Play Dirty: Devil's Mustangs MC (5 page)

He laughs a bit and says, “Don’t thank me. You didn’t finish.”

I can feel my cheeks turn a burnt red. God, he’s a smartass. “You know what I meant.”

He wipes his mouth with the backside of his hand, surely rubbing my juices from his face. “You know what I meant, too. But what would be the good of getting you fired? No one else would be there standing up for Maddie. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

In this moment, I’m not sure why he’s here. I can’t think of his daughter or any student. All I want his is mouth back on my pussy now. I want him to finish that job, and, then, I want to teach him a lesson or two of my own.

Cal can sense I’m not feeling this, that I’m not in any position to talk about Maddie or her progress. He takes out his brown leather wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and silently writes with a purple marker a student left behind on her desk and hands it to me. It’s an address and a time.

“Let’s postpone this. This obviously ain’t the best time to get down to it.” He again winks at me as I try not to read into the double meaning. “That’s my address. Well, it’s the address to the place I manage. Come by tonight. We’ll talk, or something, some more.”

And just like that, he’s gone. He hasn’t given me more than a second to say anything in my defense or time to recover. I look down at the little shred of paper he’s given me, and I wonder if I really want to continue where we left off at.

CAL

What in the world just happened? No, seriously. What the hell did I do?

I shift my pants a bit as I walk. My hard, throbbing cock is killing me, the friction making it all so much worse. I pull over to the side of the empty hallway and rest my back against the cold, metal doors. I take a few deep breaths to try to wash this away. But her smell and taste, like honey and exotic fruits, just sticks to the back of my nose and mouth more. And it all gets worse. Without thinking, I pound my hand into the locker door sending the piercing bang throughout the hallway.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal. I’ve done this before, loads of time. I’ve nailed waitresses at cafés and restaurants, bartenders behind their own bars, and even a policewoman in her squad car after a routine stop. Taking a woman while she works is kind of my thing. It’s that danger, that domination. It gets me off more than a woman throwing herself at me.

But my daughter’s teacher in her own classroom? Miss Springer, or Michelle, didn’t exactly want it. I was there to talk about Maddie’s progress, not to lick her clit and make her cum on her teacher’s desk. It was hot, like living out that fantasy from when you were some snot nosed high schooler. But I’m almost thankful that the other teacher interrupted us when she did. Though, by how that other one looked at me, I probably could've convinced her to a threesome if I asked nicely enough.

I don’t have time to rethink it all as I see a security guard approaching. I instantly take off. I don’t want to see or talk to anyone else at this point. I just want to get the hell out of her and back on the road. As I hop on the bike, listening the engine roar loudly, my first thought is to head back to the clubhouse. Maddie should be there waiting for me, and I need to talk to her about how school is actually going. She’s probably a better judge of it than her teacher right now.

But when I get to the end of the school’s driveway, I turn right instead of left. I need to get my mind off of this girl. I need to clear my head with a drive. And by going right, I can kill two birds with one stone. I’ve got official Mustang business to get to, and this is my chance to talk to one of our suppliers who may know about the missing Mustang member, Hunter.

I get on the highway, riding in between cars and on the shoulder. I ain’t got time to sit in traffic or to ride some pansy car’s ass the whole time. I just want to hit the speed and take over the big slab. I’m carving it as the road opens up before me, no traffic in sight. This is what I'm after – this freedom, this silence! There’s no teacher seducing me, no daughter telling me off, no club president running me into the ground. I can do what I want, when I want, how I want.

And if I had no obligations, no one waiting for me back home, I’d never turn off. I’d ride off into the sunset just like those old Western movies. Looking back wouldn’t even be in my playbook.

But I do turn. I exit at 191 and head off the highway towards Johnsonville. The dealer, Chris, works his wares at a car repair shop. But by the looks of the empty garage but the cars all sitting in the back with their drivers nervously shaking at the wheel, he’s doing more business dealing than repairing.

Instead of risk being seen, I park my cycle about a block down on a residential street and then head towards the front of the repair shop. Two of his men in perfectly clean overalls look at me suspiciously. They’re hired muscles, I can tell by how they whisper towards one another. And they’re new to this business.

Already, my haunches are raised. Chris must think he needs protection. But from what? What’s he hiding from – the Coyotes who he apparently doesn’t move dust for or the Mustangs who have always protected him in exchange for a cut of the action?

Behind the two muscles is Chris, looking through a big black notebook. A red pen makes corrections as he doesn’t even bother to look up at me. As he walks past, I grab hold of his collar and forcibly throw him against the wall of his own shop. The two men don’t have a second to react. I’ve already got a knife to Chris’ throat as I shout, “Call ‘em off, Chris! You know you don’t wanna test me. I’m quicker than both of ‘em greenhorns.”

Chris looks nervously at the men and then down at the knife against his neck. I push it deeper against his skin, just enough to draw some blood. He lets out a frightened hiss before dismissing the other two. They scurry off towards the back.

Despite him following my orders, I don’t let Chris down. I continue to hold him in place with the back of my arm and the knife dangerously close to death. Quietly, I ask him, “Those ain’t Mustangs, Chris! You wanna tell me who you get them from?”

He stutters, the fear oozing out of him, “They’re nobody! Just some kids I picked up. I’m paying them in my personal supply.”

“So then why did you get them so suddenly? When I stopped in two weeks ago, business was great, and I didn’t hear no complaints about safety.” Chris’ stop has been on my route for several years now. I know this place like the back of my hand. So as soon as you're adding new men, guards no less, I can smell the bullshit a mile away.

