Chapter Five
“Where were you last night?” Puck asked.
Rags pulled out a chair, its metal legs scraping against the floor. “Riding.”
“You missed a good party, dude,” Puck said, as he picked up his breakfast burrito.
“The chicks were hot as fuck,” Tank said, plopping down at the table.
Rags shrugged. “They usually are.”
“But last night was exceptional.” Tank waved over one of the club girls.
“You say that about most of the parties and the chicks.” Rags picked up his coffee mug and took a sip; he grimaced, the bitter coffee filling his mouth as he swallowed. “Who the fuck made this?”
“Did you want something, honey?” Charlotte said, draping an arm around Tank.
“Fry me up some bacon and eggs, sweetie, and”—he pointed at Rags—“bring him a better cup of coffee.”
“Sure thing, sexy.” Charlotte turned toward Rags and leaned over, her low neckline showing off her ample breasts.
The conversation at the table paused. Rags’s dick twitched, and he looked away.
“What’s wrong with your coffee, sugar?”
“It’s shitty. Who made it?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll make you a fresh cup.” She winked at him, straightened up, and glanced at Tank. “And I’ll be back with your breakfast.”
Tank swatted her butt lightly, and she giggled while walking away. The three men exchanged glances, their eyes following the hypnotic roll of her hips as she walked away.
“Fuck,” Rags said.
“Damn, I think I’ll forget my breakfast for now.” Tank pushed away from the table. “I’ll tell one of the other sweet butts to get you a cup of coffee.”
“No worries, I have to get going.”
“Later, dudes.”
Rags watched as Tank walked toward the kitchen.
“Charlotte is sexy as fuck,” Puck said, then took another large bite of his burrito.
“Yeah.” Rags rose to his feet. “Whaddaya doing today?”
“I’m working at the dispensary. We’ve been crazy busy over there. Chas spotted me the other day ’cause Banger wanted me to look into something.”
“Really? What did our prez want?”
“There’s some shit happening with a fucked up renegade club in Henderson.”
“The assholes who call themselves Devil’s Reign? What’s going on with them?”
“Banger just wanted me, Rock, Diesel, and Smokey to check them out. They’re making some noise that Banger and Hawk aren’t down with. It’ll come up at church.”
“When are these fuckin’ wannabes gonna figure out Insurgents rule in Colorado? Shit, they’re all a pain in the ass.”
Puck laughed. “You sound like you’re an old man, dude. I’m itching to kick their asses. It’s been a while since we had a good rumble.”
Rags nodded. “Not since San Diego a couple of years ago. I wonder if these assholes are gonna show up at the Fall Festival next weekend.”
“I wouldn’t put it past them.”
“We’re the ones doing the festival on private property, so I say don’t let the fuckers in.”
“That’s one of the things we’re gonna discuss at church.”
“Is Banger calling a special one?”
“Nah, just the regular one tomorrow afternoon,” Puck said.
A notification pinged, and Rags’s eyes dropped to the screen. “Gotta go. Throttle’s already at the job site. I’ll see you later, brother.”
When Rags arrived at the building, Throttle was bent over digging a hole and cussing up a storm.
“Hey,” Rags said, dry leaves crunching under his work boots as he came up to Throttle.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Sweat poured down his face.
“At the clubhouse. I thought we were meeting up at nine thirty.”
“I told you eight o’clock about a hundred times. Lately, you’ve got your head up your ass.”
Irritation, like fine, sharp grit, settled over Rags’s skin. “I’ll let that pass. Last week you were an hour late for a job, but I did the work and didn’t whine about it like a wimp.” Rags picked up a shovel and joined Throttle.
“I’m not whining, I’m just saying we got shit to do.”
“I know, so leave it alone.”
“Did you go to the party last night? I heard it was pretty hardcore.”
Rags shook his head. “I wasn’t up for it. I went riding instead.”
Throttle halted mid-scoop as his gaze snapped toward Rags. “I never thought I’d hear you say you weren’t up for some pussy. What the hell, dude?”
“I can get that any time I want, but riding…, you know what it’s like, brother. The slight gasoline fumes, waves of heat coming up from the engine, the rush of wind all around… Fuck, dude, it beats out a party any time.”
Throttle leaned back. “Yeah, nothing like it. Pussy doesn’t even compare. Shit, man, I wanna go for a ride now. Let’s get this job over so we can hit the backroads.”
“Can’t do it today. I’m meeting Clara for dinner.”
“Is it her birthday?”
“Nah, she wants to talk. I don’t know what it’s about. Probably about moving out. She’s been itching to get her own place.”
