Chapter Nine
Jock
Jock leaned against the rusted railing around an old warehouse, the salty odor from the nearby docks sharp in the air.
The night was heavy, damp clinging to his leather cut, the distant city hum pulsing under his boots.
Ace stood nearby, his silhouette stark against the flickering sodium lights as he scanned the shadows.
Ever since Calder’s arrest, the two clubs had cooperatively been chasing leads on the Steel Serpents, that damn rival club slithering into IMC and CoBos territory.
The disgraced dog fighter might be cooling his heels in a cell, but his behavior had left a trail—one Jock and Ace were determined to follow.
“Calder’s locked up, but the SSMC are still moving,” Ace said, cracking his knuckles. “He was their in, initially, but with him out of the picture, there’s gotta be someone else picking up the slack.”
Jock nodded, jaw tight. Calder had been slippery, cutting deals with the SSMC, trying to flood CoBos and IMC territory with cheap dope and muscle. If the clubs didn’t act, their grip on the region might be questioned by more than the one club.
Jock’s fingers twitched, craving his bike’s throttle, but he steadied himself.
“Stay sharp, stay steady,” he whispered, the mantra grounding him against the rising heat in his chest. Something I can see: Ace, angry as I am.
Something I can feel: the railing biting into my ass.
Something I can hear: the hiss of tires on the nearby highway.
They’d tracked the SSMC to The Bent Anchor, a neutral bar on the edge of town where biker wannabes and lowlifes mingled under a fragile truce.
The plan: watch, listen, identify Calder’s replacement.
No blood, not yet. Jock adjusted his IMC vest, its weight reassuring on his back, and followed Ace inside.
The bar was a haze of cigarette smoke and stale beer, the jukebox wailing a tired country tune.
Eyes darted glances at them, every face hiding something.
In a corner booth, two SSMC members sat, cannon fodder, not officers.
They were tatted up, lean, and twitchy, their cuts bearing the steampunk coiled snake emblem, their presence a blatant challenge here, deep within IMC territory.
No Calder, of course, but the way they leaned in, talking low, screamed business.
Ace slid onto a barstool, ordering a whiskey he wouldn’t touch.
Jock took a barstool by the wall, close enough to catch fragments of their conversation.
The more wiry of the two SSMC members, a scar splitting his eyebrow, was mid-sentence.
“...fights are still on. Calder’s out, but the cash keeps flowing.
Dogs too. Pits, mean ones. Big money in those pit bulls. ”
Jock’s stomach churned. He’d seen strays on the docks, ribs jutting, eyes hollow. The idea of them torn apart for bets made his blood simmer. Stay sharp, stay steady, he thought, gripping the table’s edge to keep from charging over.
The bigger of the two, neck like a tree trunk, nodded. “Boss says we expand. IMC’s distracted, licking their wounds. We move now.”
Ace’s fingers tightened on his glass, but Jock shot him a look—hold. They needed more. Names, places, proof the SSMC were filling Calder’s shoes. But the air shifted, a prickle of tension rising as Scarface’s eyes flicked towards Jock. Recognition sparked. “Shit, IMC,” he hissed, nudging his buddy.
The big guy stood, cracking his knuckles. “You lost, boys?” he called, loud enough to turn heads.
Jock leaned back, casual but coiled. “Just having a drink,” he said, voice low, steady. Stay sharp, stay steady. His pulse thrummed, but he kept it locked down, meeting the SSMC’s glare.
Ace rose, his six-foot frame casting a shadow. “No trouble here,” he said, hand hovering near the knife in his belt.
The bar went quiet, the jukebox clicking to a mournful guitar riff, like a countdown.
Scarface sneered, stepping closer. “You big dog pricks think you run this town. Not for long.”
Jock’s mantra looped, holding the red haze at bay. “Walk away,” he said, not asking.
The idiot laughed, a nervous edge to it.
The bartender, a grizzled old man with a missing tooth, slammed a bottle down. “Outside, or I call the cops. Nobody wants that.”
The standoff held, and then Scarface muttered something to his buddy. They backed off, but he pointed at Jock. “This ain’t over.”
As they slipped out, Jock caught the glint of a keychain one dropped—a metal dog tag, etched with a steampunk coiled snake. A lead. Ace tossed cash on the bar, and he picked it up as they headed out, the night air cold against their skin.
Back at the bikes, Ace lit a cigarette, exhaling hard. “Dogs. Fighting rings. That’s the SSMC game?”
