Resistance (The Chicago Defiance MC Series Book 1) Page 6

  That was until she conveniently reminded me that people by my side get hurt. I was getting lost in the idea that maybe, just maybe, after so long of closing myself off to the world of women that I may have found someone worth opening up to.

  But what’s the point?

  When I get close to anyone, the assholes in my life will come after everything I love and tear it to shreds. I can’t risk it. I can’t risk her. So while what we had might have been our first kiss, it was also a kiss goodbye as much as that fucking irks me.

  Watching the security feeds, I make sure she’s placed into a waiting car. Lift follows ensuring she’s out of harm’s way and taken care of. Her car takes off as I notice Andretti’s men stepping up to the front of the club. The line out the front has died down significantly now, so they will probably be let through straight away. The security team wouldn’t know the Andrettis from any other random Guido-looking guys, and I need to rectify that.

  Right. Time to get my game face on.

  Walking over to my desk, I reach into the top drawer and grab a knife. The blade is covered with a sheath as I shove it down the back of my pants. I have my gun on me too but firing a weapon in my club is last-resort shit. If I need to take someone out without causing a scene, a knife will do that job just fine.

  Rushing out of the room, I shut the door behind me and head down the stairs to see all my brothers crowding around like they already know what’s going on. Sensei steps up to my side—he’s not only my Enforcer but my best friend. Sensei’s the only Asian in our club. He has a midwest-American accent and was born in Chicago. Though his Japanese lineage is apparently questionable, we’ve never delved deep enough into that part of his life to know. He never talks about it, so we never ask. Sensei’s unusual haircut always has me smiling. Half his head is shaved and covered in tattoos, while the other side falls in long black dreadlocks. His ears are pierced with ear gauges, and his nose has a nose ring through the septum. He is grunge looking for a guy deep into jujitsu and meditation. Sensei’s way of talking, when I first heard him, had me perplexed. You have this grungy guy, who speaks proper English, and carries a suave manner. He’s nothing like you’d expect from a biker. His father made sure he was taught manners, etiquette, and decorum, and it’s something he hasn’t been able to break. Apart from the occasional expletive, he’s a proper gentleman most of the time.

  “Pres, they are coming in the club as we speak. How do you want to play this?” Sensei asks.

  I screw up my nose and grit my teeth. “Fuck! First things, first. Tremor, get Neala out of here.” Tremor nods grabbing her wrist, and she frowns at him, but he drags her along and out toward the back exit without any backchat. Neala knows how this goes. She’s grown up around the club. She knows when we lock it down, she needs to do precisely what we say.

  “Second, we don’t start anything until we figure out what the fuck they want. They may just be here to party.” My brothers all chuckle shaking their heads. “Yeah, I don’t think that either, but keep your eyes open and watch them. We don’t want shit coming down in here. This is our place of business. We don’t need a bad rep following whatever they want. Disperse,” I instruct.

  Everyone takes off in different directions as I head off myself looking for Andretti’s main lackey, Alfonso. I move from the VIP area and make my way through the swarm of bodies in the club dancing up a storm to the rhythm of the music, completely oblivious to what’s happening around them.

  I spot Alfonso and beeline for him. He’s talking to a bunch of men, club goers, and I raise my brow as I step up to the group. Alfonso scrunches up his face as the club goers take in my club cut and open their eyes wide. “What’s happening here then?”

  The partiers shake their heads. “Nothing,” one of them says in defense, and I take in his appearance. He’s big, strong, and definitely looks like he pumps iron at the gym.

  I look to Alfonso whose hand is clenched, and I grit my teeth reaching out and slap at his hand. His hand falls open, and some pills drop out. I grunt as the club goers all turn and scamper off without saying a word, and Alfonso chuckles shaking his head as I stand tall and glare at him.

  “You coming to my club and trying to sell your drugs, Alfie?” I grunt his name, and he shrugs.

  “You came into The Heart of Italy and tried to sell your shit? Fair’s fair, Presidente,” he snaps back as I notice a couple more of Andretti’s men show up to flank him.