Throttle laughed. “I’m sure that doesn’t go over with you or your parents.”
“Not at all with my parents. I’m not that excited about it, but she’s gotta make her own way. I just wish she’d start doing all that when she hits forty or something. I worry about her.”
“Especially with this chicken shit asshole who’s killing chicks. Kimber told me about the latest one. She’s obsessed with true crime and all that.”
“She doesn’t get enough of it with being your ol’ lady?” Rags threw another load of dirt into the wheelbarrow.
Throttle jerked his head back. “We don’t do shit like that, dude.”
“I know, I was just joking.” A wave of unease washed over him.
“I do worry about Clara. I’ve been hanging out of sight to make sure she gets home okay the past couple of weeks.
Jeremy has done it a few nights, too. Clara doesn’t know we’re there, but until this asshole is found, I don’t feel good about her driving home alone. ”
“Kimber said the loser only goes into women’s apartments when they’re asleep or something like that. A real chicken shit for sure.”
“Yeah, but I still want to make sure Clara’s okay.”
“She hasn’t caught on that you’re trailing her?”
“Dude, we’re Insurgents, we know how to tail someone without them knowing.”
A grin spread over Throttle’s face. “Damn straight. We know our shit.” He pulled himself out of the hole he was digging. “If Clara still has those blonde streaks in her hair, she’s probably good. According to Kimber, all the women have been dark-haired,” he said, wiping sweat from his neck.
Rags froze for half a beat. Dark-haired.
Casey’s face flashed through his mind before he could stop it, that sharp tongue, the spark in her eyes, the soft curves he couldn’t forget.
All of it got under his skin. His gut twisted, and he cussed under his breath.
He had no damn business thinking about her, let alone worrying about her.
He shoved the shovel in hard, dirt flying.
“You good?” Throttle asked.
Rags didn’t look up. “Yeah,” he said, voice flat. “Just diggin’.”
“The hole’s done, dude. If you keep shoveling, you’re gonna hit water.” He laughed.
Without saying anything, Rags tossed the shovel aside then brushed the dirt from his jeans.
“You look like a man with a chick on his mind. Your eyes had a faraway look like something dark blew through.”
Rags glanced over at Throttle. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about. The only thing on my mind is getting this fuckin’ job done.”
“Damn, dude, I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”
“You didn’t.”
Chuckling, Throttle held up his hands. “Okay, brother, whatever you say.”
Rags bit down the urge to slam his fist into Throttle’s face, but instead, he propelled the wheelbarrow forward, his work boots stomping on the ground.
The truth was, he wasn’t mad at his buddy.
He was mad at himself for letting her face slip into his head, for caring whether she was safe, for letting something soft stir where he’d spent years building walls.
The afternoon slipped by until the sun dipped lower, bleeding orange and red across the sky.
“You wanna grab a beer?” Throttle asked, shutting the back of the work truck.
“Not tonight. I’m meeting Clara at Ruthie’s, remember? Another time.”
“Yeah, that’s right, you mentioned that earlier. Pedro and Willy are gonna take care of the gutters and leaves at our clients’ houses tomorrow, so I’ll see you at church.”
“Yeah. Puck told me some shit’s been going on with the Devil’s Reign that Banger and Hawk are going to address. The festival is a week away, and it’d suck big time if those assholes ruin it for the kids and the cause.”
Throttle shook his head. “Those fuckers don’t belong there. This is our deal and we”—he jabbed a finger at his chest—“make the rules.”
Rags gave a sharp nod, and his muscles tensed beneath his dirt-stained T-shirt. “Damn straight.” He lifted a fist, the motion tight and deliberate. “Our deal, our rules.”
Throttle met his glare, the air between them thick with the same anger, the same silent promise—if the rival club tried anything, they’d be ready.
Rags exhaled sharply then shared a grin with Throttle.
“I have to haul ass back to the clubhouse to shower and change before meeting Clara. You and Kimber have any plans?”
“We’ll probably grab a bite to eat at Big Rocky’s.”
“Barbecue sounds good, but not at Ruthie’s.” Rags laughed. “If you see Diesel, tell him he still owes me three hundred bucks from last week’s pool game.”
“Will do. I bet he was pissed when you won. The dude doesn’t like losing.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Rags said, swinging a leg over his bike.
They shared a laugh as the Harley rumbled to life, the low growl rolling down the quiet street.
Throttle climbed into the work truck then slammed the door shut.
“Later, bro,” he called from the open window.
“Later.”
Rags pulled from the curb, the bike roaring into the fading light.