Chapter 5 – Magnum
Chapter Five
Magnum
Idon’t mind that I slept with her. I just wish I could remember it.
And of course, if she did drug me to get my seed inside her, that changes our circumstances completely.
There aren’t any bodies at the clubhouse, so whatever happened last night must not have happened here… or it happened just to me.
“Go look for a phone charger,” I command Damara before stepping behind the bar to pour myself the best hangover cure I can think of – a pint of stout.
She mutters some complaint under her breath, but she obediently begins her search. It always pays off to be the one holding the gun. A few sips of beer wake me up a little more, but I don’t have clear answers about what happened the night before.
“Found one!” Damara says.
“Bring it over here. There’s a plug behind the bar.”
She brings it over, slamming both on the bar with a sassy exhalation.
“I’m not your damn slave.”
“I never said anything about that.”
“Good,” she answers aggressively. “I don’t want to put another white boy in the ground.”
That catches my attention, but I can’t tell from the look on her face if she’s joking or not. She definitely isn’t smiling.
“If you killed someone, you would be in prison.”
“Is that how it works?” Damara says mysteriously.
I laugh. No woman with pink hair could actually be a killer. She does enough to spur my uncertainty.
“Listen, short stuff. You’re not gonna have any reason to kill me. I’m taking you to my place in Santa Fe until I figure out what happened.”
“We had sex. What is there to figure out?”
“Your smart mouth won’t get you anywhere with me.”
“Whatever. And don’t call me short stuff. I am five-foot-five, thank you very much.”
My phone powers up. Finally. Holy shit, it’s late. Two in the afternoon? What time did we go to sleep? My stomach lurches. I can’t remember the last time I’ve slept past noon. The occasional night of debauchery never killed a man, but waking up this late makes me feel like my ass is getting old.
Damara glances at the screen and mutters, “Fuck,” under her breath. Yeah, same here short stuff.
I have fifteen text messages from my property manager – which is never a good thing. I also have four missed calls from Hunter. Two missed calls from Ryder Sinclair. And…
“Where’s your phone?” I snap at Damara, suddenly suspicious that she hasn’t placed any calls trying to escape.
“If I had it, I would have called Tamiya to get me out of here to get plan B the second I woke up.”
“What is your problem?”
This woman lacks appreciation entirely for the fact that I’m trying to help both of us sort this shit out. My head pounds and I need more alcohol. Now.
“I’m not happy about this situation either,” she says.
There are even more text messages and missed calls, but only one that I need to prioritize – the call from Wyatt Shaw.
“I’m calling Wyatt.”
“Call Tamiya right after to pick me up,” she says. “And don’t tell her that I let one of you crazy white boys get all up in my business.”
I don’t know what the hell she means by that, but there isn’t a fucking chance I’m calling Tamiya to do anything except give her specific commands to stay away from me until I’m done with her pink-haired sister.
“Just be quiet,” I respond to Damara gruffly. “We’ll both search for your phone once I’m done with Wyatt.”
The boss shocks me by picking up after two rings.
“Where the fuck are you?” he growls.
“The clubhouse. Where the fuck is everybody?”
“This is a fucking mess,” Wyatt growls at me. “Fuck…”
I can’t blame him for his frustration. I feel just about the same with how much my head hurts and that nothing makes sense. Damara fixes her pink hair and then folds her arms as she stares at me with an expression so pointed that it’s almost accusatory.
I soaked this woman’s pussy in my cum and most likely kept her safe from the inevitable debauchery that follows our club, and the only way she sees fit to repay me is to accuse me of the unthinkable while simultaneously expecting me to solve our main problems. What the fuck happened last night and who the fuck drugged us?
“What happened?”
“You’re at the club house,” Wyatt says. “Which means you saw everything.”
“I might have, but I don’t remember shit,” I answer. Damara makes a noise of scoffing disbelief. She doesn’t have to believe me for what I’m saying to be true.
“You didn’t forget Owen and Vickie’s blow out,” Wyatt says. “Even the strongest drug couldn’t wipe that out.”
If my cum splattered across Damara’s thighs weren’t terrifying enough evidence that what happened to us both last night involved criminal intervention, the thought of forgetting an argument that shook up Wyatt Shaw fills me with greater concern.
“Who was I talking to when they fought?” I ask him, halfway scared of exposing even more of my suddenly vacated memories.
“I was a little preoccupied getting them not to kill each other,” Wyatt replies judgmentally, with the unhappy tone of a man constantly plagued by outlaw motorcycle club problems that a man approaching his forties might want to avoid in favor of more time fishing, fixing bikes and building campfires by the lake.
“Seems like it worked well enough,” I reply to him. “The clubhouse is pretty much empty.”
