Bed of Roses (Devil Savages MC) Page 4

  “Sandman, have a Prospect take her home,” Tonto commanded. He was surprised at her reaction, but even more so at how she walked away nonchalantly. The girl was a delightful challenge to figure out.

  Much to her surprise, Sandman just nodded. For such an alpha male, he answered to Tonto with respect. She had heard the clubs worked like a monarchy but hadn’t understood how a bunch of egos could work and follow instructions by other even bigger egos.

  “Oh, thanks but I don’t live far from here. Really. I need my car. There are things I have to do tomorrow.”

  “Have someone follow in her car. You aren’t driving tonight.” Tonto raised an eyebrow when she opened her mouth to protest again.

  “I—”

  “Will see you tomorrow.” He finished for her and stood to usher her through the door. She nodded, too tired to argue. Hell, not only had she worked herself to near death, add in the fight and hardcore orgasmic kisses that only happen under the safety locks of her imagination, there wasn’t much steam left for her to walk much less risk pissing him off. She had to remind herself they were still a hardcore gang. Sandman didn’t say a word as he led her out the door and downstairs where some of the club members hung at the bar. He whistled and three men came scurrying over.

  “Prospect Joe, I want you to drive Rose home. Prospect Brent, follow in her car. She is under your protection.”

  “Yes, sir,” they both said and turned to her. “Are you ready?” the one Sandman called Joe asked.

  “Yeah, thank you.” She followed them out the door to the cars, half-weirded out to get in with a total stranger but too damn tired to care.

  “What’s your address?” Rose rattled it off, and buckled her seat belt, glad he had opted for a car and not a bike. She hadn’t rode a bike in a long time but the idea of having to hold on wasn’t appealing. The ride home was almost impossible to stay awake. Her last little bit of self survival kept her alert enough to know he wasn’t taking her to the desert to kill her, but there was no doubt she would be out the second her head hit the pillow. The car stopped and she thanked him, glad to see her car pull up in the driveway behind her. It took all of a minute for her to get inside and go straight to the bed. The hot wicked dreams of Tonto and Sandman started before her eyes closed, sending her into a restless night of longing and lust.

  Chapter Four

  Saturday night had been disappointing to say the least. Rose had worked the fights and earned another huge chunk of cash in tips but instead of being ecstatic that things were looking up financially, she was disappointed. The whole night she had hoped either Tonto or Sandman would make an appearance but neither did.

  She had made friends with all of the girls, which was nice, and totally new territory. It had been years since she had other women to hang out with besides her sisters, and it had been enjoyable. With work and taking care of her siblings, her social life had been shoved out the window. They all seemed to accept her openly, which defied all of the things she had thought about the MC life. They were just regular women…who happened to be open about sex. Most had no intention to snag their very own bad boy to try to civilize. And best of all, Krista hadn’t shown the entire night.

  The next morning, she had put in their order with Gerald holding high hopes they would still show and weren’t avoiding her. It was silly to think they had given her a second thought after their little run-in, but deep inside she half hoped she had crossed their minds at least. She damn sure couldn’t get them off hers. Everywhere she looked, her heart jumped at every Native American with similar build until they turned around only to disappoint. As pathetic as it was, she glanced at the clock once more, noting that in less than two minutes they should be arriving. She smoothed her clothing and pinched her cheeks, checking her reflection in the glass pie cabinet when the door chimed.

  Five Savages strolled in, consuming the room. Tonto and Sandman scanned the area, both stopping their gaze on her with such heat her knees threatened to give under her. They deliberately stared her down, taking their time before turning to walk to their usual table. Rose couldn’t help but sigh. Neither smiled or showed her any hint of emotion, but under their cold hard stare, she felt it. Somehow her imagination ran with that snippet of information, turning what could have been them checking to see if she made it to work on time into a show of affection. Pathetic. Get it together, Rose. They are here for breakfast, not you. She reached up, grabbed the coffee pot, and bolted toward them, nearly sloshing the hot liquid down her front. Thankfully no one had seen her trip over her own feet.

