Ride To The Edge (Lucifer's Saints MC) (Rough Riders MC Series Book 4) (11 page)

I could never admit the same.

N
o matter what life was like in the club, or at home, time continued to move forward and hours of our lives were ticked away.

Talia finished up her performances, complained about being pregnant but eventually, it came to an end and she had a healthy baby girl. We fought for two days over what her name should be and finally Eve stepped in and settled the problem for us.

Eden Dominique Cox was the only grandchild in the family without an Irish name with the exception of her last name, which would be lost once she was old enough to marry and have children.

Eve had a solution to that issue too. “She can always hyphenate her last name. Women have been doing it for years.”

The investigation into the White Knights MC continued but since one of Nel Decker’s illegitimate sons had been arrested for a crime against a celebrity who happened to be my wife, we’d decided to slow everything down just to protect our sources.

Brad wasn’t skittish at all and was quite ready to have everything put in place but we couldn’t take any chances.

With a Decker already in jail, facing charges that could carry serious prison time—Harassment of a public figure and terrorist threats—he was looking at a stiff sentence of at least ten years in prison and a fine up to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

And so the cycle began that I had to start spending more time at the club and away from my ol’ lady. We had to make it look like we were focused on our business interests, making money and of course living free.

I basically missed the first four months of my daughter’s life while I hung out at the club with Ronan, Cricket, Pyro, Chemist, Quinn, and the rest of the boys. There were parties every weekend where there was never a shortage of Slapper pussy on standby, liquor flowed like water and everyone had a good time. Despite missing the domesticity I had fallen so easily into, I had to admit it was great to be back on my Harley with the sun on my face and the wind at my back. I rode a lot during those months if only to clear my head and decide what the hell I wanted to do.

Yeah, I wanted to put bad guys away because that’s what my job was to do but was it worth sacrificing everything else? In my quest to live my life as free as possible, had I chained myself to a situation that no ol’ lady in the history of ol’ ladies could ever do to a brother?

I realized I wasn’t free at all as long as I worked for the government and followed their orders.

There were tiers, and although most of us were agents, I could choose to leave my current position and become an informant instead. Somehow being an FBI agent while running the second biggest charter of the Lucifer’s Saints didn’t jibe with me at all. I wanted more time to spend with my kids and my ol’ lady. That could only come at a great cost because once I handed in the badge, being an informant didn’t come with diplomatic immunity.

I could be arrested, imprisoned and charged with crimes if the LS ever lost its precious privilege as the only one percent club that didn’t truly get fucked with. It wouldn’t be like this forever—we all knew as soon the old guard was dead and gone, we’d lose our status and become just another one percent club the government would be gunning after just like we were trying to dismantle the White Knights MC.

This was my train of thought as I sat at the bar with Ronan. We both tossed back shots of Jack Daniels while using Budweiser as a chaser. The prospect who’d been serving us had been taken over by Layla who kept everyone away from the bar while we talked in peace.

Another pussy party was going on around us.

It seemed like they were becoming more and more frequent now that most of us had ol’ ladies who’d recently had children and didn’t have the time, inclination or energy to hang around the club. The members who were unattached, which was most of the patched in brothers who weren’t on the council, wanted to have fun too and there was never a shortage of Saint Slappers willing to accommodate.

I couldn’t help but think how much I hated the rancid smell of foul pussy, unwashed dicks, alcohol, and marijuana to create a mélange of the rankest odor known to man.

I missed my ol’ lady whose pussy always smelled fresh and clean; our children who smelled of innocence and expensive baby products. Our home, which smelled like a home—a mixture of scented candles, delicious food being prepared in the kitchen, cleaning products from keeping the place immaculate due to the children and the air conditioner now that we were in late summer and the temps still soared over one hundred degrees everyday.

“What’s going on? You said you wanted to talk to me.” Ronan glanced at me with violet-blue eyes that were both concerned and annoyed. His favorite part about the pussy parties was getting drunk and going home to fuck Naomi, his ol’ lady. It made no difference she’d given birth to twins within the past few months, Ronan enjoyed her more now than ever, and had hired a nanny to help her with their sons, Gavin and Neil.

“Yeah, I do.” I poured myself another shot and drank it down before finishing the rest of my Bud. “How did you feel—I mean, when you threw that fuckin’ badge in their face and told them you’d be an informant but not an agent.”

Ronan swigged from his beer and smirked. “Fucking fantastic. Those motherfuckers allowed that son of a bitch to abduct and sexually violate my old lady but I was supposed to sit on my hands and take it? You know me, Hardy—you know my temper. Hell, you’re my uncle and there are times you’re scared to approach or fuck with me. It wasn’t for me, man. I respect what they do but I won’t be a part of that organization—not officially.”

“Yeah, but then we’re fuckin’ bloody rats, ain’t we?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Ronan responded. “Take a look around man—we aren’t surrounded by boy scouts or decent, hard workin’ folk unless you count the Slappers who are always on their knees or on someone’s fuckin’ lap but that’s their business. They wanna be skanky bitches with loose cunts and low self-esteem then it’s not on me to get in their way. But if somethin’ is going down and I know a lot of people are going to get hurt and lose their lives over nothin’ then yeah, I don’t mind bein’ a rat. My conscience might be flawed but it ain’t gone either.”

