Page 30 of Red's Peril: Part 1

I’ve come to respect the men here and like all of them, even though most yank my chain whenever they get the chance. There’s only one man I know little about, a man called Digger. He’s ancient and appears from time to time, and then only to prop up the bar, until he can’t stand anymore and summons a prospect to drive him home. According to Wraith, the excuse Digger’s bike always breaks down on Friday’s isn’t even offered or sought anymore. Drummer knows the old guy is no longer capable of riding, but to admit it out loud would lose him his patch.

Blade? Well, he doesn’t scare me anymore. There’s a darkness inside him, that’s for certain, but no different from a number of the men. Having seen how the club pulls together, I can see how he fits in. The brothers are like pieces of a puzzle going together. Peg looks out for the good of the club, and Blade is ready to enforce the rules when anyone steps out of line. Drummer and Lefty are the glue that pulls us together. Beef and Rock, both steady, are prepared to give their all to the club. Rock has done so already, in Bastard’s time, having done time for a crime he didn’t commit to keep another brother on the outside. Dollar counts the money. Viper and Bullet, with the rest of us helping where we can, are slowly making something of the compound. Tongue? Well, he’s the joker, the man always ready to make you smile even at the worst of times.

Tongue’s also popular with the sweet butts and the hangarounds who come up for the regular weekend parties. It seems that stud in his tongue can work wonders. I’d never realised how much oral goes on, that sex involved more than fingers and a dick. Maybe I should have. I’ve watched enough porn, but thought they’d just been acting, and people were far more circumspect in everyday life. Seeing the girls’ appreciation of Tongue’s talents makes me wonder what Cheryl would have tasted like. I regret I’ve never tried it, and vow to rectify that at the earliest chance.

“Think that’s the lot of them,” Wraith shouts, eyeing the growing piles of used condoms with disgust. “But who’s getting that?”

Pussy is convulsing with laughter. “That’s what I was wondering. Why do you think I’m here, boys?”

Thatis a beer bottle lying on the bottom. Wraith’s trying to scoop it up with the net, but it just keeps rolling away from him.

Shooting Pussy a look which speaks volumes, I strip off my clothes, right down to my boxers, and dive in.

When I surface, trophy in hand, shaking my hair making water drops fly from it, it’s to her slow hand clap.

“Hmm, I like what I’m seeing there.”

She stares at my groin, teasing her nipples with her hands while doing so. Predictably, my underworked cock perks up. It’s hard to hide a hard-on with sopping wet underpants clinging to every contour.

“Want to take a moment to deal with that?” Wraith’s chuckling and pointing.

“Shut it,” I growl, picking up my clothes. The hot sun will dry me quickly, and hopefully my other problem will recede just as fast once Pussy stops playing with herself and taunting me.

If the dip hasn’t cooled my ardour, it’s been refreshing for everywhere else. I’d wanted to come somewhere warmer, and Tucson is hot. Too hot at times for a northern boy, but I’m slowly getting used to it.

Putting the net and other equipment away, Wraith comes over. “Prez wanted us to check the perimeter.”

Of course, he did. Cleaning the pool in one-hundred-and-ten-degree temperature isn’t an unpleasant task, but walking around the whole of the compound with the sun beating down? Yeah, that’s not what I signed up for.

Brushing the last few droplets of water off my legs, I pull my jeans and boots back on, then put on my t-shirt.

“Here!” Pussy might be a working girl, but she looks out for us in other ways too.

Gratefully, I reach up my hand to catch the bottle of sunscreen she’s just thrown over to me and slather it all over my face and bare arms. Another drawback of my colouring, I easily burn.

“Want some?” I offer the lotion to the man who’s fast become my best friend.

Wraith glances up, shielding his hand from the blazing sun and nods. He’s Tucson born and bred, and far more used to the climate, but on hot days like this and the make work task Drummer has come up with, even he needs to take care.

“You smell like a couple of pussies,” Pussy gets in, doubling over as she laughs.

“Rather that than looking like a lobster.” Wraith goes to hand her the bottle back, and adds, “Thanks, babe.”

“You’re welcome,” she answers, staring appreciatively at his male form.

Yeah, these girls are here to work, but another thing that made that easier for me to accept is that they’re treated respectfully. Everyone has their place in the Satan’s Devils MC. Even whores.

There’s a definite hierarchy. Officers, then members, then prospects and finally sweet butts. It’s harder to decide where Sandy and Carmen, Viper and Bullet’s old ladies should be placed. Above the sweet butts, definitely. Although they can’t order prospects around, heaven help us if Wraith or I upset them. Still, it’s no hardship being polite to them. If it wasn’t for them organising the kitchen, if left to me and Wraith to cook, we’d all starve or get food poisoning.

When Wraith and I set off to walk the boundary, checking for non-existent breaks in the fencing, I can’t stop my eyes examining my surroundings. It never gets old—the welcoming coolness of the Coronado Forest stretching up into the mountains, the desert extending around, littered with saguaro and other cacti.

“Hey.” Wraith pulls at my arm, pulling me to a halt.

There, just beyond our boundary, is a family of javelinas. Nasty brutes if you get up close, but good to see from a distance. We watch for a moment as the mother and piglets snuffle around then wander off.

The heat might be a little more than I wanted, but this spot? I wouldn’t swap it for the world. It’s fast become home, and I’ve got a chance to make it that forever. As long as I don’t fuck up and do what I need to get my patch.

We walk the boundary, reporting back there’s nothing out of order. Lefty comes up with another job, getting us to ride down to the strip club, Satan’s Angels, to pick up his lighter he left there. What a way to spend a Sunday. But a ride out with my friend never hurts, and I know better than to do anything other than plant a smile on my face and look enthusiastic. It’s all these little ways of testing us. If we protest, suggest he borrow a light from someone else until he gets back there himself, it suggests we won’t obey orders when it comes to important shit. I may not have gotten the point when I’d first arrived, but I sure do now.

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