Thank you for your continued interest and support. I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Reaper's Legacy.
After the girls' night out...
SAM
"Huge fuckin' mistake!" Deck declared. He stood in the center of the Armory's second-story game room, surrounded by officers from almost every Collectors' charter.
Usually, we had church downstairs, but there wasn't enough space for all the visiting brothers below. And this group included both national and local chapter officers, so whatever decisions we made would be binding on the whole club.
"We can't trust them, we all know that," Deck continued. "What kind of dumbfuck sticks his head in a noose? If we do this, we deserve everything we get."
Plank sighed and shook his head, even as I leaned against the wall behind him, wondering how much longer we'd be going over the same points.
I wanted this over with, because I've been wound up tighter than hell since yesterday morning.
Mercedes tied me in fuckin' knots.
Not even a blow job from one of the club whores had helped. She'd barely gotten my pants open when I started thinking about Mercedes and Bray...
And it was all over.
Last night, I'd been surrounded by thirty of my best friends and brothers, more booze than I could drink, and free pussy on tap, and I was still fuckin' bored.
All I really wanted to do was to go home, read Bray a bedtime story, and then screw Mercedes' brains out.
Ugh!
Plank shifted, the sound of his chair scraping pulling me out of my thoughts.
We'd been at it for nearly two hours, and so far nobody had changed their positions on the truce. Most of the men wanted to give it a shot. I agreed.
I thought the Devils were walking, talking bags of shit, but at least they were a known quantity.
Plus, they understood the lifestyle, and all other issues aside, they were still bikers.
And while I wasn't ready to throw down for a Devil, backing off for the duration made sense.
Deck disagreed.
Strongly.
So we all hashed and re-hashed anything and everything concerning the truce between the Collectors and the Black Devils, until one of the oldest club members...who was usually quiet, decided to add his two cents' worth.
"Look, these kids moving in, they're not like us," he said, looking around, pinning each man with his eyes in turn. "They're. Not. Like. Us. They've got no sense of freedom and no reason to live, aside from making money. They wake up every morning plannin' to break the law...which means the law rules their lives. I'm not scared to fight, you all know that, but why fight when we can let the Devils do it for us? Live to ride, ride to live. They're not just words, brothers. Anything gets in the way of living and riding is a waste of my time, and that includes fighting another opposition."
Men all over the room voiced their approval. But Deck shook his head. And I knew him well enough to realize he was pissed.
He'd been beat, and he wasn't used to losing.
"We're all gonna pay for this," he said. "But we've hashed it out. No reason to keep talking at this point. Let's vote and get it over with."
"Okay, then. All in favor?" Plank asked.
A chorus of "ayes" echoed around the room, which held close to forty men.
"Opposed?"
Only six guys disagreed...four from Portland and two from Idaho Falls.
"Now, the girls have been workin' hard, putting together food for us," Plank said, rising to address the room. "The pig won't be ready for another hour, but the kegs are tapped. Thanks to everyone for comin' up here. We always appreciate the company. Collectors forever, forever Collectors!"
"Collectors forever, forever Collectors!" echoed through the room, rattling the windows.
Men stood to talk, some heading downstairs to the party, others standing in clumps...but Plank made eye contact with me and gave a slight inclination of his head.
He had something to say to me...
"A word?" he asked me and I stepped forward to my president.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Mel's pretty hungover this morning," he said, eyes speculative. "How about your girl?"
"Not my girl," I grunted. "And I have no idea. I didn't go home last night."
"Really?" he asked, raising a brow. "That 'cause you had business here or 'cause things are fucked up at the house? Mel seems to think things are fucked up. Is that gonna be a problem for the club?"
"Mel sure talks a lot," I said, narrowing my eyes.
"Well, she still hasn't figured out she can't fool her daddy when she's drunk," Plank said. "It's useful to me. She seems to think you're claiming this girl for your property. Says you told her she can't talk to any other guys. What's the story?"
"Not sure that's any of your business," I replied, my tension growing. "But Mercedes knows the situation and so do I. That's enough."
"That's great, so long as we don't have any misunderstandings," Plank said. "If she's yours, fine. If she's not? A lot of guys are here today...guys who aren't usually around. So if you can't explain the situation to me, how do you plan on explainin' it to them?"
"It won't be a problem," I replied, my voice firm. "I've made things clear to her and she knows what she needs to do."
