Ridge: Great Wolves Motorcycle Romance Read online

  “I’ll add some of your cookies to the mix,” Lamont said.

  “Good!”

  I headed back out to the bar and discovered Ridge had only half finished his beer. I liked that. He wasn’t sucking it down like it was his whole life. Why did I care again?

  “I hear you’re hosting a neighborhood watch meeting tonight?”

  “Good ears.”

  “You’re not soft spoken.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “It’s that bad here?”

  “Yeah, and your Great Wolves are half the reason.”

  Ridge’s jaw clenched. I softened up a bit. He clearly did not enjoy hearing what I thought of his gang.

  “So, your Great Wolves are not total dicks in Grand City?”

  “No, we’re big dicks, but in the best way.”

  Darn it all, I was blushing again. Ugh.

  “Yeah, well, thanks for the assist today, but the less we have of your gang in Stickney Forest, the better. All offense.”

  I should be fighting not flirting. I needed Ridge and his buddies out of our business.

  “Frankie! Our problems are solved!” my Dziadzia yelled from his perch in his booth. He nodded at us and waddled over. With considerable effort, he sat next to Ridge.

  “Which problems Dzia? The empty booths, the leaking cooler, the fact that Sherry called in sick for tomorrow, or the taxes due?”

  “The vacancy!”

  “What?”

  “This fine young man needs a place to say, and we’ve got that apartment upstairs.”

  “The one next to mine?”

  “Yep, been vacant for three months! We need that rent and now we got it! Have a beer on the house, Ridge.”

  Dziadzia now offered Ridge his second freebie. He patted Ridge and then wandered off to chew the fat with the regulars.

  “Look, you don’t want that place. It’s small, loud cause of the bar, and smells like kielbasa half the time. It was nice that you told Dzia you’d rent it, but no, you can find somewhere else. Honestly. It’s not good up there.”

  “I think I’m home. I mean I already know it’s got a great view.” Ridge smiled, he legit smiled and I had a really good idea of what sin in leather looked like at that moment.

  He dangled the key he now had in his hands, conveniently provided by Dziadzia.

  And he was about to be my neighbor.

  Five

  Ridge

  Shit. She was so gorgeous. She was tough. She was funny. And Frankie Kaminski was handling her shit and everyone else’s. I’d never seen anyone like her. She’d fought off that asshole and barely blinked an eye.

  I think she’d have probably gotten away, but I didn’t want to follow what might have happened if she hadn’t. I had a lot of fucking heads to bash in if this was typical for the Great Wolves Chicago.

  They met at some shithole house south of the main drag. Sawyer had gotten me an address. It was about three blocks away from Kaminski’s. I didn’t want to leave; it was a strange feeling. Normally, nothing stopped me from taking care of business. But I wanted sit on that barstool and watch Frankie handle everything. From the way she interacted with her staff to the smiles she gave the customers, Frankie Kaminski was easy to watch. I tried to ignore the obvious, that she had me fucking turned on, and more.

  It was clear I needed to get out of there and get working on the reason I came.

  I was grateful as hell to that old codger of a grandfather of hers. He’d asked me where I was staying; I’d said I was looking for a place, and boom. I had one, as close as I could get to Frankie Kaminski, for now. I’d like to get a hell of a lot closer to those curves and I’d like to touch that crazy thick hair, but duty called.

  I walked back to where I’d parked my bike, and the mother fucking thing wasn’t there. I’d been stupid: I’d parked it a block away and then had walked with Frankie. And now, it was gone. I had no doubt who’d stolen it.

  The little dick, Danny Doyle. His cut said something stupid, what was it? Oh yeah, “GarDoyle”. He was going by the name GarDoyle and I was one hundred percent sure he’d stolen my bike. It was the last thing he’d steal as a Great Wolf. I was about to see to that personally.