  Shaking my head. I curl up my lip. “You and your men need to get the fuck out of my club, and never come back before we turn you inside out. You feeling me, Alfie? You get one warning. The only reason I’m not gutting you right now is because this place is packed, and there are way too many witnesses.”

  Alfie licks his lips, nodding to his men as Trax and Sensei show up at my side. They stand beside me strong and bold, and we stare Alfie and his men down. They all turn and head for the front of the club. Ace, Vibe, and Chains are by my side soon after, and we walk behind Alfie and his men effectively escorting them from the premises without any drama—this time. Which is actually pretty fucking nice for a change.

  While I don’t mind getting my hands dirty, the idea of this club—Neala’s club—being tainted by biker brutality is not something I want nor need.

  The four Andrettis leave, and I watch them saunter off down the street. While taking a deep breath, I turn to Chains, my Sergeant at Arms. The man who gets shit done. His sandy blond hair slicked back in a wave over the shaved sides of his head. His neck covered in tattoos, and that ever-present hard look in his eyes harboring the demons of the past.

  “Chains, make sure they make it far enough away not to be a hassle. Yeah, brother?”

  He nods, signaling to Zane, our other prospect, to flank him as they exit the club. I take a deep breath as we all turn and head back to VIP area. Trax and Sensei either side of me.

  “That seemed a little… too easy, don’t you think?” Sensei questions as I continue to glance around the club checking for anything we might have missed.

  “Yeah. Got a feeling that might not be the last encounter we have tonight,” Trax cautions when I notice Scratch running back inside with Tremor who’s holding Neala tight. Tears stain her beautiful face as she runs her hands up and down Tremor’s chest like she’s searching for something. When she pulls her hand back, my muscles tense because all I can see is red. My anger flares as Sensei and Trax notice precisely what I’m seeing.

  Fear sweeps over me. The crimson blood like a blinking neon light flashing its deathly signal of danger and deception. My skin crawls as we rush forward toward them. Tremor stumbles slightly while Neala holds onto him desperately.

  “Ry, you have to help him. We got jumped on our way out by three of Andretti’s men. They were distracting you in here. Tremor tried to get me out of the way. They lunged at me with a knife, but Trem fought them off and got caught in the slashing of blades,” Neala’s weak, broken voice calls out through the beat of the music.

  “I saw the commotion on the security feed in your office and ran outside to help. I gutted the assholes trying to take out Tremor and Neala myself. There’s a hell of a mess in the alley, Pres,” Scratch tells me.

  I glance to Trax, and he nods once, knowing I don’t need to say anything. He signals to Vibe, and they rush outside to deal with the carnage. I reach out grabbing Neala and wrap my arms around her shoulders to comfort her, while Ace takes hold of Tremor and lifts his shirt showing a stab wound to the side of his stomach.

  “Help him, Ry. He saved me. You have to help him… please,” Neala begs.

  “He’s one of us, Neala. He’s my brother. He’s family. Of course, we’re gonna help him. Ace, how bad is it?” I ask.

  Ace looks down at the wound while Tremor shakes his head.

  “I’m fine. I’m sure it’s just a scratch,” Tremor states.

  Ace nods in agreement. “You’re gonna be okay. But you’re gonna need sutures at the very least. We need you to go to the hospital, brothe
r. Make sure no organs were nicked.”

  Tremor yanks his shirt down, shaking his head. “No. No damn hospitals. Just get Surge to stitch me up. I’ll be fine.”

  Neala steps forward placing her hand on his chest and looks into his eyes. She thinks I haven’t noticed the closeness between and him and her.

  I have.

  And it annoys the fucking shit out of me.

  “Trem, please? It’s my birthday, so you have to do what I ask. Right?”

  He weakly smiles at her. “Right,” he replies with a wince.

  “Then go to the hospital with Ace just to make sure everything’s okay. Wouldn’t want you bleeding out… not on my birthday.”

  Stiffening my shoulders, I flare my nostrils and turn to him. “Not a request, Tremor. You’re going. Get Doctor Kline to be your attending. She knows the drill. Knows not to ask questions. Get the tests, get stitched up, then get back to the clubhouse. We got church that needs attending. The Andrettis think they can come here and distract me, and then take out my sister on her birthday? Well, they have another think coming.”

