Page 21 of StoryTeller's Tale

The beginnings of a growl coming from Chaz gets me leaping to my feet. “He’s shitting you,” I tell Chaz, my words coming fast. “I didn’t say anything of the fuckin’ sort.”

“Both of you, sit your asses down.” Slugger’s voice is loud.

“I don’t like being told what to do in my own fuckin’ clubhouse.” Chaz swings around, his eyes leaving me for the first time since he’d answered the summons.

Slugger chuckles. “You’re both too fuckin’ easy to wind up.” The mirth leaves his face. “Sit, please. I’m in mind of sharing an idea that I’ve had.”

Chaz doesn’t look happy, but he does take a chair, while I resume a seated position in mine.

Slugger lights a cigarette, blows smoke out, then stares at the glowing tip. “Fuckin’ Dominators are getting too big for their britches. Time to take them down a peg or two.”

“You’re in my state, in my clubhouse,” Chaz reminds him. “Not certain I like the idea of you stirring shit up then moving on, leaving me with a mess to clean up.”

Slugger looks at him sharply. “Have faith in me, Bro. Remember, I’ve got the good of the Wretched Soulz at heart. And I’m not talking about starting a war, just putting a dent in them a little.” He takes a drag then taps off ash. “What’s your relationship like with them in Arizona?”

“As much as possible, we avoid each other. Toss insults around if we happen to come across them, maybe bloody a few faces, but there’s a kind of truce with a common hatred of the cops.”

Slugger nods as if it’s what he expected and states, “When we come to war, the pigs always seem to get involved. And neither of us want them poking their noses into our business.”

He’s right. If the Soulz and the Dominators go head-to-head, pigs turn up en masse to try to arrest as many of us as they can. When we can, we try to avoid direct confrontation. But hell, we’re bikers, it comes with the territory, and it’s hard to resist when you meet head-on with your enemy.

Chaz seems to relax a little, enough so that he kicks out his legs and leans back. He gestures toward me. “ST doesn’t know the bitch. By his own admission, he’s got nothing invested in her. If she was his ol’ lady or something, and they weren’t the Dominators, maybe I’d have been willing to help. But she’s not, and they are.” He shrugs.

Shitface is watching us from a distance. I wave him over, and being a good prospect, he brings fresh drinks. We wait until he’s removed the empties and replaced the ashtray with a clean one.

“You might say she’s not his ol’ lady, but ST’s acting like a man in love,” Slugger jokes as I snort, my features composing themselves into an expression of utter disgust.

Chaz chortles loudly. “ST, in love?”

“Not fuckin’ likely.” Been there, done that. Not going back.

“Watcha thinking?” Chaz has a glint in his eye which I’m not sure I like.

Slugger smirks at him. “I’m thinking ST here should man up and go ask for his ol’ lady back.”

Again, I splutter. “What the fuck?”

“You think they’ll just pony her up to him?”

The head of the Wretched Soulz snorts. “Not fuckin’ likely, but there is a chance. Honour among thieves and that. Might do to keep the truce between you.”

“Or I might get a bullet between my eyes for just having the balls to ask.” I point out the obvious.

With his mouth turned down and his eyes hooded, Slugger shakes his head sadly. “Never took you for a pussy, Brother.”

They can’t be fuckin’ serious.I look from one to the other. “Yeah, yeah. Good joke.”

The way Chaz is looking at me makes me worry I can’t trust him one bit and remember I had annoyed him earlier when I’d asked for help that he wasn’t prepared to give. Add to that the way Slugger’s treating him like a second-rate member, not someone in charge of his club, well, if I was facing down a train at the moment, I wouldn’t trust my prez to pull me away from the tracks.

“You wanted to save her.” Chaz lazily rolls his shoulders. “I’m thinking that Slugger has an idea that could work. This is your chance. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, a bullet as I said?”

Slugger chuckles. “Or they might not be against adding a white boy to their collection.” He eyes me up. “Some rich sheikha might fancy some pale meat to serve her.”

My eyes go wide. “I’m the fucking StoryTeller, not the fuckin’ story. And this bitch isn’t worth dying over or ending up as a rich woman’s sex slave. As you said I don’t know her—”

“As I said, pussy.”

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