Something banged against the wall from the room next door. I pulled a blanket over Gigi and left the room. The room belonged to Watcher, and I could hear him grunting and a woman moaning. Maybe they should have stayed at the Holiday Inn.

  “Fuck me,” the woman said. “Ohh!”

  I recognized the woman’s voice from only two words and knocked on the door. “You okay, Carmen?”

  “Be . . . right . . . out,” she said. “I . . . can’t. . . stop . . . right . . . now.”

  “Get the fuck out of here, Skittles.” Watcher liked to watch but not be watched, which is how he got his name. Watching people get off was a fetish he had that everyone knew about. On more than one occasion, he’d watched Prospects banging their women. He knew better than to watch club members. “Ahh.”

  “Sounds like you’re about finished,” I said, opening the door. What I saw was hard to explain. Watcher had Carmen pinned against the wall, on her head, her legs straight up, his dick pulling out of her pussy. Come ran up her stomach and neck. She saw me and dropped to the floor with a thud. She’d need weekly appointments at a chiropractor.

  I sat on the bed and peered at Watcher, making him uncomfortable. He didn’t give a damn that I was seeing him naked. He just didn’t like being watched. Carmen stood and come dripped onto the floor. I clapped a few times before the open door drew my attention. Trixie stood there, a scowl the size of Arkansas on her face.

  “Don’t, Trixie,” I said, but she did. I was sure the screech woke everyone sleeping.

  Carmen saw her coming and covered her face with her arms. It didn’t help. Trixie was an old lady wanna-be, which meant she fought like one. She swung hard and hit Carmen’s hand, covering her left cheek. Carmen screamed as she went to the floor. I did nothing. Carmen needed to pull herself together, get up, and bitch slap Trixie. If she didn’t, she’d never be able to walk back into the club again.

  “Fucking bitch,” Trixie said. “I wanted him.”

  Watcher, pants pulled on but shirtless, his body lean but nothing like Marcus or Diesel, leaned against the wall and watched. He wouldn’t help Carmen. It would mean choosing sides.

  From the floor, Carmen moved her hands from her face. She winked at me and then turned a glare to Trixie. She ignored Watcher.

  “Don’t get up, you little whore.” Trixie stood over Carmen, daring her to move.

  I’d never seen Carmen in a fight or even in an argument. I assumed she was a goodie-two-shoes, except for this adventure to the clubhouse. I was wrong. Carmen balled her hand into a fist and pussy-punched Trixie. Trixie dropped like dead weight. She reached into her jeans and grabbed a handful of pussy, screaming in agony.

  Carmen, wanting to add insult to injury, jumped on Trixie. “You wanted some of him? Here you go!” She rubbed Trixie’s face in Watcher’s come on her stomach. “How’s that?”

  “Carmen, let’s go,” I said. “That’s enough.”

  Carmen stood and grabbed her clothes. She didn’t say a word to the laughing Watcher. I started to tell her not to stand over Trixie but knew she needed to make sure Trixie understood. “Look, whore, you ever come at me again, I’ll make sure you leave with a busted nose.” Carmen finally acknowledged the smiling Watcher. “I’d say that pussy is nice and tight now.”

  “A pussy shot,” Watcher said. “Didn’t see that coming.” He grabbed a shirt and left the room. He’d never touch Trixie again.

  “We need to find Wendy,” I said. “We’ll have to go door to door.”

  Carmen dressed in the hall and closed Watcher’s door, Trixie still lying on the floor. “Is this what it’s like all the time?”

  “There’s never a dull moment in an MC.” We started down the hall and sat at the bar. “You did the right thing with Trixie. You showed her you weren’t going to be pushed around, and you showed Watcher what kind of old lady you would be if you ever wanted to become part of the MC.” I hugged her. “I’m proud of you.”

  “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t fun. Damn, it felt good to fight!” Carmen scanned the room. “Where’s Gigi?”

  I pointed down the hall where Gigi appeared, half-dressed, hair a mess. She sat next to us and buried her face in her hand. “What the fuck did I do?”

  Carmen put an arm around Gigi and curled her upper lip. “You smell like sweat, alcohol, and biker come.”

