Down & Dirty: Zak (Dirty Angels MC Book 1) Page 4

  The scent of the coffee grounds seeped into Zak’s nostrils making him inhale deeply. Quality coffee. It had been a long time since he drank a decent cup that wasn’t watered down.

  “How is she?”

  Ace finished setting up the coffeemaker, flipped the switch, then turned to shove an empty mug at Zak. “Good. Can’t wait to see you. Wants you to come to dinner. Hell, wants you to move into one of the empty cabins at the farm instead of stayin’ in one of the rooms upstairs.”

  Zak studied the worn, scratched Harley emblem on the mug, not meeting Ace’s eyes. “That what you want?”

  “It’s whatever you want, Zak. You’re like a son to me. Only want what’s best for you.”

  He finally met the older man’s gaze. “And the club.”

  “And the club,” Ace repeated. “My father started this damn thing with your grandfather. Now Bear’s been gone a long time and Doc will never see the light of day again.”

  A tragic end to both fellow soldiers and best friends.

  “How’s he doin’ down at Greene?” Unlike Fayette where Zak had been housed, Greene was a max security prison. Prisoners deemed violent and convicted capital cases ended up there.

  “He’s a seventy-four-year-old Vietnam vet who was,” Ace shook his head, “is and always will be an outlaw biker in his own mind. So how do you think he’s doin’? He’s a cantankerous old man who thinks he can rule the roost in a prison full of thugs and skinheads.”

  “And is he?”

  Ace boomed out a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yeah, that old fucker sure is.”

  That drew a smile from Zak. “I’ll have to make sure to go visit him soon.”

  “No. Stay away from that prison. He’ll understand if you don’t come by. He knows what happened.”

  Zak scowled but nodded. “Still...”

  When Bear, Zak’s grandfather, was killed by another outlaw biker back in the early eighties, his fellow Army buddy and co-founder of DAMC, set out for revenge. And Doc didn’t do it discreetly or quietly. He took out a few members of their rival club, the Shadow Warriors, in the process. As did Zak’s uncle, Rocky.

  That caused a permanent, volatile wedge between the two clubs and landed Doc in prison for life without parole and left Lonnie, his wife, raising Ace, Allie and Annie by herself. Though the club helped out. Especially financially. That’s why it was so important to keep the coffers fat and overflowing. For shit like that.

  “Your mom good?”

  Ace sighed. “Yeah, she’s just as cantankerous as Pop, but, unfortunately, I have to deal with it since she’s livin’ in the farmhouse with me and Jan. Allie and Annie both live in cabins on the property. We all help take care of Mom.”

  His sisters had to be in their late forties by now. Hell, maybe even getting close to fifty.

  “That was a hell of a homecomin’ last night, wasn’t it.” Not a question, more of a fact.

  “Sure was,” Zak murmured, watching the dark brew drip into the glass coffee pot.

  “You disappeared for a while. Get some tail?”

  Zak turned away to hide his face. “Yeah.”

  Ace clapped him on the back then strode past him to the back door. “Gotta go open up the shop. You need anything, let me know. Be back later for the officer’s meeting.”

  Zak groaned as Ace shut the door behind him, cutting off the bright morning light which made him squint from his hangover.

  He grabbed the steaming pot of coffee and filled his mug, then carefully took a sip. He never liked black coffee before going into the joint. In there, he learned to appreciate it. Though, he hadn’t had much of a choice.

  He sighed after swallowing the hot, rich brew and settled on one of the old, worn couches that sat around the edge of the room. Some days and nights this room would be packed. Members, their ol’ ladies, prospects and hang-arounds filling every corner, every seat. Playing pool, darts, cards, drinking at the private club bar, or just plain raising hell.

  But right now, everyone was nursing their throbbing heads or still passed out.

  Zak studied the DAMC’s emblem over the bar. His granddaddy had carved it out of a single, solid piece of wood. He’d heard Bear had been good with a knife. And the craftsmanship in the curves and lines of the sign showed just how much.