“I – I – I just didn’t want to get stuck in the middle of you two. I – I – heard about that kid. Hunny or Hunter or something. And I got scared. That’s all! I promise!”

“Hunter? What do you know about Hunter?”

The kid’s been missing for a week now. No one’s heard him, not even his mama and he was a good boy before then, always checking in with family no matter the risk in it. And when Jager’s dealing with moms crying over the phone looking for their son, we know we got problems.

But Chris doesn’t answer. He changes the subject, offering to get me my money sooner than our usual pick up time.

I respond by pushing harder into his chest and cutting farther into his skin with the pinprick of the knife’s edge. “You didn’t answer my fucking question! Where the fuck is Hunter?!”

He stammers again, and I watch as sweat drips down his face and onto his shirt. He squirms uncomfortably beneath me.

I try it again, this time more direct, “If you don’t tell me where Hunter is and what you know, I will burn this whole goddamn place down. You know what happened to Quinto’s Place? That huge fire that destroyed everything in that restaurant? I’ll make it happen again. And believe me that tires and oil burn much faster than quesadillas and tacos.”  

He lets out a gasp of air before screaming, “Fuck! Ugh! I knew I shouldn’t have gotten mixed up with you bastards.” I stare at him impatiently, not losing my eye contact. I didn’t have time to hear regrets. “I heard…I heard from one of my, uh, guys dealing with the Coyotes that Hunter got caught crossing lines. Shot dead. Body’s in a landfill somewhere.”

I release him, watching him fall and grab his neck. I fish into the front pocket of my jacket and pull out a cigarette and a lighter. I’m not a smoker, never was, but I need one after hearing that. After taking a few drags, I turn back to Chris who is eying his desk, clearly plotting something.

I only have moments before I figure it out. As he makes a dash for it, I run as well, flinging myself over the counter and behind the desk. My hand goes for under the computer station and finds it – the cold hard handle of a pistol. I yank it off of the mount it's on and turn it towards its owner. “Oh Chris, Chris, Chris. You really fucked up this time.”

He gets down on his knees, his hands at his head. “I was only trying to protect myself. You don’t understand, Cal!”

“What don’t I understand? That you’re a little pussy of a man who I’m about to kill?”

“No! Cal! They’d kill me anyway. The Coyotes been coming around here for months now. They’ve been terrorizing me, forcing me to sell their shit. I didn’t have a choice! I knew it would come to this eventually.”

I look at him, his eyes welling with tears. But a flicker of paper to the side of me catches my attention. It’s a picture of him holding a little girl about Maddie’s age, probably a granddaughter. It’s in a homemade frame broken in small pieces from our struggle. I give him one last glance before I put the gun back to my face, looking straight at him, just as my daddy taught me in target practice.

In my head I count 1… 2… 3…And on the 3, I do it. I turn the gun around, using the handle to smack him in the back of the head.

He falls forward awkwardly before crashing down to his side with the familiar sound of a body thudding up against the cinderblock floors. Blood almost instantly appears near his ear. I kick his body once or twice, looking for life. But he’s motionless, completely out. Using my shirt to cover my prints, I lean down and feel for a pulse. He’s alive by my own mercy.

The old timers, the 1%ers, they’ll brag about me and some of the crazy shit I’ve done, but they know I’m not the type of guy to kill. That’s for the enforcers. I’d rather destroy lives than take them. It’s more fun that way. And in this case Chris got lucky that it was me doing the recon and not Red Dog or even Ace. Blood and an excuse to shoot were their calling cards.  

I scribble a note on a piece of paper and leave it at his side near where the blood is starting to pool. It’s instructions to call me when he hears from the Coyotes again. I end it with a sly and sarcastic, “You can thank me when I pick up the cash on Saturday.”

I then walk towards the door where the two men are joking around. I sigh to myself over what a fool Chris had been. These two couldn’t protect their own shit, let alone someone working as a third party motorcycle club drug dealer. It takes them a long, awful moment before they finally turn their attention from whatever card game they’re playing to the man standing in the doorway covered in flecks of fresh blood.

When they see me, they both leap to their feet in defense. Both slowly walk towards me, unsure how to approach or what they should do next. The taller one has a good four inches on me, but I manage to strike first, punching him in the jaw and sending him landing to the ground just like his boss.

The second one whimpers and backs off as I crack my knuckles from the first hit. I look at him as I wipe the blood of both men off of my hand with the back of my black shirt. He’s got to be no older than twenty-one. I shake my head in disbelief before I give him my message, “You tell your boss he best call me when he wakes up. And if any Coyotes come round here looking for him while he’s out, you call me, too.”

The boy nods like the top of a bobblehead. His hand is shaking as he stands with his arms up near his face. He watches me go with wide, wondering eyes. I spared him the pain his buddies are going to face when they manage to wake up.

I take a few steps out the door before realizing something. I walk back to where the body of the car repair shop owner is lying, still unconscious and grab the gun. I empty the cartridge, leaving just one bullet and then I walk back into the break room. The young man is leaning over his friend, checking for signs of life. When he sees me with the gun, he crab walks backwards on his hands, finding a chair to hold onto as he whimpers.

“If you’re gonna protect someone, you best not act like that.” I place the gun towards him and kick it away with my feet. “That’s got one bullet. If the Coyotes act up, you have my permission to use it. Look ‘em in the eye, though. You don’t wanna make it too messy in the cleanup.”

I walk quickly back towards my bike, hop on, and hit the pavement towards home. This time, I’m speeding faster through the residential streets, not even bothering with the highway. The Mustangs are gonna want to know what happened to Hunter. Not only that, they’re gonna wanna make plans.