Fallon by Jessica Gadziala

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

Fallon

 

 

 

 

It would jinx it to say it out loud, but we all felt it.

Things were too quiet.

It was making everyone antsy.

Hell, Dezi had rolled in the clubhouse three times that week alone bloodied and bruised. Because, apparently, if you didn't keep that crazy fucker busy enough, he went to look for some fists to slam his face into.

In lieu of some problem to keep our minds occupied, we needed to get the hell out of the clubhouse to chase another kind of action.

"Anyone up for Chaz's?" I asked, walking into the common room to find Finn, Seth, Dezi, Cary, Brooks, and Slash hanging around, looking bored.

Some of the OG guys were around somewhere too. Sometimes they would drop in for a beer before heading home, but it wasn't often either. It was probably just going to be the six of us. Which was fine. It was the group that made the most sense since we were all single.

Our club had never been big on clubwhores. Mostly because it would piss off our moms and aunts. So if we wanted to get some women, we typically had to go out and find them.

Besides, we were still trying to get to know Slash, who we were eyeing up to open a new Henchmen chapter. It would give us all a better idea of who the man was if we saw him in an environment outside of the clubhouse. And with a few drinks in him.

"Dezi, don't even bother bringing your bike," I said, shaking my head, knowing the man thought if one drink was good, a half a bottle was better.

"Self-control hasn't ever been my strong suit. Any other irresponsible fuckers hoofing it with me?" he asked, eventually getting the others to walk to the bar with him, while I decided to take my bike, only planning to have a couple beers.

I didn't trust the calm.

I guess I got that from Roan, who I remembered spending a good chunk of his time in the glass room on the roof, looking for trouble because he could just feel it coming.

It was something in the air, a frazzled, electric sizzling sensation up and down my arms.

Something was coming.

I wanted to have my wits about me if it happened to show up while we were out on the town.

"You coming?" Finn asked, holding the door open for me.

"Yeah," I agreed, falling into step with him.

"You're distracted."

"Got a lot on my mind."

"Oh, right. Your spidey senses," Finn teased, shooting me a smirk. "You know what would help them? Alcohol," he said, slapping a hand hard enough on my shoulder that he made me stumble forward. The smart asshole rushed forward before I could retaliate, though.

I don't know if it was just part of growing up, or his proximity to Dezi, but Finn had turned into a shit-starter lately. He and Seth came to blows a few times a month over stupid shit. I'd needed to drag him off of one of the Mallick kids a couple months back.

I always figured he had a bone to pick with me because we knew Dad was grooming me to take over the club one day. But time was proving that he just liked to start shit, get under people's skin, and throw hands if it came to that.

He was far from the quiet, standoffish, soft teenager he'd once been.

Which I guess was good for the club.

As much as it was a pain in the ass to keep track and control over men like Dezi, they also tended to be the best assets under pressure. Which was my hope for Finn. All the fucking around was going to help mold and harden him into the kind of brother the rest of us could really count on.

"Not walking?" I asked as Brooks climbed on his bike beside mine.

Where Finn and Dezi were becoming the crazy in our group, Brooks worked as the balance. Calm, responsible, maybe a bit too serious for his own good, he could always be counted on in different ways. He was meticulous, making sure rules were followed and evidence was cleaned up properly, always keeping his cool when the rest of us ran hot.

"I'm not drinking," he said. "I have the morning guard shift," he reminded me.

"Morning is a lot of hours away," I said, shrugging.

"Still," he said, shaking his head.

"Hey, Brooks," I called as he reached for his helmet.

"Yeah?"

"You're in," I told him. "You don't need to keep proving yourself. You're in."

To that, he made some sort of noncommittal noise, started his bike, and pulled off.

I'd known Brooks longer than I'd known the other newer guys, yet I found him harder to get a read on, even after all this time.

On that thought, though, I got on my bike and followed my men to the bar, trying to remind myself that even if I had a gut feeling about something coming, it was alright to unwind a little bit, stop scanning the room, stop inspecting the people who moved in whenever the doors opened.

