Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
CALLUM
L eaning forward, I stared through the windshield at the two-story sprawling warehouse lit up in the darkness like a fucking Christmas tree. Going by the sheer size and imposing look of their place, this club was making a big statement. They wouldn’t be hidden away. They were loud, proud, and here to stay.
The Kings of Anarchy clubhouse setup was much the same as the Speed Demons. They were smack bang in the middle of an old industrial area that used to be thriving but now stood completely empty except for the massive clubhouse, which was the size of a football field, and the single-story bar they’d built onto the side.
At the front of the compound was a tattoo place and auto shop we’d driven past on the way in. Other buildings were set off to the side. One of them, another sprawling warehouse, had patio chairs and tables outside and potted plants.
Men in leather jackets with KOA patches stood at the tall, metal gates protecting the clubhouse where we’d stopped behind Atlas’s GMC while he got out to introduce us.
Donovan whistled softly from the back seat. “Impressive setup.”
“Reminds me of the Demons’ place,” I replied, putting my truck into drive and following Atlas’s car as it headed slowly toward the clubhouse.
“It works for them,” my brother murmured. “They probably saw the Demons’ compound and its practicalities and thought if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
“Pagan, the KOAMC prez, is tight with Breaker,” I explained. “I’ve no doubt the Kings picked his brains about setting up shop here. They’re a big club with a lotta members, so they’d need to find a space that’ll house everybody. An industrial area makes sense. It’s wide open, with buildings already set up for their legitimate businesses. Also, they’re far away enough from the town and residents to not bother anybody and stay outta the way, but still close enough for decent access.”
“True,” Donny agreed. “The cops won’t come out here unless it’s necessary.”
I pulled my truck next to Atlas’s GMC and switched off the engine, glancing toward Breaker and Kennedy, who’d pulled up the other side of me to Atlas. “They’ve probably got the sheriff on their payroll by now, anyway.”
Tristan’s head popped forward from his seat next to Donovan’s. “Why is all this cloak-and-dagger shit sexy, Mae Mae?”
My wife craned her neck to reply, “Not for me, Tris. I prefer a nice quiet life.”
Tristan’s eyes fell on the group of men wearing their cuts and leather jackets, and he eyed them appreciatively. “Oh, I don’t know. There’s a lot to be said for a bad boy. Especially when they look like that. I think there must be a special baby-biker Kool-Aid these boys are made to drink in their youth to make them grow up to be big and strong, develop a fetish for leather, and become as hot as molten iron.”
My mouth curved. “There was me worried about Donovan getting himself into trouble. Do I need to put a leash on you, Tris?”
He fanned his face. “Stop flirting. You’ll make Maeve jealous.”
Mae snorted from beside me while Donny barked a laugh.
Rolling my eyes jokingly at my wife, I jumped from the truck and jogged around to help her down. When we were all safely deposited onto the asphalt, I slid my arm across Maeve’s shoulders and turned to see a tall, tattooed, shaven-headed biker approaching us.
“Sweet baby Jesus,” Maeve whispered, her mouth falling open as she caught sight of him.
The fucker looked as if he’d slit your throat for looking at him sideways. Ink covered his hands and throat, adding to the menacing vibe he gave off. An unlit cigarette was tucked behind his ear, and his walk was a slow saunter and full of bad fucking attitude.
Making a beeline for Breaker, he reached out to fist-bump him before grabbing his wrist and moving in for a manly hug.
After pounding his back a few times, Breaker moved away and nodded toward us. “You’ve met Atlas; these other fuckers are Callum and Donovan O’Shea, and that’s our buddy Tristan.” His hand reached for his woman. “This is my ol’ lady, Kennedy. You’ve met Soph, and that’s Maeve, Callum’s wife. Everyone, this is Pagan, Prez of the Wyoming chapter of the Kings of Anarchy.”
Pagan moved to give Atlas a fist bump and back pound before his stare flicked over each one of us in turn. It took him a second, but within that short time, I got the distinct feeling he’d already sized us up. There was more to him than muscles, brawn, and IDGAF attitude. This dude was clued in as fuck.
“Welcome,” he called out, his voice deep and gravelly. “Glad to have ya here.” His gaze rested on Maeve, and I felt her tense up. “Dunno what you know about KOA parties, but they can get rowdy. Rules is, there ain’t no rules, but no KOA brother will bother you ladies unless they get the green light. You’ll see nudity and raunchy shit, and it’s a given that you single boys can fill your boots,” his eyes flicked over Tristan, “there’s something in there for everyone, but I ask that you don’t approach any of my men’s ol’ ladies. Pay us the same respect we’ll pay you, and a good time’ll be had by all.”
