unholy one—so Sadie must be a secret badass. Not only that, but her older brother is 2 Piece, the gun runner. She’s also part of the reason why I was nearly killed trying to protect Princess and our club a while back. Her kid is the grandson to the president of the Iron Fists MC, a rival of ours. I’ve learned that sometimes the sweetest women are the most deceptively dangerous.
“Ladies,” I call out in welcome, always the charmer.
Two additional cages and a street bike pull in to park next to the Hell Cat. Bethany, Nightmare’s ol’ lady, gets out of a car to greet Mercenary’s ol’ lady in the grumbling, fully restored Nova. Chevelle owns the race track down the road, so she’s always in a souped-up muscle car with enough horsepower to make you want to check the size of your balls. The crimson-haired, leather-clad female climbing off the street bike to stand beside London is Snake’s ol’ lady, Peppermint. This is a prime example why so many of us are single still. How can we find a chick worthy when you compare them to the bad bitches of the Oath Keepers? These females would eat the average woman alive if offered the chance.
“Fuck,” Torch mutters under his breath, taking in the gorgeous group of women. “The fuck is going on?” he asks loud enough so only I can overhear him.
“Don’t know, brother,” I reply. “But a group of bitches this bad...in one place has me wondering if we should leave at all. Maybe we should check their cars for dynamite or some shit; they could be up to something. Viking may need us, after all.”
He snorts, folding his arms across his chest, his tattooed biceps bulging as he glares at the females in front of us. “There a problem?” he asks outright. Any other group of chicks would tuck tail and get out of here, but not these troublemakers.
London saunters toward us first with a sway in her hips; the others are quick to follow. Smirking, my dimples come out to play as I tease, “Your ol’ man know you stole his car again?”
She rolls her eyes, her throaty voice nearly making my cock harden as she argues. “Loretta’s my car, Blaze. Besides, what’s he gonna do? Spank me? Maybe you should tattle on me, after all.”
“Right,” I huff and shake my head. We all know she’s guilty of taking off in his car for joyrides and gets the other ladies to tag along on her expeditions. If Cain weren’t such a mean motherfucker, he’d never hear the end of the teasing about his ol’ lady making him hunt her down when she’s feeling froggy.
Chevelle grins wickedly. “You know, London, I own the track down the way...you ever want to race that pretty girl, you just let me know, hun. We’ll have some fun.”
Torch’s and my brows rise, not wanting to bear witness to their plans that’ll no doubt cause their men to worry. The door opens behind us, and Princess and Jude poke their heads out. “Ladies! You’re here, come on!”
I catch Princess’s wrist, halting her. “P, the fuck’s goin’ on? Should I stay?”
She beams a smile and shakes her head. “We’re having margaritas. We decided to make it a weekly thing to meet up. You guys go; we have the prospects here to make us drinks.”
Torch mumbles, but being around him so often, I catch his quick inhale of “Lord help us.”
“Agreed, brother,” I comment, giving Princess’s wrist a soft squeeze. “Call if you need anything; I mean it.”
She pats my cheek gratefully. “I will. Thank you.” With that, she steps back, holding the door open, and the women step around us, heading inside.
“The brothers are in for a surprise,” I say as we head for our bikes.
“The brothers are about to shit,” Torch retorts, and we fire our engines up.
I grin until we hit the highway, ‘cause that shit’s hella funny.