  “Fuck you.” Gigi raised her head. “Kettle calling the pot black.”

  We laughed, and I went behind the bar for three coffees. “Cream and sugar?” Both nodded, holding their heads. I grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen from under the counter and placed it next to the coffee.

  “Anyone seen Wendy?” Carmen downed three ibuprofen and sipped coffee. I was sure her neck would be hurting tomorrow.

  “My god, why did I do that?” Gigi drank the coffee and asked for another cup.

  I filled Gigi’s cup and smiled at Dead Zone when he came in from outside. “You seen Marcus?” I asked.

  “Still out.” He motioned over his shoulder. “Some woman outside looking for him, though. Says they used to be married.”

  “Shit,” Carmen said.

  “Skank whore.” I headed outside with Gigi and Carmen following, wondering what was happening.

  5

  Beast

  We parked the bikes a block away and took a back alley to Hot Rod Willie’s, guns in waistbands, hidden by kuttes. Felons and firearms didn’t mix as far as the locals were concerned. When we got to the back entrance, the door was standing open. Two Hell’s Messengers were loading motorcycle parts into a pickup.

  “Assholes,” I said and moved forward, gun raised. “Put the parts down and slowly drop your pieces to the ground.”

  It seemed somewhere over the past ten years, people stopped listening. Maybe there was something in the air, clogging ears. The Messengers did half of what they were told. They put the parts on the ground, but both went for their guns as they were coming up. Both also found a bullet to the skull and dropped next to the parts they were stealing.

  The pickup started, and the tires squealed. I’d not seen the guy in the driver’s seat. He started away, and I started after him, diving into the pickup before the guy exited onto the main road. I heard Big Kentucky hollering for me to hang on. Did he think I would pirouette down Main Street in the back of a truck?

  The guy took the next turn, trying to throw me from the truck. I hung on as if hanging onto my old lady’s hips during a fuckfest. I let out a cheerful howl when the truck straightened on the next road. Damn, being a biker was a hoot. I missed canyon carving!

  The driver glanced back, his eyes the size of ping pong balls, and drew a Glock. He fired twice through the window, but the angle sucked so bad that he missed by a mile. Unfortunately for him, I had the perfect angle and put a bullet to the back of his head.

  The truck careened off parked cars and headed up a sidewalk, barreling over chairs and tables outside Lady Birds Café. The windows I smashed with the heads of Messengers were covered by plastic. Right before the truck hit a telephone pole, I jumped from the back and landed feet first on the street, rolling ten feet like a stuntman. Life was fucking good.

  Big Kentucky was the first to arrive, patting his seat for me to hop on. The Prospects who’d been driving the van were next. They loaded the parts from the back of the pickup, and the bunch of us returned to Hot Rod Willie’s. TexMex and a Prospect already had the two dead Messengers rolled up in plastic. The Prospects carried the parts back into the store, and then we loaded the bodies into the van.

  “Take them over off Highway 54,“ I said. “Make the graves deep enough that animals aren’t dragging them away for a family dinner.”

  TexMex climbed onto his bike. “I’ll let Willie know he got a three-for-two deal.”

  “Hold up.” I opened the van doors and pulled back the plastic covering the two dead men. “Drop these assholes outside the Hell’s Messengers’ club. Ingles needs to know he’s losing whatever fucking game he’s playing.”

  “You got it, Prez,” TexMex said. He followed the van away from Willie’s.

  Big Kentucky climbed on his bike. “That’s a strong fucking message, Beast.”

  I nodded, knowing that it was. “Someone’s fucking with the club. We’ll go down the line and stop the bullshit.”

  “You know Ingles isn’t smart enough to have someone install hidden camera’s in the whorehouse,” Big Kentucky said. Ingles was the Hell’s Messengers’ club president. We went way back but parted ways a few years before we each became our club’s president. He was a good guy for a while, but when he lost his wife and kid during a raid by the feds on his club, he turned ten kinds of hell. He put the locals and Pine Bluff on notice. Yeah, the feds killed his wife and kid, but the locals were the easiest to torment.