“No problem for me,” Donny declared, flicking his finger from his forehead in a casual salute.
I skewered him with a pointed look, cocking an eyebrow.
If anyone was gonna get us in woman trouble, it’d be my little brother. Granted, it wasn’t always entirely his fault—the ladies, single and attached, seemed to go gaga for the good-looking bastard. But he also loved the attention and—to my exasperation—the drama, too. Usually, we could use our fists as a unit and easily get him outta most spots of trouble, except tonight, I didn’t fancy our chances against a club full of one percenters.
“I’m just here to soak up the experience,” Tristan breathed, eyes going wide as he took in all the brawny, tattooed, leather-clad men milling around.
“Shame that.” Pagan’s lips twitched. “Reckon my tail gunner, Cruise’ll take a liking to you. He goes feral for a pretty boy.”
Tristan’s face lit up, and he breathed, “Sweet Lord above.” Then, turning toward us, he leaned forward and pointed toward the clubhouse. “Come on, people, why are we standing around? In the words of the man with the Coke Can, let’s fucking go!” He swung back around, his eyes frantically darting between us all before he screeched, “Come on! Move it!”
Pagan laughed, deep and throaty, jerking his chin toward the clubhouse. “You heard the man. We got places to go and people to see.”
My hand slid down Maeve’s arm to take her hand and I pulled her to fall into step behind the others. It was freezing, there was the promise of snow in the air, and she’d left her coat in the car, seeing as we doubted the Kings would have a cloakroom.
“Here, baby,” I murmured, slipping my leather jacket off and tucking it around her shoulders.
“You’re so sweet,” she whispered, snuggling into it and shooting me a bright smile.
I grinned down at her, thinking it was crazy how, a month ago, putting somebody else first who wasn’t my mam or sister wasn’t something I even thought about. Now, everything I did had Maeve in mind. Jesus, I was turning into a sap, and weirdly, I didn’t have one fuck to give.
Four men stood at the entrance to the clubhouse. As soon as they saw Pagan, they parted like the Red Sea, holding the door open for us to enter. The thud of a deep, heavy bassline gave us a hint of what was inside.
I’d already talked to Maeve about what to expect. The Demons were mostly settled now, and their parties were a lot more sedate than they used to be. Still, back in the day when the guys were single, things could get wild at their shindigs.
I expected loud music, heat, gyrating bodies, and sex, and I’d warned her as such.
We walked through a small hallway, through another door, and directly into a vast room.
Studying it, I was immediately impressed at how it appeared more like a slick nightclub than a biker clubhouse.
The vibe was definitely different from the Shamrock. The walls, instead of my preferred buttery cream, were a deep, flat, dark grey. My countertop was a classic, polished oak, whereas the KOA’s was metal, industrial, and purely functional in a modern, space-age way. It ran the entire length of the room, the backlighting shining off the chrome, which inadvertently lit up the rest of the space.
The main lights were turned low, which added to the sexy, dark vibe. The stage was still empty, though filled with the band’s instruments, indicating they were set up and ready to go. The place was so big that I couldn’t see to the other end, though it didn’t help that the place was packed. Groups of scantily-clad women—some of whom I assumed were club girls—were already in groups dancing and laughing while KOA men and their buddies stood around the edges of the dance floor, drinking beer and shooting the shit.
Pagan turned toward the bar and jerked his head, and within minutes, we were all handed bottles of Bud, and the girls had cocktails in their hands.
Maeve’s eyes darted around the room, taking everything in, from the nearly naked women and the rough, tattooed men in cuts to the futuristic-looking bar. “This place is awesome,” she exclaimed. “It’s a completely different vibe from the one we’re going for, but it’s perfect for your men. It’s got a modern, trendy feel, but it’s still practical.” Her eyes went to Pagan, who was listening intently. “It’s nothing like I expected a biker clubhouse to be.”
He flashed her a grin, showing straight white teeth, and I was sure I heard Maeve sigh.
Instantly, it hit me that he’d probably charmed a thousand women into bed with that damned smile, and my fingers involuntarily tightened around my wife’s.
This fucker was as stealthy as they came.
“We’re a young chapter,” he stated. “I don’t have an officer over the age of thirty-eight. A lotta my men have come up from prospecting at other places, and the other brothers have relocated here on the promise of something fresh and new. We’re all finding our way, so why not start with a home we’re comfortable being in? Because that’s what this place is, ultimately, our home.”
“That’s beautiful,” Maeve murmured, peering up at him. “Everybody needs a place to call home. Even big bad bikers.”
