Death Lords Motorcycle Club: Annie, Michigan, and Easy (The Motorcycle Clubs Series) (15 page)

T
he business
in Minneapolis takes longer than we anticipated. Junior swears up and down that his brothers are being set up by a rival gang. We don’t know many cops up here and neither does Junior so we can’t buy anyone off. It looks like a couple of these guys are going down on weapons charges. The best we can do is hire them a good lawyer and move their assets.

After Wrecker has a talk with the two soon-to-be felons, we take the cage to the three different safe houses. They’ve got a stash of cash, drugs and some weapons which we’ll take to a cabin in Detroit Lakes. There’s a cellar that only the Death Lords know about and we’ll stick everything there.

Both of the club brothers will get about four years. It sucks, but they’re young. Better to make those mistakes when you’re twenty than when you’re forty.

It’s four in the afternoon by the time we get done transferring everything to the private cellar. Wrecker and Abel climb into the cage and head home while Michigan and I stop to make a phone call to Annie.

“That’s funny. Annie’s phone isn’t working. Says it’s disconnected.” Michigan holds up the phone and I hear the distinctive
beep beep beep
of a line not in service.

“Let me try.” I pull out my own phone and dial her number but I don’t even get the disconnected signal. Instead an automated voice says “This number has been disconnected. If you believe you have reached this message in error, please hang up and try again.”

“Something’s fucked up.” Michigan looks grim.

“Maybe she’s getting a new one along with a new apartment.” I toss my phone in the saddlebag and throw a leg over the seat of my bike. “Let’s go get our girl.”

When we get home, though, the house is completely silent. There’s no dinner on the table, not that there needed to be, but there isn’t any sign of Annie anywhere. She’s not sitting in the living room or lying in either of our beds. The bathroom is empty.

We go down to the unfinished basement and there’s no one there either.

“What the fuck?” Michigan snarls.

“Her dad has her,” I conclude. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” He grabs my arm as I’m climbing the basement stairs. “What if she decided it’s too much. That she doesn’t want to live with us?”

“Then she tells it to our faces.”

Only when we get to the house, the old man refuses us entry. “She’s not interested in seeing you.”

“I’d like to hear that from her.” I try to look past him but he’s a big fucker and fills the doorway.

“She said to give these to you.” He holds out the two bracelets. “Now please leave. We aren’t interested in your kind anymore. Annie’s praying and seeking forgiveness for her behavior.”

Michigan snatches the bracelets up.

“I still want to see her,” I repeat. Michigan is ready to believe that Annie has rejected us, but I’m too stubborn or stupid to leave. “And I’m not leaving until I do.”

“If you continue to remain here, I’ll have you arrested for trespass.” He slams the door in our faces.

“Let’s go,” Michigan says.

“No.”

“She doesn’t want us, man.”

“So you’re giving up?” I walk around the small house trying to pinpoint which room is Annie’s.

“I know when to cut my losses.”

There. On the upper left side is a window covered in lacy curtains. I mean, it could be her old man’s. “Don’t you think it’s fucking strange that he won’t let us see her? I’m calling Pippa.”

To avoid getting arrested, I stroll to the sidewalk. For all of Michigan’s complaints, he’s not getting on his bike and leaving. I know he’s not ready to give up no matter what he says. He leans against his bike and lights up a cancer stick. Fuck, I gotta get Annie out of that house.

“Hi, Easy. Shouldn’t the three of you be too busy to call me?” she laughs throatily.

“I’d like to say yes but Annie wasn’t at our house when we got home and her old man is telling us that she doesn’t want to see us.”

“What? I thought she was with you all day. I told her that I’d take her over to meet Judge but when she didn’t show or call me, I thought you guys got home early and were, um, celebrating.”

“No. So when’s the last time you saw her?”

“Last night. I drove her straight home from your place and waited in the car until the front light came on and her dad came to the door. God, I hope nothing happened to her.”

“I called her phone and it was disconnected.”

“Oh,” Pippa’s obvious distress bothers me. Something is wrong. “Should I come over and see if I can talk to her? I’ll tell her dad it’s library business.”

“Let me call you back.” I hang up and turn to Michigan. “Pippa hasn’t heard from her since she dropped Annie off. We need to go back.”

“And do what? He’s not letting us in. We should just knock the preacher over and bang on her bedroom door until she gives us a reason why she isn’t coming over like she promised?”

I nod because that sounds like a dandy idea but before I can say another word, my phone rings. I answer immediately without looking at the screen.

“Annie?” I bark into the phone.

“No, Abel here.” The low voice of the Marine is definitely not the one I wanted to hear.

“What’s up?” I scrub a hand over my face. I hope we don’t have club business that needs attending to because right now, I’m not in the fucking mood.

