2
El Jefe
My poor fucking brother. My road captain. My best friend. I was all kinds of furious about the accident.
Accident my ass.
I wanted blood.
GQ was a mangled mess after being struck by a garbage truck this morning.
He’d been in surgery for over four hours while the surgeon tried to piece him back together.
His injuries were extensive. Broken leg and arm.
A collapsed lung. Then there was his face.
Reconstructive surgery was in his future, along with a very long recovery.
He was a lucky son of a bitch. He could be dead…
I hung my head, saying a silent prayer. Only my VP, Quino and I were allowed in first. The nurse had said two at a time. Naturally, it would’ve been us to see him before anyone else.
“Do you think he’s in pain,” Quino asked.
“Naw. They have him heavily sedated.”
“We need to question him.”
“We will, brother. Nobody wants retribution more than me.” Unfortunately, nobody was able to identify the driver. The police said the garbage truck had been reported stolen.
Quino grunted. “I’m stepping out. I can’t take looking at him like this.”
“No problem.” I could hardly stomach the sight of GQ, too. It was fucking hard seeing him unconscious with tubes in his arms and machines monitoring him.
Bikers risked their lives every day they were on their hogs. Motorists were unpredictable. Many were distracted by their goddamn phones. I hated that this scene wasn’t uncommon.
Today would have been good, the start of the weekend. But with GQ in the hospital, dark clouds had rolled in. Rain was coming.
Had things turned out differently, my whole crew could’ve gone out on a run. It wasn’t often that we were all out together, and now, it would be a very long time before GQ could get back on his Harley. Fuck, he’d need a new one…
I put my hand on his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll find the person who did this to you, brother. I promise you. We will find him.” And following that vow, I left my sleeping brother and went out into the hallway.
I was damn proud of my club. Everyone had made it out to show GQ support. Our brother needed to see we were all here, to know we had his back.
“How’s he doing, Prez?” Tequila, my sergeant at arms, asked. “Is he awake?”
“No. Out like a sleeping baby,” I replied, then turned toward Quino. “Did you talk to Skillz about standing guard?”
“Yeah, and he’s gonna keep Corcoran with him.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Do you think my cuz is ready? He’s only been prospecting for a couple of months.”
“Shouldn’t be hard standing against a wall, but if you don’t think he’s ready…”
“I’m ready.” Corcoran appeared from behind me. “I served in the Army, y’know?”
“That means nothing to me. Being in an MC is not the same as the military.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “And what are you doing eavesdropping on your president.”
“You’re my cousin first. My blood.” He pounded his puffed-up chest, which didn’t impress me one bit.
“Wrong answer, cabrón. I’ll let you guard GQ with Skillz and when you get back to the club, you can clean all our bikes. Polish and wax, too.” I slapped him upside the head.
Feeling restless, I went to the opposite end to get away from my crew.
I had pent up stress I needed to work off.
Anyone of these nurses could do the job in a closet or the bathroom.
I wasn’t picky. I’d help them onto their knees and fuck their pretty mouths quickly so they could return to their station.
“Hey, you okay?”
I nodded at Quino. “This ain’t right. It’s like they wanted to kill him.”
“And that’s why we’ll make it right.” He firmly gripped my shoulder. “GQ is going to recover and be a thousand percent better than before. He’s going to drive us crazy with his scars. You just watch. He’ll be a pain in everyone’s ass in no time.”
I chuckled. “I can’t wait.”
“Careful what you wish for because you might regret it.”
Quino always could make me feel better. He had wisdom beyond his years. We’d grown up together. Saw a lot of shit and survived it all back in the day. Naturally, I made him my VP. I could count on him, and he had the balls to call me out when I went off the rails.
“Tell them we’re leaving in an hour.” The sooner we got back to the clubhouse, I could regroup, release some stress with a club girl, then start my own investigation on GQ’s accident.
“You got it, Jefe.” Quino stalked toward the others and took charge. He’d get all the guys in and out to see GQ efficiently, then we could make our way home.
I turned my attention to the windows. Overcast days were fucking depressing. My crew and I had better make it to the clubhouse before the rain came. Nobody liked to ride while getting splashed by speeding cars.
Was today Friday the thirteenth? With GQ and the bad weather, I was preparing for the unexpected.
It was times like this I was glad I never took on an old lady.