Plank eyed me thoughtfully...
"Send her home," he said. "Bring her around for a family party. Start small. See how it goes. This is throwing her into the deep end and that's gonna backfire on you."
"Scare her off, you mean?" I asked. "That might be best. I don't know what the hell I want with her..."
"You want to screw her," Plank said bluntly. "You can tell when your dick gets hard, did you know that? It's probably tough for you to understand, seeing as most of the time you're just jacking off, but most men like to stick their dicks..."
"Shut the fuck up!" I said, wondering whether it'd be a bad move to punch out my president in front of so many witnesses.
Probably. But it might be worth it.
Plank laughed.
"So you gonna send her home?" he asked. I shook my head.
"If I send her home, she wins," I said. And he raised a brow.
"What is this, junior high? You're the man, lay it out for her."
I took a deep breath, forcing himself to think instead of just lashing out. I needed a good fight or something, some way to blow off the tension...
There'll be boxing later. That would do it...hopefully.
"If I lay it out, she wins," I admitted finally, scowling and running a hand through my hair. "And that's the problem. She called me on my bullshit and I can't talk my way out of it. If I make her leave, it's like I'm saying she was right about the club being dangerous and a bad influence for her son. Not to mention, making me look like a fuckin' pussy in the process, because I can't handle having her around."
"One...you're a dumbass," Plank said. "Two...she's right. The club is dangerous for an unclaimed woman, particularly tonight."
"I get that," I said. "That's why I'm gonna protect her. You got a cure for the dumbass thing? That part's kickin' my butt, I gotta admit."
"Nope," Plank said, clapping a hand to my shoulder. "But I know something that'll make you feel better about the situation."
"What's that?"
"Pulled pork sandwich," he replied. "Beer. Then...if you're smart, which I'll admit is a stretch...you'll take your girl somewhere and screw her 'til she can't walk straight. She may win, but who gives a damn, 'cause she'll be the one going down on you for the foreseeable future. I find that works wonders."
"You're a fuckin' asshole!"
"I get that a lot."
MERCEDES
I wasn't horribly hungover the next day, but I wasn't eager to start drinking again, either.
This was probably just as well. Because, despite my alcohol-fueled tough talk, I really didn't want to make trouble at the party.
I Googled the address, then drove out to the Armory early that evening, after I had dropped Bray off with Marley.
She'd ended up spending the night on my couch, waking up more than a little worse for the wear.
And I suspected she'd be in bed about five minutes after she got the kids down...
I was nervous driving out to the party. The Collectors' clubhouse was a couple miles off the highway, towards the end of an old state road.
I passed a group of four motorcycles headed for the highway, ridden by men dressed a lot like Sam...
Tattoos, jeans, boots and black leather jackets. And of course, loaded saddlebags.
And they didn't appear to be happy campers.
The building itself surprised me, though. I guess I hadn't expected the Armory description to be so literal, because this was an honest-to-God converted National Guard building.
It was three stories tall, with walls built to withstand tanks and an enclosed courtyard with a gate big enough to drive a large truck through.
There were quite a few people there already...lots of guys, all of them wearing their distinctive colors.
They had different states or towns on their lower patches, but the Collectors' symbol and name were the same.
Unsurprisingly, there were lots of motorcycles, but also quite a few cars, most of which had been parked in a gravel lot off to the side.
A younger guy wearing a cut without very many patches waved me over in that direction, so I pulled in next to a little red Honda.
Four girls who'd clearly been drinking for a while poured out. They were young, slutted up and ready to party.
Last night, I'd noticed that the club women weren't afraid to show off their bodies, seeing as Spirit rocked a pair of jeans and backless top in a big way...
But the Collectors' old ladies somehow looked more classy and confident than this little foursome.
Maybe it was about the attitude?
I got the impression that these girls were on the prowl, and that they weren't necessarily planning to be too picky.
The four girls, however, ignored me entirely, giggling and taking shots of each other with their phones.
I guess I didn't rate their attention, which was both depressing and a bit of a relief. Not that I cared how I looked...
I'd gone with a basic black T-shirt with the words...Brains Beauty Booty on the front...a pair matching black biker shorts and a pair of black and white low-cut Converse.
Despite my fight with Sam yesterday morning...not to mention my margarita-fueled belligerence last night...I really did want to keep things low-key.