“Your grandmother’s here.”

“Here? At the granary?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. Tell me that everyone is clothed.”

“Everyone’s got their clothes on but some of the guys’ jimmies are rustled so you might want to get her on the phone and see what she wants.”

“Will do. Thanks.” I hang up and dial my grandma’s phone. Thank Christ for Judge’s stupid “no nudity on the first floor” rule.

“Hello there, Van, how are you?”

“Grandma, isn’t it late for you? What are you doing at the granary?”

“Honey, just because I’m a member of the AARP doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a late night or two but actually, I came out here to find you. I confess I’m worried about your librarian friend.”

“Annie?”

At the sound of her name, Michigan straightens up and flicks his cigarette on the ground.

“Yes, her.”

“Why’s that?”

“Mrs. Erickson lives by the parish house, you know, and she said the other evening she heard some yelling between Annie and her father, Pastor Bloom. So we went over to the church to see her today and her father looked very agitated. I asked about her and he said that she was sick. Perhaps you could look into it for me. I’m just so concerned.”

“What aren’t you saying, Grandma?” She wouldn’t just call me up because her neighbor overheard some yelling.

Grandma hesitates and then says, “Mrs. Erickson thought she saw Pastor Bloom go into his cellar with a big bag. A really big bag—and he never goes into his cellar. She found it very odd. I’m sure it’s nothing, Van.”

Holy shit. I shove the phone into my pocket and run around to the back of the house. Annie’s house has external cellar access meaning the cellar doors are on the outside of the house. The two small slanted doors are covered with a bright new padlock.

“What’s going on?” Michigan asks. He’s been right behind me the whole time.

“Annie and her dad were heard fighting last night. She missed an appointment with Pippa.” I kick the cellar door, testing its durability. There’s a little give. The doors rattle against the foundation and the lock.

“So what?” He’s impatient and staring at me like I’m a crazy man.

“Later Mrs. Erickson saw Pastor Bloom carry something big into his cellar. Something real big.”

Michigan stares at me until he processes just what I’m accusing Pastor Bloom of. He bursts into action. Together we start kicking in the door, right around the padlock. We just need to weaken one side. I don’t want to shoot the lock off because, fuck, I’m not a sniper and I might miss and fucking hurt Annie if she’s inside.

“You stop that right now,” Annie’s dad bellows, appearing at the backdoor.

“You open this cellar right now,” Michigan snarls.

“I’m calling the police. You have entered my property without permission.”

Michigan’s on Pastor Bloom in about two strides. “You do that, fucker. You do that and you’ll have to answer to the whereabouts of your adult daughter. Now where’s the fucking key to the fucking door?” Michigan is holding Pastor Bloom by his collar and the stiff white cardboard thingy in his shirt has popped out. His face is red, partly from anger and partly from Michigan’s death grip around his neck. Michigan’s holding on by a thread. I know he wants to end this guy’s life. We’ve already had one Death Lord go to prison for three years. We don’t need to lose another. It’s one thing to kill a biker who needs killing and it’s a whole ’nother ball of wax to kill a preacher. You get the death penalty for shit like that.

Even though I don’t want to, I pull Michigan back. He drops the preacher man who gasps for breath. Michigan wheels around and goes back to kicking the door in with a ferocity I’ve never seen before. The lock plate loosens and Michigan reaches down to fling one of the doors open. Pastor Bloom gets up and tries to stop him but I jab my elbow into his windpipe and he falls back once again.

I run over and dive down the cellar stairs. It’s dank and musty and dark. The cellar is made half of whitewashed brick and half cement with a dirt floor.

On a table in the middle is a body and a bucket.

“Oh, baby,” I whisper.

Michigan is at her side before I draw another breath. Her back is so much raw meat. Her arms hang down over the side of the table with marks and bruises everywhere. She’s purple and raw. Her face is turned away. I round the table and nearly crumble. One eye is swollen shut and the other is closed. Her lips are torn and puffy. Michigan and I will have to carry her out of here.

A low animalistic keening sound echoes in the basement. At first I think Annie’s conscious but then I realize the wounded cry is from Michigan.

“I’d have taken a hundred beatings to prevent even one of these from happening,” Michigan says with anguish. He’s already killing himself inside.

I swallow my own bile. “Let’s carry her out on the table.”

“Are we taking her to the hospital?” Injuries in the club are often treated on the side because gunshot wounds and the like are required to be reported to law enforcement. But I want law enforcement to know. I want them so far up Pastor Bloom’s ass that he can’t take a shit without needing the LEOs to take his cuffs off.

“Damn fucking straight we are.”

Michigan nods grimly. “Let’s get the ambulance here. They can start an IV.”

