Wrong Side of the Tracks by Ashley Zakrzewski

ChapterFour

Hawk poured the glass water down the sink’s drain with one hand and dialed his prepaid phone. While he wished Izzy had drunk the water, from the haunted look in her eyes, she probably needed something stronger. Lord knew he needed something stronger. This situation was beyond fucked-up, and it was time to clue in the club before things got out of hand.

While waiting for Eagle to answer, Hawk leaned his ass against the counter in the minuscule galley kitchen. It’d been a long time since he’d been in the place, and needed some serious renovation. It had a two-burner stove, a mini fridge, and a sink that would barely hold her tea kettle. In the only cabinet above the stove, he found a small collection of clean dishes, glasses, and one small pot. He checked the fridge only to find a few cans of seltzer water and a dried up lemon.

He slammed the fridge door just as the bells from the church down the street rang out twelve times, signaling midnight. In all the weeks they’d been fucking each other like wild bunnies, he’d never once asked to see her place. At the time, he hadn’t cared where they were as long as they were naked. But now he understood why she’d never offered. She had all sorts of secrets. And considering what he knew of her stepfather, it had to have been hard for her to go from extreme wealth to extreme poverty.

While he kind of understood her not sharing her background—hell, he’d not told her anything about himself or his family—he was also hurt. They’d not only had a lot of sex, they’d spent countless hours in each other’s arms whispering about random things. Maybe he was hurt because he was just realizing that the things they spoke about were, actually, meaningless. And if that was the case, did that mean their fling had been meaningless as well?

He was used to meaningless sex. Except for some reason, until the day she’d left him in that motel room, maybe he’d subconsciously begun to believe their time together had been more than just a random hookup. And why was he just figuring this out now?

Eagle finally answered with an annoyed, “What?” Loud noise in the background meant that he, along with the rest of their brothers, were still in the bar below.

“We have a situation.” He moved toward the window overlooking the back parking lot and laid out the problem of Izzy, her stepfather, and the possibility of Black Jacks in town. The only thing he left out was the fact that he’d been fucking Izzy.

“I really don’t give a fuck,” Eagle said. “That poor little rich girl ain’t our problem.”

Hawk rubbed the back of his neck. “If Black Jacks have followed Izzy into our town, you better fucking believe it’s our problem. So much so that I’m rescheduling church for tomorrow morning. I want everyone around the table at six a.m.”

“No.” Eagle’s laugh sounded like a bark. “Acid won’t be back until noon, at the earliest. And you can’t just change church time without the president’s okay.”

“Acid might not come back until Monday night. He’s dealing with an issue with the club charter in Kingsmill.” Kingsmill, the small mountain town where Hawk had grown up, was two hours away. It was even smaller and more desolate than Ravensburg, if that was even possible. “I’m in charge until he gets back. I want everyone at the Powder House, around that table, at six o’clock. Make it happen.”

Hawk hung up before Eagle could give him more grief. Yeah, it was Saturday night and in a few hours all of his brothers would be sitting at that table with serious hangovers. But if that motherfucker Nine was in town, the club had to be told.

He threw himself into the leather chair that sank beneath his ass due to broken springs and no padding. Then he propped his boots on the small coffee table that groaned beneath his weight and made another call. Cali, the prospect who’d been chosen to watch the clubhouse instead of partying downstairs, picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, Hawk. What do you need?”

Hawk leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He always appreciated a prospect who did what he was told, stayed sober, and made himself available for whatever the club needed. “I’m in the apartment above Rebel’s Refuge. I need you to get here at 5 a.m. to relieve me.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

Hawk opened his eyes and surveyed the crummy apartment with no power, no booze, and no food. “Bring lots of coffee and jelly donuts.” He glanced down the hallway toward where Izzy was sleeping. “And a few chocolate croissants. Chicks like those, right?”

If Izzy was as rich as he suspected, she would probably appreciate a croissant.

“I suppose.” Cali cleared his throat. “A man stopped by the clubhouse earlier tonight. I met him outside the gate, and he said he knew you from Salem. I didn’t tell him anything and sent him away. But I thought you should know.”

A rush of adrenaline burned through Hawk’s veins, and he stood. “What did he look like?”

“Tall. Dark hair. A scar over his left eye. He rode a Dyna and wore leather riding gloves with knuckle holes so I could see his knuckles were tattooed. I couldn’t make out all the letters, but one hand definitely had the tattooed letters A,C,K. I’ll mark the security footage so you can check it out tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” He walked back into the bedroom. The flickering candlelight showed Izzy was sound asleep, wrapped beneath a stained blanket. He smelled her signature lavender scent and noticed her body cream near the candle. One hand lay on her pillow, near a small handgun. He had to admit he was impressed. He’d not figured here for a gun-toting woman. But that also meant she was scared enough to wake up and find it after he’d left her. Since he didn’t want her accidentally shooting him if she woke up disoriented, he took the gun for safe keeping. When he turned, he noticed something on her hand that glinted in the candlelight. A silver ring. She’d not been wearing it earlier that evening. He understood sleeping with a gun. But who put on jewelry to go to bed? “Did the guy say anything else?”

