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  She had to smile. He wasn’t going to wrap her in cotton and keep her locked up after all.

  “Yeah. Get here as fast as you can, I’m on it. Who called it in?” Fritter was standing now and Sharon scurried to do the same. “Fuck me. I’m on my way. Bring everyone, man.” He slapped the phone shut and motioned for the waitress, pulled out his wallet and faced Sharon. “You know our tattoo shop?”

  She nodded. “Brady Clark’s place? Yeah.”

  “Someone just threw shit through his windows and jumped him. The head shop next door called the clubhouse to let us know. I’m goin’ in, but I’m not goin’ in clean, momma.” He put his hands on her shoulders as she felt her face fall. “They’re beatin’ people up. There’s two of us. I’m goin’ in with a fuckin’ gun. I have to.”

  Sharon swallowed the big lump in her throat and nodded. “I understand.”

  “You carrying?”

  She shook her head. “No, I left everything at home. I didn’t expect this.”

  Fritter nodded, then turned to their approaching waitress. “Can we get our food to go? We’ll pick it up in an hour? I’ll pay right now.”

  The waitress looked surprised but nodded. “Sure, I’ll put the Sheriff’s name on it.”

  Fritter nodded sharply, dropped some bills on the table, took her hand and tugged her through the door and to his truck. He still took the time to open the passenger door for her, but after that he was a moving blur.

  Before long they were speeding the three blocks it took to get to Ink Junkie. When she saw it she felt her heart break. They’d done some really cool logo work on the glass, and now it was all trashed. If they did anything to Gertie’s mural Sharon was going to be really pissed.

  Fritter didn’t even kill the engine. He nabbed his Ruger from the glove box, was out the driver’s side, and into the fray quicker than she could track. She reached over, tagged the keys and pulled them free. Then she searched around the vehicle for something to arm herself with. Under the seats along the back window she found a crowbar with flaking black paint, and she grabbed that before getting out onto the sidewalk.

  Inside she heard shouting, more smashing sounds. In the distance she could make out the rumble of bikes, but they sounded so far away.

  She stepped through the smashed panel of the door, took in the scene with her assessing eye. Four men, all large, wearing kuttes with a different patch on the back, Fritter, Brady, and another man she didn’t know. Brady was no sissy. He was built like a linebacker and with some help provided from Fritter he was now on his feet and delivering some experienced-looking pugilism on one of the unknown bikers.

  She caught sight of Fritter, locked in his own battle with two bikers not quite as big as him but still quick and tough. If he’d shown the gun he’d already lost it. Her eyes cast over the ground, spotting it in the glass along the front wall.

  She scurried after it, and the fourth man, who’d been having a good old time turning over tables and chairs and basically smashing everything to shit, noticed her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him rushing her, and she slid through the glass—thank fuck for the miracle of tempered—managing to snatch the Ruger before he could.

  He didn’t seem worried that she had a gun and he didn’t. He made as though he was going to fall on her, and left-handed she cranked the crowbar into his knee. He bellowed, still falling, but she was rushing to her feet. Her right arm went up, pistol pointed to the ceiling, and she squeezed the trigger once.

  Like she wanted, there was a pause in the action. All eyes came to her, and she lowered the weapon on the room in general. “Everyone get on their stomachs, hands where I can see them. Right fucking now.”

  Brady took the opportunity to break his partner’s nose and pin him on the ground. Fritter laid out one of his opponents and the other one came to his senses too late. Fritter yanked his arm behind his back, snapped it forward and there was a horrible snap followed by the man’s shrieks as one of his arm bones burst out of his skin.

  “Jesus,” she whispered, finding another moving form. It was the man not wearing a kutte, the only one dressed as a regular person that she didn’t know. He was getting on the floor and stretching his arms out in front of him very, very slowly.

  A hand closed around her shooting wrist, and she jumped as Jayce tightened his hold. “It’s okay, Sharon. I got this.”

  She let him take the gun and she let the crow bar dangle at her side. Fritter approached, smiling, all the while hissing “What were you thinking? A fucking crowbar?”