  All Zak wanted to do was follow in his grandfather’s footsteps. The man had been a legend in his time.

  Just because his dad and brother followed a different path, a straighter path, didn’t mean he had to. His Uncle Rocky didn’t either. And Zak had looked up to his uncle, even though it infuriated his father that he had done so. Mitch told young Zak time and time again that he shouldn’t revere his outlaw uncle.

  But this club was in his blood. He was born a part of it. Whether his parents liked it or not.

  Mitch and Ace almost got into a knock-down brawl one day when Zak was about twelve. Zak had snuck out of the house to go for a ride on the back of Ace’s Harley. By the end of that long ride over winding roads, through valleys, over mountains, Zak knew where his future laid.

  He asked for a motorcycle every Christmas, every birthday. Finally, his dad got him a mini-bike and later a dirt bike. Same for Axel. His father might not have liked some aspects of the DAMC, but he loved to ride, too, so in the end he didn’t deny his boys the pleasure. Axel finally followed in his footsteps, heading off to the police academy and finally joining the Shadow Valley PD like their father. Both were members of the Blue Avengers MC, a club for cops.

  They could deny it all they want but the club was in their blood, too. However, due to their chosen profession, trying to stay on the straight and narrow, they couldn’t ride with the Dirty Angels. No. So, they started their own club, one that law enforcement supported and participated in.

  It wasn’t like Zak didn’t understand why they kept themselves separated. Back in the day, the DAMC was into some serious shit.

  Death, destruction and mayhem were a normal part of the game. Prison time was as common as a blink of the eye. When you were in a club, it was expected, respected.

  Now, through the years, the club tried to clean up its act. Move onto legit businesses, take part in charities, help the community. Try to get a better image.

  And it wasn’t because there wasn’t a choice. There was a choice. But getting rid of the one percenter image helped keep the coffers full. Less members were spending time in the joint. More hands on deck.

  Another benefit, was it helped keep law enforcement off their ass and out of their business.

  And that’s why he was voted in as president when he was twenty, which was unheard of. Zak had a vision for this club to take them into the future. Be progressive, like Ace said. And like Ace, he only wanted the best for this club and his brothers.

  He stared at the bottom of his now empty mug. He needed another cup of coffee and wondered if there was any of that cake left from last night to go along with it. He only got a chance to drag a finger through the icing and the sweetness on his tongue reminded him of her.

  The one whose name he didn’t know.

  The one who baked him a damn cake. And spelled his name correctly on it.

  And had that goddamn hair he wanted to wrap his fists in and pull as he was fucking her from behind.

  He couldn’t stop fantasizing about her pink, full lips circling the base of his cock, leaving a lipstick ring. If she even wore lipstick.

  Fuck.

  His cock stirred and he rubbed at the crotch of his jeans. That quickie wasn’t enough last night. It had only been a taste of what he wanted to do with a woman.

  No, not with a woman.

  With her.

  Goddamn it. One taste of her pussy and he was hooked.

  He could wait until the bill showed up in the mail to find out who she was or he could find out on his own.

  He still wanted his second round with her. And he hoped she wanted the same.

  Because if not… Zak blew out a breath. He’d just have to convin
ce her otherwise.

  When the door to the meeting room finally flung open, the members who made up the Executive Committee filed out. Not one of them looked happy.

  Not one.

  Not Ace, not Jag, not the Sergeant at Arms Diesel, not Zak’s former but still current VP Hawk. Even Dex, the club Secretary, walked out shaking his head. The only person who hadn’t crossed the threshold yet was Pierce, the still—from how everyone’s face looked—current sitting president.

  In one way he was relieved, he hadn’t been tapped to replace Pierce. Being in a motorcycle club could be its own form of prison. It was hard to be alone or completely free of club business. And it was worse when you were at the top.

  But in another way, Zak was disappointed. He knew Pierce preferred the old ways. That’s why when word got back to him that he’d been voted in after Zak got locked up he’d been surprised.

  Most likely, no one else wanted the job. And he couldn’t blame any of them.

  Now that Pierce had been heading the club for the last ten years, Zak doubted he wanted to step down.