  Turning off my engine, the vibration of the motor dulls to a stop, and I take a deep breath reveling in the calmness that riding my bike brings to me. The second the engine stops, it’s like all the tension is back, and the anger and hatred washes right over me.

  Neala’s hands unfold from around my waist, and she slides off the side of my bike. Unclipping the strap, she pulls off her helmet. Her hair is drifting from side to side as I step off pulling my helmet from my head and place it on my handlebars, while my brothers ride in and take up their positions in the parking lot.

  Gatekeeper slides the gate shut behind Vibe, and I start walking with Neala, Trax, and Sensei toward the clubhouse doors. The smell of the South Branch Chicago River is strong tonight as the clubhouse sits on the dock next to the Damen Silos. The stench of the stagnant water floods the air. Even though the smell can be vile, it somehow still fills me with a sense of home as I pound the pavement toward the giant shed we’ve made our clubhouse.

  Surrounding the shed are concrete walls barricading us in. There’s only one way out—a wrought iron fence that’s over seven-foot tall with black, toughened mesh protection which has a one-way shield so we can see out, but no fucker can see in. The door to the clubhouse has two functions. It’s a roller door so we can let trucks and larger shit through if necessary, but in that roller door is another smaller entrance. It’s the one we use frequently. One that opens normally, and the one I’ll be using right now. The club logo sits proudly on the door, and I glance at it as I yank on the door which opens quickly, and I step through into the clubhouse.

  It’s quiet for a Saturday night, but I guess it would be seeing as we were all about Neala’s party tonight. The club girls are behind the bar or sitting on the beanbags waiting for us as we stride in. They have their place, and they do what’s best for the club. What’s best for the brothers. They all have their reasons for being here. Each one vetted vigorously before joining. They might seem like worthless whores only here to service us sexually, but they’re more than that. Some are here purely for protection, some are here so they can finish their study, and some are here because they love the family atmosphere an MC can provide. Whatever their reasons, they all smile a warm greeting as we walk through.

  “You’re back early,” Ruby beams bounding up to us, her pert tits bouncing up and down in her boob tube. I shake my head as I walk into the large area taking in the stale smell of tobacco and beer. “And Neala, you’re here, too. Happy birthday, hon. Hope you’ve had a great night?” Ruby runs to my sister’s side to pull her in for a hug but stops short when she notices the blood on her shirt. “Shit! Is that… blood?” Ruby stops dead in her tracks, which makes the rest of the club girls and the brothers in the room who didn’t make it to tonight’s festivities, turn to look at us as we all file in.

  Neala nods, and Ruby winces. She takes Neala into a giant hug, embracing her tightly.

  “Right, listen up,” I call out.

  Surge, the oldest member of the club—my confidant, my rock, and a long time ago my father-in-law—steps up in front of me.

  “Andrettis are going down for what they did tonight. Church. Now. Everyone with a patch in the chapel,” I call out and then look to Ruby. “You look after Neala. Get her whatever she needs. Get her cleaned up, too. You know the drill. And you should probably call Freckles, tell her something’s going down and for her to come to the clubhouse to care for her daughter.”

  Ruby nods.

  Neala huffs. “No, Ry, c’mon… let’s not drag Mom into this.”

  I turn grabbing her hands and look into her beautiful green eyes. “Neala, someone tried to stab you tonight. They may be after Mom, too. She needs to come in any way.”

  She weakly nods and looks down at the floor. “Okay, you’re right. Mom needs to come in. This thing with the Andrettis…” Her eyes glisten. “Ry… is it going to get bad?”

  Placing my hands on her shoulders, I take a deep breath. She looks up at me, and I stare into her eyes with firm intent. “Neala, I’m not gonna let the Andrettis get the better of us. I’m the head of this family now. Dad taught me how to look after you all, and I’m not gonna let some fucking Mafia family come into my town and take everything we’ve worked hard to build away from us. And I certainly won’t let them harm my family or my brotherhood. Not gonna happen. They’re insignificant compared to us.”

