Wilson 3.
“The Ohio State Penitentiary is saddened to announce the sudden death of their beloved warden, Keith Kappalo. His cause of death has not been released, and his family and friends request privacy while they mourn the tragic loss of such a great man.”
There is a moment of silence in Church while we digest Madison’s words. A man’s life has been cut tragically short…and it’s not a moment too soon. The room erupts in cheers and the banging of hands on the broad wooden table we sit around.
McKinley, our Sergeant-At-Arms, whistles to silence our celebration. “Carnicera?” He asks, speaking about Laura Schnell, Audrey’s sister and Sammy’s estranged mom. Months ago, the night of Audrey and Lincoln’s wedding, Laura began seeking violent revenge against the men and women who brutally raped and beat her and her husband during their wrongful imprisonment. She sent a text message with a picture of her first kill, the warden of her prison, to Lincoln. Since then, she’s killed two guards at the penitentiary where her husband was held. McKinley has taken to calling her the Spanish word for butcher. It’s fitting.
“Carnicera.” Lincoln confirms, tossing his phone toward Prez. Madison sucks in air through his teeth as his eyes widen at whatever he’s looking at.
“She’s certainly working through some feelings.” The phone is passed around and we all have similar reactions to the gruesome violence of Warden Kappalo’s justified death.
“Are we gonna rein her in? Or just let her continue with her killing spree?” Barkley, our enforcer, questions, his brow furrowed, lips pursed.
Hayes shrugs with a smirk. “That would be like taking the paint away from Monet, or the guitar from Hendrix, the hockey stick from Gretsky, the written word from—”
Adams cuts him off with a fist to the table, “We got it. You’ve got an artistic hard-on for Carnicera’s new medium of expression.”
“Do we need to vote on this?” Prez eyes each of us, but no one agrees, so he moves on. “Good. Now, before we finish Church, Wilson has new business to discuss.”
I gather my papers and hand copies to our Prez, VP, and Treasurer. “I answered a call yesterday at Kohlman’s—”
“Why did you answer the call?” Lincoln interrupts.
“Because that ball-buster you lovingly refer to as your sister was busting yours in your office.” Lincoln winces and nods in understanding. “Anyway, the city’s Community Services department is holding a fundraiser—” I continue over the groans of my brothers, “for a multiplex that would serve the entire community, from infancy to retirement. Continued education, sports, wellness, life skills, etc.” I dip my chin to the papers in Madison’s hands. “They have partnered with a reputable charity, Building A Village, and have received backing from the state and city council. Obviously, they need additional funding for a project of this magnitude, so they are hosting a black-tie gala with unfulfilling main courses, auction, and a lot of hob-knobbing. The liaison, Matilda Mazekat, was reaching out to local businesses. I think it’s worth considering.”
Adams sits back in his seat, eyeing Madison briefly, before turning to me. “It’s not often the city government…or any level of government reaches out to us. Though keeping in tradition, they need something, so…”
Madison picks up where Adams trails off, “The information is solid?” I nod, having researched extensively last night and more this morning.
“It’s legit, Prez.”
“Who is Matilda Mazekat? I’ve never heard that name.” Buchanan rubs his hand over his thick dark beard. As the son of our President Madison and his wife Betty, Buck grew up here in Independence, went to school here. It would be strange to not know someone or at least recognize the last name.
“She and her brother Tybalt moved to Independence about two months ago. Tybalt is the new Community Services Director and she transferred to the Independence Aged Barrel Bank location as branch manager. They rent a three-bedroom house in a subdivision off Cloveridge Drive. Excellent credit scores. Negligible debt. Parents deceased. Tybalt is 37, Matilda is 32. Neither ever married, no children.”
Fillmore groans, then mutters “Shit.”
“Care to elaborate?” Prez raises an eyebrow.
Fillmore rubs his hands over his face and through his swept back dirty blonde hair. “I may or may not have fucked the bank manager a few weeks back.” My stomach drops and my fists clench at his confession. I don’t know Tilly, I only spoke to her once, but the idea of my club brother, any of them, laying hands on the owner of that sweet voice has me rushing towards violence.
“I love ya, brother, but where you stick your dick isn’t any of my concern.”
“I know Prez, normally, that would be true. But she’s a real bitch. Clingy, desperate to bag a brother and an invite to the Congressionals clubhouse, and willing to bend the rules if it suits her.”
That doesn’t sound like Tilly. Fuck, how the hell should I know what she’s like? I spoke to her once. Jesus.
“You slept with her?” I tap a button on my tablet and put Tilly’s driver’s license on the big screen.
Fillmore’s eyes widen, then narrow. He points a finger at the screen, “Nope. That’s not her.”
“But this is Tilly, Matilda. She’s the branch manager.”
“That woman,” he points at the screen again, “is natural, simple, sweet looking. The one I fucked in the bar bathroom was…not.”
“Then why’d you fuck her?”
Fillmore shrugs, his face turning red. “I had to piss.” The room collectively waits for him to explain.
