Mafia and MC Prequel Collection

Blazing Rebel Prequel: Chapter 2

Eight hours later, the coke had worn off, and I was beginning to feel drowsy. My eyes begged to rest, but I didn’t have anywhere to go. Sleeping in the middle of the Serrano desert, just as the sun was rising, was asking for a heatstroke. I couldn’t subject Buddy to that. There was just enough in my bank account to find a cheap motel somewhere for at least two nights. Once we were settled somewhere, then I’d think of my next step.

Vivid orange hues from the rising sun shot through the night sky. All the clouds appeared hot pink or the color of tangerines, with dark purple ribbons fading quickly with the moon. Glancing at my gas tank for the hundredth time, I saw it had reached below the quarter line.

Nervous, I turned to Buddy. “Don’t worry, Buddy. We’ll be okay.”

Buddy’s nose twitched in his sleep but was otherwise unbothered.

Ten minutes later, just as my sleep-deprived mind began feeling hopeless, I saw a sign—a literal sign that gave me faith that I hadn’t just lied to Buddy or myself.

“Welcome to Mascid,” I said aloud, noticing the painted wooden sign lightened by the sun and beat up from the desert monsoons. “Guess it’ll do for now, huh, boy?”

Buddy snored in reply.

As I drove past a hill, the first thing I saw of Mascid was a tall building with a triangular wooden roof poking through a couple of palm trees. Slowing to a stop as I neared the outskirts of the city, I glanced at the building, noticing there weren’t any others for a long stretch down the road.

I liked the look of the place. It was old and rustic, with a few motorbikes sitting outside. Phoenix was all right, but I was sick of cities. They often felt cold and fake, like no one truly cared about you. But this place had character. A lot of work could be done to it, like fixing the broken window on the front, but it was nice to see a place so rural, so real.

A large wooden sign was nailed above the entrance that read Ironhead Tavern in western-styled letters. I was headed in the direction of the rest of the city when my stomach grumbled. Without all the effects of the different stimulants I’d consumed the night before, I was feeling human again. I remembered I hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. When I saw they had a station with a bowl of water for animals and a pole to tie Buddy up to, I decided to make a pit stop.

When I was knelt over Buddy, I poured some of the dog food I had in my truck into a Styrofoam cup. “Sorry, Bud, I forgot your dish. I’ll get you a new one soon, though.”

A female’s voice behind me made me flinch and turn around. “What an adorable puppy!”

Without asking, the lady rushed to Buddy and began scratching his ears, which he seemed to enjoy, going by his wagging tail and panting tongue. The woman looked too old for me, but damn, she was smokin’. She had platinum blonde hair with only a few wisps of gray pulled back into a ponytail and bangs covering her warm brown eyes. I put her at thirty-five, but she was wearing skintight leather pants that showed off her round ass and a leather jacket to match.

I wanted to ask her if she was a biker, but I wasn’t in the mood. All I wanted was food and maybe a beer.

Impatient, I rubbed Buddy’s back and said, “Yeah, he’s great.” I patted Buddy’s head one last time then ended the conversation. “Well, uh, thanks. Have a good day.”

As I entered the Tavern, I thought it reminded me of an old-timey saloon, but without all the western memorabilia. Instead, the walls appeared to be decorated with pictures of motorcycles, famous biker legends, and all sorts of Harley-Davidson merchandise.

I couldn’t help but raise my brow as my chest fluttered with a strange excitement.

This bar was exactly what I’d been looking for in Phoenix. Everything was perfect, from the wooden framing to the wide-open room. All the clubs in the city were tiny so you were forced to slide against everyone, whether you wanted to or not.

Feeling pleased with my decision, I decided to sit at the empty bar until the bartender returned. It being so early in the morning, I was honestly surprised to see anyone inside. There was life in here. There was a group who occupied two tables. They looked like they hadn’t slept a wink the entire night, drinking and making merry. The obnoxious chatter didn’t even faze me in the slightest, the grin on my face unperturbed.

The third table I walked by didn’t seem to be having as much fun. Three gruff-looking men, all in leather cuts, were huddled close, their heads forming a circle. There was no merry-making here, only urgent whispers and glares. The bulkiest of the three caught me staring, and it was hard to take my eyes off his bushy beard which was the same color as his unreadable dark brown eyes. I quickly turned away and settled myself at the bar.

The bartender was still nowhere to be found, so I positioned myself closer to the group of bikers.

“What are we going to do?” one of them asked. “They’re gonna get us when our backs are turned, Tank, and you know it.”

