Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
Johny B
M y skin stings like a motherfucker and if it wasn’t for the heat of the day, I’d be heading for a head cold.
Duke, the owner of the tattoo joint, was reluctant to take me as a drop in. That was until he’d he paused from inking the pretty blonde chick’s chest, lifted his head up and saw the brick of cash that I had in my hand. I stepped a little closer to check out his work. The pair of pink lips that were right above the nipple of the chick’s left tit was crazy realistic, right down to the glossy sheen and pearly whites that were peeking between the plump mouth.
Duke still wasn’t convinced, so I waited the few minutes it took for him to finish what he was doing before I grabbed him by the forearm, and dragged him through a door at the back of the room. Which turned out to be the cleaning closet, but needs must.
When I explained to him who I was, a Young Outlaw, and that the work needed to be done that day, off the books and with the utmost discretion, he was more than amicable. I returned later, but instead of going through the front door, I hung around the back and waited for the shop to close. When Duke pushed open the back door to let me in, it took a double take for him to realize it was me. My hair, now shaved at the sides, was barely a quarter inch on the top, a dramatic change from the thick dark head of hair that I’d favored not more than a couple of hours before. Gone was my highly groomed quiff, that has been my pride and joy since I was a teenager. The bags I had clutched in my hands contained thick-rimmed glasses, V-necked t-shirts and skintight pants, that normally, I wouldn’t be seen dead in. In fact, I was a little concerned that my future chances of producing any decent baby making juice might be at risk, with how snug the crotch of the pants were when I’d tried them on in the clothes store.
The transformation is incredible, even if I say it myself. No longer do I resemble a trendy throwback from the 1950s with virgin skin. And after Duke had finished inking me up, I barely recognized myself when I checked out my reflection in the studio mirror. Inked angel wings wrap around my neck, but instead of the center being an angelic goddess’s body, in its place is an ornate cross. On my upper right arm is a pretty basic Celtic design. Although my skin is still flushed in places from the work, Duke has managed to make the ink seem faded, like an older tattoo that I’ve had on my skin for several years and not fresh, giving my overall appearance more authenticity. The work that he’s done within the time restraint is impeccable, and he was generously rewarded with a chunk of hundred-dollar bills.
My main concern now is whether the Young Outlaw’s compound is under the watchful eye of the DVI.
Without a doubt, it’s reasonably easy to don my lid, wear a high neck sweater, my cut and ride in on my bike, because from a distance I don’t look any different. I have no baggage. All the other items I grabbed while out, are waiting on me in a room I’ve rented in a cheap motel on the other side of town. But getting past whoever is on guard at the front gate, which is now repaired and keeping the unwanted out, might prove to be more of an issue.
Rex is manning the gate when I arrive, and thankfully a quick glance my way is enough for him to release the gate and wave me through. Rex had been around Velvet’s while I was holed up there and, being a brother, was privy to me being there. If it had been any of the other Nevada brothers, then I might have not been so lucky.
I cut the engine once I get in front of the clubhouse, kick out the stand and dismount. There’s Diesel and one of the other guys on their knees, hands covered in grease and oil from working on an old chopper. I can see Mammoth leaning against one of the porch uprights, chewing on a fat cigar while chatting shit with Stone, but not one of them pays me a second glance as they go about their business. Yet, as soon as I pull my lid off, Stone is flying down the steps, taking them two at a time. Shoulders tight, face like thunder as he marches towards me.
“Hey, who the fuck are you?” he hollers when he gets closer. “Some stupid fuck if you think it’s okay to walk in here and stay fucking breathing.”
I drop my head. Not because he scares me. Well, he does a bit because he’s a huge fucker, but I’m trying to hide the smirk on my face. When I lift my head again, I find Stone up close and personal, raging like a bull.
“Mammoth knows me real well,” I snigger in his face before I train my gaze on my Road Captain, who is close on Stone’s heels.