  I showed up at the funeral, which Ingles didn’t mind, but when I turned down his request to turn Pine Bluff into a killing field, he turned on me and the Brothers of Chaos. He grabbed onto the idea of being a one-percenter and ran with it. The feds refused to help out the locals. They were afraid too many of them would die. We were the only thing keeping Ingles from destroying Pine Bluff.

  “You’re right. Technology isn’t his vibe. Which means someone with at least half a brain is trying to scrub the club.” I pulled on my gloves and helmet, securing the Glock in my waistband. “Maybe someone is trying to get dirt on one of our clients.”

  We’d had almost every man in Pine Bluff come to the whorehouse at one time or another. People needed sex the way people needed to breathe. We kept things private. It kept the judges, the D.A., and most locals on our side.

  “Dick,” Big Kentucky said. He smiled ear-to-ear, and I was afraid he was jumping teams.

  “What?”

  “Dick should be our new income stream.”

  “What the fuck happened to you while I was at Varner, BK?”

  Big Kentucky laughed. “Hear me out.” He stared ahead, contemplating his next words. “We have all these motherfuckers coming in for pussy. Why can’t we have those motherfuckers’ wives coming in for dick? We set up a different location. Make it just as discreet, and the cash starts rolling in.”

  “I guess you wanna run that shit?” I asked. “Or you wanna be the dick they’re coming in for?”

  Big Kentucky laughed hardily. “Raisin ain’t gonna let that happen. Give it some thought.”

  Sirens blared in the distance, and we rode away from Hot Rod Willie’s, having paid our debt to Willie and discovered a new income stream. I wasn’t sure how I’d bring it up at church. “Who’s interested in dick?” No. I glanced over at Big Kentucky as he rode next to me. It was a brilliant idea. Implementing would be hard.

  When the clubhouse gates opened, I knew the rest of the day would be shit. Life was hard, but the biker's life was even more complicated. I loved being the club’s president, but some days, it didn’t pay to show up for work. It's not like I could call in sick, however.

  In the middle of the parking lot, Skittles had Donna by the hair, throwing her around like a rag doll. Donna got in a glancing blow now and then, but Skittles was in a kicking Mike Tyson’s ass kind of mood.

  Between punches, the girls saw me pulling in. It seems like that would have been a sign to stop beating the shit outta each other, but they took it as a sign to kill one another. Shirts were ripped off, and titties swung. Blood sprayed the ground, and cat screams filled the air.

  I parked next to the other bikes, calmly removed my helmet, and nodded at Watcher to help me break things up.

  Before it even happened, I knew it was about to. Watcher went for Donna, and she knocked the shit out of him, sending him to the pavement. The club members watching hooted and hollered. Watcher leaned on his elbows and wiped blood from his lips. He loved the taste of blood. Fucker should have been a vampire. He got to his feet, ducked his head, and grabbed Donna by the waist.

  I grabbed Skittles, but that didn’t prevent her from getting one last punch in. The crunch of Donna’s nose made the entire club cringe. Everyone stopped in silence except for Skittles.

  “Fucking, cunt, whore. Let me go!”

  “Calm the fuck down,” I said, carrying her inside. I sat her at the bar and looked at the parking lot monitor. Donna was still swinging on Watcher, and the club members laughed again. We weren’t called the Brothers of Chaos for nothing.

  “What the fuck was that all about?” I asked.

  “Bitch shows up here like she owns the place.” Skittles pointed at me. “You better check that little skank, or the next time I’m shoving a foot up her ass and pulling it out her throat.” Skittles started back outside, but I grabbed her.

  “No more. Got it?”

  “Fucking cunt,” she said.

  “Okay. Are we good now? Can we return to the words you learned in college?”

  Skittles smiled, and blood emerged from the corner of her mouth. She licked it away and grunted. “Yeah, we’re good.”

  “Let me go back out there and find out why she’s here.” I let go of her arms but stayed prepared for her to bolt.

  “I don’t want her here, Marcus.”

  “Then let me find out why she’s here, and I’ll send her away.”

  Carmen and Gigi came back inside and sat next to Skittles.

  “Where’s Wendy?” I asked.

