Protect (46 page)

“Today’s the election, too,” she said
quietly, face growing sad. Shit, he hated seeing her sad.

“I know. We figured the Sheriff’s department
might be distracted today.”

“That’s mean.”

“And smart.”

She wrapped her arms around him, tucking her
head under his chin. He hugged her tight, the water hitting his
back, protecting her from the spray.

Neither of them said anything as they got
ready for the day. Here and there he’d stop to kiss her or squeeze
her ass, but no words. At least it made her smile.

At the clubhouse boards had already been
placed over the windows. The gate protecting the lot would be
locked of course, but they’d also turn on the juice. The fence was
electrified, but they didn’t leave it on for obvious reasons. Today
they were assuming anyone not already within the compound was not a
friend.

He left Sharon with Rose and Gertie in the
kitchen. Jolene was out in the main room, lounged out on a sofa
with a pack of cigarettes. She’d already checked out.

In the boardroom his brothers, along with the
Nomads, were once again gathered. It felt the same as the night
they’d done that six house sweep, other than the time of day, of
course. Plus, they weren’t taking as many with them. Everyone
grabbed an individual piece, and anyone who didn’t usually carry a
blade made sure to grab one of those, too.

In the cargo van they stowed the big boys:
AK-47s and a handful of shotguns. The modified spare tire well made
for a great hidey hole. Those were to be used as a last resort. It
was hard to hide one on a bike.

There was more anxiety with this field trip.
That was another difference. This one was more likely to be a
throw-down brawl. No firearms, just fists and blades. Closer. No
surprise. No fast strike in the dark, at night.

This would be man on man brutality.

Fritter had confidence in his ability to
throw a punch. He was fast, strong, and when the adrenalin was
pumping he felt no pain or fear. Jayce told him once he was like a
bulldog: all brute strength until he was called off.

There was just someone to come back to now.
That was doing his brain in. Just a little bit.

He ended up in the cargo van with Tiny. The
older man must have been trying to keep a mellow boil of anxiety
because neither of them spoke for the entire drive to a camp site
just across the county line in Kern County. It was mid-week, a
stretch of empty campsites further into the Kern River Campground,
not far from said river. They were the first ones there, but that
wasn’t a surprise.

They parked the vehicles in sight of the
meeting spot, leaving the opposite side open for the Rats. Fritter
paced a path along the line of scrub brush bordering the gravel
lot, hands tensing and releasing.

No one else was speaking, either. They’d all
gone into preparation mode, and the only thing that gave away their
nerves were the twitches. Fritter knew these men long enough to see
the signs.

Knuckles cracked his knuckles. That was an
obvious one. Buck chewed his thumbnails. Tiny rubbed the back of
his neck far more than a normal person would. Jayce looked like he
was talking to himself, just from the way his lips and jaw moved
back and forth, but he wasn’t. That was just how the nervous energy
got out. Tank ... okay, Tank didn’t really have a tell. But he kept
a more wary eye on the group.

This was a meeting, but not a single man here
thought it was going to go down quietly or easily. The question was
whether or not the Rats would keep up the ruse and talk, or just
come roaring in with fists flying.

Hopefully with just fists flying.

Just before the agreed meeting time the low
rumble of at least a dozen motorcycles filled the serene campsite
and the Rebels all tensed, turned to face the legion of Dirty Rats
that were pulling into parking spots in the shade, out of the sun,
and circle to briefly talk before spreading into a line and
approaching. Before falling into formation Fritter had made out
“Nomad” on their patches, which didn’t help him understand what
their fucking deal was any better.

Fritter stepped to Jayce’s right side out of
reflex, Tank took the left. One his other side he could feel
Knuckles vibrating, more likely from bloodlust now than nerves.
Like a police dog, he’d scented the foe.

What Fritter didn’t know about the Dirty Rats
could fill a book. He just knew enough to be wary of them, and in
any occasion where their paths would cross he just ignored them
without being outright disrespectful. They were an old club, around
since the end of the Second World War, and while they may have
started out with hardened, disillusioned vets who saw no need to
conform to a society that had risked them, there was a real honor
to the way they lived. They’d damn near been hippies at the
beginning; living almost in communes in the lower half of the US,
not bothering anyone but raining terror and hellfire on anyone who
thought they knew better how to raise their kids, make a living,
whatever.