  He didn’t have any personal beef with Pierce. He was a brother like any other. And at forty-nine, the man had been a member a lot longer than Zak or most of the other guys. So, he’d seen the club go through a lot of shit and a lot of changes.

  Zak heard his name yelled from within the meeting room. He met Ace’s eyes before stepping through the door.

  “Shut it.”

  He did, then turned to face the reigning president sitting at the head of the long, lacquered wood table his grandfather also hand carved with the club’s emblem.

  “I didn’t ask for this vote,” Zak started.

  Pierce stared at him for a few moments, his dark eyes unreadable. “I know. But just ‘cause you’re out doesn’t mean I’ll step down and hand the reins back over.”

  Zak didn’t answer. He waited. The man wasn’t done saying his piece.

  “Got no ill will toward you, Z. But you know I was one who thought you were too young to become president all those years ago. Just ‘cause your granddaddy was one of the founders doesn’t mean you should automatically be prez. But you do got a lick of sense.” He hesitated, then shook his head. “Or at least, thought so until you went up river to Fayette. Now that was a fuckin’ stupid move.”

  “Wasn’t my choice.”

  “No shit.” Pierce shook his head again, laying his hands flat on the table in front of him and studying them for a second before looking back up at Zak. “I’ve always understood where you were comin’ from, where Ace was comin’ from when you talked about takin’ this club into the future, just know that. Not sayin’ I agree with everything. But the club’s doing well, so I hafta admit it works. Our membership’s up. Money’s rollin’ in. Hell, might hafta start our own armored car biz.” He snorted. “If Hawk wasn’t a damn good VP, I’d make you mine. But he is, so you ain’t. Got me?”

  “Yeah, got you.”

  “Don’t mean I don’t appreciate your ideas. Hell, we need fresh ideas. We just had a lil convo about opening the club up to a few more prospects. The upside is cheap labor for the businesses. The downside?” Pierce shrugged. “The downside is that they’re prospects and just a step above the bitches that hang-around here.”

  Zak kept his mouth shut.

  “Anyway, here are my words to you as prez. Heed them well… As you know, there’s a hierarchy here, and it’s important it’s followed. Anarchy does us no good, no matter what the reason. This is the one and only time you get a chance to walk away scot free. No buy-out. Don’t like how things are bein’ run? Go patch a different club. Join a monastery. Take a trip to fuckin’ Disney World. Don’t give a shit what you do. But if you stay and don’t follow the rules, there will be consequences. And I’m sure as shit I don’t need to tell you what they are.

  “Right now, you’re wearin’ our colors. That could change. That patch on your back could be removed easily with a knife or a torch. And I’m not talkin’ ‘bout the one on your cut. Remember that. Then remember the one who holds the gavel. That’s all I ask.”

  “Yeah,” Zak said, not breaking their locked gaze. “Got it. Got one question though.”

  “Shoot.”

  “You gonna keep takin’ this club forward? Or you wanna take it back?”

  “This ain’t your granddaddy’s club no more, Z. I doubt we could go back that far. Hafta admit, what you fought for works. But do I like we’ve been pussified? No. It ain’t good for our rep. We still have too many rivals out there. Not only the Warriors but the Dark Knights. We’ll do whatever we need to do to keep our territory. If it can’t be handled on the up and up, then we’ll do it on the down low. Got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Pierce pushed up and away from the table. “So, you stayin’?”

  “Yeah.” There was no way he was walking away. Pierce as prez or not.

  “Then I’ll give you a week to get your shit in order. You got your room upstairs, but you need to pick a place to work, pay your dues, make sure your sled is ready to ride as soon as the weather breaks. And don’t try to upset the order. Got me?”

  “Yeah.”

  Pierce smiled and made his way around the table. They clasped forearms, bumped shoulders and Pierce slapped him on the back. “You wanna work at the gun shop, just say so. I could use the help.”

  “Felon, Pierce,” Zak reminded him.

  “Aw, shit. Right. Fuck. Ain’t right, but you gotta live with it now.”