“The fight escalated. Owen went off to Reno to cool down. Texted Vickie that he put down $25,000 on a poker game. Next thing you know, he’s calling again down another $15,000. She’s fucking hysterical. Ethan promises to go sort it out which sets Amanda off…”
I can imagine how the rest of the night went now. Amanda sets off Keyshawn, who sets off Deacon. That might aggravate either Tanner or Oske, hard to say which. Maybe even Ruger Blackwood. Once a fight involves a Blackwood, the escalation becomes inevitable.
Wyatt allows the rest of the story to unfold and while I am too wrapped up in my own shit to pay attention to the details, my confusion only heightens.
If everyone in the club got roped into this massive fight, who drugged me and who the hell would drug Damara?
“Where were Gideon and Tamiya through all this?”
“They left early,” Wyatt says. “Went to pick up some Micky D’s and never came back. You know how it gets with them.”
I don’t know how it gets with them, but I can only presume that they spend most of their time either fucking or fighting like the rest of the couples in the club.
Joslin and Ryder don’t fight much and neither do Quin and Tanner.
Their simple and quiet devotion to each other excludes them from involvement in this drugging situation but…
Maybe they know something.
“Did everything calm down eventually?”
“No,” Wyatt snarls. “I’m out looking for Oske and her brothers. They disappeared last night.”
Oske. The pit in my stomach slowly transforms into a dark, grabbing void. I don’t want to believe that Oske drugged me, even if she had the opportunity to do so and certainly poured one of the last drinks I remember. Although I remember more.
“What happened to them?”
“If I knew, I would have her right back where I want her,” Wyatt growls.
“Hawk told me you were off with a lady friend about when we went out to Reno after Owen. Everybody left the clubhouse except you, that lady friend, Oske and her brothers. If you remember anything suspicious at all, I need to know.”
My memories are hazy and hard to reach. I didn’t show up to the club meeting to fuss over the details of our activities. I need new hands to break ground on a project out in Santa Monica, and I wanted to vote on changing the club rules to abolish the racial specifications we originally kept.
“Understood,” I mutter. “I can’t tell you how much I remember from last night, to be honest.”
I get blackout drunk more than I should for a man my age. But life can be stressful and some days, I just want to black out. How much of last night can I blame on the liquor?
I wonder how much Damara remembers, but I worry that she might bring up something embarrassing that we don’t have time to get into an argument about.
Bringing up simple subjects with women often leads to arguments.
I glance over at her, wondering if she also suspects Oske.
Does she remember that drink at the bar?
I was so fucking nervous complimenting her hair. I can’t believe I fucked Damara and don’t remember a damned thing about it. My gut reaction is to keep the whole thing a secret. I don’t want anyone to find out. A baby would change that.
Wyatt can almost read my mind and he doesn’t let the silence between us fly.
“So you remember nothing?”
“Not a thing.”
“What about your… lady friend?” He asks. “I don’t know any of the biker chicks that come around anymore.”
She’s not a biker chick, she’s a black woman with pink hair who scares the fuck out of me a little bit but has an ass thicker than a goddamn double wide.
“She’s not a biker chick.”
“How do you know her?”
“She’s Tamiya’s sister.”
Wyatt pauses then sighs so loudly, I can feel his impatience all the way on the other end of the line.
“Damara,” Wyatt says. Then he sighs again. “Do you have any idea what you’re getting into with her?”
Whatever I’m getting into with her seems to have already happened.
“No, but I’m going to look after her.”
Damara’s eyes flicker to mine again as she stops looking for her phone and hones in on not doing what I asked. Just because our conversation isn’t a secret doesn’t mean it’s any of her business.
“Track down Oske, get her to call me right away about the land deal. I can’t have her ass disappearing. Find out if anyone approached you at the bar from her… I assume she wouldn’t be stupid enough to slip you anything.”
The only explanation that makes sense is that someone in the club drugged me.
The thought is so incomprehensible that clearly, neither of us want to admit it.
Oske is the closest thing to an outsider we have at those meetings and even so…
can we really consider that woman an outsider at this point?
She has us all by the balls with her various business deals and IOU’s…
It’s a vague, noncommittal statement, but Wyatt’s anger flares up unpredictably and I have too much of a headache to push his buttons. Oske was working the bar, so it’s possible she at least saw someone approach me and Damara, if she didn’t do this to us herself.
“Why do you think she left early?” I ask him. “Could she have just gone home?
“Not a goddamn clue,” Wyatt replies. “We have a meeting with her, the brothers and our lawyer in a few days to settle the Indian land situation. I need all of their signatures so we can settle the last disputes and… my debt will be repaid.”
“Can you think of any reason she might want to drug me up?”
“What?” Wyatt asks with frustration that jumps straight into anger. “Is there something else going on that I need to know about?”
Damara and I exchange glances. I don’t need to report cumming inside a woman to the club president.
“Nothing. Just a bad hangover. Feels like I got slipped something.”
“Hm,” Wyatt answers. “Get some sleep, then get out there. I need your help, man.”
“Got it.”