Down & Dirty: Zeke (Dirty Angels MC: Next Gen #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

When the buzzer sounded and the gate opened, Zeke stepped through.

He swore it would be for the very last fucking time.

The fuck if he was going to say that out loud, because he might not be able to stick to that claim. Proof was the last two times he declared the same.

But, damn, did freedom smell good!

A lot better than his cellie who didn’t know how to wash his crusty ass properly. Zeke swore the fucker used their dirty toilet water to rinse his pits, too.

Dropping his bag of personal belongings at his feet, he pulled his cut free, shrugged it on, and instantly felt so much fucking better.

His thumb swept back and forth over the rectangular embroidered patch that told the fucking world who he was: PRESIDENT of the best damn motorcycle club in the whole Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.

If you asked him, in the whole fucking U.S.A.

Or at least that had been his rank before going in this last time. It might not be true anymore. If so, his DAMC family had managed to keep that shit from him so he wouldn’t flip the fuck out.

His nostrils flared as he sucked in more fresh air. He then glanced toward the parking lot to see who was waiting for him and grinned when he saw the familiar cage.

A vintage Pontiac GTO.

His grin grew with each stride as he headed toward his waiting ride. As soon as he opened the passenger door, he lobbed the plastic bag over the seat and into the back.

“Get in, asshole!”

Zeke gave his cousin a wait-a-minute finger, unfastened and dropped his jeans, making sure the screws got a clear view of a full moon. “Bite my fuckin’ ass!” he yelled and gave one cheek a sharp slap.

“Jesus, I think you blinded me with that ghost-white ass.”

He jerked up his jeans, shot Violet a smirk, quickly flipped his cut inside out before slipping it back on, then folded himself into the car.

Goddamn, did he miss this woman.

At least, when she wasn’t riding his ass. Which was often. Sometimes prison was the only time he got a break from his best friend annoying him.

“I’ve missed you, asshole. By the way, I never knew your dick was so small. I’d prefer to go back in time to before I saw it.” She shuddered dramatically.

He grunted, “Ain’t small.”

“Looked like a stunted button mushroom.” She gagged. “I’m never eating mushrooms again.”

“Fuck you, woman. How the fuck d’ya get a holda Diesel’s cage?”

Vi pressed an index finger against her lips and quickly glanced around like she was making sure the man her mother nicknamed “The Beast” wasn’t secretly lurking. “Shhh. He doesn’t know.”

A laugh burst from him. “Fuck, cuz. Only you’d get away with that shit. The rest of us would be tossed into a deep, cold-as-fuck quarry somewhere, never to be found again.”

“It had so much damn dust on it, I had to run it through the car wash so I could see out of the windshield. Since he rarely drives it anymore, he should just give it to me.”

“Yeah, sure. He’s gonna just give you the prized possession he’s had for decades and is probably worth a fuckload of scratch.”

Vi slapped a hand to her chest. “I’m his prized possession he’s had for decades. The first and favorite daughter.”

“Funny that you think you’re so damn special.” He settled into the bucket seat and side-eyed Vi. “You bring any smoke with you?”

He could see dark eyebrows rise above her sunglasses. “You mean on prison property, dumbass?”

“Guess you didn’t want to risk it. Pussy.”

She shot him a grin. “I definitely have one of those and I will not be flashing it at you or the guards.” She jerked her chin toward his side of the car. “Check the glovebox. Figured you’d need some after your last eight months of vacation.”

“You’re my favorite cousin, know that?”

She punched his upper arm. Hard enough to hurt since she was no weakling. But then, she had to be tough as nails to do what she did. “Of course I do. But now you owe me.”

He opened the glovebox and pulled out a metal cigarette container.

He flipped open the lid and was relieved to see it held six hand-rolled joints instead of cigarettes.

The latter was easy to get in prison. Pot?

Not so much. He tucked one between his lips before slipping the tin into the pocket of his cut. “Lighter?”

She tossed him one that had been sitting on the dashboard. “Damn, you’re needy.”

“Been inside for eight months. Gonna need a helluva lot more than pot.”

“The rest isn’t my problem. The sweet butts know you’re coming home. I’m sure one of them will be load-free when you get there.”

“Their cunts better be load-free. They know the rules.” Curving one hand around the joint, he flicked the Bic with the other and lit it, then hurried to roll down the window and blow out the smoke.

Diesel might be old, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still pound people into the ground with his sledgehammer-like fists.

Even at his ripe old age of…whatever it was…he was still a beast.