“Relax, Crow. We’re smarter than them,” another voice said. It came from the seat closest to me, the bulkiest of the three. “We’re a brotherhood. Not a bunch of junkies.”

“Those Freeway Fucks are gonna get dethroned,” the third voice spat.

I lowered my head, confused at how the words of a stranger could sting. I remembered bright nights and blurry mornings, bitter pills, powder served in lines, money burning away like a lit cigarette. It was hard to separate these with the crew I used to hang out with. It was almost mutually exclusive.

“Junkie” and “brotherhood”.

I couldn’t deny the guilt that niggled at the back of my head. I ran away from that life because I couldn’t keep my sticky hands off the good stuff. Well, the hot redhead told me to. But that didn’t change the truth. That I was a fucked up loner.

Steel Knights Prequel: Chapter 2

Random hookups and murder were among my least favorite reasons to leave home, but heading to Motors and Mayhem, the half-chop shop, half-pool hall home base of the Unchained Dogs Motorcycle Club was among my favorites. I’d been in the club for about seven years, and it was one of the few places in Rumble that brought me any peace. The sounds of bikes being worked on were like music to my ears, all while playing a game of pool and enjoying a glass of brandy.

Perfect.

“Hey, there he is. A Phantom in the night,” Brady “Gearhead” Pietro grunted as I walked in. “They found that one Brutus guy dead in his car. Know anything about that?” I walked right past him, doing my best to ignore him although he was damn near seven feet tall with long, gray hair falling down half his body. He laughed. “That’s Luther’s Phantom for ya. You never see him coming.”

I plopped myself down on one of the barstools at the bar along the back wall that sat perfectly half in the white, tin wall side of the establishment dedicated to the chop shop, and the other half in the dark brown, wood panel walls that made up the pool hall. Rock music filled the place at the moment, but there were a handful of people standing on the stage fiddling with instruments and preparing for a live set.

“Hey, Kitty,” I greeted the thin bartender with chocolate skin and a short, black bob haircut. “A brandy please.”

“You got it, C.J.,” she replied. “How’s Caid?”

“Good. Sleeping when I left.” Kitty slid me the drink along with an envelope, inside of which was likely my pay for the kill. It wasn’t unusual for Luther to pass payments through Kitty because she was discreet and trustworthy. “Three grand,” she confirmed. I stuffed the money into my pocket and then lifted my glass in a toast to nothing before throwing most of the brandy back in one long swig. Three grand for a kill wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t the fifty k I needed for Caid’s treatment.

“Where’s Luther?” I asked.

Kitty nodded toward a door in the back corner of the pool hall and didn’t need to say anything else. It was Luther’s private workshop where he worked on his bike… among other things. Almost as if on cue, the loud whir of a power saw filled the air, followed almost immediately by a blood-curdling scream. No one even batted an eye at the sound. The bikes were the Motors, and Luther was the Mayhem.

Kitty popped out one hip and balanced her arm on it. “Think the poor bastard was a runner for the Steel Knights.”

My eyes shot over to the door and then back at Kitty. “Really?”

“You don’t believe that?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Swirling around the ice in my glass, I imagined those few people I knew were members of the Steel Knights. “Do I think any one of ’em is dumb enough to come wandering into enemy territory all alone? No.”

“I wonder what it’s like in Hoppa,” Kitty said. “You ever been?”

An image of my small, rundown childhood home swam into my mind’s eye. “Nope.”

Kitty nodded over my head. “Your friend is making her way over.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The woman I left with last night?” Kitty nodded. “Do you remember her name?”

Kitty shook her head. “Men,” she scoffed. “Jess.”

“Jess!” I set my hands together in gracious prayer for the nosy bartender. “Thank you.”

Moments later, Jess was settling down onto the barstool next to me. Her hand landed casually on mine and she stroked the back of it while her blue eyes bore into my own. “Hey there.”

Kitty wandered off and I turned and looked Jess up and down. She was wearing a sinfully short black skirt and a white tank top that showed off her perfect breasts. “Hey.”

“You skittered off so quickly this morning, I didn’t get to show you my best asset.”

“Oh really?” I replied. “What exactly did I miss out on?”

Jess looked to her left and right, and then hopped off the barstool and dragged me with her. I relented, letting her pull me through the crowd of patrons and down the hallway behind the bar that led to the offices and bathrooms.

My lower half was already reacting to the impending attention as she pushed against the door to the men’s restroom and led me in, pushing me into the first stall we hit. I didn’t argue as she crouched down in front of me and her hands smoothed up my legs until they got to the button of my jeans.