"Boss Man," Dezi said, slinging an arm around my shoulder, sloshing some of his bottle of whiskey down my cut. "Lots of ladies here tonight. And you're scoping out the dudes. I've walked in on you ramming a woman from behind, so I know you like pussy," he said, making me squeeze my eyes shut to keep calm.

"You walked in on me because you have no fucking manners. You're like a feral dog, going wherever you want to without being invited."

"Oh, but who wouldn't want me around?" Dezi asked, pressing a hand to his heart.

"Me, when I am fucking someone," I reminded him.

"Aw, man, I wasn't doing anything wrong."

"You threw fucking popcorn," I reminded him, still not entirely sure where the popcorn had come from. Unless he'd roped Malc's woman into making him caramel-covered batches or some shit.

"Well, I have my faults," he said, grinning as he released my shoulders, taking a step closer to the bar, leaning forward past Cary who was standing there to look at the woman sitting next to him. "Hey, pretty lady, have you met my friend Cary here?" he asked, jerking his head toward Cary.

And, hey, you had to respect a man who acted as a wingman without even being asked.

"Oh, ah, sorry," the woman said, shrugging. "I don't have daddy issues," she said, grabbing her drink and moving away from a man who, admittedly, could be her father.

"Hey," the woman on the next seat over called, drawing their attention as she patted the abandoned stool. "You're looking for me. Come sit down and tell me what a good girl I am, and how proud you are of my accomplishments," she said, shooting Cary a wicked grin before she took a swig from her beer bottle.

Cary, still somewhat newly out of prison, was happy to be making up for lost time. He shot the woman a devilish smirk as he slid into the seat next to her.

"Good man," Dezi said, slapping his hand into Cary's shoulder. "Alright. I got your little brother and Seth shacked up with some long-legged beauties. Who is left?"

"Brooks," I suggested.

"Brooks headed out a couple minutes ago. The man is allergic to a good time, I swear," Dezi declared, reaching into his pocket for a vape pen, despite there being signs about not using them inside, taking a long drag, then breathing out the smoke into a blueberry-scented cloud in my face. "So that just leaves..."

"Slash," I supplied. "What?" I asked at Dezi's wide-eyed look.

"He scares the chicks away, man!" Dezi declared, voice low.

"Chicks dig scars," I insisted.

"Chicks dig some scars, yeah. But the scars on his face look like a red flag. You know. They almost look like scratch marks, you know?" he said, wincing.

"They're too big and deep for scratch marks."

"Well, you and I know that, but the average woman? Not so much. And if that wasn't enough, there is the dark cloud hanging around him all the time. You think his buddies are the same way?" he asked.

A couple of Slash's men were coming into town for us to get to know before my father and I made a decision about the new chapter.

"Dunno."

"Hope not," Dezi said. "You've been enough doom-and-gloom for us lately," he told me, tssking his tongue at me before turning back to the bar.

It was right then that I turned around.

And fucking Danny nearly rammed right into me.

"Oh, son of a bitch," she hissed, gaze right on me, so there was no mistaking where her disgusted tone was directed.

She didn't have her usual posse of men with her. Which was unusual. Though, I had to admit, there were times when I just wanted to get out of the club, and go out by myself here and there.

It was different now that I was replacing my old man while he stepped back. I wasn't just 'one of the guys' like I'd been in the past. I was almost acutely aware of my leadership role, of how I needed to set an example for the others. It made me more careful about my words and my actions. And after spending my whole life being careless about both those things, it grated a bit to keep that cool. Sometimes, I just wanted an hour or two away to loosen up.

I could see how that could go double for Danny and her club.

Despite my better judgement, I found myself thinking about her club and her position in it a lot more often than I should. It was a unique dynamic. I didn't know of any other all-male MCs run by a woman. Sure, there were a few more progressive MCs around these days that had both male and female members. But that wasn't what the Vultures were like. It was Danny, the lone female leader, and twenty-something men.

Danny.

The most aggravating woman I'd ever met.

