Blood in the Water (Kairos) (9 page)

“What do you need?”

“It’s good that you want to patch over to the Priests.  That’s good.  That’s gonna gain you a lotta trust.”

Jimmy’s cryptic reasoning made Paul uneasy; it wasn’t helped by Giles’ continued silence.  He looked between the two men who were staring intently at him.

“What’s up, boss?”

“We need you to do one last job for us, but it won’t be as a Rabid.  Once you’re in the fold, we need you to take out Samuel.”

The first thing that Paul understood as he recovered the ability to think through the shock was that if he refused this request he would not see another sunrise.  No matter what he promised, Jimmy and Giles would not let him live after revealing their play like this if he wasn’t on board.  The second was that it was a bizarre request, the Rabids and the Priests had always had a healthy relationship.

“Can you tell me what’s goin’ on that you need me to do this?”  Paul asked.  Jimmy and Giles shared a look.  It was Giles who spoke next.

“The Tails up north came to us with an offer.  They think between us Texas clubs we could run these packages down I-10 just as efficiently.  We could be the primaries ‘stead of the middle men.  We’d get a bigger cut of the profits.

“Would the Rabids be patching Tails to make this happen?”

“Yeah, that’d be necessary; but we can make that right at the table.  That’s the advantage of having a load of pre schoolers sit here every Friday.”  Jimmy grimaced.

Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.  Now he had to patch to the Priests; taking this task on would be the only thing that would guarantee his life.  In a strange way it made the decision easier because if he was successful, it wouldn’t be the Rabids that he’d be returning to, it would be a different club.  Whichever way he looked at it, that feeling of home, of family, that he’d found in the club was crumbling at a rate of knots.

He responded the only way that he could.  “You got a timeframe you need this to happen in?”

Jimmy smiled before he answered.  “No, not particularly.  Sooner rather than later would be good, though.  But, brother, this isn’t a suicide mission we’re sending you on.  We want you back at this table.  However long it takes you to figure out a way to do it that doesn’t get you dead is fine.”

Samuel Carter’s life for his.  He didn’t know Samuel Carter.  His President was asking him to complete a mission.  It looked like Charlie’s phone call just happened to be opportune, or not, depending on whose side of the equation you were on.  Paul nodded slowly.  “Okay.  Consider it done.  You want to go over those details now?”

Giles answered.  “No, brother.  We got time for that.  Go out there, get a drink, get a fuck; relax some.  We’ll work on the finer points another day.”

“Will do.”  Paul pushed himself up and away from the table.  Jimmy and Giles were looking hard at him, but they didn’t have to say anything.  No one needed to say that the conversation was not to be discussed with his brothers.  They wouldn’t have asked this of him if he was such an idiot that they would actually have to verbalize that advice.

Since neither Jimmy nor Giles had moved from their seats, Paul closed the doors behind him when he left the Chapel.  When he looked around the main room he found the carnage of the Friday night post Church party already well underway.

Travis liked to start his night with head and progress from there, and he wasn’t all that shy.  He was already slumped comfortably on one of the ratty sofas with a girl on her knees bobbing away between his spread thighs.  Cross and Rabbit had commandeered one of the other sofas and were in the middle of an animated discussion.  At this stage of the night it was probably about bikes, but who knew.  It could just have easily been about the attributes of their favorite strippers.

Garfield was perched on one of the bar stools, a glass in his hand and a bottle of Jack at his elbow.  Dana, one of the fresher looking club girls, was draped around his shoulders, speaking at his ear.  She was probably trying to persuade him to make a night of it with her.   She never turned a patch down, but it was known that she had a particular soft spot for the SAA.

Elvis was playing pool with a hangaround.  Despite having a girlfriend, he’d probably sneak off into the dorms to get head later.  As the youngest patch, and considering the ribbing he got about his devotion to his hair, he tended to keep his activities with the girls behind closed doors for fear that one of the other patches would see something to make a joke of.  Sloth was behind the bar, whirling like a dervish to keep up with the requests for whiskey, tequila and beer.  Two of the girls were taking turns to attempt to sling themselves around the stripper pole.  There were no experts in tonight.  The girls who worked in the clubs were too valuable to not be where the paying customers were, so Friday night was strictly amateur night in the clubhouse.