I wasn't sure what to expect at a Collectors' party, but I figured I'd be fine if I stuck with my girls.
I'd sent a text to Sam letting him know I was coming. He'd replied with a reminder about our conversation, which almost convinced me to change into something sluttier just to spite him.
Then I pulled my head out of my ass...
Because, Sam losing his shit was not something I wanted see. No matter how satisfying it would be to defy him.
Defy him?
Hell, how old was I?
I also texted Meg, Mel, Spirit and Marge. They said to come straight through to the back, where they were setting up the food outside.
Earlier, they'd asked me to stop off and buy a bunch of extra chips, so I'd hit Walmart on the way.
Now, I trailed behind the slut brigade, their big hair, loud makeup and microscopic clothing, providing plenty of cover as we walked towards the big gate in the courtyard.
A couple of guys stood outside, obviously monitoring the entrance. The gaggle flirted with them and then passed on through.
They probably thought I was a total hag in comparison, I realized glumly. A little lip gloss wouldn't have killed me.
But apparently, giant shopping bags full of chips counted for something, though, because the men welcomed me enthusiastically enough.
Sex appeal is great, but there's nothing quite like food to win a man's heart.
"I'm Wringer's almost-sister-in-law," I told one of the guys, who nodded me on through.
I followed the narrow driveway that ran along the side of the building, until I reached the main courtyard out back. It was a broad, open space that was a mixture of parking lot and grass.
Loud music blasted through giant box speakers and evergreen-covered mountains surrounded us on all sides.
It really was a gorgeous place...
Much nicer than I'd expected.
I saw a good-sized group of children darting through clumps of adults, then they took turns playing on a giant, clearly homemade swing set, complete with a fort at the top.
There were men everywhere...
Far more men than women, although another group of girls had followed me in.
I guessed the men had been there earlier and now the rest of the guests were arriving...
Sam was nowhere to be seen.
I spotted a row of long folding tables near the back wall of the building, covered with a mismatched series of tablecloths.
And off to one side stood a black-barreled BBQ smoker almost as big as my car, mounted on a trailer.
Smoke drifted out and the scent of roasting pig filled the air...
"Mercedes!" Marge called, waving me over towards one of the tables.
I moved quickly towards her, trying not to stare at anyone, but it was hard.
The guys were almost all at least a little scary-looking. I mean, some of them were regular enough, I guess, but somehow rougher.
They had tanned skin and a disproportionate number of beards. Others were less normal-looking.
I saw a lot of tattoos and piercings and very few shirts, although, they all seemed to be wearing their leather vests.
All of them were Collectors and most seemed to be in a pretty good mood.
I also noticed a few of the little boys wearing their own tiny vests. Not real ones, but play ones clearly meant to copy their daddies'.
Shit! Knowing my luck, Bray would be begging for one of those if he saw them. Good thing I hadn't brought him along.
"Want some help with the bags?" a man asked. I opened my mouth to refuse, then looked up and realized it was Stud.
I smiled, relieved to recognize someone besides just the girls I'd met last night.
"Yeah, thanks," I said. "I met Marge. She's great."
"No shit," he replied, offering me a movie-star grin. Damn, but he was beautiful. "Worth every penny I paid for her."
That caught me short...
I stopped, wondering if he could possibly be serious. But he didn't look like he was joking.
"You coming?" he asked, glancing back at me. I pulled myself together and started walking again.
What the hell had he meant by that?
"Mercedes!" Mel called, spotting me from behind one of the tables. She darted forward and gave me a big hug.
"I'm so glad we're going out next weekend," she whispered in my ear. "I talked to my guy this morning about meeting in real life, and he's all over it. Thank you so much!"
"That's fantastic!" I replied, pulling back to look at her. She was so pretty this afternoon, the excitement in her eyes bright and shining. "Just remember, we're going to stay safe. Don't tell him where you live or anything. We'll check him out, and if he's a creeper, we'll ditch his ass."
Mel laughed.
"Actually, telling him my address would be perfectly safe," she answered. "Remember who I live with? Our house is a fortress. Which reminds me, I want to introduce you to my dad."
She took my hand and pulled me across the courtyard to the giant black BBQ. Several men stood around it drinking from red plastic cups.
They turned as we walked up, openly checking me out. Clearly, subtlety wasn't a highly valued trait here at the Armory.
"This is my dad, Plank," Mel said, stepping forward to wrap her arm around the one standing closest to us.