Which was saying something because I'd been raised around a bunch of headstrong, stubborn-ass, loud-mouthed cousins. And not to mention my sister.

I was used to women who had no give, who knew who they were, what they wanted, and were all-too-happy to tell you to fuck off if you got in their way.

Which was why Danny shouldn't have been able to get the better of me.

Yet she did.

Almost every fucking time I ran across her.

Including this time.

"Hey, don't sweat it, man," Dezi said, nudging my side with his elbow after Danny walked away. "Being full of that much venom, and spitting it at anyone in her path, that shit is a trauma response."

"It's a... what?" I asked, shaking my head.

"Trauma response."

"The fuck do you know about trauma responses?" I shot back.

See, I said Brooks was hard to get a read on. And that was true. But sometimes, Dezi came out with shit like that, and made you reevaluate if you had him pegged at all. Because it didn't make sense for a careless, crazy, unpredictable loose cannon to know phrases like 'trauma response.'

"Just saying. Can't imagine a chick growing up in an MC had it easy. And getting enough respect to get to be a president? That shit must have left some scars. She takes that damage out on you because she thinks you got it easy."

And to be fair, I guess I had.

I felt I'd paid my dues, pulled my weight, and proved myself.

But there was never any question about whether I was going to take over the MC or not.

I could see if she went through hell to get her position, how she might resent me getting mine more easily.

"Hot as shit, though," Dezi said, shaking his head. "I've only ever creeped on her from the rooftop with Malc and Brooks. But, fuck," he hissed, shaking his head.

To be fair, he was right.

She might have been the most grating woman I'd ever met, but she was also one of the most beautiful. Which was saying something, because Navesink Bank was never short of gorgeous women.

But Danny was in a league all her own with her soft oval-shaped face with a slightly wider jaw, her deep-set blue eyes, and her full lips that seemed perpetually turned in a bit of a frown. And all that was framed by long, soft-looking wheat-blonde hair.

If you managed to look past that face, then there was the treat that was her body too.

She had the sort of body that said she hit the gym pretty often, but wasn't going to turn down a slice of a pizza either. She was fit, but curvy in the hips, thigh, ass, and tit departments.

I'd always considered myself a guy who was into feminine women. Ones in those intoxi-fucking-cating sundresses and heels and cut-off tops and short shorts.

But Danny challenged that belief because she had a more tomboyish style. I'd never seen her in anything but jeans—usually black—, an understated tee or long-sleeve tee, a leather cut or leather jacket, and Converse or combat boots. Nothing soft or girly.

But, fuck, was the woman a gut-punch whenever she entered a room.

Until she opened her mouth at least.

Because after she did that, I was pretty sure I wanted to pummel her, not fuck her.

Then again, though, those wires were a little crossed if I were being completely honest. The attraction and hatred could often go hand-in-hand in a way that made no fucking sense to me at all.

This was the woman who'd had my father snatched off the street, strung up, and tortured. And while we were distracted by trying to find him and take him home, she stole our business out from under us.

Sure, we got a lot of it back, but that wasn't the point.

The point was that the woman had made herself an enemy of the club.

So there was nothing to be attracted to.

But there was no denying that my gaze slipped in her direction more than a handful of times after she arrived. She'd grabbed herself a hightop table for two. And promptly ignored any man who moved in at her side to talk to her. Not even shooed them away. Just straight-up pretended they didn't exist. And when one idiot decided to invade her space and try to pull out the chair across from her, she casually kicked up her heels on it, then shot the fucker a look so scathing that I felt the impact of it from across the room.

She engaged no one but the bartender who switched her from what looked like straight vodka to beer. She didn't even seem to look at anyone, staring instead at the back wall or the TV that was playing old fights.

Most people came to bars for two reasons. To hang out with buddies. Or to meet someone to take home and fuck.

So what was Danny's reason for being at Chaz's if she clearly had no interest in either?

"You fucking her?" Slash asked, snapping me out of my useless thoughts, making me feel immediately guilty.

"Her? No. Fuck no."