Paul hadn’t moved from the spot just in front of the doors, and no one seemed to have noticed.  As he took in the scene before him he knew he could not sit amongst his brothers this night.  There were aspects of business that weren’t widely discussed, but he’d never had to keep something this big from them before.  This action hadn’t been voted on, and in Paul’s opinion, it should have been.  He needed a moment to set his poker face before he could sit with his brothers and be easy and affable with them.

The fatigue of the long ride began to seep properly into his muscles, combined with the heavy weight of the mission he’d been given; it propelled his feet to begin to shuffle forward towards the dorms.   He had a small apartment on the edge of town, but he stayed in his room at the clubhouse at least as much as he went home.  ‘Home’ wasn’t much more than a couple of rooms with the appropriate furniture, a television and stacks of CDs and DVDs.  He wasn’t much for interior design or decorating if he didn’t have to, so he’d never even changed the original white paint.

As he reached the doorway that led to the dorms, he felt a small, cool hand on his arm, too small to be one of his brothers.  Sure enough, when he looked over his shoulder, one of the girls, Britney, was smiling coyly up at him.

“Hey, Shark.  You want some company?”

He thought about telling her ‘no,’ but the chaotic thoughts in his head were getting louder, and a quick fuck would silence them for a while until he had the energy to untangle them.

“Sure, darlin’.”

She linked her slim arm into his, her hand resting on his tanned forearm as they walked down the corridor to his room.  She wasn’t a pixie, but she seemed doll-like compared to his muscular, six-and-a-half-foot tall frame.  Paul unlocked the door and ushered her through.  He waved at the bed.

“Give me five, darlin’.  I need to wash the road off.”

“You want me to scrub your back?”

“No thanks, darlin’.  Maybe later.”

He left her lounging on the bed and started to strip as he made his way into the adjoining bathroom, only pausing to shrug off his kutte, fold it, and leave it on the desk that served as a dresser.  He showered quickly.  The water supply at the clubhouse wasn’t extensive enough to enjoy the long, hot soaking he craved.  He’d wait for that until the next morning, when he would head out to his apartment.

When he came out of the bathroom with one of the small, white towels wrapped around his hips, he found Britney already naked under the blanket.  She sat up, letting the utilitarian grey cloth fall to her waist to bare the assets she was famous for in the clubhouse, an all natural rack that rivaled any of the surgically enhanced girls in a top shelf magazine.  At the sight of those beautiful, upturned, raspberry pink nipples hardening in the cool air of the room, Paul’s cock stood at attention.

“C’mere, baby.  You look like you got the weight of the world on those big shoulders of yours.”

He let the towel drop and headed to the bed.

Britney was wet and willing, he’d never known a time when she hadn’t been.  He didn’t waste any time in retrieving a condom from the bedside cabinet, rolling it on and sinking into her eager body.  But the feeling was still there in his head, just behind his eyes; that knowledge of what he needed to do in the future and what it would mean.  He didn’t want to connect with Britney any more than he wanted to connect with his brothers just yet, despite the fact he was buried balls deep in her pussy and she was making the noises that she usually did when she was on her way to orgasm.

He nearly laughed at her expression of furious discontent when he pulled out, but she was smiling again when she realized his intent was to turn her over.  She didn’t complain at all about flipping over onto her hands and knees.  She arched her spine, pushing backwards.  Paul spread his hands over the round globes of her ass and sank back into her hot sheath.  As he thrust, hard, he pulled her body back against his.  If he was hurting her she didn’t show it. Before long she was making those little moans again.  He wasn’t particularly bothered whether she came or not, but he held off a little to give her a better than average chance of making it to her orgasm before he let loose his own with several frantic bucks of his hips.  From the noises she was making, she’d come, too, but he hadn’t been paying enough attention to her to know whether she faked it or not; he’d been intent on his own needs.  As soon as he was done he pulled out of her and pulled the condom off, turning while still on his knees so that he could toss it into the wastebasket under the desk.

