Reckless Love (Satan's Prophets MC, Book 2) (Satan's Prophets MC Series) (2 page)

Spring 1991

The door banging against the wall startled a sleeping Roach and he jumped. Next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor.
What the hell!
He sat up and shook his head to clear away the drunken night’s sleep. He squinted his eyes, trying to focus on what was going on.

The club president walked into the clubhouse with a purposeful stride. Striker, six feet of solid muscle, had been President of Satan’s Prophets MC for the past fifteen years. The brothers referred to him as a stompin’ machine because he was known to stomp a man to shit as soon as look at him. From the frown on Striker’s face, Roach wondered what was up.

Striker called out to Roach as he walked past the couch. “Any sign of Mick? Where the fuck is he? He hasn’t been showing up for work at The Den. Big Daddy says he’s been MIA.”

Roach shrugged. He got up and stretched, twisting to work the kinks out of his body from the lumpy couch. Buckling up his belt, he walked over to join Striker at the bar.

“Don’t know. Probably lying drunk somewhere. He hasn’t been around since he’d heard the girl he knocked up had her baby,” Roach said nonchalantly, trying to contain his laughter.

Striker grumbled back, not finding it funny. “He needs to handle his shit and get back to work. He’s not the first guy to knock up some bitch.” Striker yelled for a cup of coffee, and when no one brought it out, he got up and took a walk into the kitchen himself. The coffee pot wasn’t plugged in and the kitchen was empty. He walked back out and snapped at Roach. “Which prospect’s on kitchen duty today?”

Just then, Jock came walking out of a side storage closet zipping up his jeans. He was followed closely behind by a black-haired skinny girl. When Jock saw Striker and Roach obviously waiting for their brew, he started walking faster.

“Hey, sorry. Just taking care of a lil’ business,” he replied, red-faced and breathless, as he pushed the girl toward the door. He then hurried into the kitchen.

Striker rolled his shoulders and massaged his neck, trying to relieve some tension. He shook his head, muttering, “Horny bunch of fuckers in this club. We got a problem with Big Daddy filling in at the bar for Mick. He’s not working out. I heard he’s slammin’ customers’ heads around when they piss him off. Just great for business. What does Big Daddy think? It’s his job to keep them happy.”

Jock brought out Striker’s cup of coffee a little while later and when he put it down, Striker told him to hand him the bottle of liquor. After he poured a healthy shot of Jack Daniels into his coffee, Striker sat back and lit up a smoke. The longer he sat there thinking, the madder he got. He yelled to Jock, “Get ahold of Rebel and Spokes. Tell them to go find Mick and drag him outta whatever hellhole he climbed into and bring him here. Fucker needs to get his head on straight.”

* * *

Rebel and Spokes slammed the door to the body shop and took the stairs two at a time. When they reached the little room on the second floor, it reeked of alcohol. They knew they had found Mick. He was passed out, lying on a makeshift bed on the floor. Spokes went back downstairs to get a bucket of water. When he returned, he dumped it over Mick’s head.

Mick sat up sputtering. “What the fuck!” he yelled as he ran his hand over his face to sluice off the water. “What did you do that for? Leave me be,” he moaned as he laid back down.

Spokes laughed at Mick’s drunken state. His hair was greasy and clumped together and his dirty beard looked glued to his face. His clothes were wrinkled and stained—with what, they didn’t want to know.

“Come on, get up. Striker wants you back at the clubhouse.” Spokes continued, shaking Mick and trying to get him up.

Rebel pinched his nose closed with two fingers. “Spokes, grab his other arm. He stinks to holy hell! He’s getting a cold shower or we’ll never sober him up.”

They half-dragged, half-carried Mick downstairs into a small shower stall the guys used for quick cleanups. When the ice cold spray hit Mick, he started swinging and caught Spokes on the chin. Spokes swore. Rebel couldn’t help laughing until he was pulled into the shower too. His temper boiling now, Rebel drew back his fist and slammed it into Mick’s face. Mick was in no shape to defend himself; he went down and out. They picked him up, loaded him into the van, and drove to the clubhouse.

