28. Hawg
HAWG
The plan Carver and I have been working on in the background is finally in place. Those sons of bitches aren’t going to be in any shape to hurt our ladies when we get through with them.
The sun has barely been up for a couple hours when Carver and I head out to the desert with the rest of the Royal Bastards, at least the ones we didn’t leave back with the Harlots to take care of business.
I sure as hell didn’t plan to tell Onyx that I loved her last night or expect her to tell me that either but it’s fucking true. I’m not sure how it happened so fast, or if I’ve known for longer than I wanted to let on just watching her from afar, but no matter anymore, she’s fucking mine.
Not just exclusively to bang, but really mine. To share my hopes, dreams, and goals in life with, and to cherish and love. I’m not settling for anything less and I protect what’s mine.
The Desert Riders have a hard-on for our ladies, especially Pearl, but Onyx is the VP and if they can get to her, they know they’ll get to Pearl, and Carver and I aren’t going to sit back and wait for them to fucking attack.
So we push our bikes out of earshot, leaving the ladies still sleeping in their beds, on our way to do what we do best. Because this desert, this entire Phoenix metro area and everything around it belongs to the Royal Bastards and the Harlots.
The fucking Desert Riders, after today, they’re going to go back to where they belong, farther south, east, north, I don’t fucking care but they’re going to pack their shit and get the fuck out of our territory.
It’s an hour’s ride but the temps are good, and we’ve got a lot of bikes and ammo. I’m not fucking worried because I’ve got a few of my best taking care of the ladies including Carver’s best friend from way back, Lucky.
He may be quiet after doing time, a stint in Florence for beating a man who put more than fucking brutal hands on a lady, but he’s been solid, appreciative of being accepted into the club, proud to wear our colors and doesn’t take shit.
Most of all, he takes care of Carver and is protective of us all.
I don’t know their full story, but someone messes with Carver or someone he cares about and Lucky’s gonna lay down.
When Carver asked him to take care of Pearl and the ladies, I knew right then how much their friendship meant because Pearl is Carver’s everything and trusting her life to Lucky shows exactly what Lucky and his friendship means to Carver.
Not that I didn’t get that vibe when he asked me to take Lucky into the club, to patch him over.
That and the fact some of my most trusted men are protecting the Harlots while we ride keeps my nerves at bay. Mile after mile we ride, but an hour’s ride isn’t shit in the desert this vast.
I slow my ride, pulling my Glide to the edge of the road, raising my hand so every single one of the Royal Bastards know to slow their roll. They come in behind me, off the side of the road, onto the pathway of brown dirt packed by the desert sun.
Carver and I know the ropes and the area around where these bastards have burrowed in at and with the help of the intel we just recently received, we move forward, pushing our bikes manually until we’re a little bit closer and can hide them behind the orchard of Joshua trees and tumbleweeds.
My crew grabs our weapons, sawed-off shotguns, rifles and the like, while I holster my gun and grab my bat.
The little ranch-style house sitting out in the desert is supposed to be where the owners of the orange grove that covers acres live, but by the looks of the bikes parked near the porch, something sinister has happened to these folks and the Desert Riders have taken over the land.
We step around beer bottles, trash, and still smoldering ashes in a circle of rocks that tells me they were probably partying until late into the night or early morning.
Good for us.
We keep moving, closer and closer. I gesture a hand to part of my crew and then the other, sending them in different directions to surround the house as Carver blows in the door with a sawed off shotgun that I’m sure not one of those bastards saw coming.