“Mmmmmm.  You are an epic fuck, baby.”  Britney stretched like a cat.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”  The words were empty, but again she didn’t seem to notice.

She was lying down now, face down on the mattress.  He noticed she was snuggling in, hugging one of the pillows to her.

Do me a favor, darlin’, it’s been a long day.  Why don’t you shimmy out and see who’s still lookin’ for company.

Disappointment was evident on her face, but Paul was too tired and sated to care. He lay back and watched her as she hurriedly tugged her skimpy clothes back on.  Cheap white cowboy boots, a tight, denim miniskirt, shiny, gold top that tied at her waist and neck, and no underwear.  It didn’t take her long.  She paused with her hand on the door handle.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay, baby?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.  Thanks, darlin’.”

There was a small, tight smile and then she was gone, shutting the door behind her.  Paul scooted down until his head was comfortable on the pillows.  The voices in his head that were muttering misgivings about the task, about the club, about the way this whole business had been approached were temporarily silenced by exhaustion as he fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter Three

There were two men leaning against their Harleys outside his new house.  It had been easy enough to find the kind of place he wanted to live in the town of Absolution.  He’d been looking for somewhere out of the way and private; he had no time for chitchatting with neighbors.  This two storey, ramshackle, old place with white paint peeling off the boards, surrounded by nothing but grass, scrub and trees hung with eerie streamers of Spanish moss was perfect.  It was bigger than he needed, probably a foreman’s residence on a plantation in a past life, but it was solid enough to keep rain out and it had a rattling air conditioning unit that kept the humidity at bay.  He was actually looking forward to living in it.  He’d have to do some work on it, after all he was supposed to be here for good, but he had time and he had basic skills.  It’d be something to do.

He recognized the men; Samuel Carter and Dizzy Disraeli.  Rabbit and Sloth had offered to help him transport his belongings and get set up, but then Charlie had phoned and said that some of his new brothers would make themselves available.  Logic said that there was no point with any of the Rabids making the six hour ride only to have to ride back again; so Paul had accepted the offer of help and packed up his furniture and bike into a rented truck and driven across the state lines and to Absolution on his own.  Truth be told, he’d enjoyed the ride.  He’d packed his belongings up the day before and spent his last night in the Rabid Dogs’ clubhouse.  It seemed fitting somehow, and it had allowed him to get an early start.  Despite his brothers’ best efforts to sink him into a drunk the night before, he’d been on his way before the break of dawn and had managed to avoid a lot of the city traffic by the time he got close to Houston.  It would have been far better on his bike than in a cage, but some time alone with the open road was welcome, however he came across it.

He pulled up on the dirt road that widened to something of a driveway in front of the house, angling the truck so that the roller door at the rear was facing the front door.  The humidity, slowly creeping up as the summer got underway, hit him as soon as he stepped out of the artificial coolness of the truck, causing a light sweat to break out on his skin.  By the time they would be finished, he would be dripping and in need of a long shower.  He hoped the water pressure in these old pipes was better than the outward appearance of the building indicated.

Samuel was the first to push away from his bike.  Dizzy followed him as he walked over to greet Paul.  “Paul.  Good journey, brother?”

“Hiya, Pres.  Yeah, had a clear run mostly.  Not much law about, so made some good time.”

Paul shook hands with Samuel.  His new president had a solid grip despite his extra years.  Paul recognized the strength in that shake and knew he’d have to factor that into his plans.  He shook hands with Dizzy as well.  They’d met on the runs for the Rojas family and Paul appreciated the thoughtful steadiness of the Priests’ SAA. 

“Ah, here’re the rest of the troops.”  Samuel indicated over Paul’s shoulder.

Paul turned to follow the direction of Samuel’s gaze which had drifted up at the sound of engines and the crunch of more tires on the dry earth.  He saw a silver Chevy, a couple of years old, rolling over the uneven ground, followed by a navy van, the kind of make and model that didn’t stand out.  They pulled to a stop at the front of his rented truck and after a second both the driver and passenger doors or both vehicles opened.