“No. He just gave me a creepy smile, got on his bike, and rode away.” Cali lowered his voice. “Is this going to be a problem?”

Hell-fucking-yeah. Hawk carried her weapon and returned to the family room. “Don’t worry about it. Just make sure all the security cameras are on and everything is locked up. Then grab a few hours of sleep and meet me here at five.”

“Okay. See you in a few. Stay safe.”

After hanging up, he took off his cut and placed it on the counter, next to Izzy’s gun. Then he settled into the world’s most uncomfortable chair. He took his own gun out of his back waistband and placed it on the chair’s armrest. Although he was always armed, the tight, sickening feeling in his stomach warned him he might never feel safe again.

* * *

Loud knocks woke up Hawk, and the flickering lamp confused him. It didn’t help that his neck ached and his body had stiffened in the uncomfortable chair. That meant it took him a long minute to get up, turn off the light, and make his way to the door while the door pounding continued. At least the electricity had come back on.

“It’s me,” Cali yelled from outside.

“I’m coming!” After checking the security peephole and seeing Cali’s tall, lanky body outside, he unlocked the three bolts and opened the door.

Cali, with his long blond hair held behind his neck in a rubber band, held a cardboard tray with four coffees and a white bakery bag. He entered with a wide smile, his blue eyes sparkling. For some reason, the prospect was always in a good mood. “You look like hell.”

Hawk ran a hand over his head and grimaced. He smelled like it too. “You try sleeping in a broken chair all night.”

Cali chuckled and placed the tray on the counter. Then he handed one of the takeaway coffee cups to Hawk. “You probably need this.”

“I do.” He checked his watch. Five o’clock. Exactly. Not bad for a prospect. Then again, serious prospects who wanted to become fully patched members aimed to please. “I’m glad you’re on time. Where did you park? I didn’t hear you pull up?”

Usually the roar of motorcycle pipes woke him instantly.

“I left my bike behind the coffee shop,” Cali said. “Not sure why. Just felt safer.”

“Good.” He took a long drink of the hot coffee and sighed in satisfaction.

“This is for you, too.” Cali took a roll of paper out of his back pocket and handed it to Hawk. “After what you told me last night, I did some research on Ian O’Cleary and OCL Enterprises. I also marked the security footage. When you return to the clubhouse, you can check out last night’s visitor.”

“Thanks.” He opened the roll to find over twenty pages of information, printed in single-space and on both sides of the paper. He rolled it back up and shoved it into his back pocket. “I’ll read it later.”

“Cool.” Cali took one of the coffees and sipped. “Food is in the bag.”

“Good.” He took a long drink and closed his eyes. His stomach wasn’t quite ready for breakfast yet because he felt like he’d been beaten with a broken bottle. It didn’t help that he’d not had any kind of release last night—neither sleep nor sex. “I’m heading back to the clubhouse. In the meantime, stay with Izzy until I return. She’s asleep now and I didn’t have a chance to tell her you’d be here this morning. So when she sees you, she might be upset.”

Cali’s smile disappeared. “She’s not armed, is she?”

Hawk motioned to her gun on the counter. “That’s hers. But don’t give it back until you’re sure she won’t shoot you.”

Cali stared at the small weapon. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Hawk finished his coffee and tossed the cup into a nearby trash can. Then he grabbed his cut and slipped it on. “I’ll be back by ten. Don’t let her leave this apartment. Or your prospect days are over.”

Cali nodded, and Hawk left the apartment. Because he was on the top floor, he could see the town in all directions. Most of the buildings, built between the Revolutionary War and WWI, were squat, brick structures no taller than the white church steeple that punctuated the end of Main Street. Or the beginning, depending on the direction you were riding.

Sunrise was thirty minutes away, yet the eastern horizon held a hint of pink and purple as it slowly woke up. The western view of the Shenandoah mountains was still dark and shrouded in shadows. Around him, the city slept—except for the coffee shop across the street. The coffee shop/bakery, Raven Black, owned by a retired-and-grumpy Marine, opened at four a.m., a gift he and his brothers appreciated. Since it was late July, the summer’s heat and humidity was already stifling the town.

He hurried down the metal stairs and found his bike near four others. At least four of his brothers, including Eagle, were passed out in the bar. He didn’t care where any of them slept, but as he mounted and hit the ignition he silently ordered them to church by six. He didn’t want to hear any excuses. If they didn’t show on time, there’d be consequences.

His bike roared out of the parking lot, and he headed toward Main Street, not unaware of how the sound of his engine broke apart the morning calm. He’d always loved the morning hours, before the town woke up. Especially today. Even the few hours of sleep he’d had had given him some clarity on the situation. And that clarity told him the situation with Izzy was probably far more dangerous than he’d first considered.

A few minutes later, he drove down a long road that led away from all civilian houses and businesses. He only stopped to punch the security code into a panel adjacent to the high rolling metal gate that protected the compound. Once the gates rolled open, he pulled into the center concrete courtyard that Renegade Motors shared with the MC’s clubhouse and watched as the gates locked shut again. Every time he drove through the gates, he wished he could thank the club’s founding members, including his grandfather, for their foresight.