"Then can I?" he asked, shooting me a dark smirk.

"No. Absolutely not."

"She doesn't look like the type to spook easily," he said, making me realize he knew exactly what Dezi was talking about with his scars scaring off chicks.

"Yeah, well, she's also the type to kidnap and torture MC presidents."

"No shit? That's her?" he asked, a brow raising. "And no one thought to mention how hot she is? You all said female biker president, and I pictured a middle-aged woman with a bad dye job and nicotine-stained teeth."

"Nope. That's Danny."

"I mean, if you want to get some information out of her, I'd take one for the team," he offered with a smirk. "Or, rather, let her take one for the team."

"She's off-limits," I said, tone brooking no argument, even if most of the guys had agreed with Dezi a while back when he suggested the idea of a honeytrap.

"Alright. Shame, but alright," he said, shrugging.

"How are your men doing on their trip? They almost here?"

To that, Slash let out a snorting laugh. "Fucking Sway insisted on stopping for a night in each state along the way. He's on some mission to bag a woman in each state. But Crow is keeping him mostly on track. They should roll in sometime tomorrow night."

"Sounds like you have a Dezi of your own," I said, waving over toward where the man in question had his arms around two women while chatting up a third. The fucker would likely be able to get in all of their pants, too, despite them being friends.

"We all love pussy, but Sway takes it to a whole different level. Followed his dick into the arms of a cartel member's wife once. Bloody mess, that was," he said, absentmindedly rubbing his upper arm where I'd caught sight of an old, puckered bullet wound scar. Likely one he'd gotten from Sway's mix-up.

Slash tended to do that. Rub the spot where he had a scar when he talked about an old war story. So far, though, he'd never touched the scars on his face. No one had been brave enough to ask outright. I doubt we ever would.

"Luckily, our local cartel kingpin is single," I said, giving Slash a smirk. "But keep him away from Danny, or we're going to have issues," I warned.

"Got it," Slash agreed, casting one last glance at Danny before walking away.

Eventually, as predicted, Dezi left with the three women. Cary left with his chick with the daddy issues. Slash took off ahead of Seth and Finn who were leading girls back to the club.

Leaving me to settle everyone's tabs, as usual, before heading out myself.

I'd had my heart set on a ride. Just a couple minutes of alone time before going back to the clubhouse that was likely full of sex sounds, reminding me how long it had been since I'd had time to bring a woman back for some fun.

And I'd only managed to get half a street away before the bike crapped out on me. Something electrical, most likely. I'd have to get a look at it once I got it back home.

I was just considering if I should roll it home, or just leave it for Repo to pick up in the morning and take back to his garage when Danny happened upon me again.

"Christ, are you always such a b—" I started, too frustrated to come up with anything better to say. Only I didn't even get to say it.

Because bullets exploded in the wall behind her.

"Fuck," Danny hissed, dropping to a crouch as I rushed forward, reaching for my gun even as she produced her own.

"Move!" I snapped, shoving at her as the bullets kept coming.

"Where the fuck are they coming from?" she asked as I all but shoved her into the partially opened gate behind the building.

"Don't fucking know," I grumbled, falling into step with her as we ran down the alley behind the buildings.

"They stopped," Danny said, pulling to a stop, taking a deep breath, looking around.

"They're probably re-load... fuck," I hissed as they started up again, sounding closer. Way, way too close.

Adrenaline sparked off each nerve ending as I looked forward, realizing we were trapped in. The only exit was the direction we'd come in.

"Fuck," I snapped again, mind spinning.

"Let's—" Danny started, trailing off on a gasp as a bullet landed in the brick beside her, missing her by an inch.

Instinct kicking in, I reached down, grabbing her free hand, and pulling her along with me. Finding a small gap between buildings that looked like it led out to the street again, just beyond a gate, I yanked hard on her arm, pushing her forward in front of me, then rushing in behind her.

"Damnit," Danny yelped, yanking on the thick chains holding the gate closed. "We have to climb it," she said, tucking away her gun, and reaching upward to start.