  When she arrived at their table and proceeded to pour their coffee, all eyes turned on her. Tonto, Sandman, Chief, Tonka, and Yo Neg all accepted the hot liquid with a nod. She fought to find her voice, and cleared her throat hoping she sounded casual. “Good morning. Can I get you anything else while I grab your orders?”

  Tonto smiled to himself, picturing her served up on a platter spread eagle in the middle of their table. He watched her fidget, holding her head tall and her shoulders squared. For such a delicate thing, she was tough as nails. Even standing on stage in front of five leather clad, tattooed, gnarly bikers, she didn’t fold. “Nothing from the kitchen…” He let his eyes wander up and down her body, lingering at the hem of her skirt and tracing up to stop where her nipples hardened behind the thin material.

  Rose felt her nipples pucker, she hoped her bra would conceal her secret desire but blushed when the corners of Tonto's mouth tugged up into a smile as he met her gaze. Despite her blush she nodded and turned to fetch their food. Damn that man. He was fully aware of what he did to her, and the ass insisted in trying to make her look a fool in front of everyone. She needed to show she wasn’t one to fold to her knees and bow down to him, mouth open and begging. He might be Mr. Important badass biker man, but she still held some dignity and dammit, no man, or men in this case, would have her begging. Balancing all five plates on a tray, she strutted back to the table, making sure she gave them a good view of her pert cleavage the new bra she found on sale at Fredericks of Hollywood provided. From the way they all eyed her chest, looking past their steamy eggs and sausage, it worked. The low groan that came from Sandman was sweet satisfaction. She intentionally brushed against him as she reached across to set the plates down, allowing the side of her breast to push against his arm. What she hadn’t expected was for him to lean in and whisper where the others couldn’t hear. “I’m takin’ this as an open invitation, Rose. You’re starting a fire you can’t handle…” He brushed his lips along her ear, allowing her to feel the warmth of his breath.

  Her face heated and a shiver straight down to her core. The others pretended not to notice, but from the cocky smirks they all sported, they knew good damn and well what was happening. To make matters worse, Tonto said, “We are having a little get together tonight. Come out to the clubhouse after your shift. I’ll send one of the Prospects to escort you.” It wasn’t an invitation, but a statement. She contemplated refusing, but given the five hard set expressions pointed in her direction, she thought better of it. Rose was hard set on not taking orders from any man, but unfortunately, when she wanted to go it made it hard to refuse. Add in the promising glances the two men gave her, there was no way in hell she could even if she tried. Nope, it was time to get a leash on her life and do what she wanted for once. No regrets. No expectations. These men wouldn’t give her a true relationship and she knew it. If she wanted a good hard fuck, they would oblige. Before she could back out, she nodded. “Thanks…I will.” The group turned to their food and ignored her, falling into conversation. She took her cue and left, smiling inwardly. They could put on the dickhead front all they wanted…hell, she knew they were assholes. And as crazy as it made her, it turned her on more. Damn she was twisted.

  *****

  Tonto walked down the hallway of the casino to the elevator, observing his surroundings as he went. Tonight was Rumble, and after finding the bag of drugs on Lisa, Chief’s middle daughter, there were much things to
discuss. Over the past six months, the Diablos had been popping up everywhere. Now, the fucking beaners had gone too far. The Savages were an outlaw club, showing all that they ran into they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted with their three separate patches on the back of their cuts. No matter what not so legal or criminal activities they did, drugs weren’t a part of that. It was their duty to keep drugs off their turf, but the fucking bangers had signed their death wish selling their laced shit close to the high school. Lisa was a Junior in high school and had bought weed thinking it would be harmless. The harmless weed sent her straight to the hospital. Instead of being laced with LSD or speed like most, the sons of bitches had dipped it in morphine and salted it with rat poison, hoping it would target the Savages. The cockroaches' first mistake was to sell in their territory—their last was to harm one of their own. Any ol' lady or kid of a member was part of the overall MC family. Every man would lay down his life for the MC and anyone who they consider family.