We carry her out slowly, careful to keep the jostling to a minimum but I nearly die when she moans as we have to tilt the table to make it up the stairs and out of the cellar. Pastor Bloom is sitting on the edge of the back steps and it takes every single ounce of willpower not to go over there and rip his fucking head off his neck.

I pull out the phone and start dialing emergency services but stop. Schmidthead hates the Death Lords so much he doesn’t care about civilian casualties. It would not surprise me if an emergency call from a Death Lord is overlooked or delayed. I call my Prez instead.

Judge picks up immediately. I explain the situation.

“Call the sheriff, bypass the locals,” he replies. “Need any help right now?”

“No, not unless you can magically heal her.” I hang up and call the county sheriff. “We need a county EMT team out to Pastor Bloom’s house ASAP.”

“What happened?” he demands.

“Pastor Bloom beat his daughter up and she’s in a bad way. You need to turn up the sirens and get your asses out here.”

“Pastor Bloom?” He’s incredulous.

“I know,” I say and then sever the call.

The EMT team arrives within fifteen minutes and given they came from the next town over, they must have been going at least a hundred.

The two folks—one man and one woman—work with quiet efficiency, starting a morphine drip and loading Annie into the back of the ambulance. Every whimper and moan is like a dagger.

We follow her because making sure Annie’s alive is more important than beating the piss out of her old man. There’ll be plenty of time for retribution. The question is how much we’re going to mete out.

I
spend
a week in the hospital. It was all surface bruising but they kept me four days because of the number of lacerations. My father was arrested. Apparently they found the belt and the paddle in the trash along with the helmet, my boots, and the remnants of the torn T-shirt.

Michigan and Easy haven’t left my side. The hospital staff tried to kick them out but they wouldn’t go.

When I’m discharged they don’t take me to the small house they share but to the club.

“Why are we staying here?” I ask mulishly.

“Stuff going on at the house.”

I try not to take it personally.

I don’t like staying at the club. For one thing the bedrooms are on the third floor. Michigan and Easy ended up carrying me with me sitting on their hands. It was weird and awkward and I’m not doing that again. The pain in my back and legs makes it hard for me to get around so I’ve been stuck on this third floor. But I don’t have much energy for much of anything but peeing and sleeping.

Worse of all neither of them touch me.

I’m both embarrassed and mad. Embarrassed because everyone around Fortune knows my father beat me when he found out I’m sleeping with two men at the same time, and mad because I’m feeling embarrassed.

Truth is that if I’d heard something like this about another parishioner I would be scandalized. I can only imagine what the town gossip machine is saying about me. From saint to sinner in a matter of days. Fastest fall in the Midwest.

On one hand I get that I am too tender for any kind of bedroom antics but holding my hand isn’t out of the question. Michigan looks at me like he wants to break something and I wonder half the time if he’s mad at me because I should’ve run out of the house or fought off my dad.

And why didn’t I?

I don’t even know.

Easy keeps asking me if it happened before. Getting paddled on the ass for disobeying? Sure. Getting beaten so bad I need stitches and a hospital stay? No, that’s a first.

All of his corporal punishments were directly related to behavior that should be corrected. He had a heavy hand but I never saw him as abusive, except for that one time when he lost his temper. I never gave him cause to lose his temper again. I try to tell Easy and Michigan that but my words only make them angrier.

I want to go home but there is no home.

My only relief is when Pippa comes. “Thank goodness you’ve come. Please tell me you are rescuing me and taking me away from here. I tried hanging my hair out the window but it only reached to the windowsill.”

She laughs. “Rapunzel, your handsome princes are here. Why would you want to escape?”

“I don’t think the princes want me here anymore.”

“Ah,” she says and runs a soft, comforting hand down my hair. “They’re afraid of losing you and they’re real angry. Judge isn’t allowing them near your dad these days and they’re itching to get revenge.”

“Is he still out on parole?”

“Yes. How do you feel about that?”

“Really mixed up,” I admit. It’s hard to bury twenty-three years of love for one’s father even after he beat me senseless. Some screwed up part of me thinks it’s my fault, that I caused him to lose his temper again. But I don’t ever want to see him again and I think he should be punished in some way. I just don’t know what’s right anymore. My world’s been shaken like a snow globe. Pieces of my life are falling around me and I don’t know which ones I should be gathering and putting back together.

“Be patient,” she advises. “Both with yourself and with the boys.”

It’s easy advice to parcel out but a lot harder to implement. I decide to lie down on the floor and stretch my back. It itches and aches and is generally uncomfortable. Pippa showed me a couple of easy yoga moves to help ease my aches—both in my mind and my body.

“Whatever you’re doing, I like it,” Easy says from the doorway.

I look between my legs. “It’s a downward dog yoga position.”

“Perfect name,” he smirks. I drop down to my knees and roll onto my butt.