He pulled her close, offering her an indulgent smile.
He was tall and fairly well-built. And he shared her piercing light blue eyes. I could tell he was older by the faint lines around his eyes, but his hair held only a hint of gray at the temples.
The most compelling thing about him, though, was his air of command, mixed with just a hint of menace.
I would've known he was club president even without the patch on his cut to tell me.
No wonder guys were scared to ask her out.
"Dad, this is Mercedes," Mel continued. "She's Wringer's... Um...what are you, anyway?"
"I'm sort of his stepsister-in-law," I said, smiling awkwardly. "His stepbrother, Shaun, is my son's father."
"He mentioned you were back in town," Plank said. His face gave away nothing, and I couldn't tell if he was happy to meet me or annoyed I'd crashed their party.
"This is Slash and Scope," Mel continued, nodding towards the other men.
"Nice to meet you," I said. Slash was a short, middle-aged guy with a bit of a gut and had a real Santa vibe going for him. Well, if Santa wore ripped jeans and carried a giant knife on his belt.
Scope on the other hand was a hottie. He had dark hair, so dark it was almost black, And his skin held just enough color to make me think his ancestors hadn't all been of the milky-white variety.
And because sometimes God is generous and kind, Scope wasn't wearing a shirt, offering me glimpses of his bare chest, which was every bit as ripped as Sam's.
He had fewer tattoos, though. And his cut had a little patch under his name that said "Sgt. at Arms," which surprised me. I guess I hadn't expected bikers to have so many officers and such.
It just seemed so...organized.
Not only that, but they obviously had to pass some sort of minimum hotness test to join up...
That's what I believe.
"Are you Wringer's woman?" Scope asked, breaking the spell I'd fallen into. My cheeks heated, and suddenly I was hoping my pervy thoughts weren't totally written all over my face.
But the smirk on his face wasn't comforting...
"Um, no," I said, glancing over at Mel. She grinned. "But he's letting us stay in his basement. I have a seven-year-old. Our old place in Seattle wasn't working out."
That was the understatement of the year, for sure.
"Where's the kid?" he asked, glancing around.
"He's with a sitter," I said. "This is my first club event and I sort of wanted to check things out for myself before dragging him along."
Plank raised a brow, and I realized I'd probably just insulted them. Great.
"Also, I hear the parties go pretty late," I added quickly. "And I didn't want to have to leave just when things were getting fun. A friend offered to watch him, so here I am."
Mel grinned at me and I breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently, my quick save had actually worked.
"Well, if you get bored, come and see me," Scope said, offering a slow smile. "I'd be happy to show you around, maybe even take you for a ride later..."
"Uh...thanks," I replied, Sam's warning ringing through my head.
Scope was cute, but despite the fact that I didn't acknowledge Sam's right to give orders, I also didn't want to get into a huge fight with him. "Again, nice to meet you all. I'm gonna go find Marge and Spirit now. I want to see if they need any help setting things up or something."
"I'll come with," Mel said, popping up on her toes to give her dad a quick kiss on the cheek. For all her whining about him, she obviously adored the man.
And just like that, I felt a twinge of jealousy.
Because, even before they'd kicked me out, my parents were never the kind of people you'd just casually walk up to and kiss.
Nope, not in the Jones household.
I'd been devastated when they'd said they'd have nothing to do with a daughter who was a whore, let alone her bastard. Now I realized I was way better off without them.
My son's circle might be small, but everyone in it loved him unconditionally, and they weren't afraid to show it.
My parents didn't deserve to meet their grandson.
We found Spirit, Marge, and Meg arranging a mountain of food on the tables, laughing and smacking hands playfully as guys tried to steal bites before it was ready.
"Thanks for picking up the chips," Meg said.
I noticed all three women wore black leather vests...
"I thought you said only guys could be club members?" I asked, nodding towards them.
"Oh, these aren't club cuts," Spirit said. "Check it out."
She turned around and I saw a patch on the back that said "Property of Sledge Hammer," along with a Collectors symbol.
My eyes widened.
"I didn't realize the property thing was so...literal..."
"The guys have their colors and we have ours," Meg said. "Civilians don't get it, but all the patches mean something. The guys fly their colors because they're proud of the club, but their cuts tell stories, too. You can learn a lot about the guy by the patches he wears. It's like a language or something. Everyone knows where everyone else stands."