  She nods weakly, but smiles as Ruby wraps her arm around her pulling her to her side. “C’mon, Lala, let’s get you showered and cleaned up.” Neala looks to Ruby, and I nod to her in a gesture of thanks as she leads my sister off toward the sleeping quarters.

  Surge looks to me. His face tired and worn. His gray beard growing longer each day. The lines in the corner of his eyes appearing to grow before my eyes as he squints shaking his head. “What the hell happened tonight, Torque?” He’s not asking as a fellow brother, he’s asking as my substitute father. I grew up with this man, he’s practically my blood. The fact that I married his daughter, Zoey, only cemented our bond all those years ago. He’s the man I look up to, the man I aspire to be. Surge is the foundation of the Chicago Defiance MC, an original, and without him, this place wouldn’t function. I wouldn’t function. I need his guidance on this.

  Slapping his back, I lead us toward the chapel where our brothers are already filing in. “The Andrettis came at Neala while they had us distracted. I don’t know what their endgame was, whether they wanted to simply take her or take her out, but either way, she was their target, and that shit doesn’t sit right with me.”

  Surge inhales sharply and nods as we enter the chapel through the large cream double doors. A heavy wooden table sits right in the middle of the open room which has no windows. At the back of the room is a desk with a small tech station where Ace always sits, so if we need any data during church we can get it as soon as possible. To the right of that is a filing system, stored in black security-rated cabinets, which contains our ‘collection’ of information. The cabinets are floor to ceiling, and can slide, but are locked with fingerprint ID’s that only Ace, Trax, Surge, and I can access. They contain all kinds of heavy-duty information—stuff on all our brothers, the Andrettis, our brother clubs all across the world. They hold a hell of a lot of valuable information, hence the limited access.

  Taking a deep inhale, I head to my position at the head of the table. It wasn’t always mine. I didn’t step into the role when my father died like you’d expect. I could have if I’d have wanted to at the time. I probably should have. It was expected of me to step up, take my father’s place at the head of the Chicago Defiance MC, but my headspace was at that time… let’s say, damaged. I couldn’t have—no matter how much I would have wanted to—made the right decisions for the club.

  I lost my dad.

  I lost my wife.

  I lost my unborn child.

  All in the blink of an eye.

  Stepping up and
being the man in charge of everyone while being struck down with the hardest of grief, wasn’t something I was able to pull myself through. Even though my brotherhood needed me, I couldn’t find the strength or the courage required to fill the role. So Surge took on the President’s position, and I stepped up to be his VP until I was able to fix my fucking shit and man up to be the President I am today.

  This chair always makes me think of my father. Guinness was his road name. He was loved by everyone, but more importantly respected, and every single time I step up to his chair, all I want is to know I’m doing his memory proud.

  An image of my father shifts into my head. I watch him sit back, his feet up on the table, arms behind his head and staring me down with that ‘what ya gonna do about it, fucker’ stare he was known for. I blink my eyes to remove the memory and slide out my chair. The ghost of his image fading from my mind, I look down at my brothers as I plant my ass in my seat.

  I might harbor demons, I might have a fucked-up past, but my head is clear on what I need to do right now. The Andrettis need to answer for what they tried to do tonight, and we must figure out what their end game is.

  I look to my left, my blood brother and VP, Trax, is sitting back in his chair looking like he’s ready to self-implode. I get it, I feel the same. Especially, considering it was our sister they went after.

  To my right, my Sergeant at Arms, Chains, sits looking like he’s zoned out as he rolls a loose strand of chain through his fingers. Surge sits down next to Chains quietly observing the room. Sensei sits next to him. On the left, beside Trax sits Lift. Then Vibe. They’re talking to each other waiting for me to get underway. Scratch sits at the end of the table, his long, tatty hair framing his face. The scar in his eyebrow—the reason for his namesake—looking even more prominent today as he cracks his neck to the side looking impatient. He, along with Trax and I, have an ax to grind with the Andrettis tonight. He had to take on three of their men along with Tremor while trying to stop them from taking Neala, and I can’t thank him enough for that.