Poor Langley, the youngest and newest patched member, asks in a horrified whisper, “You used her like a urinal?”
Fill snaps his eyes toward Langley, “Fuck no! I pissed, she followed me into the bathroom and was adamant about draining my other pipes.”
Langley shivers in disgust, “Did you shake first? Wash your hands?”
Prez bangs his gavel on the table. “Can we get back on track?” Langley and Fillmore nod, though Langley keeps glancing at Fill with a frown. I chuckle to myself at how easily riled up Langley gets and his naivete. Don’t get me wrong, he was patched because he is loyal as fuck and ready for anything, but there is still so much about the world he has yet to learn.
“What is her name?” I whisper to Fillmore, already pulling up my search engine to do a little light snooping. If she’s as clingy and desperate as Fill says, we should keep an eye on her.
“How the hell should I know?” He snaps. Prez shakes his head and waves for me to handle it.
“Uh…your penis was inside her?”
“So?”
“Never mind.” I say with a head shake of my own, I’ll figure it out.
“Back to the fundraiser. Let’s do a preliminary vote to participate. All in favor?” All of us but Clay reply “aye”. It’s not a surprise, our Road Captain isn’t a fan of participation. Especially since he’s still dealing with his ex-wife and is bitter about life in general. “Aye’s have it. Wilson, set up an in-person meeting with the siblings. In the meantime, everyone comes up with a few items or services for the event auction. This multiplex is just the kind of thing that a community needs and I’d hate for it to miss the mark because of funding.” I nod, an unfamiliar excitement stirring in my gut at the thought of speaking to Tilly again…in person.
Madison dismisses us a few minutes later. I pull my phone from my pocket and pull up my email. I sit at the bar, waving to one of the prospects, Cask, for a beer and take a seat. Many of my brothers do the same, but I pay them no mind. I start to type an email to Tilly but decide that I’d rather call her. It’s after 8, so I force myself to put my phone away and wait until tomorrow morning. Sipping from the cold bottle, I turn slightly to the side and scan the room. Ford, Fillmore, and Buck are already busy with a few of the lobbyists. The women are here for whatever a brother needs. Whether that’s cleaning their room, cooking a meal, or sucking a dick. Taffy is being spit-roasted by Fillmore and Buck, Belly is bent over the pool table with Ford pounding away from behind.
I shake my head at the sight of his pale ass and continue to survey the goings-on. What would Tilly think if she was here? Would she be disgusted? Intrigued? Overwhelmed? Nah, she’d be upstairs in my room, away from all the chaos, moaning beneath me in my bed while she looks up at me with those big brown eyes. I take a long draw of my beer, feeling my cock jerk.
“Wilson, you want some company?” Chastity runs her hand over my arm that’s resting on the bar. She’s an anomaly amongst the lobbyists. Soft spoken, little to no makeup, and respectful of boundaries.
“You can sit with me and have a beer, Chastity, but nothing more than that.” I offer. She smiles broadly, lifting a leg to slide onto the bar stool next to me. I wave at Cask, and he brings a carbonated beverage to her. I glance at the drink she picks up and then meet her eyes with a questioning chin lift. She giggles softly, “It’s Mountain Dew. I don’t like the taste of alcohol.”
“Why are you here, Chastity?” Her smile dims slightly as she lifts her shoulder.
“Why does anyone want to be a part of a motorcycle club?”
“Are you in any trouble?” I sit up straight, narrowing the distance between us in concern.
“No, Wilson, but thank you for your concern. I just wanted to…I don’t know. Belong? Be a part of something?” I sit back and raise my bottle to her.
“Don’t we all.”
“You got a lady in your life? I’ve never seen you go with any of the lobbyists.” I chuckle humorlessly.
“Not yet.”
“But you want one?” She turns to look at Lincoln and Audrey as they cuddle up on one of the couches, whispering to one another and trading kisses.
“I’m not opposed to it. Everyone wants to be a part of something,” she turns back to meet my eyes, and I continue, “and I think most people want someone to experience it with.”
“You won’t fight it when you find her?” she asks earnestly. I wonder who fought against her instead of for her?
“I’m a lover, not a fighter.” I tease to lighten the mood. She snorts, then takes a sip of her soda. “I find her, nothing on earth strong enough to keep me from her.” Chastity’s eyes shine, but she doesn’t let the tears fall. She surprises me when she leans up and plants a tender kiss on my cheek.
“You’re a good man, Wilson. I hope you find her soon.” Tossing her thumb over her shoulder, she stands, “I think Langley is looking for some company. Have a good night.”
“Night, Chastity.” I watch Langley as he loops his arm around Chastity’s waist and draws her in close. He kisses her and I’m surprised to note it’s tender, sweet even. He’s not mauling her like most of the brothers do with the lobbyists. I can practically see the hearts in his eyes from here. She could do worse than our youngest brother. Though their journey will be uphill. Lobbyists, club whores, cut sluts, whatever you want to call them, don’t get promoted to ol’ lady often…or ever.
Finishing my beer, I decide to call it a night. The only person I want to spend time with isn’t here.