“Can we get the fuck outta here?”

She shifted the GTO into gear and took off. The roar of the muscle car’s big block engine vibrated through his chest. The only thing that sounded better was his Harley or a woman screaming when he made her come.

Yeah, he needed to get the fuck home so he could hear both of those again.

Fisting it was the biggest drawback to spending time in a concrete box. Jacking off wasn’t the same as burying himself inside some hot, slick pussy with big tits.

Zeke twisted his head to stare at Vi’s profile as she drove. “They givin’ me a welcome home party?”

“If they had a party for you every time you got sprung, the club would be bankrupt. The only party you might get is a blanket party from your father for fucking up again.”

“He ain’t doin’ shit.”

Zeke was Zak’s number one son.

For fucking up.

Unlike his younger brother Zane, their parents’ “golden” boy.

“He’s been fillin’ in for you while you were away.”

“So, my spot’s safe.” Thank fuck.

“Barely. Some wanted to take it to a vote.” She glanced over at him as she drove toward Shadow Valley.

“He reluctantly convinced them to let you keep that patch. For now, anyway. But got to say, he wasn’t happy about it.

He promised the members that this was your last time inside.

If not, don’t be surprised if they strip that patch from you. ”

“Fuck,” he muttered, taking another long draw on the hand-rolled, holding the smoke in his lungs as long as possible before shooting it out the open window.

“Well, what do you expect, idiot? Who wants a damn fuck-up as a leader?”

Zeke ground his teeth before taking another hit. He wasn’t mellowing out fast enough. Especially with this topic of conversation.

He wasn’t surprised that this last bid inside ruffled some feathers, but he was surprised that his father fought for him.

“Look, cuz, I love you, but you need to get your crooked ass straight. You need to figure out how to ‘take care of business’ without getting caught.”

Zeke sucked on his teeth. He hated to admit she was right. He needed to stop fucking up. If not for himself, then for the club.

His old man, the former president of the Dirty Angels MC, always hammered home the fact that fewer members spending time locked up kept their MC strong. Their club size alone was now a deterrent to keep rivals from fucking with them. Losing members for big chunks of time only weakened them.

Keeping them on the streets also kept their club accounts full because everyone worked in the DAMC’s businesses, but the most obvious benefit was it kept law enforcement off their ass and out of their club business, too.

Nobody wanted pigs breathing down their necks. He had enough of that shit from the screws at SCI Fayette.

When he was a kid, he heard more than a few stories about how they lost a lot of members back in the day.

The war with a nomad, rival club, the Shadow Warriors, went on for decades.

The Warriors wanted to claim the DAMC’s territory and no fucking way was the DAMC giving it up.

It started with them taking pot shots at each other and destroying property.

Then it turned into the Warriors kidnapping their women and children. As well as rape and murder.

Hell, his great-grandfather, Bear, was killed by those motherfuckers back in the mid-eighties. His great-uncle, Rocky, along with Vi’s great-grandfather, Doc, spent their lives in prison after getting revenge on the Warriors for Bear’s death.

History proved that the originals were badass motherfuckers.

Then came his father, Zak. He wanted better. He didn’t want to see his club torn apart so he did what he had to do to keep them whole. That meant big changes, like keeping the club as aboveboard as possible. He even made them rip off their 1% patches.

But the DAMC members weren’t supposed to be angels. They were supposed to be Dirty fucking Angels. For fuck’s sake, their motto was “Down & dirty ’til dead.”

Live for the club. Die for the club. That was how it should be.

Loyalty was important.

Hell, so was scratch.

No matter fucking what, following in his old man’s footsteps wasn’t fucking easy. He wanted to do his own thing, run the club his way, not necessarily the way his father had run it for decades.

Yeah, keeping the club on the straight and narrow—for the most part—helped keep the pigs off the club’s back.

But keeping the club legit was so damn boring.

When Zeke offered what was left of the hand-rolled to Vi, she shook her head. “You know I don’t smoke that shit. I need to stay sharp.”

Zeke huffed, “Like you go out and take jobs.”

“Sometimes I do.”

“Thought you had a full team now that you hired that new guy, Reaper, or whatever the fuck his name is. And won’t Scarlet be joinin’ the crew soon?” Vi’s youngest sister had to be close to done doing her time. Unlike him, her time served was in fatigues, not in a jumpsuit with an inmate number.

“As soon as she gets discharged. But yeah, Reaper’s the best decision I’ve made since taking over the business.”