  The top floor of the casino had been reserved for the important club meetings, or Rumbles. Out of town they owned a club house that was used for the easy shit and parties. Once an old hotel that dated back in the 1800s, the space had been totally gutted and remodeled to a modern mansion of sorts with all of the bells and whistles. For a group so rough and rowdy, the place was a total contradiction. It housed over three hundred, supplying rooms and a full kitchen for entertaining for not only themselves but other visiting chapters and allied clubs. There was a bar area and multiple furnished hang out rooms far enough out of the public eye the rough and rowdy crowd could live it up.

  All of their locations had the top of the notch security, but the casino offices had the most. When he walked in, the others were already starting to gather. Rugger, one of the patched members, tossed him a beer. “Hey, P, how’d things go at the Pit last night?”

  “The juice was thick, bro. Triple what last week brought in.” The ‘juice’ that he referred to was the club’s earnings off interest from money loaned for the bets, and from bets themselves. So far, the after dark underground fights had managed to bring in more than the regular MMA fights that were held in two short months. With the extra money came extra problems. Besides the normal shakedowns and collecting, drugs had begun to pop up. There was no doubt the same scumbags who were selling on every street corner within a hundred mile radius was responsible. They had taken it personally when the Mexican fucks stepped up on their toes and had been running clean up to get rid of them. Like cockroaches, you could snuff out a few, but the little bastards kept multiplying. It was time to up the forces.

  “Okay, I’d like to call Rumble to order. First thing we need to go over is Chief’s daughter, Lisa. Lisa has been hospitalized from the bad smoke she picked up on our streets. Tell me what the fuck is wrong with that.”

  "One of our own getting hurt from someone on our turf, P,” Prospect Brent volunteered.

  “Right. One of our own has been hurt on our land. This shit is unacceptable. I want these muther fuckers gone, like yesterday. Take them out with any force necessary. I have an inside source who has the same perspective as we do about this little infestation. Same shit going on there. We have an opportunity to combine forces and take the leader out and end this all.” He waited for questions, knowing that any talk of working with someone on the outside would be worthy of discussing. The Savages trusted no one. Some of the other clubs shared a mutual respect, and had often asked for the Savages’ help from time to time. Trust wasn’t to be confused with respect. However, Tonto trusted this particular group a little more than one of their own allies.

  “What patch do they wear?” Twelve Gage, one of the clubs patched members, asked.

  “The Ops Warriors.”

  “How well are you willing to put our rep on the line that they are legit?” Zeus, another patch named for his love of electrocuting, quizzed.

  “Enough to know we share the same enemy. Mr. Stands lost to us at the casino gambling and we called in his marker, threatening to take his daughter as payment, he had given her over without a second thought because he evidently made the same deal with the Diablos. Nothing like the love of a father more worried about his own hide. Anyway, the girl, Freedom, took off and we put those feelers out trying to locate her to put pressure on him to pay. Rumor has it she showed up at the Ops Warriors and they've taken a liking to her, which places the Diablos on their doorstep too. We may have used the girl as a threat, but I don't think those slimy fuckers were, they were promised the girl and they will collect her. The Warriors know that and we know that, making both our clubs indirectly involved with the 'coke camels'.

  "The drug trafficking has never been a part of the Warriors or the Savages, making the Diablos the common denominator. They aren’t just a threat to our family, but to women and children in our community. If we don’t put an end to it, civs will see our cut around and automatically associate us with them. We don’t need heat. What we do is our business. Five-O doesn’t have what it takes to fix this shit. I wanna put it to vote. Those for siding with the Warriors say aye.”

