Chapter 5
Mad Dog
Ideserve a fucking medal. Truly. I don’t often rate my self control, but shit, I had the self control of a saint when I was standing toe to toe with Diesel.
Willa’s ex ol man. Husband. Fuck. My hands tighten on my handles, wringing them as if they were a good substitute for Diesel's neck. News flash. They ain't.
Rider jerks his head to the left and I follow behind him as he pulls into a quiet street in Roxburgh. It’s in a slightly shitty part of town and we’re hoping the Computas’ and Moss’ intel is right.
I slow to a stop behind Rider, my gaze following his finger. “Well, shit.”
“Shit is right.”
We stare at the old Death Riders compound.
After Sniper and Dex patched over to us the old Death Riders members struggled to keep a dying club alive.
Most of the old timers wanted out of the game anyway.
Last we heard they’d up and retired to greener pastures.
Looks like what they left behind the Quarter Mile MC claimed.
I lean back on my girl, a gloss black Road King Special. She’s been with me through good times and bad. Always had my back.
“I count five sleds. They’re either a tiny MC or they got members offsite.” Rider moves around a little, squinting at the building. “So, how’s your love life?”
I fold my arms over my chest, closing my eyes to the sun that warms my skin. “Whats it to you?”
“I do believe, as the Love Chaplain, I have access to information regarding your love life until such a time that you are in a meaningful relationship with a person of your choosing.”
I slowly turn to stare at him. “Since when do you use fancy sentences?”
“Since I been seein’ - ah, yeah, just from daytime TV.” He plasters a smile on top of his smug face and I narrow my gaze.
He’s been sneaking around for a while now, acting all cagey. I’m sure it’s a woman, but that makes no sense seeing as he’s sneaking into a retirement home.
“Incoming,” Rider murmurs.
Two more bikers ride past escorting in a moving truck, jaws set, probably giving us the death stare behind their sunglasses.
I give them a friendly smile and wave. We’re not scared of those pissants.
They’re just another bunch of assholes trying to take turf and peddle their shit to innocent people.
My gaze follows the two riders through the gates, watching as another two men push the gates closed behind them before chaining them shut.
“Not even automatic gates?” Rider scoffs.
Either this MC ain't flush with cash, or they’re using it for other things. “What do you think they got in that warehouse back there?” I lift my chin in the direction of the one building that doesn’t look like a piece of shit. There are security cameras and a biometric locking system.
“If I was a betting man, I’d say that looks like the place they’d keep all their goodies.”
I file that little bit of information away for later and message Marx about calling Church. If anyone is gonna know that compound, it’s former Death Rider Savage.
“So, you wanna talk about it?”
I side eye Rider, who is still giving the Quarter Mile MC the stink eye. “Not really much to talk about. Willa and I had a good time, and now we’re friends.” I settle back in my seat, the worn leather creaking under my weight.
Rider huffs, “Friend-zoned, huh? Hell of a place to be.”
I turn to look at him properly. He’s not been himself for a while now.
We’ve all suspected a woman, now I know it is.
“Friend-zone isn’t a waiting room where you hang out waiting to get into some woman’s panties, son.
” He glances at me. “If you really like this woman,” I raise my hand to stop him mouthing off, “then you’ll respect that maybe she just don’t feel that way about ya, and that’s OK. ”
“That where you’re at?”
“Yeah. I wasn't just attracted to Willa because she’s hot as hell. I like her sass. Her courage. Her loyalty to Joy. I can still enjoy all those things about her without wanting to sleep with her.” I roll my shoulders.
“In fact, I kinda like getting to know her more now. And if this thing doesn’t go any further with her?
Then I have one hell of a friend in my corner. ”
“Is that why you were wringing the shit outta ya handlebars and growling like a bear with a sore foot?”
“Rider?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
The big bastard snorts and I’m about to lay into him when there’s action at the gates in front of us. They roll open and a giant with a face like a screwed up fist comes stomping our way.
“Well, better go see what Goliath wants,” Rider murmurs, shit-eating grin already plastered on his face as he throws his leg over his bike, standing to his full height.
I don’t even attempt to get off my ride.
I’m almost 60. I know to pick my battles.
And looking at the goddamn giant coming this way I know this ain’t a battle I want.
I mean, I won’t let Rider get his ass beat, but I know that kid and where he came from.
He’s a lot scarier than people give him credit for.