He peered back down at her and muttered, “You got pretty eyes, and I like your top.”
My chest began to heat.
Yep. Stealthy fucker.
Slowly, she blinked, seducing him into her web of charm, and exclaimed, “You’re just the sweetest man in the world!” She glanced at me. “Isn’t Pagan just the sweetest, Callum?”
I positioned my front to her back and slid my arm across her chest. “Yep,” I bit out sarcastically. “He’s just perfection.” My jaw tightened.
Atlas threw his head back and busted a gut, while Breaker stared down at his boots with his hand covering his mouth and his shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
Pagan’s eyes slid from Maeve to me, his expression thoughtful and asked. “You two solid?”
My answer—and a whole lot more—must’ve flashed across my face because he took one glance at me and raised his hands defensively. “Just askin’. You never know these days. I got a boy who loves to share.” His mouth twisted into a smirk, his expression turning lazy. “You should try it.”
A growl escaped my throat, and my hands clenched into fists.
Maeve giggled.
Tristan, who’d been watching the scene with interest, snickered along with Kennedy. Even Sophie turned her head to laugh into Atlas’s chest.
I felt a muscle tic in my jaw.
Motherfucker.
Pagan’s eyes caught on something over my shoulder. “Yo! Cru!” he bellowed. “Get your ass over here.”
I turned to see a tall, blond guy saunter over, his eyes glued to Tristan. “Howdy,” he called out in a thick Southern accent.
“Hallelujah,” I heard Tristan mutter. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“This is Cruise, my tail gunner,” Pagan announced.
The dude dipped his chin in greeting. “Welcome. Heard all about the infamous Speed Demons.”
Atlas jerked his head in reply.
Cruise’s gaze stayed fixated on Tristan. “Hey. You part of their club?”
Tristan cocked his head. “No, but I’m a friend of the family. I’m Tristan. Hambleton’s salon owner and certified hair genius.” He extended his hand for the other guy to take.
Cruise clasped it in his. “Wanna get a drink at the bar?”
Tristan beamed, replying, “I’d love to,” before being pulled through the crowds and craning his neck to give us big eyes as he went.
“Oh my God,” Maeve murmured. “This place is totally awesome.” As she said the words, the lights dimmed, and the music faded as three beams shone toward the stage where Carbine and his band stood in a huddle.
The dull roar went up, and a smattering of applause filtered through the crowd of people.
“Hey,” Carbine’s deep, raspy voice echoed through the microphone. “The Kings of Anarchy wish you all a good evening and wanna welcome every one of you to their new clubhouse.”
Shouts and catcalls filled the air as the crowd bellowed their excitement.
“Lemme introduce you to the band,” he continued. “Meet Styx, Blue, Griff, and Jax, I’m Carbine, aka Noah, but you know us better as... Dischordium.”
My pulse raced as I heard the drummer beat his sticks together three times before a familiar beat thundered through the room, and Blue, the lead guitarist, began to play the opening riff to “Walk This Way” by Run DMC and Aerosmith .
The crowd went wild. Bellows and shouts filled the ether, along with the pulsing energy, and the entire room slowly began to move in time to the music.
I was no dancer, but the thudding bassline was so forceful I could feel it reverberating through my chest, and even my foot began to tap in time to it.
Kennedy made the girls put their drinks down, grabbed Maeve’s hand, and pulled her and Sophie toward the swaying crowd to dance.
My heart jolted in panic, only settling when my woman glanced over her shoulder and smiled at me reassuringly.
It was like she was tuned into me. I didn’t like her away from my side in this kind of place. Maeve was innocent and wasn’t used to biker parties. To my relief, the girls didn’t move more than ten feet away, and I relaxed slightly and settled in to watch Noah come in singing the first verse, backed up by the lead guitarist, Blue.
Noah’s raspy, soulful voice hit me through the speakers, causing something inside my chest to contract. He felt every lyric he sang, and he made every person listening feel it, too. It was like the atmosphere in the room lifted along with every word.
“They’re amazing,” Donovan shouted in my ear. “They haven’t missed a note. It’s like they’ve been playing together for twenty years.”
Dischordium had formed after Styx and Carbine met in an open mic night at a bar. Griff was Styx’s buddy, who knew Jax through another friend. Then they saw Blue playing with a band in a bar in Greeley, Colorado, and poached him. Since then, they’d gone from strength to strength. They were sought after and played all over Wyoming and beyond. The fact they were gonna play regularly at the Shamrock was a huge deal, and it didn’t escape me what a solid Maeve had done for my ass.