These men were Dirty Rats only in name. When
the Vietnam War was called as an epic fuck up and angry men
returned home it was almost in style for them to embrace the
lifestyle, but they also wanted to make money. When the Rats’
membership got younger and younger that greed stuck in deep, and it
went right to narcotics. Easy bank, big thrills and risk. That took
the Rats over.

Now the bastards were everywhere, and nearly
every drug family and cartel had a tie-in. They could also get you
weapons, but most of the firepower they imported seemed to be for
their own use. And they were mean assholes, nasty to the core. They
got off on being feared.

Not that the Rebels had started off much
different, but their violence had always been in retaliation.
They’d never gone after innocents, and families were off limits.
But there had been a few mistresses and hanger-ons along the way
that had known the same rage a ‘Nam vet could dish out if he was
pissed off, PTSD-soaked, and high on heroin most of the time.

Jayce didn’t like to talk about the club he’d
been born into. He’d changed it. Hell, his old man had been trying
to soften the edges of the club before he went inside, but to
reconcile with his son it had been far too little, too late.

But that was story time. This was something
else.

Fritter didn’t know the President’s name
until he was close enough to read the patch. It just said “Hawk,”
and the slight frame with the hooked nose lived up to the road
title. His SAA was called “Jarhead,” and if a person wanted to make
assumptions his iconic haircut suggested he’d spent time in the
service of his country. The guy’s face was also suffering from a
few fading bruises and small cuts. The VP in front of him was just
“Mac.”

Hawk stepped forward, hand extended, so Jayce
moved out and did the same. Their shake was tense, and Fritter kept
his eye on the VP opposite him. The guy was relaxed, hands hanging
off his belt buckle which decided to ride
under
a
considerable gut. There was food stuck in his black-and-white
beard.

Fuck, these were
hard core
bikers.
Fritter felt it right then when the guy met his eye and then
continued his study of the Red Rebels, a smirk on his face that
only the steel in his eyes could back up. The guy’s hands were
filthy; oil and grease deep in the creases around his knuckles. His
arm hair was thick and curled, skin the color of a leather purse
from being in the sun. This guy had no home other than his bike and
kutte.

Fritter swallowed, and Mac saw it. It made
him grin broader.

“Okay, we’re here,” Jayce said, all business
without trying to be too friendly or too arrogant. “Tell us why I
can’t turn around lately without seeing a Rat.”

Hawk sniffed and his thin chest puffed out.
Fritter wasn’t fooled. In a fight he’d take a hard-ass like Mac
over a skinny fucker like Hawk any day. You never knew what the
thin ones were capable of.

“We’ve taken over a bit of business that the
Mad Gypsys left lacking just recently. Damndest thing. They just
went missing.” Hawk’s voice was high and a sounded strained.
Fritter turned his attention that way, and the guy’s fingers were
thrumming out a beat on his leg. He wasn’t nervous. He was high as
fuck. Surely Jayce could see it in his eyes.

“They were always a bit unreliable. Nothing
to do with us. Never liked ‘em, never mixed with ‘em.”

Hawk sniffed, rubbed his nose and stepped
closer. It made Fritter close ranks on his Prez, and in front of
him Mac did the same, but his eyes were only on Fritter.

“I don’t give a fuck if you were best buds. I
don’t give a fuck if you killed them. What I
do
give a fuck
about is a missing shipment of a very important medicinal
ingredient that
my
bosses really want back.”

“What ingredient? For meth or some shit? You
can buy all that shit that at the drug store.”

“Thebaine. Don’t get cute. Your father would
be fucking ashamed to see you pull that attitude, son.”

Jayce’s back got ramrod straight. “I got
nothing to do with my father. And this club ain’t the same as it
was back when he was running it. I can’t be bullied or dared into
doing stupid shit just to prove my sack.”

“I know this ain’t your daddy’s club. It’s
painfully obvious. You got shit raining down on your people and
zero ability to end it.”