“I know it ain’t, brother.” I lit a cigarette despite having cut down to half a pack a day on account of Talia’s fear for my health. “The truth of the matter is that I just don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired of taking scum down, and every time you’ve dealt with one issue, it’s like a goddamn hydra—another pops up in its place. I got an ol’ lady I love, kids I want to see grow into adults. Hell, I’ve already been shot twice and coulda died. I just can’t do the double life anymore, and the fact is I don’t want to.”

Ronan grabbed my cigarette and dragged deeply from it before he gave it back to me. “That’s because you’re an ordinary decent criminal, Hardy. Face it—you wanna be the bad guy but on your own terms. I wouldn’t go back and work for the Feds if they got down on their knees and sucked my cock but then again, I’m like you. I don’t wanna be somethin’ I’m not. I joined my dad’s club for a reason and it was to be a badass alpha male with a bitch on my arm, and to deal with scum. I love bein’ bad too much to ever be good but that don’t mean I can’t do the right thing every once and a fuckin’ while. I just don’t want to do it all the time.”

“That’s not quite the answer I was looking for but you make a good point.” I dragged on my cigarette and pulled the toxic smoke into my lungs before I exhaled. “Thing is, it does feel better to be bad. Like you said, I don’t want kids gettin’ hold of weapons, drugs and our way of life but as an adult, you should choose what you want to do with your life.”

“A-fuckin’-men to that, brother!”

I turned toward the deep gravely voice that could have given Vin Diesel a run for his money and came face to face with what every “normal” person on earth thought a biker was supposed to look like.

The guy had pale skin though his face and arms were sunburnt from too much exposure without proper gear. He had a mustache and a goatee, piercing gray eyes that were so pale, they almost seemed translucent but with his angular face most women would probably consider attractive, shoulder-length dark auburn hair, lean body with hidden muscles and attire of dark jeans and a Lucifer’s Saints cut, I was a bit taken aback.

Who the fuck was this guy?

Ronan grabbed my cigarette as he stood and offered the guy a shot of JD. “Congrats, brother! You proved yourself and you deserve a spot in the Vegas Charter of the Lucifer’s Saints. Welcome, home, brother.”

I glared between the both of them because when the fuck had this guy prospected and how the fuck was he suddenly a member of my charter? He looked like a fuckin’ reject from a bad
Sons of Anarchy
episode. I took that back—actually, he could have been the perfect extra but that wasn’t the point. Why didn’t I know this pussy party was for someone who was going to have to have my back in the future?

My blood slowly boiled as I allowed Ronan and this new guy to talk. Chemist and his ol’ lady, Estelle, walked up to him and gave him warm greetings. He returned them with a grunt but they both knew him well enough to know that it meant he approved. How the fuck did they know him? Hell, how come every fuckin’ brother in the room knew about this freak but me?

I wasn’t bein’ paranoid for nothin’, either. The blank look in those gray eyes told me this guy had witnessed horror in his life. I didn’t know if he was crazy like Ronan—meaning it could be handled and it wasn’t to the point where I would ever think he wasn’t good enough to be my VP or one day lead this fucking charter. Or was he crazy like Schizo—a member of the London charter I once led. The man would cut himself with razor blades, rough up Saint Slappers or roofie them just to fuck ‘em. It got to the point where I had to put a bullet in his head myself because he became increasingly unstable to the point where no one knew what he might do next and the number one law in a club was the brothers all had to be committed enough to lay down their life for one another. I never knew if the motherfucker could even do that when he self-harmed himself on a daily basis to the point where he became a liability to himself, and everyone in the club.

I didn’t mind blood and gore but for fuck’s sake, I didn’t want to be surrounded by the shit to the point where I could risk catching a disease or worse—HIV—from some mad fucker who couldn’t control his own anger issues or impulses to hurt himself.

There was being brave and fearless; then there was being reckless and stupid. No other club would touch Schizo because they knew they’d never get any info out of him. He’s just bang his hard fucking skull against the wall till he passed out or cut himself so deep, he’d need to go to the emergency room.

No one had time for shit like that but bein’ his Prez, I knew if a dog was sick, he needed to be put down. Schizo had had a childhood I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy and as he grew into an adult, the demons slowly took over until there was nothing left of him but the sounds of madness and his own nightmares replayed over and over in his mind. His death still haunted me but it was the right thing to do and no one would ever convince me otherwise.

“Hey, Prez, this is Razr. He just transferred from the Barstow chapter.” Ronan clapped me on the back to get my attention. “We all approved of it and would have done it with you there but you had some . . . uh, business to attend to. He just looks scary but he’s solid—a brother you can depend on through thick and thin. He’s exactly what our club needs.”

I glared at Ronan in anger before I faced Razr, flanked by Chemist. “How much Irish blood you got in you, son?”