  “It’s all you had in the truck.”

  He pulled her to his side, kissing her forehead. “Thanks, momma. You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Are you calling the cops?”

  Brady was there suddenly, and she had to wince. His nose was swollen, both eyes would be black in the morning, and he had some nasty lacerations on his face to boot. But Jesus he must have put up a hell of a fight. “I’ll call the cops and tell them the guys laid a beat down and then ran.”

  Jayce nodded and Sharon closed her eyes. She really shouldn’t be hearing this.

  “How they hell’d you hold them off?”

  Brady wiped the blood from his nose, shrugging at Tank’s question. Shit, who else was here? She’d barely noticed but now she saw Jayce, Tank, Buck and Knuckles were all in attendance. “Two of them stayed outside at first, set the other two in on their own after the broke the glass. Must have thought we were easy targets.”

  “Spaz is coming with the van. We’ll cart these assholes out of here.” Jayce’s eyes rested on her, went up to Fritter, then back to her. “You okay with all this?”

  She shouldn’t be, but seeing as she was about to lose her job anyway ... “Not gonna call anyone in on you, if that’s what you mean.”

  Jayce nodded. “Appreciate it.”

  She eyed up the men on the ground, all whining and nursing wounds or outright unconscious. Knuckles was knocking one fellow around just a bit, trying to get him to shut up. It was like the battlefield after the fighting when all the injured survivors were put out of their misery. “Who are they?” She still hadn’t managed to make out a patch.

  Fritter’s arm tightened around her back. “Dirty Rats. They’re a bit pissed at us at the moment.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. And they might not care for Markham County Sheriffs at this point, either.” Jayce muttered and Sharon stiffened, then looked up at Fritter. He was glaring at Jayce, jaw so tight she could see the pulse in the side of his neck.

  “What’s he talking about?” she asked softly, and Fritter eased up. Just a bit.

  “We have shit they want. They might think we’ve got a real special deal with the law, making the law just as much an enemy.”

  Her grip tightened at his waist. “I have to tell them. I have to warn them, Fritter.”

  “And you can,” he said softly, sliding his hand around the back of her neck. “I just ... I didn’t expect this kind of shit.”

  “How much you think the damage will be?” Obviously this question from Jayce was directed at Brady, so Sharon rested her head on Fritter’s shoulder and let her eyes slide closed. Jesus, she was so tired again.

  “Cost of an entire wall of glass?” Brady gave a very dry laugh. “A lot. A fucking lot, actually.”

  “I’m sorry, man. Obviously they know you’re with us, this is our fault.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I got insurance.”

  “Nah, we got this. It’s our fault. But maybe get something with bars in it for now?” Jayce suggested, and it sounded like he was smiling.

  “You think?”

  “Momma? You passin’ out on me?”

  “Hmmm?”

  Fritter kissed her forehead. “We gotta pick up your dinner then get you home for a nap.”

  It got quiet—really quiet—all around them. She lifted her head and surveyed their audience, and every man, other than the ones now passed out or restrained on the floor, was staring at them with grea
t curiosity and no small amount of amusement. She decided to ignore them. “Yeah, I need to eat and get home,” she agreed, breaking into a yawn.

  “Okay momma. Let’s get you two fed.”

  She gasped, mouth falling open and eyes getting big as his grin grew wider. “Fritter!” she snapped. “You said you’d wait until I told my family!”

  “That was just to tell Ma. This is to tell the guys. This is different.”

  “The fuck you say?” Knuckles snapped, suddenly right next to them, uncomfortably close, actually. Fritter shoved at the center of his chest.

  “Get your ugly mug and bad breath away from my baby mama.”

  “Fuck,” she muttered, burying her face in the side of his neck. He laughed, and she heard and felt someone slap his shoulder.

  “No fucking way!” That was Tank, and from the force of that slap she’d bet it was the gentle giant of a man. “Are you fucking serious?” He sounded delighted.