“Get the fuck off our turf,” the ogre growls in a shockingly high voice.
Rider turns to look at me, eyes full of glee and I know how this is going to go.
“Come again, Goliath?” Rider says, the grin still on his face.
“I said: Get. The. Fuck. Off. Our. Turf.”
“I thought that’s what you said, it was more the way you said it I’m having trouble with.”
Goliath’s brow pulls low. “What? Are you fucking simple?”
“Holy shit, when you get mad your voice gets even higher!” Rider says before he doubles over in laughter. “Oh shit, my bad, do you like, have a medical condition or something? I mean, if you do, I totally apologize,” Rider says sobering up.
“What the fuck is he on about?” Squeaks McGee asks me.
“Your voice. I think he’s asking about your voice,” I helpfully offer.
“What about my fucking voice?” Goliath kind of growls.
“Nothing. I’m proud of you. This ain’t an easy life talking like that and yet here you are, big man in leather with a girly voice. You’re killing it,” Rider says genuinely. “Quick one, you think you can stop peddling your shit?”
Goliath doesn’t speak. Just stands there, getting redder and redder, fists balled and I know shit’s about to fly.
He raises his fist shockingly fast and it sails through the air toward Rider.
And that’s where this MC goon has made a big mistake.
Rider grew up with a mean drunk father and two older brothers.
He comes across as laidback and goofy but he’s got a mean right hook and ain't afraid to fight dirty. Which he does when he dodges Goliath’s fist and latches on to the much larger man.
Rider’s fingers go straight to Goliath’s eyes at the same time his teeth sink into Goliath’s left ear.
An unholy screech is torn from the largest, ugliest man I’ve seen in a while as Rider jerks his head back, taking half an ear with him.
He shoves Goliath off him as shouts and boots hitting the pavement come our way.
“Aw shit, we’re just having a friendly chat,” I say, gun pointed at the men standing behind Goliath. Who is now on the ground, eyes clenched shut, blood pooling on his lids.
The men all pull their guns and I almost want to laugh. Looking at their patches two of them are prospects. There is one patched member wearing the Road Cap patch, and Goliath who’s name I can now see is “Doom.”
“You ain’t gonna shoot me,” I say, still seated on my bike. I’m not one for posturing too much when I know I got these assholes beat.
“Sorry boys,” Rider says, hands in the air. “I get a little wild when I feel threatened. We’ll be on our way.”
“Yeah, you better,” Road Cap growls and I try to hide my eye roll.
Rider waves his bloody hands to everyone, red staining his fucking teeth and beard as he grins before flipping them the bird and sitting his ass on his sled.
I don’t even hear what else they say to us, the growl of my engine drowning them out.
I pull out, leading Rider away from their compound, the wind in my beard, sun on my face.
Rider pulls even with me, this time his grin meeting his eyes.
“Did good, Son.” He gives me a salute and I shake my head.
He may be a little shit, but he’s my little shit and he’s just found out more in that one moment than we could have found out after hours of stakeouts.
The Quarter Mile MC is a new MC trying to flex muscles they don’t have.
Shouldn't be too hard to run them outta town or put them down. Whichever will make our lives easier.
Willa
Shaking out my hands I reset my room. Again.
For the third time. My next client isn’t due for another 10 minutes but if I sit down I’ll give myself an aneurysm overthinking everything.
Like the two bikers who had a stand off on my lawn three days ago.
Thankfully, I’ve seen neither of them since Diesel roared away from my house and Mad Dog was called into church.
It's not because I’ve been hiding. Nope. Not at all.
“Pull your shit together, girl,” I mutter to myself as I plant my palms and lean over the table where I keep my oil warmer.
Taking a deep breath I stare at myself in the mirror that hangs above it, taking note of the dark circles under my eyes.
“Well, you try looking refreshed with two damn bikers on your doorstep,” I tell my tired reflection. The bitch gives me a judgey look and I roll my eyes at her.
I should cut Mad Dog some slack. The way he handled it was surprising, but not unwelcome.
He didn’t take over the situation. He waited for me to call the shots and for that I’m thankful.
Confused. And a little irritated because why the hell does he have to be so damn hot and thoughtful when he’s not throwing his weight and bossing me around?
It’s not just physical attraction either.
The restraint he showed lit my vagina up like the Fourth of July.
Turns out she’s a whore for a respectful man.
And then there was Diesel. Fuck my life.