I had no time to devote to a wife or be distracted.
I was way too overprotective and a worry wart as Mama Virgie would say.
She knew me best as most mothers knew their kids.
Speaking of kids… they weren’t for me. I liked them well enough, so long as they weren’t mine. The life I lived was too dangerous for children. That was why I didn’t have any at my age; thirty-seven. It would have been irresponsible of me to bring a baby into a cruel and evil world.
What the fuck are you thinking about, Jefe? Get your head out of the clouds and get back to business.
I scrubbed my hands up and down my scruffy cheeks. Clearly, I was way too emotional after seeing GQ. His injuries were a reminder that anything could happen to any one of us. Tomorrow wasn’t promised. Just another reason to stick to the single life…
NorCal’s been in a drought since I was in diapers. But today, fucking today, it was downpouring on my crew and me. For three miles, we’d been battling the onslaught.
Swerving around puddles.
Avoiding cars the best we could. I doubted drivers noticed us through the sheets of rain.
Thank you, Mother Nature. You’re a bitch.
As it was, we hardly ever went on Interstate 5. It was a personal choice. We valued our fucking lives and didn’t go out looking for trouble.
But with the rain, our safety came first. A side road was more dangerous than a possible run in with our rivals. Most would love a shot at fucking with us.
As if riding in a cage made them tough. Not. Real men rode Harley’s.
I lifted my right hand in the air for my crew to see me alerting them of the oncoming traffic. Quino copied the gesture, then one by one, more members did the same.
It was the mad rush to get the weekend started. I felt that excitement in my bones. My club liked to party every chance we had. It made life better and my dick happy. A pretty woman to pound into was the best activity in the world.
Flashing hazard lights ahead caught my attention. I squinted trying to make out the person waving down cars like they had an emergency. Like dial 911 if it was so important.
If it was a dude, we wouldn’t stop.
If it was a woman, it was my civic duty to offer my assistance, especially if she was a looker.
I pointed, so my crew followed me to bypass the losers in cages. I needed to get closer before deciding if I’d help the person with car trouble. Moving into the right lane, the rain seemed to let up and my view became crystal clear.
Curves. A drenched white dress. Fire engine red hair.
I was most definitely stopping.
Time to piss off drivers, which I didn’t feel bad about. People in these parts knew who ruled this side of the Golden State: The Kings of Anarchy MC.
To be fair and truthful, my territory was east of I5, from the Oregon border to Sacramento. The west side was under the thumb of an old-school gangster I preferred not to think about right now.
Horns blared from my left side. I raised my hand toward the assholes and issued them the bird as I rolled on by.
A grin played on my lips as I glanced at my enforcer, Slay. I imagined I looked like a wet dog just like him. Whatever. We were stopping to help this poor woman, no matter how unsavory I appeared.
She’d still want me like every other woman.
Cocky much, Jefe? Damn straight I was cocky.
Women went into heat when in my presence.
I just had that kind of sex appeal. Chicks dropped their panties and spread their legs without me having to ask.
It was the leather cut that had a President patch and the flashy yellow Harley under me that drew their attention at first sight.
And then up close and personal, they melted every fucking time. I’d say I lived a charmed life.
I jerked my chin at Slay and pointed at the exit coming up. Time to get off the fucking interstate. We could take Highway 20 up to the 45, then work our way through Butte Valley to San Diablo, my sanctuary.
Wiping my brow with the back of my hand, the chick frantically waved her hands in the air.
Gotta say, it was awfully ballsy of her. Did she not recognize us?
I signaled with my fist in the air for us to slow. She had a flat tire and appeared desperate. I wondered how desperate…
The white dress was actually a shirt, soaked through. Just tempting the world with what was under it. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing was my hope. Goddamn, her dark nipples were hardened beads, begging to be sucked.
My cock rumbled to life and my mind was made up. I was helping this damsel in distress.
I parked my hog a couple of yards behind her little blue beater, then shouted, “Hey!” I nodded as I got off my bike and strolled toward her. “That sucks.”
“Tell me about it.” She sniffled, wiping under her red, runny nose. “Can you help me?”
“That depends.” I lowered my gaze to her chest and licked my bottom lip. Her breasts were full and perky, just as I liked a pair of tits to be. I could tell they were real. Not the fake shit some of the club girls had.