  I had to fucking walk to the house. They tell you to walk it off, when you’re mad but I was getting more pissed with each step. My anger at this bullshit grew as my boots hit the ground. A lone woman couldn’t walk to the bank, and I couldn’t park my bike for an hour in this place. It was crawling with crime, big and small.

  I didn’t have a lot of hope that Great Wolves Chicago was going continue after today. If membership was comprised solely of evil little shits, it was best to cut them all out.

  After a five-minute walk I got to the address. It was a two-story crack house, or at least it looked like a crack house. The wolf design that was inked on my shoulder was crudely spray-painted on an unattached garage. There were no houses anywhere near it. It looked like the city was clear-cutting the block; maybe it was best if it was bulldozed all together.

  I was seeing red dots in front of my eyes. My level of anger was dangerous, unreasonable, and exactly where it needed to be to do the most damage to this club or whatever it was.

  I saw a row of bikes, mine among them. I made a quick detour; they’d stolen my bike and left it out front. And I saw they hadn’t yet dug into my gear. Idiots. The smart criminal would have searched my stuff. Smart was not in DarGoyle’s wheelhouse.

  I got out my piece, which was secured in a secret and locked case on my bike. I was relieved as hell that it was there and that they were stupid. I fixed my gaze at the house. I was ready to shoot first, ask questions later.

  I’d spilled blood to make the Great Wolves what we are, and I was damned if I was going to make sure it meant something. I knew my brothers fought too, for all these years from Grand City to Florida to Cali, to build something. This crew wasn’t going to bring us down. Great Wolves Chicago was about to meet their new president, and they weren’t going to like him.

  I kicked in the door, and there was a flurry of chairs flying and tables flipping.

  I counted ten: ten men in leather, surprised as shit that I had just busted into their club.

  It was clear that five were fucked up—drunk, high, whatever—sitting around in a corner that was supposed to be a bar, I guess. It was all makeshift. Any one of them could have shot me straight away, but it didn’t cross my fucking mind.

  I headed for the table. It was not worthy of Great Wolves, collapsible. Five guys stood up.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “You stole my bike.”

  I punched him hard with my right and before his buddies could help, I punched the guy next to him. Two down. I knew I’d felt bone crack and teeth give way.

  “He’s from Grand City, don’t fuck with him.”

  The words came from behind me and I whirled around.

  “Good advice,” I said punching a third one with all I had as I turned. I didn’t believe I could take on the whole crew with my fists. With three down and a fourth headed my way, I pulled out my gun and I pushed it in his face. Now, I had a hostage, of sorts. Or at least a bullhorn to make myself perfectly clear.

  “I will kill this one here, and maybe one more of you, assholes, if you don’t sit down and shut up. If you hadn’t heard, the Grand City Charter sent me and I’m your new Prez.”

  “Shit, man,” I heard one of the idiots on the floor say.

  The one who’d warned his buddies—maybe he was smarter than the rest—put his hands up. He knew I wasn’t kidding.

  I loosened up on the poor sucker who’d had my gun smashed up against his temple. And then I heard a thud behind me.

  A fourth guy was down, and it was at the hands of one of the Chicago Great Wolves. One had actually helped me?

  “Thanks, you’re the new Veep,” I said and then assessed the situation. Four Chicago thugs on the ground. One sitting at the chair that was at the head of the table. Two at the table
, looking as confused by the situation as they ought to. One, my new VP, standing at the ready for whatever shit came next. And now three or so more, looking confused as to how I’d harshed their buzz with my anger issues.

  I looked at the patch of the one who’d had my back. If he was worth something, he’d keep helping me; if he was worth something, he hated what this club had become, harder than even I did. I looked at the name on his vest.

  “Okay, Thorn, is it? Get your crew in here, whoever it is. We’re having a come to Jesus meeting in ten minutes.”

  I looked down at the four who were nursing their wounds and repositioning teeth.

  “You’re all four invited. Try not to bleed too much.”