  “We don’t know,” Giggi said. “She was here last night but wasn’t around this morning.”

  “How the fuck do you lose a friend?” I took a deep breath. I had more pressing things to worry about. “You two, make sure she stays here.”

  Outside, Watcher had Donna calmed and drinking a beer. He nodded at me, and I noticed a bald spot on his head.

  “She ripped my fucking hair out, Beast.” Watcher touched the bald spot. “It’ll take a fucking year for it to grow back.”

  “Go rub some grease on it,” I said. “I’ll take it from here.”

  I walked Donna into one of the garage bays. “You don’t show up here again. Call the club if you need to see me, and arrangements will be made.” I grabbed a clean rag and ran warm water over it. “Here, wipe that shit off your face.” I grabbed a clean mechanics shirt and helped her put it on. “You can’t be doing this shit, Donna. Those members and their old ladies out there are gonna want your ass for this.”

  “I won’t be back, Marcus. That’s what I came to tell you. Mark is still at the Holiday Inn. He’s waiting for you.” She walked to the sink and spat blood.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s your son, Marcus. He wants to be with his father.” She tossed the rag in the trash, and I noticed a bruise developing under her right eye. Skittles had really gone to town on her face. “I’m leaving for Cali today. Right now, in fact. I got opportunities out there. Opportunities that don’t include a kid.”

  “What the fuck, Donna. I don’t know shit about raising a kid.”

  “Guess you better learn pretty quickly.” She walked out of the garage and toward her car. “Checkout is eleven, so you have thirty minutes to get over there and get him.”

  Speechless, I watched Donna climb into her car and pull away.

  “What was that all about?” Cinder asked.

  “What do you know about raising a kid?”

  Cinder shrugged. “Not shit.”

  “That makes two of us.” I started back inside. “Church at two. I got something I need to take care of now.”

  Inside, I found Skittles playing pool with Gigi and Carmen.

  “Well?” Skittles said. “What did the little leg spreader want?”

  “I don’t think you learned those words in college.”

  “Sorry, babe. What did the little whore want?”

  “That’s better,” I said. “I need you to wait here while I pick up my son at the Holiday Inn.”

  Skittles nodded. “She’s not coming back, is she?”

  “She’s not.”

  I went back outside and climbed on my bike. Cinder offered to go, but I needed to talk to Mark alone. I had no fucking idea what I would say, but I knew it needed to be profound and heartfelt. He was in a shitty situation he didn’t ask to be in, and since I helped put him there, I needed to be the one to get him out. I could do it. I knew how to be a man. I knew what it took. Kickstand taught me that. Through example, he also taught me how to be a father.

  I waited outside the Holiday Inn until almost eleven before going inside. I stood at the elevator and couldn’t make my finger press the button. What was I afraid of? The kid was ten. I pushed the button, and the doors opened. I stepped on, pressed the third-floor button, and turned as the doors closed.

  I jammed my hand between the doors, and they opened. Fuck, he looked just like me.

  “Mark?”

  The boy standing outside the elevator nodded. “Are you my Dad?”

  “Yeah, I suppose I am.” What a fucking dick I sounded like. “Yes, I’m your Dad.” I stepped off the elevator. “What’re you doing out here?”

  “I checked out on my own,” he said, and I felt like an asshole. “Mom left, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah, dude, I’m afraid so.” I put my hand on his shoulder the way Kickstand had put his hand on mine when I was young. “I’ll take good care of you. Not sure how good I’ll be at this, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

  “Are you a bad guy?”

  Fuck. “I’m not a bad guy. At least most of the time.” He smiled, and I felt much better. “You ever been on the back of a bike before?” He shook his head. “Time to give it a try. You got a suitcase?”

  He shook his head again. “Just my backpack.”

  “That’s all your shit? I mean, stuff?”

  “It’s okay to use those words. Mom said your club cusses a lot.”

  “Yeah? What else she tell you?”

  “That my stepmother is a whore.”

  Fuck. I wanted to tell him so was his mother, but decided that wasn’t the best course of action to begin our relationship. “Your stepmother is a very good and educated person. She loves me and will love you the same way I do.”