“I asked Moira to bring some lunch over.  We’ll get a bite then start movin’ you in.”

Paul barely heard Samuel.  The redhead that had slid down from the driver’s seat was something to look at, probably Samuel’s wife, judging by age evident in the few lines on her face, but she faded out of his awareness when the blonde from the passenger seat came into view.  About the same time that Paul was registering details of hair, eyes and curves, he took in the casual and plain jeans, t-shirt and sneaker combination that the younger girl was wearing.  If this was a club girl, she was the most conservatively dressed one he’d ever seen, and since she was riding with the President’s wife he was willing to bet she was family.  There was a good chance that blonde was off limits.  He looked to see who the occupants of the van were before anyone could register the level of his attention as inappropriate. 

A young man in his very early twenties had been driving the van.  He went round to the other side of the cab, ostensibly to help the passenger to get out.  Paul saw a hand waving behind the door, slapping the young man out of the way.  He couldn’t help the smile that split his face when the irate passenger eventually shuffled out of the vehicle; it was Charlie, swinging his weight onto his crutches.

The introductions Samuel made next confirmed his assumptions about the women.

“Paul, you know Charlie, of course.  I’d like you to meet my wife, Moira, and my daughter, Ashleigh.  And this young gun is Morse, one of our Prospects.”

Charlie hopped around until he could extract himself from a crutch and then pulled Paul into a one armed bro hug.  “Good to see you, brother.  Be just like old times.”

“Yeah, that worries me some.”  Samuel commented with a wry grin. 

“Hi Paul.”  The redhead, Moira, held out her hand, and he shook it.  “It’s good to have you joinin’ us.  Hope you find everythin’ to your likin’ round here.”

“I’m sure I will, ma’am.”

“Moira, please, cher.”

“Fuck, I hope you brought beer.”  Paul laughed; Chiz was still using what he considered to be his charming smile, the one he had always been convinced could gain him access into any pair of panties in the state.

“We all got work to do before you can get your party on, Chiz.”  Dizzy admonished.

“Hi, pleased to meet you.”

The blonde had her hand out.  When he took it to shake it he was struck by the softness of her skin.  Not that her mother’s palm had been rough, but this was something else.  His mind immediately went to imagining feeling those silky palms rubbing over his torso and Paul found himself listing off engine parts in his head to get his hard-on under control before it could get to be embarrassing.

“Hey. Likewise.” 

He was amazed that his voice came out normally, he’d feared it would break with a squeak in the way it hadn’t since puberty.  Jesus, she was just a girl, he needed to get a grip on himself.  Okay she was girl who was just the right height to slot next to his body under his shoulder, a girl with curves that demanded a second glance without being obscene, a girl with blonde hair that he wanted to see spread over a pillow and blue eyes that just...goddamn.  But she wasn’t just a girl; she was his president’s daughter. Bad news.  Very bad news.

His stuttering brain allowed him to fade back into the present moment.  His mental absence hadn’t been noticed, thank God, and both women had turned back to the Chevy and were rooting around in the truck bed, which removed the blonde from his immediate vicinity.  He tried to concentrate on the good-natured joking that was being batted back and forth in front of him.  He’d even managed to get a few jibes in at his own and Charlie’s expense when Samuel hurried past him.  He turned to see the women loaded with a large cooler each.  Samuel relieved Moira of her burden as Dizzy moved to take the one that Ashleigh was carrying.

“Here you go, boys.  We’ve already eaten.  You four chow down.  We’ll go in and give the place the once over while you eat.  If that’s okay with you, of course, Paul?”

“Sure, that’d be great.  Thank you.  I haven’t seen it in a month or so.  Gotta warn you, last time I did see it, it was plenty dusty then.”

“Not a problem, a little dust never hurt anyone.”  Moira smiled.  Paul was helpless not to return it with a smile of his own.  It wasn’t just the daughter who was dangerous; he’d lay money on the wife being a steamroller.

