The Filthy Few (Iron Disciples MC) (21 page)

Cade’s friend shows Stacy and I to a large walk-in closet
where we pick out a couple simple outfits. Then Stacy takes one bathroom and I
take the other. As I’m standing in a stranger’s bathroom peeling my clothes off
I am even more shocked. These clothes will have to be burned. No fucking way
can you get them cleaned? There’s just too much dried blood and other shit. One
more time my stomach roils and I end up bent over the toilet heaving but
there’s nothing to come out. I don’t feel any better until I’m under the hot
jets of water. I look down at my feet watching the water that’s sluicing off me
go from pink to clear as the last remnants of blood are washed away. Now if I
could only make the same thing happen with my memories.

I’m just about to turn off the water when I hear the
bathroom door opening. That was fast.

“Stacy?”

“We’re you hoping for Stacy?” Cade asks, as he strips off
his own bloody clothes.

“Ha, you wish I wish. Sorry, but that’s not gonna happen.”

“One can always hope.”

Seconds later the door opens and perfection steps into the
streams of steaming water. One more time I am amazed at his body. Not only are
his muscles phenomenal, but the array of ink on his back, chest, and arms is
pretty fucking incredible. The way different themes interlock and melt into
each other is nothing short of a masterpiece. Makes me want a tattoo.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“You’re a living canvas.”

“Yeah…I get that a lot.” He replies without thinking.

“Really?” I ask, immediately getting jealous. Who else has
been privy to his ink?”

“Just you now babe. But I won’t lie. There have been…a lot
of women. But since the first time I was with you I haven’t been with anyone
else and not because there haven’t been opportunities.”

Time to change the subject. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Act so casual after what happened today. Everyone is
fucking devastated but not you. You’re even cracking the occasional joke and I
can only wonder do you lack the capacity to feel or are you a fucking
psychopath?”

“Neither babe. I have just learned there is a time for
everything. There’s a time to cry and a time to laugh. There’s a time to be
strong and a time for weakness. The key is figuring out when is the right time.
You cry when you should be strong and confidence is lost. You laugh when it’s
time to cry and you scare others and you fuck yourself up in the process. When
the time is right I’ll grieve my brothers, but that time is not now. As my old
lady I suggest you learn that or the life will fuck you up!”

“But how do you do that? How do you cry at the right time
and how do you get strong at the right time?”

“It takes practice. After something like this, the next time
you’re alone with time on your hands you dwell on what happened. You sit in a
dark room and think about it until it rips your soul apart. Then you cry. Then
you scream and vomit up the filth you saw today and the things you did today
and you stay there until there’s nothing left. Then you walk out with your head
held high and you help everyone else deal.”

“Wow!”

That was pretty fucking profound! And I think he’s right.

“So next time you’re alone Morgan, you have yourself a good
cry or a good scream or both. That’s how you take care of your soul. The life
will eat up your soul and spit it back out and there’ll be nothing left of you.
Got it?”

“Yeah…problem is, I haven’t been able to shed a fucking tear
since my mom died with I was 13. It’s been a dry fucking well since then. Even
when my dad died around a year later. I still couldn’t cry.”

“Yeah, that’s not good. Keeping all those feelings trapped
inside is a poison Morgan. You gotta get that shit out!”

When he joined me in the shower I thought we were going to
have ourselves a watery fuck-a-thon. Instead it turned into a talk-a-thon. We
ended up staying in the shower until the water ran cold. Then we dry as fast as
we can and he scoops me up into his arms and carries me over to the bed. He
sets me down and for a moment my eyes feast on his rock hard body. When my eyes
find his cock my hand drifts down to my pussy and my fingers begin circling
around my little button. Cade leans down and grabs my hand.

“Later babe. I gotta go. We gotta a meeting in the clubhouse
in ten minutes.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You used up our fuck time
talking bullshit in the shower?”

“Bullshit?” He asks.

“Okay, it wasn’t bullshit, but do you really gotta leave me
here like this?”

“I really gotta do it.”

“Well you know what happens when you leave your old lady
like this don’t you?”

“What?” He asks me.

“I end up fucking the first thing that comes into my room.”

“Well let’s hope it’s not the family dog then.”

“You better hope it isn’t ‘cause I’m not sure you compare.”

“Goodnight babe.” He says as he finishes dressing.

“You’ll regret this.” I mummer as my fingers begin to change
my sour mood.

“Get some rest. We’re going to be on the bike for a long
time the next five days.”

“Fuck you.”

“Later.” He says as he walks out.

We’re traveling as a large pack tonight. Cade prefers sheer
numbers over trying to slide under the radar. I’m guessing there must be about
35 or 40 guys and another 15 or so old ladies and a half dozen or so club
whores who are apparently here as a gift to the club Cade is patching over. Too
sooth ruffled feathers is I believe how he put it. We’re going to patch over
the Black Knights MC. Cade hopes that we’ll gain about forty new members to add
to his charter. But that’s not the only club he is after on this little road
trip. There’s two other smaller clubs he wants to absorb. If luck is in our
favor he figures we’ll end up with about 60-65 new members and hopefully at
least 20 of those will be willing to relocate immediately. Of course in times
of war we hope that about 60 will temporarily re locate but you can’t really
count on that much. People after all have jobs and not everyone is completely
tied into the club for 100% or their earnings. We’re also meeting with one of
our Southern California chapters who are bringing in a fresh supply of guns and
ammo for the war effort. Cade estimated that we lost about twenty men today who
either died or betrayed us and went to the Outkasts. That’s some fucking heavy
losses for a single evening.