The entire complex was called The Powder House because the main brick building between the clubhouse and the garage had once been a Revolutionary War era house that had held black powder and weapons. During the Civil War, it had been a hospital. In 1880, the Southern Railroad Company purchased the property and bought the land around it to use as the railroad’s storage facility. They also built the ten-foot concrete wall around the complex with a metal gate as the only way in or out.

During WWI, the city bought the property back and used it as an army recruiting station. During the depression, it became a boarding house. WWII turned it into a brothel, then a firehouse. In the 1950s, a local investor bought it to build a no-tell motel on the property. Finally, about fifty years ago, the founders of the Devil’s Renegades bought the entire property, including the old motel on one side and a garage that once housed extra rail cars on the other side.

Over the decades, the club had spent hundreds of thousands on renovations. The old railroad storage facility had been turned into the enormous garage that housed their club’s main legal business: Renegade Motors. The Powder House became their social hall, with a bar and game rooms on the first floor, and a large room—the chapel—for church on the second floor. Offices were on the third floor. The old hotel, connected to the Powder House through an underground tunnel, now housed every club member who wanted a room, plus a few guest suites. Every bedroom had a bath, and the kitchen could feed a small, hungry army. The original lobby was now their weight room, and the backyard pool still worked, although it leaked and required constant maintenance.

Hawk parked near the garage, in his designated space, happy to see most of the bikes resting in their proper places. He hated acting like a kindergarten teacher, but as VP, part of his job was to keep track of everyone and make sure no one was in trouble. Since it was Sunday, the garage was locked up tight and no employees were around.

It didn’t take long to reach his room, take a hot shower, and head down to the kitchen where a very good prospect—probably Cali—had set the timer on the coffee machine. Over a hot cup of coffee, he read through the material Cali had printed out, making notes in the margin with a pen he’d found on the table.

At five-forty-five, he finished his second cup of coffee and wished he’d take one of the Cali’s donuts. He really needed the sugar rush right now.

“Hey.” Thor shuffled into the kitchen. He held his laptop under one arm while he ran his other hand through his long dark hair that hung to his shoulders. Today the brother wore low-slung jeans and his cut over his bare chest. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Coffee.” Hawk threw his pen across the table. “Are the others awake?”

“I think so.” Thor poured himself some coffee and leaned his ass against the counter. He held the mug with two hands as if afraid he’d drop it. “I heard movement.”

A loud bumping sound came from the ceiling. At the same time, they both looked up and said, “Twitch.”

Hawk carried his mug to the sink. “I don’t know how, as a fully grown man, Twitch still falls out of bed when his alarm goes off. He’s like a teenager.”

“Horny as one, too.” Thor cleared his throat and motioned to the doorway leading to the bedrooms. “Good morning, ladies.”

Three scantily clad women, all wearing various types of black lingerie, hovered in space between the kitchen and hall, clutching each other. Three different heights. Three different hair colors. Three different body shapes. The one thing they all had in common? Giant tits. Hawk glanced at Thor who was probably right. The chances were very good that these women had come from Twitch’s room.

Hawk motioned to the women to come in. “We’re leaving. Kitchen is yours.”

Thor winked at them. “When we’re done with church, a hot breakfast would be nice.”

The women giggled as Hawk passed them to leave the room, and he sneezed. They even smelled like Twitch’s aftershave, a cross between lemon detergent and leather polish. Two minutes later, Hawk led the way into the chapel—the large room on the second floor of the Powder House that they used for church, aka mandatory club meetings. Hawk sat in his assigned seat, on the president’s left. Thor placed his laptop on the table and sat across and one seat down from Hawk.

“What do you think the chances are that those sweet butts will make us breakfast?” His stomach rumbled at the thought.

“Pretty good.” Thor pulled a cigarette and a lighter from the inside pocket of his cut and lit up. “One of them is working on Twitch to become his old lady.”

Hawk nodded. He didn’t care either way, as long as they made him eggs and bacon. He checked his watch. “It’s six o’clock. Everyone else is late.”

“They’ll show.” Thor took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew out a smoke circle. “What’s this all about anyway?”

“We got trouble coming.” He could feel that truth in his gut as he smoothed the documents on the table. “Can you check the security camera footage from your laptop? Cali said he marked the time when a visitor showed up last night.” He hated admitting that he wasn’t exactly sure what Cali had meant by marking the time, but luckily Thor was their resident computer expert.”

Thor opened the laptop and started typing. “I see it.” He frowned as he scrolled. “What am I looking for... holy shit.” His eyes widened and he swung the laptop around so Hawk could see the frozen screen. “Is this what you mean by trouble coming?”

Hawk pulled the laptop closer. At ten-thirty last night, the camera had caught a man beneath the security light outside the front gate. He wore a black beanie and his black leather jacket had no markings. But the man’s profile was visible, including the scar that ran across his cheek from his lips to his ear. It was Nine, the Black Jack’s Sergeant-at-Arms and infamous asshole. “Fuck.”