  Thorn got on a cell phone and called whoever it was that needed calling. And I noticed another dude, Kase, putting the overturned chairs in some sort of order. Like we were about to have a church social committee meeting, or whatever.

  Five minutes went by. It didn’t take long to rally this chapter: they were small. That was good. Less trash to take out.

  Thorn approached me.

  “So, Grand City sent you. I told these mother fuckers we were going to hear from you.”

  “How did this shit get so fucking polluted?” I asked.

  “Our Prez tried, but then Nails, our Veep, killed him. It got complicated, fast. And then there’s that.”

  Thorn looked at the man at the head of the table who was now up and looking at me like we were going to fight again. I squared my jaw and let him know it was a bad fucking idea.

  I also grabbed a chair and dragged it to the corner of the living room area, so there was no window or door to my back. I had no doubt most of the men in here wanted to kill me and would if I made it easy.

  “I’m back to the wall, you take the corner. Anything of value in here?” I said to Thorn, and he nodded.

  “In this building? Yeah, there’s drugs and a small stash of weapons, in the basement.”

  I walked over and opened the door Thorn had pointed to. The twenty by twenty room reeked, and it was as reported. Everything in here needed to go.

  I returned to Thorn.

  “Any place to hide in this cave?”

  “No, you got us all,” Thorn said to me and it looked to be the truth.

  “Now you, Crank, is it? Get your guys over here, meeting’s about to come to order.”

  They assembled. I read Crank’s cut and scanned the others. There was a huge dude named Kase and I recognized Danny the little shit from earlier today. In total, twelve Great Wolves were waiting and ready to meet. I didn’t know if they were ready to listen, but I started anyway.

  “Is this the whole club?” I asked Thorn.

  “No, we’re about two dozen in total. I called all the ones we’re missing, but some of ‘em are not great at taking orders.”

  At that, the door opened, and I put my hand on my piece.

  Three more Wolves rolled in and took in the scene.

  “Sit the fuck down and stay quiet,” I said. They looked like they might have said something smart if not for the look that Crank gave them.

  Fine, the three new dudes were Crank’s. I had Thorn, and it was tentative at best. Two against thirteen were sucky odds. But I’d come in guns blazing for a reason. I didn’t want them to even think about defying me. I wanted them to believe I was crazy as fuck. Hell, maybe I was.

  “If you didn’t hear, I’m Ridge. I’m the new Prez.”

  “How the fuck, we didn’t vote?” Danny said.

  “I’m not sure whether to shoot you in the face or ignore you completely.”

  Which was the honest truth.

  He bristled at my warning but didn’t continue his line of questioning.

  “From now on, this chapter is going to fall in line with our national rules and bylaws. You’re going to stop acting like punks, pushers, and pimps.”

  Crank seemed to have collected up his anger and focused it toward the situation instead of taking random swings.

  “You’re not the Prez here, and we do things differently.”

  He was a big dude—tough, scary—but by half of what I was used to.

  “I am. See, the national charter voted, and every other fucking Great Wolves chapter is unanimous that you’re a bunch of shits here that need babysitting. I’m the lucky bastard who gets the job.”

  “It’s different in the South Side,” Crank said and didn’t break eye contact.

  “It’s not fucking different. We’ll be transferring to legit operations immediately.”

  “You’re fucking kidding. No one’s making a dime out here if it’s not under the table,” another member spoke up. Gooch, going by what was scrawled across his neck in faded ink.

  “Listen to me, Gooch. You will and can make coin, a lot of it, doing it our way, the right way.”

  “Bullshit.” This was Crank again, being presidential.

  “Here’s the word: you fall in line or you’re out. All of you are officially probies in the new club, except Thorn here, because he was smart enough to fucking have my back from the get-go.”

  “Probies? That’s hilarious,” Crank said, and I knew he was going to have some of these guys. I didn’t want to splinter this club all to hell, but it was happening. I figured Sawyer could have done it better, smoother, more words would have been involved. I’d come in swinging, but at least I was going to get a fast picture of who was willing to fall in.