We ride all through the night and into the morning before we
get to the Black Knights clubhouse. They have been expecting us. I thought the
patch over meetings and subsequent party would pretty low key and not be until
the evening but it got underway the moment we landed. Stacy and I are afforded
special honors since I am the President’s old lady and my new best friend Stacy
is under Shooter’s protection. Prospects from the Black Knights wait on us hand
and foot along with Prospect Blonde who is still broken up over the murder of
his best friend Prospect Red.

Turns out the men need to blow off a little steam. This is
not the kind of party that starts slow and picks up momentum until it rages.
This party literally explodes into action! Four giant speakers belt out
Metallica’s Enter Sandman and leather clad brothers throw down shots as James
and Kirk shred on their guitars. The threat of violence fills the air as outlaw
bikers deal with loss and prepare for revenge the only way they know how. 

During the break between two songs I hear the rapid pops of
someone firing a gun outside. Several other guns join in just before guitars
drown them out again. I get that this is not your typical patch over taking
place here today. It’s one born of desperation and revenge. It’s a little like
conscription was in the old days of the military and not all those are happy
about the new leather being forced on their backs. Not everybody here knows me
or my status in the club so tongues wag freely around me. I’m not too surprised
to find not everyone stands behind my man. There are some who would prefer the
leadership of his younger brother. I feel like I should say something to Cade
but he is off somewhere, probably cementing old alliances. I’m not sure what to
do here.

“Need anything?”

Prospect blonde is at my elbow waiting for my answer and I
have a sudden inspiration. I lean forward and literally shout into his ear what
I have been picking up around me. He’ll be able to get it to Cade if anyone
can. Now I can relax, have a drink, and enjoy the party. Before long I notice
that there seems to be one principle person who is sowing the seeds of
discontent. I look around, then spot Prospect Blonde and waive him over.

“You give my message to Cade?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Well I got another one for you and this one’s real
important. All the trouble seems to be coming from one source.”

“Good work! Who is it?” He asks.

I point out a scary looking dude who is not much taller than
he is wide. He has shoulder length kinky greying hair and a beard. He has a
tattoo of a Black Knight sitting astride a horse on the left side of his neck.
You can’t miss him. He’s constantly surrounded by pussy; young pussy. He must
be paying because he’s far too ugly to get it willingly.

While the party rages I watch to see if my words we’re taken
seriously or not. I have to wait about twenty minutes before a small group of
guys make their way over to the big man. I see that Shooter, the clubs Sargent
at Arms is with them. He walks up and says something to the man who shakes his
head and starts to walk away but Shooter’s men deftly position themselves
around the doomed man. They walk out the back door and out of sight. I just
wonder if my snooping around has cost the man his life.

I don’t have to wait very long before the men come back in
and I’m not surprised to see that the big ugly man is not with them. Shooter
catches my eye and makes his way through the throng of bikers and babes over to
where Stacy and I are standing. He steps in close enough for me to hear him
over the noise.

“Thanks for the tip Morgan. He was trying to recruit for the
Outkasts. I think he figured people would listen to him on the heels of
everything that happened in our clubhouse. Guess he thought the time was ripe
for insurrection. If he would have known us very well he would have known that
this kinda thing only knits us more tightly together.”

“What’d you do? I ask not really sure if I want to know the
answer or not. “Kick him out?”

“It’s best you don’t know sweetheart.”

The old me would have needed to see the blood splatters on
his boots to actually believe that they harmed him in any way. But the old lady
Morgan doesn’t have to look down to know that the big ugly man is going to turn
up in a ditch on the outside of town somewhere. The question is…which am I? Am
I Cade’s old lady who just accepts everything or Morgan Swift financial advisor
who never in her wildest nightmares would have been party to anything illegal
or at least on the fringe of society and outlaw bikers are the definition of
the fringe of society. I pull up from my own thoughts just as Shooter escorts
Stacy towards a crowd of bikers, old ladies and whores dancing and drinking. I
don’t even think twice when someone hands me a joint. I inhale deep, gag, and
cough. On the third try it goes down smooth. Well, as smooth as marijuana can
go that is. I pass it to the nearest pair of hands, not bothering to see if the
hand’s owner is even over eighteen. That goes to show just how far I have
come…or just how far down I have slid. It’s a slippery slope I am treading me
thinks; a very slippery one indeed.

The new brothers are easy to spot, with their brand spanking
new Iron Disciples cut on. When I wander over to the bar I notice a stack of
well-worn Black Knights cuts stacked on a shelf. I am curious to know how many
walked out of here still wearing their Black Knights cut or if they were even
allowed to wear it still. My guess is no.

I’ve never been high before. I believe one hit off that
joint would have sailed me right through cloud 9 and well on my way to cloud
99, but I had to take three hits. I’m surprised I can for coherent thoughts.

There’s a cute looking prospect manning this end of the bar
so I approach him and ask.

“Where’s the blow?”

He actually drops the cigarette that was pursed between his
full lips.

“What?” He asks. He looks at me like I have just suggested
everyone here sacrifice their first born in the name of the club.

“The blow…you know, coke. Cocaine?”

“Oh shit. Did you take a hit on that opium laced Thai weed?
I heard that shit was strong.”

“Opium what?”

“Uh…never mind. You’re Cade’s old lady right?”

“Yeah that’s me the big wigs old lady. But you can call me
grandma…or granny for short.”