Charlie was already crutch–clad elbow deep in the cooler containing wrapped sandwiches, having liberated a beer from the other box.  As the men shared the food and drink between them and found a spot to sit on, on the porch that wrapped around the whole house, Moira and her daughter went back and forth between the truck and the house unloading the cleaning supplies that they’d brought with them.  It looked like they’d come prepared to arm a battalion with mops, brushes and dusters, and Paul was half expecting that their lunch would be interrupted by calls to help out inside; but the calls never came.  He caught occasional snatches of conversation from inside and random calls of “Where did you leave that bucket?” and “I’m done with the blue brush.”

They’d finished eating and were wiping their hands on wet napkins that had been stashed in the cooler with the food, Samuel was rubbing crumbs out of his graying beard, when the women came back out looking disheveled and glistening with sweat, despite having turned the air conditioning on, but obviously pleased with themselves.  Ashleigh had caught that long, blonde hair back into a ponytail, but bits and pieces had worked themselves loose and were sticking to her skin.  She was trying to swipe them away with the back of her hand.  Paul had to clench his fists against the urge that at once wanted to help her with that and also wanted to make sure she stayed good and sweaty.

“It’s empty, which makes it easier.  The electric and water are working.  You’ve got hot water.  You’re good to go, cher.”

Paul called himself back from the dangerous path his mind was taking him and stood.  “Thank you.  If it’d been left up to me I’d have just moved all the furniture on top of the dust.”

“Yeah, we’re well aware what you boys are like.  You’d sleep on your Harleys if you could and fuck the bed and sofa and the rest.”

Normally Paul would have made a joke about a bed being reasonably essential, but he restrained himself.  He didn’t know these women quite well enough yet, and he wasn’t a hundred percent certain he’d have made the joke without looking right at the walking, talking bundle of golden-haired trouble. 

The first and most important item out of the truck was his bike.  His Harley Fat Boy weighed almost three times as much as Paul himself.  He had needed several of his brothers to help him push it up a board as long as the truck itself to get it in there in the first place.  Charlie had claimed a seat on the porch from which he could see all the comings and goings.  He had the leg in plaster rested on the boards and his undamaged leg dangling over the edge.  His swinging foot brushed through the weeds that would need pulling out.

Paul had brought the board with him and the four of them set it from the edge of the truck to the ground and started to wheel the bike down it, extremely carefully.

“Hey Paul, you’re not goin’ straight, brother.  Morse, you need to take the weight more on your side.”  Charlie called out as the bike began its descent.

“Charlie if you’re not plannin’ on hoppin’ up here and helpin’ we could sure use the quiet.”  Paul said, trying not to snap and without taking his eyes from the bike’s direction down the board.

Dizzy was more forthright.  “Chiz, I swear to all that’s holy, if you don’t shut your beer hole I’m gonna come over there and break your other fuckin’ leg.”

“I’m just tryin’ to help is all.”  Charlie groused.

“Well help quietly.”  Samuel grunted.

They managed to wheel Paul’s ride down to the ground without incident, but with plenty of swearing and sweating.  He wheeled it over to the front of the house, but well out of the way of the path the furniture would be taking and settled it on its kickstand.  He’d assumed that Moira and Ashleigh would have left when they started to unload what little furniture he had, but they stayed to help, although Dizzy and Sam shooed them away from the heavier items.  

The women had done themselves proud.  The house was too long disused to gleam, but it no longer reeked of neglect.  It smelled now of a mix of lemon and pine, or what someone in a marketing department somewhere thought lemon and pine should smell like.  Once they’d gotten most of the stuff in the house, if not in the rooms it would all be resident in, Moira had brought in a pile of linens that had been stowed in her truck.  She’d brought blankets, towels and curtains. 

“I wasn’t sure what you had or what state this old place was in, so I brought you some things.  If you’re all set, just say.”

“Not at all.  I hadn’t even thought about some of this stuff.  Fuck, curtains never even occurred to me.  I guess the ones at my old place were there when I moved in.”