“Didn’t know you were still interested,” I grumble. In his hands he’s holding a helmet. It’s just like my old one which is currently in the evidence room at the county jail. I’m not even going to make a guess at what it means because I don’t want to get disappointed.

“Baby, if I was any more interested my dick would fall off. Now get off that sweet ass and come for a ride.”

I press my lips together but I can’t stay mad in the face of Easy’s smile. “Yes. God yes.”

He folds me in his embrace and every hurt I have disappears. I raise my face to his and he plants a deep, wet kiss on my lips. When he breaks away, I’m tipsy from his love and he has to grab my shoulders to steady me.

“Come on. Don’t keep your other man waiting,” he says with a grin.

I slide my hand into his and walk down the two flights of stairs, my heart full but light with joy.

Michigan’s waiting by the bikes in the courtyard in front of the granary. He holds out a leather jacket with one hand and I gasp at the rockers sewn on the top and bottom of the back.
Property of
the top rocker reads.
Death Lords MC
curves up from the bottom to frame the flaming skull design.

Then he pulls out two leather cuffs from his back pocket. No one says anything. No one has to. These are my claiming bracelets. It was only a few weeks ago that Easy laid his on the counter at the Brew Ha Ha offering me what I would later learn was a new life. I’ve felt naked without them. Wordlessly I hold out my arms and Easy comes forward to slide the bracelets over my wrists.

“We’re claiming you, Annie Bloom.”

After the bracelets are fastened, Michigan helps me slip into the leather jacket. It fits perfectly, snug around my breasts, nipped in at the waist and ending right at the top of my hips. With exquisite tenderness, Michigan leans down and gives me a long, toe-curling kiss. He breaks away and I glimpse his wonder and happiness before Easy plants his lips on mine. We kiss equally long and they have me so discombobulated that I don’t even realize that the front barn doors of the granary are open and the other members of the Death Lords are standing inside clapping and hooting for us.

Michigan raises my hand in the air and repeats Easy’s earlier vow. “We’re claiming Annie Bloom.”

Happily I climb onto Michigan’s bike and we roar out, the throaty growl of the bikes drowning out the celebratory cheers of the men behind us.

“I could walk faster that this bike is moving,” I yell into his ear as Michigan motors slowly down the road.

“You’re pretty mouthy,” he calls back.

“Being quiet never got me anywhere.”

He grunts. When we get to the house, there’s a big green dumpster in the driveway. Some kind of construction is going on.

Michigan cuts the engine and I slide off. Easy takes up one hand and Michigan the other and together they lead me to the rear of the house. The entire left side of the house is completely open and there’s a cement slab running perpendicular to the end. Two-by-four walls are bolted to the slab.

“What’re you doing?”

“Adding on.” Easy’s grinning like a kid at Christmas. “Figured we would need a bigger bedroom for all three of us. We knocked down the wall to Michigan’s bedroom and we’re building this addition. It’ll be our suite with an attached bathroom. We’re putting in a nice big shower and bathtub so we can take care of our girl right.”

They walk me through it. The addition makes the house an L shape. In the middle will be a patio and there are sliders that will open onto the patio from both the kitchen and the bedroom. Inside the bedroom there will be high transom windows so light can come in but prying eyes will be kept out.

“There’ll be a place here for you to read and then the bed,” Easy points out. “Along the wall opposite the bed we’ll have a long bookcase.”

“For books?” I tease.

“And a television,” Michigan admits sheepishly.

“We’re getting a custom-made bed so we’ve got plenty of room for all of us. Over here is your walk-in closet and Michigan and I will share the opposite one. We don’t got a lot of shit.”

“I don’t have a lot of…shit, either.”

They exchange grins at my unpracticed cursing.

“You will when we’re done with you,” Easy boasts.

Inside they show me the shower space. “It’s seven feet long and four feet wide. The bathtub is just as big.”

“Fits four,” Michigan says. “Or three really active people.” Then he winks at me. My heart is near bursting with happiness.

W
hen the roof
goes up and the walls are together I make us move back in. I’d rather be in our own house than at the club. Easy puts two mattresses on the living room floor. It fills up the entire space but it’s better than nothing.

I finally convince them to make love to me.

Easy lies on his back and Michigan is behind me. They are as tender and gentle with me as if I was a newborn kitten. They do all the work and I just lie there between them, a happy Annie. The lucky inside part of a hot man meat sandwich.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” I chant as they thrust into me, filling me up with lust and love and ecstasy.

“Love you too, baby,” Easy groans against my chest.

“Always and forever, sweetheart.” Michigan’s voice is hot on my neck.

After almost three weeks of no sex, it doesn’t take long for me to come all over them. Always and forever. Best words I’ve ever heard.