Their Private Need (Death Lords MC 3)

“Sorry you had to come here this late,” she mumbles. Her face is a fiery red.

“It’s no big deal. Club’s a family and we watch after our own. You do your part tonight and we’ll take care of you. I’ll give you guys a few minutes.” Judge walks out.

“A bunch of fools from that club we were just at in the Cities got into some trouble and we need to run up there and take care of business. We should be back tomorrow night.” I pull the key off my chain I have hooked to my belt loop and press it into her hand.

Michigan holds her first, burying his head in her hair and squeezing her so tight I’m worried she can’t breathe. “I can’t kiss you, sweetheart, because if I press my lips against your sweet mouth, I’m not going to stop.”

He gives her another squeeze and then passes her off to me. I do kiss her, tonguing her deep and long until we’re both panting.

“Fuck it.” Michigan pulls her back into his arms and plants a hard kiss on her mouth.

When he releases her, her cherry red lips are smiling.

“You be in our bed, wearing nothing but our cuffs tomorrow night,” Michigan orders.

“All right.” She gives us both two more quick pecks against our cheek and then trips out the door to climb into Pippa’s little red car.

Wrecker and Abel, a prospect, show up about thirty minutes after Judge leaves. Wrecker is Judge’s son and is probably coming along to tell the dumb folks to shut up and stay locked up tight and in three years they’ll be out. Wrecker served three for involuntary manslaughter for defending a local who’d been attacked by a skinhead from a white supremacist biker group from up north. Should’ve been fucking self-defense and no charges but Schmidthead—Chief Schmidt—saw an opportunity to bring pain on the Death Lords MC, Judge specifically, and got the city attorney to bring charges when the county wouldn’t. On advice of counsel, they pled that shit down to involuntary and Wrecker did three years. He came out of it fine and as long as these punks kept their shit locked up tight, they’d be welcome in most any MC around. Loyalty means a lot in the brotherhood. That Abel is being sent with him means that Judge is getting ready to patch him in.

You don’t trust shit like this to a prospect.

From the gleam in this serious former Marine’s eyes, he knows it.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Always,” he says. We both know we’re talking about more than the trip up to the Cities.

“Guess we’ll be having a big party one of these days.”

A new patch is celebrated with liquor and fucking. I nudge Michigan and he gives me a small smile. We are both imagining Annie’s wild-eyed delight at that scene. She’d be hot and wet after the first five minutes. Hell, she’ll probably come from us just telling her about it. Like me, there’s a little part of her that likes to watch. She doesn’t want to show off to any of these assholes, but she doesn’t mind taking it all in. Thirsty and greedy little puss.

“Hope so,” is all Abel says. He’s a good one, all right.

“How’d you ever make it as a Marine, Easy?” Wrecker asks as we strap our packs onto the bike. This time we aren’t carrying around extra clothes, assless chaps, and silky lingerie. We’ve got guns, IDs and cash. “Seems to me that if you smile, you’re kicked out.”

“Don’t judge the entire branch by these two humorless assholes,” I joke. “We’ve got plenty of dumb jokesters like yourself.”

“This humorless asshole kept you alive, fucker,” Michigan taunts.

“True story.” I grin and swing one leg over Amber Whiskey. “I’m done gossiping if you are, ladies.”

“Ride on, brother.” Wrecker knocks his forearm against mine. Michigan climbs onto his bike and we lead the way with Wrecker and Abel following in the truck behind us.

When we arrive in Minneapolis, we park our bikes at a motel in Eagen and climb into the back of the four-door cab that Wrecker had driven up. Riding our lowriders past a suspected motorcycle club gang is like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

Might as well hang a sign on the back of our cuts saying “arrest us.” I give Wrecker the instructions to Junior’s crash pad and he takes off.

“Kind of ingenious to have the clubhouse in the middle of a bunch of run-down college rentals,” Wrecker comments.