“I take care of mine just fine.”

“Not what I heard.” Hawk’s voice dropped low.
“You just lost a member. Beaten to death in his own business. I’d
say the Red Rebels are in need of some serious sack. Either that,
or your shithole town is just ripe for the taking.”

“I think we both know what happened to my
friend,” Jayce’s voice got very, very low. “And I’m glad you
brought that up. I used to be scared of the Rats. When I was kid.
If I knew you took to ganging up on a man to kill him ... or, for
that matter, sending four to kill a woman—which, by the way, still
didn’t get it done—I wouldn’t have been nearly so scared of you
guys. Your club seems to be losing some edge, too.
Hawk
.”

Hawk just grinned and turned to Jarhead. “He
knew he should’ve finished her. He assumed the fire would do it. He
won’t make that mistake again. We taught him.”

Fritter’s hands clenched into fists and he
was lunging before he even clocked his own reactions, but Knuckles
had hold of him and prevented him making it the situation worse.
Jarhead had moved too and Tank shoved him back into his brothers,
and they were instantly nose to nose. But fucking Mac was just
still smiling at him.

Fritter thought Sharon said the last guy was
bearded, but looking at him again Fritter wondered if some of those
cuts weren’t from a shave. The beard Sharon described would be
awfully recognizable.

“It was
this
guy.” Hawk sounded highly
amused, pointing at Fritter but staring at Jayce. “Paying off a
Sheriff with cock. Doesn’t always work I’m sure, but it’d be worth
asking. Must have been a rough ask for your boy, though. I wasn’t
there and apparently she got a little rough with my guys. Jarhead
here didn’t see fit to try out that snatch.” Now Hawk squinted at
him, and Fritter bit down the urge to fling a filthy name at him.
Then the prick licked his lips. “She’s lucky it wasn’t me, boy. I
wouldn’t have been so easily distracted, and that bitch would have
screamed. Ah well, maybe next time. Keep her fresh for me,
okay?”

He wasn’t sure what happened. He
thought
Jayce might have clocked Hawk, because the next
thing he knew the Rats’ Prez was on one knee on the ground,
spitting out blood. Jarhead went for Jayce but Tank was already in
the way, and Fritter didn’t have time to worry about that because
fucking
Mac
was coming for him.

Luckily Knuckles let him go immediately and
it was on. Mac hit like a freight train, but that wasn’t a
surprise. Luckily Fritter knew how to take hits like a prize
fighter, and the fat fuck winded himself early while all Fritter
had to do was keep vital bits out of the way of his ham-sized
fists.

When the guy wore down Fritter let loose and
saw nothing but red, only stopping when Knuckles pulled him back.
The man was on his side on the ground and Fritter had just kicked
him right in the teeth. He was out, but breathing. Not a concern
anymore.

Immediately he looked for Jayce. Jayce and
Jarhead were somehow into it, and he caught sight of the big guy
just as Tank literally body slammed a Dirty Rat onto the
hard-packed gravel and followed it up with a steel-toe kick to the
gut.

A kid came at him, with a blade. Fritter saw
the inexperience in that and it told him all he needed to know
about this new opponent. He let the kid lunge then trapped the
outstretched arm under his, the drove his other hand up at the
elbow. There was an ugly cracking and the kid started shrieking.
Fritter heard the knife drop and he released the dislocated elbow
without another thought. He had to get to Jayce, or at least
closer.

It was a shock to see Spaz lay a Rat out with
a shot to the jaw. Even the kid looked surprised but rather than
celebrate he felt the next rush coming, another younger kid like
the one Fritter had just disarmed. No problem there.

The next asshole in Fritter’s way had a knife
and none of the wide-eyed, piss and vinegar of the younger Rat.
There was no hesitation as he reached down and pulled his hunting
knife free, feeling the weight of it and letting that center
him.

He’d never liked knife fights, he always
preferred fists. When the guy moved in Fritter felt his body tense,
and his inner “Oh
shit
” kicked in. In a brawl it was almost
better to attack with too much zeal and not let up for a moment;
not until you knew the other guy was down.