Read The Filthy Few (Iron Disciples MC) Online
Authors: Daniella Tucci
The Filthy Few (Iron Disciples MC)
BOOK ONEby Daniella Tucci
Copyright © 2014 Daniella Tucci
All rights reserved. This document may not be
reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The
ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly
fictional and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is
completely coincidental.
THREE – MR. GRUBBY PLAYS DOCTOR
SEVEN – HAPPY UNBIRTHDAY TO YOU
THIRTEEN – PLANS AND COMMITTMENTS
SEVENTEEN – MURDER YOUR FAMILY
Prologue…
A young woman dressed in a severe navy blue Oscar De La
Renta suit stepped off the curb and onto Main Street amidst heavy afternoon
traffic. Deep in conversation and drinking a Red Bull she never saw the
approaching motorcycles or even heard the throaty rumble from their V-Twin
engines and straight pipes sans mufflers. Anyone else would have heard and
probably felt the oncoming iron tide, but Morgan isn’t just anybody. She’s the
up and coming powerhouse trader from the Fortune 500 firm Capital America and
she uses her seven figure income much like an ancient Roman gladiator would use
his shield in the coliseum; not just to defend but to attack as well.
For Morgan money is the shield that keeps everyone out of
her inner circle save for the few she lets in; like her little brother Jaime.
Her seven figure income prevents her from rubbing elbows with her housekeeper,
her gardener, the man who works on her Porsche, the man at Starbucks where she
gets her three cups of coffee a day. She makes sure she only rubs elbows with
the city’s financial elite; a right that she has fought hard to obtain. Her
money had never let her down until today.
She never heard the angry beep of the horn or the squeal
of brakes, and she certainly did not hear the sound of metal on pavement as the
rider of the Harley Davidson 2010 Wide Glide motorcycle laid his bike down in a
valiant effort not to drive down the idiotic woman in front of him. Sparks
showered nearby cars and pedestrians as six hundred-fifty pounds of steel
ground away an inch of asphalt. Fortunately for the woman the iron horse was
only sliding at forty miles per hour and not upright at sixty-five.
Nevertheless it was an ugly collision. When the rear tire came spinning around,
it struck the woman’s left leg just below the knee, sending her cartwheeling
through the air like a 90 pound stuffed bag of flower. It wasn’t pretty, but it
was a much better alternative to being dragged under hundreds of pounds of
unforgiving, smoldering metal.
When first responders picked their way through a long
stretch of steel, leather, and rubber detritus, they feared there would be no
survivors. The motorcycle had pretty much disintegrated when it slid into
oncoming traffic and the path of an eighteen wheeler. Fortunately for the rider
he wasn’t still attached to the bike when it met its fate. The paramedics were
surprised to see the rider sitting up in the middle of the street looking
around him. Amidst the debris they also found an unconscious women, cell phone
still in hand. Even her injuries were far less serious than they’d expected;
both biker and pedestrian would survive.
Collision
Pain! It hammers into my brain in such a way I cannot begin
to escape; despite the warm glow of the morphine they finally give me in the
ER. Even then the pain still manages to punch through the layers of medication
covering me like a wool blanket.
They still haven’t told me what I’m doing here strapped to
what I can only describe as a bed of nails. I try one more time to sit up but
someone has had the foresight to strap me down.
“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on
here?” I shout at the first person who wanders through my field of vision.
“Ma’am,” begins a man in blue scrubs with endless amounts of
patience. “Same as five minutes ago; you’re at Mercy Heights emergency room.
You were hit by a motorcycle. If you can just relax it will go a long way in
lessening your pain.”
I try to kick him. I can’t help it. I’m not accustomed to
being tied down and fed bullshit. What’s that saying about mushrooms? Kept in
the dark and fed bullshit? A second ago I was buying 10,000 shares of Microsoft
for my client in Boyle Heights, and now I’m tied up like a crazy person. This
is making no sense. I go to turn my head to the side to get a picture of the
room I’m in but I can’t seem to move my head at all; not even a millimeter.
Abruptly another face swims into my vision. It’s a handsome
face; one that belongs to a doctor. I can tell. He’s got that smug sense of
self-importance that follows him around wherever he goes. I can’t stand people
like that. Just because he’s spent fifteen years in college doesn’t make him
god’s gift to mankind.
“Ma’am, If you—”
“I swear to god, if one more person calls me ma’am I’m going
to call my fucking lawyers. I’m not an old lady!”
“I’m sorry…” He pauses and looks away, presumably at my
chart or something. “Again, I’m sorry Morgan, but you were struck by a
motorcycle forty minutes ago and you have sustained an open fracture to your
tibia, two cracked ribs, and most likely a concussion. Just as soon as the room
is ready you’ll be going in for a head scan and following that, surgery to
repair your leg.”
“And the person who hit me?”
“He’s going to be fine; minor injuries I understand, and I’m
sure he appreciates your concern.”
“Concern? Are you kidding me? What you’re mistaking for
concern is my way of finding out if the rider is alive so I can sue his
reckless ass!”
“Well, you might have your work cut out for you then Morgan.
This is not—”
“He ran me down on the sidewalk!” I can’t believe this
doctor. “In what world does that not make him responsible?”
“The fact that you stepped off the curb and walked out in
the middle of traffic. He did what he could to avoid killing you and you should
be grateful for that. Had he not intentionally crashed his bike you surely
would have been killed.”
“What the hell?”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Walked out in the middle
of traffic? No fucking way! I was standing on the sidewalk placing an order for
Microsoft. No way did I step off the curb and into oncoming traffic and
especially not in front of a motorcycle.
“I’m sorry Morgan, but it’s true. Apparently there’s a
recording of the whole thing as well as numerous witnesses. You were in the
wrong ma’am.”
“What did I say about calling me ma’am?”
“Nothing you can back up with action Morgan so why don’t you
just try to relax and you’ll feel a lot better.”
“Are you finished?”
“Basically yes. Your legs and ribs have been stabilized and
we’re just waiting for the radiology department to come get you for your CT
scan.”
“Great, leave please.”
It’s a good thing my hands are tied. It’s the only thing
keeping him safe right now!
“Fine…I’m leaving. You have a better day now miss.”
“Yeah, you too mister.”
“I see you’re in fine form today.” Says a very familiar
voice.
“Stacy?” What the hell is my assistant doing here? She
couldn’t have known about my accident so soon.
Abruptly Stacy’s pretty face hovers over mine. She doesn’t
look too surprised to see me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I was wondering the same about you Morgan. I’m here to see
my cousin and I heard this abrasive sand paper like voice down the hall and I
said to myself, there can’t be anyone else in this world that self-entitled and
that annoying! And guess what, I was right. But here’s the weird thing. I just
spoke to one of the doctors... you’re the one who made my cousin lay down his
bike in front of a semi- truck.”
“What the hell? This is too weird. What’s your cousin doing
in my neck of the woods?”
“He was actually coming to see me. Remember I said I had
that family thing to attend to this afternoon? Well he was that family thing.
We share a place on Webster and Lowell. Not sure what’s up or why he had to
show up at my work but…”