  The room all echoed “aye”, leaving a unanimous vote. “Good. The next point of business is the shipments we’ve lost. The past two trucks have been hit, if the Diablos are stockpiling weapons, things are going to turn into a blood bath.” Tonto watched the entire brotherhood anger at his words. It was no joke that all were willing to die for their patch, but they’d be damned if the other bastards didn’t blaze in the pits of hell first.

  “When is the next load due?” Colt, one of the younger patched members, asked, gripping a beer can so tight it crinkled.

  “Tomorrow night. We are going to pay the Diablos a little surprise visit.” Tonto knew his request didn’t need to go to vote. When it came to protecting the patch, there was no question every single brother both here and from the other chapters would die to defend it. They lived by a strict set of rules contrary to what outsiders might think. Nothing broke their code.

  “What’s the game plan?” Tonka inquired.

  “We are going to intercept the Diablos while another crew of Savages is waiting for them to unload the cargo.”

  “Why not intercept when they heist the trucks?” Sandman said, his head cocked to the side.

  “We don’t need to make a scene. Things are going to get bloody. The cops are the last people I want to explain to. It’s time they get a taste of who the fuck they are dealing with.”

  *****

  Three hours passed of strategic planning. A few of the brothers were ex-military, giving them an upper hand on both tactical offense and defense. The Diablos didn’t stand a chance. With half of their forces stationed at the drop-off point, and the other half going in for an ambush at one of the Diablos' clubhouses, they were locked and loaded.

  “Movement at the front entrance. Wait for the signal,” Rugger whispered into the radio while he looked out from his spot behind a dumpster in the alleyway. As a patched member and part of the ‘security team’, his training came in handy. Rugger had served in the Marines for over a decade, his training came in handy. The MC had turned his extreme PTSD into a positive asset instead of it being problematic as it had proved in the real world.

  “Get ready,” Sandman added.

  The four blacked out SUVs pulled up in a row, disappearing behind the huge retractable garage type door as it shut behind them. Tonto and his crew were inside the huge warehouse, waiting until the cargo was revealed. They had discovered crate after crate of weapons not only from their supply but from other clubs as well. The telltale stamp on the one he hovered behind was none other than the Ops…the Devils rivals and the club his half-brother ran. Not many knew why the two clubs had such bad blood running between them. Fork, the Ops VP, had been raised by his rich father and their mother, leaving him and his dad to fend for themselves. When the news came out their mother was pregnant with a bastard son, Fork’s father had insisted she hand over custody before Tonto was even off the tit. Tonto and his
dad were left to fend for themselves, living in such poverty the sewer rats had it better. The moment he turned eighteen, Tonto had worked his fingers to the bone up the corporate ladder to save enough money to start the Devils legacy. With the help of his best friends, Chief and Sandman, they had combined their life savings and with the help of state funds, the casino was born. After that, they were able to expand, opening the fight club and other businesses they ran. Between those assets and the funds that came from side security jobs for local businesses, the Devils’ territory was the second largest in the United States with chapters being established up into Canada.

  The doors opened and damn near twenty Mexicans piled out. “Cockroaches,” he whispered under his breath. They unloaded the crates out of the back, opening them to reveal their lute—the Devils’ weapon shipment. Tonto passed a glance to his left to Duke, another patched member. He shared the same scowl on his face as Tonto. It was time to show these bastards not to fuck with the Savages. Tonto gave the signal, sending the Devils into action. Before the Diablos knew what hit them, the sound of guns being fired filled the air, dropping their numbers to even the playing field. Sandman, Colt, Rugger, Twelve Gage, Bull, and Duke stepped out into view, encircling them and blocking off any escape route they might have.

  Tonto strolled out casually, tomahawk swinging at his side. “Well, well. Look what crawled into our territory with our weapons, boys.”

  “Si, fuck you, amigo. These are ours now. The Diablos are moving in. First we take your guns, your territory, then your bitches,” the short stocky dude who had stepped up as leader drawled in a thick Spanish thug accent. His age along with his banger attitude revealed his status as unessential. Of course the pansy fuckers wouldn’t send anyone of importance to do the dirty work.