"The great thing about a property patch is that you're totally covered," Spirit added. "There's not a man here who's gonna touch me, no matter how drunk or stupid he gets by the end of the night. Not that I'm too worried here at our own clubhouse, but we go on runs where there are hundreds of riders, even thousands. And anyone who knows anything about the MC world takes one look at this and they know not to fuck with me."
"Yeah," Mel said. "You fuck with one of the Collector's property, you better be ready to take down every guy in the club."
"Huh," I said, trying to sound noncommittal. I liked the idea of protection as much as anyone, but there was something very uncomfortable to me about a woman choosing to call herself property.
Maybe it was shades of Shaun and how possessive he was. Though Meg and the others didn't seem too terribly oppressed, either.
I glanced around, taking in how many women were starting to fill the courtyard. And I realized, only a handful wore property patches.
"What about the rest of the women?" I asked. Mel shrugged.
"They're not important," she said bluntly. "Some of them are sweetbutts and club whores, which means they're around a lot. And the guys share them. Some are just random girls looking for a walk on the wild side. But none of them really count, not compared to us. They're all fair game."
"Fair game?"
"Free pussy," Meg said, her voice matter-of-fact. "They're just here to party, and if we're lucky, they'll help clean up. But if they give anyone shit, their asses are out the door. The good news is, they know their place. Half these girls work at Top Shot anyway."
"What about me?" I asked, unnerved. "I don't have a patch..."
"That's why you'll stick with us," Spirit said, her voice serious. "Because, despite his general dickitude, Wringer's right about one thing...you really don't want to mess around with the brothers. Don't flirt if you aren't interested in following through. And for fuck's sake, don't go off alone or into the Armory with anyone, particularly upstairs. There's some wild shit that happens up there. And you don't want to be part of it, trust me."
"Jesus, you're gonna scare her," Mel said, frowning. "Look at it this way... Would you go to any party or bar without taking some basic safety precautions? Only take drinks you've poured yourself, or ones that we've given you. You ever been to a frat party? Think of it that way. Dad, Stud, Wringer and Sledge Hammer are safe. Don't go off with someone you don't know, though. Stay in public areas. Use common sense and you'll be fine."
Oookay.
Loud and clear!
"Hey, another piece of good news...I saw Rally earlier," Mel added. "He manages Top Shot. I'll introduce you at some point, and you can ask him about waitressing. I'm definitely not on board with you stripping, but waitressing could be a pretty good gig."
"Would you work there?" I asked her.
She burst out laughing, joined by Meg and Spirit.
"My dad would kill me before he let me work at Top Shot," she said, when she finally caught her breath again. "Or maybe his head would explode. He's still trying to convince me I shouldn't work at all. That man would love it if I just stayed home and kept house for him, or maybe did some charity work on the side. He hasn't decided to join us in this century quite yet."
I thought about the tall, stern man I'd just met and had to smile. I could totally see him being overprotective like that.
"Doesn't he want grandkids some day?" I asked. "There's a middle step, you know."
"I don't think he's thought that far ahead," Mel replied with a giggle.
The whistle of a firework shooting off cut through everything, and we all looked up to watch an explosion of red, white and blue above the courtyard.
"Isn't that illegal?" I asked, eyes wide.
"Don't worry about it," Spirit told me. "We're so far out nobody gives a shit. And if they did, they'd just call the sheriff's department. But we've got a good relationship with him."
"The Collectors get along with the cops?" I asked, stunned.
"Not all of them," Spirit said. "But the sheriff is a pretty good guy. What a lot of people don't realize is that there's always gangs trying to move into the area. And the sheriff can't begin to keep up with them. Even if he knows about them, he can't do shit without evidence. That's where the Collectors come in. They help keep some of those problems under control, in their own special way. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement. The city cops are a different story, though. They hate us."
Another rocket shot up, this one exploding with a mighty flash and a bang. It wasn't dark yet, but the light was fading enough for it to mess with my vision.
When I stopped blinking from the bright light, I saw Sam watching me from across the courtyard...
"There he is," I muttered to Meg. "I haven't seen him since we had our little blowup. You think I should go over?"
"Yeah," she said. "Gotta face him sooner or later. Remember what we talked about... lay it out, and if he won't play, leave. You've got choices. Always."
The party continues in the next update...
Stay safe!