Page 46 of Knocked Up by Her Daddy's Friends

As we leave the bathroom I spot a back exit. “Let’s go out this way,” I say to Lucy, pointing toward it, “I don’t want to deal with pushing our way through the dancefloor to get to the main exit.”

“Sure, just wait here two seconds, okay? I’m gonna see if I can find the girls to let them know we’re leaving. If I don’t see them, I’ll come right back and we’ll text them. Don’t leave without me,” she says holding up her hands in a ‘stay’ command, I nod in agreement, and she rushes off.

The smells of sweat and stale beer make me feel nauseous again and with no sign of Lucy in the crowd, I decide to open the door and wait outside in the fresh air with it open behind me for her to see. As I’m standing there, my hands on my knees and breathing deeply as I try to fight off the nausea, I hear someone come outside the same exit as me. I look up, expecting to see Lucy, but it’s a big burly guy with a bald head, wearing all black, with tattoos that snake up his biceps.

“Sorry, I just needed some air,” I say to him, assuming he’s one of the club’s security men.

To my confusion, he doesn’t reply. At the same time, another huge man smoking a cigarette rounds the corner. He too has tattoos though they’re mostly concealed under the shirt and leather vest he’s wearing, he sports a large handlebar mustache.

“Skye Johnson?” he asks.

Automatically, I reply, “Yes?”

Quick as a flash, both men rush toward me and grab me. I let out a cry, but my shouts of surprise and fear are soon muffled by a big burly hand covering my mouth. I kick and fight but they hold me tight so I can’t escape.

“Struggle and we will hurt you,” the man who asked my name says.

I stop struggling for a moment before realizing that they’re dragging me in the direction of a van. I start fighting again but it’s too late and they’re too strong. The man presses a foul-smelling cloth to my nose and my nostrils burn with the chemical smell as they bundle me into the van. As I start to lose consciousness, I think I hear someone shouting my name.

But then everything turns black.

Chapter 24

Angel

The man’s jaw cracks, a tooth flies out, and blood spatters from his mouth as my fist connects with his chin. The skin of my knuckles splits open, like an orange splitting from its peel, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is my rage. The same rage I’ve felt since we discovered Skye’s betrayal.

The man falls to the ground, unconscious, but another takes his place, barreling toward me as he tries to tackle me to the ground. I dodge his attack, kicking out with my thick leather boots and connecting with his ribs. He doubles over, winded, and I unleash a flurry of fists. Around us, I can hear the sounds of Drifter, Gunner, and Buzz fighting, too, while the rest of our members jeer and watch the action as if it’s a live boxing match.

It’s been like this almost constantly since Brewer’s murder. Fights between the Angels of Havoc and the Demon Riders have become commonplace, it’s an all-out war. Mostly, they’ve been bar fights, but the trouble is escalating, they’ve started running our guys off the road and recently they even firebombed one of our warehouses. Each time we fight back with fury, giving as good as we get. Tonight, these assholes made the mistake of entering our turf. They came unarmed, which means they’re stupid or cocky, probably both. It seems they thought they could intimidate us and act like they weren’t scared of us. If they aren’t, they should be.

Having discovered that the woman we were falling for was playing us for fools, the four of us have a lot of rage to vent, even more than usual and we’re hardly teddy bears. Focusing on vengeance for Brewer and fighting the Demon Riders helps us block out thoughts of what we’ve lost.

I’m barely aware of what I’m doing, I’m just pummeling the guy on autopilot, lost under the red mist of rage, until I hear Gunner’s voice behind me.

“Angel. He’s had enough.”

My surroundings become clear once more and I realize that the man in front of me resembles an overripe tomato, face purple and red with bruises, eyes swelled shut. I release the grip I had on his shirt, and he collapses to the floor, his friends who aren’t as badly hurt tentatively get to their feet, defeated, holding up their hands in surrender and looking toward their friend. Waiting for my permission, worried they’ll be next.

“Go,” I say jerking my head toward their friend, “Take him with you. If you come back again, we’ll kill you.” They rush to do as they’re told, as they reach the exit I add, “Tell your president he’s a coward and an errand boy for the pigs and government, he goes against the biker’s code, and he’s not worthy of his title. The Demon Riders members should think long and hard about that. Brute picked the wrong side.”

They scuttle off to lick their wounds. We’ve sent a message. For now, they’ll leave us alone. But I don’t doubt that they’ll be back, next time with guns, their president, Brute, is testing the waters, looking for weaknesses. Even if Brute finds none, he’s a fool and too cocksure for his own good. He won’t let this go. Especially not if he feels like he’s got backing from the cops and Bill Anderson, plus millions of dollars to gain. He’s getting greedy, Brute wants what we have on top and it’s becoming clear he’ll do anything to get it.

With the action over, the patrons of the bar return to drinking as though nothing happened. Tammy and the club bunnies come out from their hiding places and return to business as usual, Tammy pouring beers, filling the many empty glasses there now are, and the girls return to flirting with the members and prospects.

Drifter approaches me, wiping sweat from his brow as he twists the top off his beer and throws me another bottle. “You alright, Prez?” he says, his voice concerned.

“Never better,” I say, taking a swig of beer.

“You sure ‘bout that? You almost beat a man to death,” he presses, evidently worried about me.

“Fuckers had it coming,” I grunt.

“And this has nothing to do with Skye?” Drifter asks.

“Don’t say her fucking name,” I growl.

He holds up his hands in surrender, “I’m just saying man, we’re all hurtin’. Just you know… you can talk to us. You know that right?”

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