I studied how Blue’s fingers traveled effortlessly over the strings and frets of his guitar and couldn’t help myself from grinning at the pure magic they were making. “Yeah. They’ve got something special, alright.”
Donny’s shoulder nudged mine. “They’ll pack the Shamrock out next Saturday. Maybe I better get a few extra boys in for security.”
I looked around the clubhouse, taking in how crowded it had become.
Pairs of KOA men were dotted around randomly, drinking and taking in the shenanigans, but I also noticed how they were all placed exactly where they needed to be. I realized then this was no tinpot set up. These men were organized; they knew their business, and they meant business. Pagan may have looked like a fucking hooligan, but it was becoming clear how switched on he really was. These fuckers were a force to be reckoned with, and it hit home that Bowie was right about something.
It wouldn’t hurt to have them onside.
“Maybe it would be worth me having a chat with whoever organizes their security,” Donovan muttered, his mind obviously on the same page as mine. “Look how his men are all strategically placed around the room.”
“You’ve noticed, too,” I replied, my stare automatically going to check on Maeve who was in the thick of the crowd.
My mouth hitched when I saw her dancing with Kennedy. She didn’t have the finesse of Breaker’s woman whose body flowed like liquid as she danced, but then my Maeve wasn’t an ex-Vegas stripper, thank fuck, seeing as my brain felt like it would explode at the mere thought of anyone but me seeing her beautiful body.
My wife was lit up from the inside out. The pure happiness radiating from her face made my heart feel light. She was bouncing around, having fun and laughing, and it was a joy to behold how carefree she looked. She looked so pretty with her hair all soft and her glassy red lips. Her confidence, although still understated, had grown since she’d been here. She seemed to love her work in the distillery and felt as if she fit in at last. Maeve’s light shone so damned brightly that it hurt my eyes to look at her sometimes.
My throat thickened because I’d almost missed out on it. It was crazy how deeply nerdy little Maeve Monroe had burrowed under my skin with every wondrous look, every beaming smile, and every peal of laughter. I loved the way her cosmic eyes widened whenever she breathed how awesome something was and how she looked at me like I was the only man who existed. My wifey had dug deep into my soul and taken hold of me.
Until Maeve, I’d lived my life in perpetual darkness. Then, I’d been so wrapped up in grief for Da and fear of the unknown that I didn’t want to see everything she was and everything she could be to me, and I could’ve kicked myself for wasting so much goddamned time. If I’d just listened to Athair years ago, she’d be mine already, but now, because of my own bullshit preconceptions, I still had work to do to make her believe I was solid.
My smile stretched into a wide grin as I watched my wife dance. The song played out and she stopped jumping around and started clapping while staring at the stage where Carbine’s mouth rested by the microphone.
“Thank you, folks,” he murmured. “We’re gonna up the pace a little more now. This is our take on a popular one. Hope you like it.”
Griff began to slap out a sweet bassline, putting his entire body into it. After a few beats, Blue came in with the heavy thumping riff of Hozier’s “Too Sweet.” It was harder and faster than the original, with a funk vibe from the slap of the bass in the background. Then Carbine pulled his guitar around from his back, strumming hard as he began to sing the words.
A loud roar went up, and the crowd started to jump up and down as one, yelling the lyrics along with him.
That was when the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and a bad feeling filled my gut.
Years of running a bar had given me a sixth sense for trouble, or at least the fuckers who caused it. I could feel a bad vibe fill the room, and going by the way Breaker and Atlas were scanning the crowd, they felt it, too.
“Nine o’clock,” Donovan muttered, jerking his head.
My eyes slid left and narrowed when I saw a group of six men swaggering around the edge of the space where everyone was dancing. They reminded me of a pack of wolves looking for an easy kill. They had bullies written all over them, and I doubted they’d move that way if they were solo, but then didn’t assholes like that always move in groups? They only had strength in numbers.
Some dude—not a KOA member going by his clothes—staggered drunkenly into their path. The fucker leading the pack grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and tossed him into a group of women who were dancing close. The girls scattered, teetering on their heels, and squealed as one of them lost her balance and fell to her knees.
A few of the Kings of Anarchy boys clocked it immediately and started to move in.
The punks moved into the crowds on the dance floor, taunting and shoulder-checking people as they went. One of them shoved past one of the KOA club girls and squeezed her ass roughly.
She glanced behind her and glared.
I saw the instant asshole number one caught sight of Kennedy, Soph, and Maeve because he changed trajectory and headed straight for our women, pointing them out to his fuckwit buddies.
“Oh fuck,” Atlas muttered, putting his bottle down and making his move.