Jock shook his head, straddling his bike, the engine’s rumble steadying him. “I don’t think so. Calder was just a piece. The rings are a front. Money’s moving. Likely big money.”
Ace flicked ash into the dirt. “We need the who and the where.”
Jock revved his bike, the sound drowning out the city’s drone. “Follow the dogs, we find the money. Find the money, we find the SSMC’s real play.”
As they rode towards the IMC clubhouse, the manufacturing complex sprawling dark beside them, Jock couldn’t shake the image of those dogs—caged, bleeding, fighting for survival.
The SSMC weren’t just rivals; they were a disease, and Calder’s arrest hadn’t stopped them.
Something bigger loomed, a shadow beneath the surface, and Jock knew they’d have to face it head-on.
But not tonight. “Going home to Silly,” he whispered into the wind, and gunned the throttle.
***
“Can you explain to me why I got a call tonight?” Twisted’s voice on the line was suspiciously pleasant.
“Because Ace and I were hunting down leads out at the Bent Anchor?” He immediately knew he shouldn’t have given an answer.
“Because Ace.” Twisted sighed. “Let me get this right. Your national president gave you a courtesy call to tell you—specifically you—to not go out. And a man from a different club just showed up and forced you to go out? That’s gotta be what happened because you wouldn’t have gone out otherwise.
Right? Ace forced you.” Twisted sighed again. “Right?”
I fucked up.
Jock let the silence build before asking, “Am I allowed to speak, President?”
“Fucking hell, yes. Explain to me why the bartender I’m paying for information had to run you out of his bar tonight, on the heels of two SSMC pieces of shit. Talk like I’m an idiot because that’s gotta be how you roll, right? Like an idiot?”
Jock rolled his shoulders. “I didn’t know that.”
“Of course you didn’t know that. This fucking fixation of yours is reasonable, given how you’ve bonded with that goddamned fucking dog, but brother, believe me when I say that it’s also goddamned inconvenient at the moment.
” There was a woman’s voice in the background, but Jock couldn’t make out what she said.
“No, Penny—fucking no. The man left his home after receiving a direct order from me. He’s lucky I don’t bust him back to a probation period again. ”
“I’m...sorry isn’t the right word. I’m embarrassed that you’ve got to school me like I’m a wet-behind-the-ears prospect. I hold full responsibility, President.” Jock found himself standing at attention.
“Well, yeah. Don’t let it happen again. Asshole.” Twisted groaned. “No, Penny, I don’t feel bad for yelling at him. He earned it. He just nutted up faster than my anger was ready for.”
“Won’t happen again.”
***
Silly
“Can we go to the dog park today instead of a boring w-a-l-k?” Silly spelled out the important word, but Maynard still picked his head up and looked at her. “Shush, you. There’s no way you’ve learned how to spell.”
“I wouldn’t put money against him being that smart.” Jock stepped up behind Silly, bracketing her chest and belly with his arms. “We could do the dog park—” Maynard stood and barked, tail making helicopter circles through the air. “See what I mean?”
“Too smart for his own good, clearly. Let’s g-o, then.
To the d-o-g-p-a-r-k for a w-a-l-k.” She laughed when Maynard looked at her, tilting his head one way, then the other.
He appeared to be thinking about it, then turned and barked at Tank.
Both dogs headed for the door leading to the garage and sat in front of where their leashes were hanging. “No freakin’ way.”
“Oh, yeah. Way.” He gave her a squeeze. “Now that you’ve promised them, we’ve got to follow through on it.”
“Better than a boring walk, anyway.”
Both dogs barked.
At the dog park, Jock had Maynard, and Silly held Tank’s leash, feeling like an afterthought trailing after wherever the big dog wanted to go.
“Hey, that’s Zorro.” Jock pointed to a lab currently running laps around a man on the other side of the park. “That’s Hank.”
“Making friends and influencing people.” Silly gave him a poke. “Go on, make friends without me here.”
“It’s Maynard’s fault. He’s the one who looped me and Hank into having a very brief conversation.”
“Likely story.” She reached over and stroked between Maynard’s ears. “He would never conspire to have you actually talk to people.”
“He did, and it was kinda cool. I’m so used to not being someone a stranger would strike up a conversation with, I thought it would be weird meeting a dead-ass stranger. But between Maynard and Zorro, they managed their people pretty well.”
“Well, go on.” She unlatched Tank’s leash and looped the leather around the back of her neck. “Get Maynard off leash and let him play.”