  “Yeah. Little bit of an accident, but we’re having a baby.”

  There were whoops and hollers, and she had to admit she had not expected bikers to take this as good news but apparently they thought it was the shit. Mostly because even Jayce declared “This is incredible you guys! A fucking baby?”

  She hoped her parents took it as well as half a motorcycle club.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  One shitty thing about the Dirty Rats; they were tough fuckers and couldn’t be tortured. Knuckles did his best but they passed out from blood loss before he got so much as their names, then when he revived them they would only spit and swear.

  Jayce just wanted confirmation that they were after the jacked Thebaine, but Fritter wasn’t sure why they were bothering asking. The Rats loved the cash they got from the drug trade, and if anyone had any reason to be searching a property belonging to a member of the Red Rebels it was because they knew a major narcotic was somewhere on the premises.

  When the van arrived at Ink Junkies the four Rats were carted as quickly and privately as possible. Spaz had been smart enough to bring Tims, Rusty, and Red to drive the Rats’ bikes back to the clubhouse as well. They parked them under tarps until they could get a chance to strip them down. Then the four patched Rats had been hauled into The Stall, woken up, and went to work on.

  After two hours of nothing but verbal abuse Knuckles threw in the towel and put a bullet in each of the four heads.

  Fritter sighed, stopped his momentary break from digging and sank his spade into the sand again. At least they were done breaking the hard-packed surface of the desert.

  Tims and Rusty were prospects, this was the kind of grunt work they usually did. Red was the newest patch. He’d only been in the club a year and prospected a year, but he was a quiet dude that did everything asked of him without bitching. This kind of task usually went to new members, too. Fritter was on watch. He understood it and he was just glad he still had his kutte, so he’d dig a few holes if it got him Jayce and the club’s trust. Knuckles had offered to come along, but he was sitting on the bed of the van, where the back doors stood open, smoking a cigarette. Every now and then he’d crack his knuckles but mostly he was quiet.

  Knuckles didn’t kill like anyone Fritter knew. He’d seen Jayce, Tank and Buck kill from blind rage. He’d seen most of the group kill in self-defense. But only Knuckles killed like it was duty. Fritter had never seen him lose it and go crazy. He did the task, but he usually got quiet after and turned in on himself once the blood had been scrubbed away.

  They all just let him be when that happened.

  When the crater they dug hit about four and a half feet deep Fritter tossed his shovel over the edge and climbed out. Without a word Knuckles pinched the cigarette between his lips and stood, turning to grab the first set of ankles from the van. He and Fritter dragged the first Rat from the bed, not worrying about the head bouncing on the ground because he was, after all, dead. They pulled him to the side of the hole and kicked him over the edge.

  It was quick work to get the hole filled back in. Then they were all climbing into their various cages to get back to the clubhouse. No use some of them riding their noisy Hogs if they were up to such illicit activity. Once the shovels were back in the van, Fritter climbed into the passenger seat, with Knuckles as his captain, and they made their way across the uneven terrain to the rural route that would take them back to the highway heading to Markham. It was still quiet until Knuckles made the turn onto asphalt.

  “So,” he began, surprising Fritter somewhat. He’d thought the guy was stewing. “You planning on doing right by Downey then?”

  Fritter cleared his throat, watching the dim shadows of night time road views slide by. “Umm, yeah. I guess I am.”

  “I know no one will tell you this, but I see it.”

  “See what?”

  “You guys as a couple.” Now Knuckles was smiling. “She’s so serious. All the time. I used think about getting under than uniform, seeing if I could shake something loose, you know? But I don’t think I’m her type. You are, though.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re not intense or serious. Ever. You’re the opposite, and quite the opposite in the extreme. When it comes to serious women she’s the other extreme. You need to balance each other out.”

  “Gertie and Buck aren’t opposites. Tank and Rose are definitely not opposites.”

  “Nope, but they’re also not one type of personality to any level of extremity at all. They walk the line of serious and fun-loving, they can go either way when one of them swings out of whack. They just balance. But you’re one extreme. Sharon’s another. She needs you to be her relief, and you need her to be your rock.”

