Page 13 of Watcher

Diablo wipes her mouth and takes a drink of beer. “She left with some guy.” That’s all I get before the two return to practically eating each other. Diablo drops her hand to the guy’s crotch and squeezes his dick. The biker returns the favor by dropping his hand and squeezing Diablo’s thick crotch. When the zippers begin to come down, I slide away and head to the exit.

The night air is thick, heavy, and humid. Haze hides both stars and the moon.

“Hey, sweetheart,” a man says and steps from the side of the bar. A second and third man join him. They aren’t bikers; at least, they aren’t dressed like the men inside the bar. A fourth man gets out of a van and opens the back doors. “What say you take a little ride with us? Go hang out by the river.”

“No, thank you.”

Two men walk around the car when they realize which car belongs to me.

“You don’t have a choice,” the first man says. He pulls a knife from his back pocket and shows me the blade. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s your call.”

“Hardway.” Watcher comes down the steps from the bar, and the two men around the car join the man who likes to talk. “Get in your car and go, Jessica. Go straight home and don’t look back.”

I start to say something stupid, but he holds up a hand. “Okay.”

“Go.”

I climb into my car and back out of the parking lot. As I leave, I look in my mirror and see the four men start toward Watcher. I turn my eyes back to the road and press the gas pedal, tears filling my eyes.

How many times will a man get shit on and still try to save your life? Two? Three? I didn’t suspect he would be showing up at the game tomorrow. That’s a shitty thing to think, Jess.

I get home to find Megan out by the pool smoking weed. My father is sitting in the hot tub smoking a cigar. All is right with their worlds. My world is shit, and neither care. Despite all the money I have, I’m still alone.

A lot of people want what I have. They see the glitz and glamour, but they don’t see me running up the stairs to cry in my bedroom at night.

5

Watcher

Sometimes, you have to take a chance and see what happens when choosing between your life and someone else’s. Maybe the law finds you not guilty because of self-defense. Maybe they find you guilty because you could have run away. I don’t run, no matter what the odds are.

Unphased by the possibility of carnage, I pull my Glock and shoot each man as they come at me. Each goes down, but none are dead. I walk to the one who likes to talk too much and step on the bullet wound in his chest. He cries out like a little bitch. Aiming at his forehead, I cock the gun and wait for him to beg.

The man begs for several minutes before I step off the wound and put the Glock back in my pocket. The other men clamor back to the van and climb inside. They pull away, leaving Big Mouth to fend for himself.

“I was like you once,” I say. “All mouth and nothing to back it up. But then I changed. I found my way. I suggest you do the same. Now, get your ass up and get the fuck out of here.”

The man scrambles away, and I sit on the steps leading to the bar. She fucking walked away again. It didn’t seem to matter that I was about to save her ass…again. Time to move on. Time to check out the stepmom.

You did tell her to leave.

I wake up in a cheap motel room alone, my saddle bags on the floor while two people fuck on my TV screen. I don’t remember ordering porn before I fell asleep. Regardless, the woman on the TV is moaning like an obedient whore while being spit-roasted by two men. I watch for several minutes and then go to the bathroom for a morning piss. Back in the room, I remember Big Kentucky leaving with Diablo last night from the bar. He told me not to wait up for him and that he would meet me at the Stallion Stadium for the game. I didn’t bother him with the small details of me shooting four men.

Did I really need to go to the game today? No. But then I figured Megan Stallone would be there, and despite her old man being close, she’d let me know if she were interested. The old bastard was probably a cuck anyway. He had to know his old lady was out boning much younger cock.

I showered and spent the rest of the morning sitting on the bed reading a Stephen Hawking book after finishing Sun Tzu’s Art of War. An intelligent biker? Who would have thought it? That’s the thing with the Brothers. We’re more than a bunch of whining goons on bikes. We don’t pretend to be anything but who we really are. Like it—cool. Hate it—fuck you.

I drop the guns by the Memphis chapter for safekeeping and head to Stallion Stadium, not having a clue what to expect. A mile from the stadium, I hear police sirens and see the flashing lights in my mirror. It could be about last night, or it could be my Canadian warrants. Regardless, I pull to the roadside and watch the cruiser pass, heading for some other unlucky asshole.

Maybe Kentucky was right. Settle down with a nice old lady and live out a comfortable life. Fuck that. I pull back out onto the road, Megan Stallone on my mind, the sweet white pants she wore when I saw her yesterday, and the tight top that hugged her fake titties. Fake was okay as long as they didn’t explode while you were chewing on a nipple.

I pull to the stadium and drive around until I find the owner and player’s entrance. I park my bike where I shouldn’t and climb off. Megan’s Mercedes is parked close to the entrance. It’s going to be a good day.

Security sees me coming and blocks the entrance.

“I was invited by the man himself,” I say. “Now, move your ass.”

The man, as big as me but much uglier, makes a call and then steps aside. I go through the metal detector, and the dame thing buzzes. The two security guards jump like scared bitches when I remove the Glock from my back waistband.

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