"The fuck are you doing?" I snapped when the bullets started to make their way down the smaller alley. Reaching up, I grabbed the waistband of her pants at the center of her back, yanking her back down, tossing her toward the ground, and covering her body with my own.

Instinct.

It was just instinct.

Protect the women.

It was a phrase woven into the fabric of my soul. It was something I'd heard my father and uncles say too many times to count.

Above all else, we always protected the women.

The difference was, those were our women.

This was a woman who would likely step over my bullet-riddled body without so much as offering to call an ambulance.

Still, the instinct was there.

Of course, it was like trying to help a raccoon out of a trap. They had nothing but claws and teeth and a deep-seated mistrust of your kind.

Danny pushed and shoved and scratched.

"I don't need you to fucking protect me," Danny hissed, raking her nails across my neck as I held her down.

"Shut the fuck up," I whisper-yelled at her, reaching down to press a hand over her mouth, not wanting whoever was shooting to know we were still alive. But if they were going to come to check, I wanted to be able to hear them approach as well.

It wasn't until the woman elbowed me in the goddamn ribs that I released her. Mostly out of shock.

"There's a door, you fucking idiot," she snapped, glowering up at me as she pointed across the narrow alley toward where there looked to be a basement walkout to whatever the fuck building it was above.

The chances of it being open were slight.

But better than staying sitting ducks in the off chance it might have been left unlocked.

"It's the old record store," Danny reminded me.

Which meant it had been abandoned since before I was born.

I highly doubted whoever owned it was diligent about keeping shit locked. Kids probably used the basement to get drunk and high all the time.

"I'll go. You... charge a-fucking-head," I sighed as she rushed out from her crouched position, and made her way toward the door, reached down, and yanked one of the doors open.

Not entirely trusting her not to leave me stranded in the alley while she was safely tucked into a basement, I darted across the alley as well, charging down the steps after her, then reaching up to yank the doors closed, blanketing us in complete darkness as I fumbled for some sort of lock.

"It's right here," Danny said, pushing my hand out of the way as she moved in behind me, sliding something loud and metallic into place.

"It won't hold if someone is determined to get in here."

"No shit," Danny agreed, reaching for her phone to turn on the flashlight. But one look around said there was nothing to use to barricade the doors. "Well, at least we will be the ones with the shooting advantage if someone tries to follow us in," she said, tone casual. "Plus, cinder block walls are pretty decent protection, depending on the type of bullets they're using."

She sounded way too calm about the whole thing.

How many shootouts had she been a part of in her life?

Had she been shot?

Had she shot anyone?

It wasn't my business to wonder.

But I was wondering.

"What are you doing?" she asked as I reached for my own phone.

"Texting my men to see who is sober enough to come out and investigate," I explained, shooting a text to my father, making sure it was clear that—for the moment—I was unharmed, knowing my mother would worry. "Not texting yours?"

"At this time, I imagine only one is sober enough. I guess I should tell him anyway," she mused, shooting off a much shorter text than my own. "For the record, don't you ever put your hand over my mouth like that again," she said, resting her phone on a ledge to give us the barest amount of light, just enough to allow us to see each other's faces. "Unless you want me to break it," she added, chin angling up.

"You're welcome, by the way," I shot back.

"For what?" she snapped, rolling her eyes. "You're not riddled with holes, so you didn't actually protect me from anything."

"I pulled you off that fence," I said, voice raising. "What the fuck were you even thinking?"

"Oh, gee, I don't know. That staying in a dead-end alley with an active shooter pinning us in was maybe more risky than climbing a puny little security fence?" Danny said, voice getting louder to match mine. "I don't know what kind of white-gloved training you got, Little President, but it clearly didn't prepare you for a real-life shootout."

"Cut that shit out with the name-calling, Danny. I've had e-fucking-nough of it."

"Yeah? Well, how do you think you're going to stop me?" she asked.

And right then, right that very moment, that was when I lost my motherfucking mind.

Because I figured out how to stop it.

With my mouth.

On hers.