  Fritter snorted. “That’s some sage advice, Knuck.”

  “I know. And I’m right. You’re more like Jayce and Trinny.”

  “Now I know you’re talking out your ass. Just leave it be.”

  Of course, he didn’t. “Trinny was the wild child, right? Spirited, sassy, but fun-loving. Jayce is intense. Like Sharon. He needs Trinny to lighten the mood so he doesn’t get ulcers.”

  Fritter rubbed his hands on his legs. This was a chick discussion and it made him itchy. “Drop it, man.”

  “Hey, I’m just letting you know. I get it, and I’m happy for you.”

  Fritter studied the man next to him for a bit. He liked hanging out with Knuckles. The guy was fun and the two of them had enjoyed the odd anonymous woman every now and then, when pussy and time were running short. He liked to party with the guy, even if he didn’t drink. Really, out of the entire club, he’d say Knuckles was his only “buddy.” And if Knuckles wasn’t going to miss his party pal because of this then Fritter had to take that for the blessing that it must have been.

  “Thanks man,” he said quietly, looking out his window again. “I like her. And she’s lettin’ me get close to her now. It’s not scary. I ... I love it.”

  “She’ll understand us more than you expect,” Knuckles said quietly. “She ain’t winning the election, I think we all know that for sure now. But she’ll stick around because this is home and she’ll fit right in because ... she gets it. More than Rose and Gertie ever will.”

  Fritter was nodding along, then it just fell out of his mouth. “She’s pregnant, man. It was an accident. She’s 44 and I’m 34 and I knocked her up but my biggest worry is that she’s going to get sick or hurt because she’s havin’ my baby.”

  “Okay, one: she’s in good health. She takes care of herself. She’ll be fine, and there’s no point worrying about that. No one has control over it. Just help her, take care of her. Two: kids fucking love you. And three: Sharon is already totally a hot mom. Her tits are going to get bigger—”

  “Hey!” he interjected, smacking Knuckles upside the head. The fucker just kept grinning.

  “I like this,” he kept on speaking like Fritter hadn’t done anything. “Kids are awesome. Kids calm people like us down. Give us perspective. Makes me give a shit, as a matter of fac
t.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Absolutely. If I’m pulling these jobs for Sachetti I know it’s totally worth it. You and Sharon are making a family as part of our family. It’s worth it.”

  Emotion welled up in his throat and he fought to swallow that shit. “Nah, that still doesn’t sit right with me. I caused that. You wouldn’t have to do all that if I hadn’t—”

  “It happened. Whatever. We’re not in the shit from it. I just have to do this so we’re okay. We still get to make the same bank, we’re still in their good books. If this is what it takes that’s good.” Knuckles grinned wider. “Knowing that your illicit fooling around actually led to something real, well ... that’s even better.”

  “I can’t believe you’re such a ray of fucking sunshine.”

  “Don’t let that get out. I just like having families around, man.”

  They arrived back at the clubhouse without much more said about it, and where normally walking into a room with loud music, beer pouring freely, women everywhere with plenty of skin showing would have him grinning and heading for the bar, this time he made the rounds filling in Tank and Jayce about how the disposal had gone, then he quietly slunk outside and headed to his pickup, kutte folded over his shoulder now. He was taking the truck because the next morning he and Sharon had a trip to make to see his mother.

  She was terrified to see her parents, he knew that. While Knuckles had been “at work” on the Rats, Sharon had been at her place resting. When he called to check in she admitted she’d called her folks, then chickened out when her mom answered. So she thought face-to-face was required so she couldn’t back out, and she wanted him with her.

  He was all in for that. Her worry over her parents had him nervous as well. All respect to the man and woman who had raised her, but if they made her feel bad about this he was giving them a piece of his mind and getting his woman the fuck out of there.

  Then she’d suggested his mom should find out soon since the club knew and Markham was only so big. She had better find out from Fritter and Sharon, not some acquaintance at the grocery store.