  “I am here to help you set up legit profit, to transition you out of this bullshit that’s ruining this neighborhood, that’s threatening your old ladies and kids, and that’s going to get you all in fucking prison sooner rather than later. You will make cash money with us.”

  “How much?” This from a new voice, Turk, according to his cut.

  “Enough to survive to start, and more if you’re smart. But it’s not why you’re in the Great Wolves.”

  “Why else?” Gooch said, and I was about to answer him in the strongest possible terms, but a new voice chimed in.

  “We’re supposed to be brothers, that’s why we’re in it.” Brogan, according to his cut, had a deep voice, and it felt like an open wound. I didn’t have a clue where that pain came from, but his words were right on.

  “Exactly right, Brogan,” I said, and we made brief eye contact.

  “Well, you can fuck off, you’re not my Prez,” said Crank again and Turk nodded. So did Danny.

  “You can get the fuck out then,” I said. This time I was quiet. I didn’t swing a hammer or point the gun. I knew how to make things clear as hell with my voice.

  Crank stood up. I didn’t know if he was going to swing or shoot or what, but I was relaxed in my chair. I wanted the guys who stayed, if any did, to know that I wasn’t afraid of their former Prez.

  “You’re with us, or you’re dead to us,” I said.

  Crank ripped off his leather and threw it on the ground and then he turned and walked out. Then, no surprise, Danny, Turk, Gooch, and five others I counted did the same. It was dramatic, but I didn’t stop it. The ones who stayed needed to remember every single moment. They needed to pass through this shit and come out the other side.

  “Fuck you! This is MY neighborhood, and my fucking territory!” Crank said as they left the building.

  “Make sure they don’t fuck with the bikes,” I said to Thorn, already counting on him to know what to do. He followed and watched. I continued on with the meeting. I heard the roar of bikes as Crank’s contingent rode off.

  “So, there’s ten of us now, here, and maybe a few out there who didn’t come to the meeting? My math right?” I asked the one named Kase.

  “Yeah, that’s about it. Half of them are worth a damn, half of them are shit,” Kase said and I was going to have to take his word for it.

  “Clubs have been started with less, way less. Now, what I need from you is to think. We got security, MMA clubs, and repair shops as the options to start. We know how to set that shit up and get it earning fast. You tell me what yo
u want to focus on first. I got my opinion but I’m willing to listen.”

  “No one is going to trust us to run security after all we’ve been doing,” Thorn said as he returned to the group.

  “We’re going to do it for free, to start. Now, let’s destroy that stash first.”

  I stood up and walked upstairs to where they were storing contraband.

  “Dismantle the guns. Take hammers too ‘em if you have to.”

  There weren’t many; that was good. A couple of the brothers did as I asked.

  “You’re sure this place is secure, no one hiding in here somewhere?”

  “It’s cleared out, you’re seeing what all we got,” Thorn said, but I decided to look in each nook and cranny anyway. I needed to be sure.

  Kase came up and gave me a report.

  “Guns smashed to hell.”

  “Good, get any of your shit you need and bring it outside.”

  It was getting dark and there was a chill in the air.

  I inhaled. I had more than half expected to die in that club; I wouldn’t have been surprised if a bullet ended my invasion. But it hadn’t. I was alive and ready to move this club forward.

  I had seen gas cans near the garage on my way in tonight and knew they were going to come in handy.

  “Douse it,” I said to Brogan who hadn’t spoken since he’d said the word brotherhood.

  He did what I asked, still without comment.

  “I count ten of us, right here, together. Am I right on that? No one left behind?”

  “We’re all out,” Thorn said and so I stepped forward. I pulled out a book of matches that read “Kaminski’s” on the case. This one was for Frankie, I thought.

  I lit the match and threw it to the trail of gasoline.

  “We best step back, this fucker’s going to go fast,” I said and walked back to where our bikes were safely parked. The house was alone, no danger of it lighting anything else.