“No doubt. No one can complain here about noise late at night and coming and going of people at all hours.”

“How’re we playing this?” Wrecker asks. Abel’s silent and won’t likely say a word tonight. This is his last test and he’s determined to pass it.

“Junior’s in charge. I’m not sure if the two guys that got picked up acted under his orders or whether they’re wild cards trying to gain control after his old man’s death. We got to figure out if Junior’s worth the investment. If he is, then we clean out his stashes and hold them for him, minus a little protection fee.”

“I never met Junior. How old is he?”

“About twenty-five.”

Wrecker shakes his head. “Twenty-five and he’s still Junior?”

“Once you get a road name, that’s all you’re ever going to be called. Remember that asshole Taco from the Bedlam Butchers?”

“Yeah, ‘Taco’ sucks. So you guys are seeing Annie Bloom, huh?”

“Yup. What do you know about her? Didn’t you go to school with her?”

“She was a year ahead. I don’t know much about her. She didn’t run with my crowd. She was quiet, kept to herself. She’s okay-looking, I guess.”

“Right, because women who have supermodel bodies are always just okay,” Abel interjects.

“Why, Abel, are you crushing on our girl?” I say.

“No, but saying Annie Bloom is okay is like saying a three-week aged steak is ‘good’.”

“I don’t know,” Wrecker complains. “She’s always wearing shit clothes. How can you even tell what kind of body she has under those big skirts and sweaters?”

“You keep thinking that, Wrecker,” Michigan scowls. “And just because you’re about to be patched in, Abel, doesn’t mean I can’t and won’t kick the shit out of you if I catch you thinking about Annie without any clothes on.”

Abel gives a nod of acknowledgment while Wrecker rolls his eyes.

“You ever heard of Pastor Bloom being weird to her?”

“Like what?”

“Hurting her or anything?”

“No, why?” He swivels around. Abel grabs the wheel as the truck lurches toward the ditch.

“Glad that a girl getting beat by her old man riles you up but don’t kill us in the process,” Michigan warns.

“Fuck, sorry.” He straightens out. “I’ve never heard a word about Annie being beaten or something. She lives with her old man so he must not be all bad.”

Something about him just doesn’t sit right with me, but I’ve got nothing but my gut. There isn’t warning smoke or innuendo or rumor so I’ve just got to settle down.

“I can’t see a pastor’s kid at one of our mashes,” Wrecker admits.

“This is where your youth and inexperience shows,” I say wryly. “It is always the quiet ones.”

Abel and Michigan start laughing which is good because by the time we get to the clubhouse, we’re enjoying ourselves and so when we pass the unmarked cop car four houses down, we look like ordinary guys out for a drive instead of four bikers checking out the scene.

The house is shut down and there is no activity inside. I call Junior. “We’re here. Let’s meet up.”

“Thank fuck,” he breathes. He gives me the name of a strip club in Inver Grove Heights, south of the Cities.

Wrecker turns the cage around. We’re tired and ornery by the time we reach the Diamond Lounge. Wrecker wants to be home with his girl and we want to be back for Annie. Don’t know who Abel’s fucking; don’t really care.

Everything about the Diamond Lounge but its name is cheap and worn out, from the rotted wooden floors to the old woman dancing on the stage to the sad asses in the chairs in front of the

sagging stage.

“Shit, I got to take a picture of this,” Wrecker exclaims. “Chelsea isn’t going to believe that a place this bad even exists.”

I spot Junior in the corner and the four of us join him and his friend and get down to business.

Chapter Eighteen

Annie

“Thanks for driving me home,” I tell Pippa as she pulls up to the parish house.

“It’s no problem,” she says cheerfully. “I’m happy to do it.”

“Really?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s nearly midnight. Wouldn’t you rather be in bed with Judge?”

“Really, Annie.” She smiles. “I’m happy that you’re getting out. Do you need help tomorrow?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t have much, but thank you.”