Their Fierce Love (Death Lords MC 4)

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 Eight

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.”

“Will you have a problem with your dad?”

I look at the parish house. Every room seems dark but the front room where a lamp beside Father’s reading chair is lit. He’s likely sitting in it, waiting for me. “Yes, but maybe we can work something out. I love him and he loves me, in his own way.”

“Call me if you need anything.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand.

I step out of the car and wipe my palms against my skirt. When the entry light turns on and Father appears in the doorway, Pippa waves at me and backs out.

I run up the stairs of the front porch and turn the knob but the door doesn’t open. Father stares at me through the sidelight.

“The door is stuck,” I say and jiggle the knob. He doesn’t break his stare not even when he turns the lights off. I still see the shape of him behind the light.

“Father!” I’m bewildered. He’s standing there. I can see him. He must know the door is locked or jammed. “The door’s stuck. I can’t open it.”

I dig in my purse and pull out my keys but the key doesn’t fit anymore. I jam the key in but it skids across the shiny metal surface. The very shiny, very new metal surface. I’m frantic and disbelieving so I try key after key until I stick the last one in and it sticks but I can’t turn it. I raise my eyes to the shadowed figure. “Did you change the locks?” I cry. I don’t understand why he’s doing this. I knew he’d be mad, but lock me out of the house?

The figure is silent, condemning. Long minutes pass as we stare at each other in the dark, through the glass sidelight.

He finally speaks and despite the barrier I can hear him clearly. He’s always been good at projecting his voice. “You’re behavior suggests you no longer wish to be part of my household; therefore you are no longer allowed access.”

“But…where will I go tonight?”

“Why don’t you pray about that and perhaps we can discuss this in the morning.”