BANE: A Devils' Due MC Romance Novel (2 page)

“Mind ‘yer own business, gramps,” I told him.

His grin immediately abandoned his face as he gave me a frightened look.  He even cowered a little.

“Sorry, Bane... I just... admire... how you get those chicks, s’all,” he nervously apologized.

“Whatever, gramps.  I don’t have time for this shit.”  I handed over a five dollar bill as tip.  “Got an important...
business meeting
... to attend.”

“Wait!” he stopped me as I was about to proceed to my bike.

“What?”

“Uhm... I think I need your help,” he softly continued as if he was guilty for calling my attention.

“My... help?”

“Yeah... I got a... uhm... small problem with some goons who’ve been harassing my business.”

“Lemme guess... teenaged border crossers who’re lookin’ for a good time?”

“I wish it was that simple.  They’re Russians actually.”

“Russians?”

“Yeah.  Two of ‘em.  They keep coming back to force me to sell the motel to some real estate company that’s planning to convert this lot into a damn shopping mall.”

“How’re they harassin’ ‘ya?”

“Just minor threats, really.  More irritating than scary.”

“Minor threats?  Like they’re gonna beat ‘ya up or somethin’?”

“No.  They mentioned nothing about inflicting personal harm.  They’re just intimidating me about messing up the place.”

“Heh!  Small time thugs.  They ain’t part of an organized group, I can tell ‘ya that.”

“Yeah.  But they’re darn annoying.  I was just wondering if... well... if you can teach them a lesson or something like that.”

What?!
Peterson’s gone senile!  He probably got confused and thought that I was a fucking cop.

“Listen gramps... teachin’ some goons a lesson ain’t my concern.”

“Bane... I was wondering if... you know... maybe you or your club can do this for me.  I know I’m not rich.  I can’t pay you guys for this job.  But I can offer you rooms at amazing discounts whenever you feel like bringing in some girls for a few hours of loving.”

He was starting to get on my nerves.

“Look, Peterson... ‘ya ain’t payin’ us protection money, right?”  I reminded him.  “We offered ‘ya protection before - many, many times before - and ‘ya always declined, right?”

He didn’t answer.  He just bowed his head, ashamed it seemed, and that told me everything I needed to know.

“‘Ya ain’t our client,” I continued.  “And this mess ‘yer in... it ain’t our concern.”

“But... you’re the local MC!” he pleaded.  “Aren’t you supposed to... I dunno... protect the folks in your territory?  Do some
social work
to plant your roots in your area?”

I laughed.

“Gramps... ye’ve been watchin’ too much of that television shit!” I told him.  “What will ‘ya say next?  That we’re all supposed to look like Brad Pitt?  Now, I have to go.  As I’ve told ‘ya earlier, I ain’t got time for this crap.  I got some business to take care of.”

“Can you consider it, at least?” he continued to beg as I began to walk out of the lobby.

“Nope,” I answered as I exited.

Trevor took the point on his customized FXR Tour Glide, with the bitch pad removed to convert it into a softail.  It was beautiful.  Expensive too.  I guessed being the club VP had its perks. 
One day
, I promised myself,
I’m gonna get one of them sexy beasts
.  Right now, though, I was content with my Sportster 1200.  Cheap, but serviceable.  The brothers teased me about it.  They said that my chopper was too mainstream - it was like the fucking
Boy Band of Harleys
- that they should kick me out of the club just by riding it.  Heh!  One of these days, I’d get myself a better ride and I’ll make ‘em eat their words.

Trevor led me to Willowville which was a suburban area at the heart of Holland, a great residential place with cozy houses blessed with a fine view of Lake Michigan.  There was nothing middle-income about this community.  The people who lived here - judging from the pretty shanties that lined up the streets - were earning well.

We stopped at a bungalow house at the farthest end of the subdivision.  It was the only building on the block.  It wasn’t as snug as the rest of the homes in this joint, but it was far better than what I was used to.

“He lives here?” I asked Trevor as soon as we parked our rides.

“Yeah,” he coldly replied.  He removed his helmet to reveal his medium-length hair, beach-blonde and all.  He stroked his beard which he, just recently, decided to grow.  The Veep was a young lad, way younger than I was, but he had good leadership skills.  At twenty-six and with no military background to speak of, he was nonetheless a brilliant tactician and a fan-fucking-tastic motivator, the best we ever had.  Loco didn’t have a hard time in choosing him when he won the
challenge vote
three years ago.  That was a bloody time, an end to the
Dark Ages
, as the brothers have labeled it.  Thankfully, Loco has had a smooth reign since then.

“Wow!  Renzo has it made!  I’m impressed!” I expressed my surprise.

“He always was good with the money he earned.”

