Page 2 of Watcher

“I’ve talked to Irish about it,” Beast says. “We’re going to help with their cash flow so they can find a new place. Preferably further away from the city.”

Kentucky taps his phone and brings up a picture of a very young woman. “Her name is Jessica Stallone. The owner’s very young daughter.”

“How young?” I ask, and Beast sighs.

“Don’t be hitting that pussy, Watcher.” Beast looks directly at me. “Her father has enough money to bury the Memphis chapter and ours. Easier to move the club than fight a fight the city doesn’t want us to win.”

“She’s 18,” Towles says. “She was sent home from Stanford. Bitch got into three fights this past semester. Daddy put her in charge of the Memphis Macabre, the roller derby team her father owns. Bitch is wild on wheels.”

“She’s on the team.”

Diesel nods. “She’s a fucking superstar. Most of the league is afraid of her. She broke a woman’s nose last week during a bout. Knocked another woman into the crowd and broke three of the woman’s ribs. The league wants to suspend her, but Daddy has too much money for that to happen.”

Beasts looks at me, knowing the kind of women I like. “Don’t.”

“Got it.” I glance at the picture again, knowing, given the opportunity, I’d hit it in a New York minute.

Big Kentucky gets up and claps me on the back. “I shouldn’t have shown you her picture. Let’s ride.”

I go back inside and grab a Glock from the nightstand. Fully loaded, I stick it in my back waistband. Before closing the door, I take a deep breath, smelling Trixie for the last time. The woman knew how to ride a dick. I’ll give her that much.

“Y’all worry too much,” I tell Kentucky in my best redneck voice when I get outside, having put Trixie behind me. That’s what you do with people. Put them behind you and keep moving forward.

“I got a buddy from Eastern Kentucky who’ll be in Memphis today. He bought three tickets to the Memphis Macabre, thinking his kids would go. They backed out on him. Says we can have them. The game is this afternoon.”

“You volunteered us,” I say.

Kentucky sees me smile and shakes his head. “I knew about the tickets before he asked. I’m not taking you there for you to get laid or thrown in jail.”

I shrug and climb on my bike. “Leading me into temptation. Unless, of course, you have an ulterior motive.”

“You don’t have a chance at that pussy, Watcher. Move on.” Kentucky climbs on his bike, and the thing rumbles when he starts it, drowning out any reply I might want to give.

We pull away from the club around ten, the young blonde at the bar still on my mind.

Maybe I’m my own problem. Maybe it’s the things I like that run women off.

By three, we’re riding into the Memphis city limits and needing gas.

“You really didn’t know she was the mayor’s wife?” Kentucky asks when we stop for gas. He sticks the nozzle in his tank and waits for an answer. He’s a good man who likes to poke fun. Make no mistake; the man has your back when the rubber hits the road.

“Of course I did.” I let a sneaky smile cross my lips, and Kentucky waves me off. “It wasn’t just me. She fucked one of the Memphis Prospects as well. Maybe that’s why her old man wanted her stomach pumped.”

“You need to settle down with an old lady,” Kentucky says.

I shake my head. “No fucking way. They can’t handle me. Besides, I don’t want a nag on my ass all day.”

“What are you, 40?”

“I wish. Turn 45 next month.”

“You’re getting to that age.”

He’s right. Continuing my current trajectory, I either get shot by a jealous husband/boyfriend or just die alone. Either is fine. I’m not going out with a heart attack, sitting on the couch, or on some porch swing. I don’t bother reminding Kentucky his old lady walked a week ago. Just up and left his ass. That’s what he gets for being loyal.

Two young women walk from the gas station store toward a Mercedes convertible. Neither sees the three bikers pulling in. The bikers stop behind the Mercedes and get off their bikes.

“Fuck,” Kentucky says. “Asylum Seekers MC. Thought those motherfuckers were all but gone.”

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