  He sure did. It was something that would mark him for life.

  “Hey, one more question,” Zak asked as Pierce draped an arm over his shoulders and they headed toward the door.

  “What’s that?”

  “That cake last night. Where’d you all get it?”

  “The fuck if I know, check with Grizz’s ol’ lady. Thinkin’ she ordered it. Fuckin’ shit was good though, wasn’t it?”

  Zak nodded, fighting a smile as they walked out into the clubhouse and joined his brothers at the bar.

  Chapter Four

  Sophie double checked the counters to make sure anything edible had been put away and that any stray crumbs had been wiped clean so they wouldn’t attract ants, or mice. She shuddered at the thought of a rodent running through her bakery. She wiped her hands on her apron, then pulled it over her head and threw it in the laundry bag to be washed.

  With a sigh of relief that the long day was finally over, she moved toward the front of the shop to lock the door before heading up to shower and collapse on her bed. She needed sleep because she had to do this all over again tomorrow.

  As an adult, her dream had always been to open her own business. In her teens, her passion had been baking in her grandmother’s kitchen. Learning the ins and outs of baking sweet treats from her grandmother that made people smile. Whether cakes, cookies, brownies, cupcakes, whatever.

  So, when her grandmother died last year and left her the bulk of her estate, she decided to do something with that money to make her dream come true. It wasn’t a fortune, no. But it was enough of a nest egg to buy a building in a town where the real estate and taxes were reasonable, but also where the population was large enough to sustain the business.

  And that’s how she landed in Shadow Valley, a half hour south west of Pittsburgh. She hadn’t been looking in the area since she was from Philadelphia, but when her agent called to say she found the perfect business—a turnkey bakery that included all the equipment and even had an apartment above it for her to live in—she couldn’t resist.

  Not in her right mind.

  The only problem was she had no family or friends nearby.

  As she reached to twist the deadbolt, the door flew open making the bells above it clank in protest. With a yelp, she fell back, losing her balance and landing with a thud on her ass. Her heart froze in her chest before thumping wildly all the way into her throat.

  What the hell?

  Trying to catch her breath, she looked up to see a man standing over
her, legs spread wide, hand reaching out.

  “Sorry,” he grumbled. “Was tryin’ to catch you before you locked me out. Didn’t mean to knock you down like that.”

  Sophie’s gaze bounced from the outstretched hand to that damn biker’s eyes. Holy hell.

  She swallowed, gathered her wits, and pushed herself to her feet, ignoring his offer of help.

  “You okay?” His deep, gravelly voice almost pulled a shudder from her. Almost.

  Sophie brushed off her ass and frowned. “You couldn’t have just knocked?”

  “I knock, doubt you’d let me in.”

  He had that right. But she scowled anyway.

  He dropped his hand then turned on his biker booted heel to lock the deadbolt.

  Oh. No.

  Last time he locked a door they ended up naked, and she’d had three unplanned orgasms.

  She tilted her head and studied him as he swung back to face her. Though, those orgasms hadn’t been such a bad thing. He was just the wrong person to have them with.

  He smiled as if he’d read her mind.

  She ran a hand over her throat, and breathed deeply, trying to keep her pulse from leaping out of her neck.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Your name is Sophie.”

  Sophie opened her mouth then snapped it shut. He wasn’t asking. He was telling her what her own name was.

  Genius.

  “Yes, it’s on the two-foot-high sign out front. A little obvious.”

  He lifted one shoulder. “This place used to be Martin’s Bakery.”

  She shook her head slightly, confused. “Yeah, so?”

  “My mom used to bring me here when I was a tyke. Loved their whoopie pies.”

  “Chocolate ones with the vanilla icing?”

  A corner of his mouth slid up into a half smile. “Yeah. Had to be. Only the original.”

  Damn, the man was not only hot, he was endearing when remembering his youth. He was probably a lot more innocent back then than he was now. She pictured him wearing cute tan shorts, a little blue polo shirt, and holding onto his mother’s hand as she brought him in for his favorite treat.