“Too bad it’s gonna go to waste now, eh?”

“Yeah.  That’s a pity.”

Pity indeed.  At sixty-five, the old fart was one of the two remaining
graybeards
in the club.  Before his betrayal, he was the most respected member, as well.  But he just had to squeal.  Fuck him!  I dunno why he suddenly became a traitor, but the club isn’t kind to rats.  From the moment we wore a prospect’s patch, we were trained to hate rats with all our hearts. 
Rats are the lowest forms of life
, we were made to believe.  They deserved to die.  It’s the way we live.  It’s how we preserve the integrity of the club.  It’s how we ensure our survival.

Trevor made sure that his handgun was loaded before he left his bike.  He pointed his nose towards my belt to instruct me to do the same.  Then we walked towards the house.

I had Two days to prepare for this moment.  Two fucking days since the
Due Process vote
was made.  Yet, I’ve never felt so damn anxious my entire life.  And every step I took only made me even more nervous.  It’s one thing to kill someone who did us wrong.  It’s another to take the life of a brother... even if he turned his back on us.

“Should we knock?” I questioned as we reached the doorstep.

“I guess.  It’s the polite thing to do.”

I did the honor.  I tapped on the wooden door thrice, but no one answered.  So, I curled my hand into a fist and slammed it against the surface incessantly.

“Come in,” a voice from inside said.  It was unmistakably Renzo’s.

Trevor turned the knob.  Sure enough, it was open.  We went in and walked past the divider in front of the door.

Renzo was in the living room, sitting on a couch.  His long, graying hair fell over his eyes, but it failed to conceal the black circles that formed beneath them.  He was in a somber mood, as if he just finished praying.  He didn’t even bother to look at us, more so greet us in the manner that brothers have been accustomed to.

And he was holding someone in his arm.  A girl, in her teens, and...

She’s actually very pretty.  No, not just pretty.  She’s fucking gorgeous!  Long, light brown hair tied in a ponytail, blue eyes, lips so soft and full, milky complexion... shit!  She looked so... so... so immaculate, especially with what she was wearing, a yellow Sunday dress.  And the way she was sitting lifted up the bottom part of her clothes a bit, enough for me to glimpse at the smoothness of her flawless legs.

This girl...

For some strange reason, she made my jitters disappear and replaced them with heebie-jeebies of another kind.

I hope she’s not a fucking jailbait!  She’s a walking wet dream!  I’d give up my left nut just to bang her!

I’ve been with hundreds of women before... and that’s not an exaggeration.  But right now, it’s so damn different.  This girl... I think she’s the first one who caused a lump to form on my throat.

Nah.  It’s probably because she’s just too young... young enough to be my own daughter...

Young enough to be like Lala...

I weakly shook my head as I tried to get my mind back in the game.  Now wasn’t the time to get a boner over a chick who was sitting beside the man we were supposed to deal with.  That shit’s gonna mess up my head, and we couldn’t afford any mistakes.

“Renzo, what the fuck?!” Trevor yelled at him.  “Why is your daughter here?  She’s not supposed to be here.  We’ve talked about this.”

Daughter?!
  That delicious thing was actually a product of the rat’s sperm?

“It’s alright,” Renzo replied unemotionally, still with his eyes fixed somewhere away from us.  Her daughter was staring at him, though.  She had a very worried look on her beautiful face.  “She was born at the clubhouse, Trevor.  Have you heard of that story?  You’re too young, too new, to be there.”

“Yes, yes, I was told of that,” Trevor acknowledged.  “One of the
mamas
administered her birth because you couldn’t bring Lorna to the hospital.”

“I’m glad you know that, my friend,” Renzo responded.  “She was born at the clubhouse.  I raised her with club money.  My entire house is adorned with the club’s colors.  She knows everything.  And she deserves to know what’s going to happen.”

“Papa, please...” the girl pleaded as she tightly held her old man’s arm.

“It’s okay, pumpkin,” he told her.  “This is how it has to be.”

“Renz, I don’t think this is gonna be fair for her,” Trevor tried to reason out.  “She’s too young.”

“But she is part of the club,” Renzo argued.  “She is family.  And even if things... didn’t work out... she should remain family.”

Trevor could only shake his head in dismay.

It was only then when it struck me.  Were we really going to do this with the girl present?  That’s terrible... even if I’d consider all the sickening things we’ve done for the club throughout the years!

“Veep, I dunno... this sounds really wrong,” I had to share my concern.

“Yes, it does,” Trevor agreed.  “Renzo, this ain’t how we do things.  You know that.”

“Then bring her outside before you do it,” Renzo said.  “She doesn’t have to see.  She just... has to be here.  She just... has to be with
you
.”