“Maeve!” I shouted, dropping my beer onto the table and following Atlas, all while trying to get her attention to warn her, but my shouts were drowned out by the wailing of Dischordium’s guitars.
Helplessly, I looked on as the assholes got closer. They had the advantage because the people dancing saw them coming and moved out of their way. We were trying to be more respectful, though I could see Atlas getting more frustrated by the second. He started to move people bodily away from him, clearing a path for us as we tried to forge through to our women.
“Stitch!” he yelled.
Sophie whirled around, caught the jerk of his head, and immediately followed his eyes. She grabbed Kennedy to whisper something, then clasped Maeve’s shoulder to do the same. Our girls turned to make their escape, but by then, the assholes were already in their space.
One of the guys grabbed Kennedy’s arm and dragged her back into his body, jeering as he pulled her in close.
I saw Sophie shout something at Ned, who pulled her elbow forward and launched it back into the dude’s solar plexus while simultaneously stamping on his foot with the spike of her heel.
The fucker bent double, yowling in pain.
Within seconds, Sophie stood in front of Ned in a defensive stance.
Maeve looked around, her face twisted in confusion, which was why she missed the ringleader getting close enough to crowd her body from behind. Then I caught him grabbing my woman’s breast, and he laughed as he jeered at her.
My body locked tight. “Motherfucker!” I bellowed, suddenly lurching for him, but I wasn’t the only one. Sophie lurched too, catching his arm and twisting it up behind his back to stop him from touching Maeve again, while my wife whirled around and shoved him away.
The fire in my chest burned out of control. The rage inside razed every thought, every emotion to the ground until all I could think of was getting to that motherfucker and kicking his ass from one end of the clubhouse to the other.
He touched my woman without her permission.
I slipped past Atlas and approached the fucknut, who Sophie still had doubled over with his arm in the air. I pulled my sneakered foot back and kicked the bastard in the stomach.
He let out a loud “Oof” and sank to the floor.
It was like I saw red and blacked out at the same time because the next thing I knew, he was on his back, pinned with my knees to his shoulders. All I could see in the back of my mind was the memory of him grabbing Maeve’s breast. I raised a fist and pummeled him across the face before grabbing his arm and lifting his hand high in the air.
The asshole wouldn’t go near her again. He wouldn’t even breathe the same air; I’d make sure of it.
Taking his thumb, I tugged it backward until I heard a sharp crack. “I’ll break every fucking finger you used to touch my wife, fucker,” I spat.
He let out a loud yowl.
Within seconds, I’d yanked his pinkie back, then his index and middle fingers. “You’re a perverted fucking cunt!” I bellowed, moving onto his ring finger and pulling it straight back until it cracked and bent the wrong way.
He screamed in pain.
“Callum,” Atlas barked.
I pulled my fist back again and gave him a hard jab across the jaw before doing the same with my other fist. With a groan, his eyes rolled in the back of his head, and he passed out.
That was when I registered a series of loud clicks filling the air.
“No!” Maeve screamed, and suddenly, she was on my back, her arms hugging me tight around my neck. “Stop it, Callum. They’ve got guns. Let him go, please, honey, let him go,” she whispered frantically into my ear from behind.
The fear in her tone slashed through me like a blade, and I reached up to comfort her.
“Don’t move, or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off,” a deep, weirdly-accented voice boomed.
I froze, except for my eyes that caught on the dude lying unconscious on the floor with his face bloody. My breath was shaky as I let out a deep exhale as Maeve’s words registered and my unfocused stare shot up to take in my surroundings.
The heat in my chest burned out with a fizzle, and my veins turned to ice when I realized I was completely surrounded by KOA brothers, every one of them with a gun pointed at my head.
Atlas, Breaker, and Donovan were shouting while being held back by a crowd of bikers. My boys were struggling to get to me, but it was futile; there were too many KOA brothers to get through.
“Jesus!” I bit out, sitting back on my haunches, my body jerking at the sight of Pagan pushing his way to the front of the crowd.
His stare rested on me before flicking toward the guy I had on the floor and an eyebrow lifted. “What the fuck’s goin’ on here?” he demanded.
I looked down at the unconscious man and closed my eyes when it hit me what I’d done.
Effectively, I’d come into a one-percenter biker clubhouse, been told to keep my ass in check, then proceeded to beat some handsy fucker to a pulp while a fuckload of them looked on.
These men were big on respect, and I may have crossed a line with consequences that could be painful to learn. It didn’t matter to the KOA boys that I was having my wife’s back. Their club and their rules came first.
And now I was staring down twenty barrels of twenty guns with nowhere to go.
My mind blanked apart from one solitary word.
Fuck!