Jock got on one knee and straightened Maynard’s ever-present pajamas, then unclipped the leash. He gave Maynard’s collar a shake and told him, “Go make friends.”
She watched the dog arrow straight over to the man and dog across the park. It only took a couple of minutes before Hank turned to wave as both Zorro and Maynard began what looked to be an epic round of zoomies.
“Go on, Jake. Say hello to Hank. And if you think I’m not going to do something with a besties song, you don’t know me that well.”
“Shaddup, woman,” Jock joked as he stood next to her. His hand found the back of her neck, and Silly leaned confidently into that hold.
“Love you, mister.”
“Love you too.”
Maynard circled around them, barking at Tank, who lumbered after the two more exuberant dogs. Zorro wasn’t as brave, weaving back and forth between them and his owner, but he was clearly a happy, confident dog.
Silly said, “Pretty lab.”
“Yeah. Well-behaved too,” Jock agreed.
“If we were going to foster a dog, that’d be the kind I’d want. Already sorted out mentally.”
“High bar, especially in a lab.”
“Oh, I’m not limiting us to a lab. Theoretically, I mean.”
“Yeah, this isn’t a now conversation, it’s one for future us.” Jock’s lips tightened, a tell she knew meant he’d just told her something he thought she wanted to hear.
“And future us could be tomorrow. If the right dog came along.”
His jaw flexed once and relaxed. “Yeah, that’s a big if. But if sounds good.”
“It is good.” She slipped her hand around his elbow. “Now, take me over and introduce me to your new friend.”
***
Silly
“Miss Danielle, I finally made it back for Silly’s vest.” Jock held the door open for her, dropping a kiss on top of her head as she ducked underneath his arm.
“It’s ’bout damn time. You two kiddos been hiding out and making babies. Gotta be.”
Silly looked up at Jock, and he shook his head, eyes wide.
“You didn’t say anything?” she hissed in a whisper. “You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I haven’t been back since I dropped off the vest.” His whisper wasn’t as quiet as Silly would have liked, and obviously Miss Danielle wasn’t hard of hearing, because she answered.
“No, missy, your man hasn’t said a thing to Miss Danielle.
Just y’all are young and fertile. This is the time to be doing it.
Not like my oldest daughter. She was nearly forty before she gave me a grandchild.
I’d about given up hope.” The always-vocal Black woman came out from behind the curtain at the back of the store and bustled around the edge of the counter to rush Silly, arms open wide. “Don’t be mad at nobody, Sylvia.”
She let herself sink into the hug, feeling like the older woman was putting parts of her back into place, comforting and healing all at the same time. Head pressed next to Silly’s, the woman whispered, “You’re going to be brilliant.”
“Oh, you’re going to make me cry.” Silly sniffed. “I can’t be a badass biker bitch if I cry.”
“Sure you can,” Miss Danielle said, holding Silly at arm’s length. “Just wear waterproof mascara.”
Silly laughed and stepped back.
Jock’s arm immediately went around her. “Baby?”
“I’m good.” She flicked tears off her cheeks. “I need to see my PO vest, though. I’m ready to be a badass biker bitch.”
“How’s that dog doing, Jock?” The vest must have been beneath the counter because Miss Danielle already had it spread out over the cabinet. The woman looked up at Jock, waiting.
“He’s good. Really good. Almost healed up.”
“How’s he getting along with that big ole beast you brought south?”
“The boys are getting along so well.” Silly laughed. “It’s like they’re old roommates or something. Cracks me up sometimes. Now—” She made gimme hands. “I’m ready to try on the vest. It looks fabulous, as always, Miss Danielle.”
Silly picked up the vest and danced over to where there was a three-way mirror.
She grinned at her reflection as she swirled it around her shoulders and shoved her arms through the holes.
It drifted down and around her hips, the front lapels parting in the middle.
She twisted to look at the back and laughed in excitement.
“It’s perfect.” The vanity patches on the front made her laugh again.
“I’d forgotten a couple of these. They’re awesome. ”
Miss Danielle walked up behind her and held out a hand.
Silly lifted hers and caught two metal bits of what looked like jewelry.
“What’s this?” She looked them over and squealed.
“It’s extenders. They snap into place, right?
” She fiddled with the first one and got it into place.
“Jock, Miss Danielle gave me vest extenders. And they’re boobs.
Oh my god, they’re boobs. That’s amazing.
” She threw her arms around the woman and squeezed.
“You’re welcome, Silly. Wear them in health.”
“Yes, ma’am.”