“The hell I do…” he wavers, then takes another huge stride forward. His brows knit together, his eyes mere slits as he focuses on my face. The minute his bearded mouth gapes open, I know that the penny’s dropped. “… fuck. JB. Your hair.”
“Mother… fuckering… shit!” Stone laughs out a gasp.
“That’s nothing.” I shrug my shoulders. “Let’s go inside and find Smoke.”
Stone hammers on Smoke’s office door after Ginger points us in that direction, saying that he’d been in here for the last hour. Although Smoke is quick to respond, shouting for us to come in, he doesn’t raise his head from the papers he’s got laid out in front of him to check out who it is that’s entered.
“Smoke,” Stone voices when his prez shows no sign of acknowledging us.
“What do you want?” he growls, throwing his head back. “I’ve got a lot of shit going on right now.” His eyes are shut, jaw tight as he slams the palm of his hand hard onto the surface of the desk with frustration.
“Trust me, you really need to see this,” Stone tries once more to get his attention.
“Jesus!” His eyes fly open, his lips open, teeth bared. “What’s so fucking important that…” When his eyes eventually take me in, his words come to a sudden halt. He takes a long, strung-out breath before he gathers his composure and speaks up. “So. Fucking. What?” he gripes out. “JB got a haircut. Hardly fucking earth shattering.”
“That’s not all,” I pipe up and quickly shrug off my cut, pull off my high neck sweater and reveal my inked skin. “Now, are you convinced that I’m serious about infiltrating the Death Valley Irish?”
“Sure, you look different,” Smoke deadpans. “But it will take more than appearance to convince Dunne to trust you and let you into their fold.”
“To be sure,” I find my inner Irish and reply with a northern lilt, but when he raises a brow, I drop it just a quickly. “My family are Irish immigrants, so if they don’t take me on face value and start looking into my past, then it’s not going to be too far from reality that I wouldn’t hold an alliance for my ancestral homeland.”
“And when they see that you're linked to the Young Outlaws Florida, your pretty little head will be on a stake, even with your new skinhead cut,” he counters.
“Not if I use my real name.” I fire back.
“We might call you JB, but everyone at the club knows your birth name.” Mammoth intervenes.
“No, you don’t,” I reply bluntly, not willing to go into it further. “Jonathan Bently is not my birth name. If I use my real name, no amount of research will link me to the club.”
“All this is irrelevant bullshit,” Smoke says, tapping a smoke from the packet on his desk and placing it on his lips. He flicks open his lighter, holds the flame to the tip and takes a long, deep drag. He leans back in his chair, letting the smoke slowly out through his nostrils.
“Your prez would never sign off on it, and I sure as fuck ain’t going to ask him to either. Cannon has already gone above and beyond, sending you guys over here to back up our situation with the DVI. To place one of his men in a position that can only be described as a suicide mission, despite my own desire to put a bullet in your head, ain’t fucking happening.”
“What if I ask him?” Mammoth suggests.
“I don’t expect you to do that either. It’s our battle to fight,” Smoke counters. “Not Florida’s,”
“With all due respect, Smoke, when Dunne and the DVI made you and your chapter a target, they didn’t just fuck with Nevada, they fucked with the whole fucking Young Outlaws. Every fucking chapter. Every fucking brother who wears the YOMC colors.”
“He’s right, Prez,” Stone adds. “This could be the one and only chance we get to wipe out those motherfuckers once and for all.”
“Alright, alright.” Smoke pushes out of his seat and walks around to the front of his desk. “I’ll speak to Cannon, but I warn you now, I ain’t going to lay it on thick. I’ll give him the facts, and the facts only, as well as pointing out the risks. However, if he ain’t convinced, I ain’t going to try to convince him otherwise. You get me?” His eyes seek me out. “If he’s not interested, then that’s the last I want to hear of this shit, right?”
“Sure,” I say back cockily because, knowing my prez, he’ll be all in. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t start wanting in on the planning, too.
“Now get the fuck out of my office.”