They carried Mick in and dumped him on a bed in a back room. “Might as well leave him here ‘til he sobers up,” Spokes decided. “No sense trying to talk to him now. I’ll call Striker and let him know we found him.”              

* * *

Mick opened his eyes and was surprised to find himself lying on a bed in the clubhouse. He vaguely remembered bits and pieces of being dragged somewhere, but not much else. His head felt like someone was pounding nails into it and his mouth was as dry as a desert. Mick laid there thinking about how bad he screwed up his life.
A baby!
The one thing he didn’t need or want in his life right now.

He ran his hand through his hair to push it away from his face and caught a smell that reminded him of rotted food.
Damn, I stink.

Mick sat up slowly, not wanting to make his headache worse. He stripped off his dirty clothes and hit the shower, staying in there for a long time until the hot water ran out. When he was done, he walked into another room and dug through some dresser drawers looking for clean clothes. Finding wrinkled up old jeans and a navy blue t-shirt, he dressed and walked out into the bar area.

He found JD and Drifter with their heads bent together, talking. He walked over and sat down next to them.

“Hey man, how ya doin’? Better yet,” JD grimaced, “how ya feelin’? Tough thing ya got hit with, but you gotta get your head on straight, bro.”

“Yeah, I hear ya, brother. Just not yet. I can’t think straight. Hell, you know me, JD, I’m not daddy material. Never even considered having a kid in my life. What the fuck do I do now?” Mick yelled for a shot of liquor, then felt his stomach clench. “Make it a coffee instead.”

* * *

Striker and his old lady, Holly, walked into the bar. When he saw Mick, he headed straight for him. Patting Holly on her ass, he nodded for her to get lost. She knew it was club business time, so she went to check the kitchen out and see if the prospects were keeping it clean.

Striker leveled a hard stare at Mick. “Well, our sleeping beauty is awake, I see. Where the fuck ya been? You left us hanging, bro. Not likin’ that at all. Big D is over at The Den doin’ your job and losing us business ‘cause he can’t stop banging heads together, while you’re off like a snot-nosed kid crying ‘cause you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”

“Holly! I need a coffee!”

Holly came out and put a cup of coffee down in front of Striker and didn’t say a word. She knew better than to open her mouth and give him sass when he was in a bad mood. She turned and hurriedly walked back into the kitchen.

Mick got pissed off, but he knew Striker hit the nail on the head. He
was
acting like a little kid. He said the only thing he could think to excuse his behavior. “How would you like to find out your whole life is messed up ‘cause you made a bad judgment call and banged some chick? Hell, I didn’t plan any of this.”

“Yeah, well, let me tell ya something, brother.” Striker sat down and pulled a joint from his pocket. He lit it up, inhaled deeply, and let it out in one slow breath. “I was in your shoes. When Holly came to me and said she was knocked up with my kid, what did I do? I didn’t fuckin’ run and hide. I stepped up to the plate like a man. So figure out your shit and get back to your job at The Den before we have to close the place down.”

Mick rarely saw Striker this angry. Striker yelled for Holly to get her ass out there, and they left.

JD asked, “So what ya gonna do, man?”

“Do?” He lit up a smoke. “I’m gonna have that shot of liquor now, that’s what I’m gonna do.”

* * *

After having some more coffee and another shot, Mick left the clubhouse to do some serious thinking. He hopped on his bike and took off on the open road, the only place he could clear his head. He rode down dirt roads, over highways, and up the mountains. The wind against his face was exhilarating and lifted his spirits. Memories came flooding back to him of his childhood. He remembered his dad never being around much because of his job and all the times he spent alone hunting and fishing. More memories, painful ones, of just lying in bed at night and crying because he just plain missed his dad.

The loneliness of his childhood hit him like a brick wall. He pulled off the road and stopped. He knew what he needed to do. Striker was right; it was time to step up to the plate and be a man. He had to convince Renee to give him a shot. That was his kid, and he had to do right by him. Mick had no one left as far as family went. His parents were both dead now and he had no siblings. He knew he lived a lonely life and didn’t want his son growing up with no one to depend on. He figured it would be a whole new experience, but he’d made up his mind. He was gonna try his best to be there for his kid. Renee wanted nothing to do with him, but they would just have to work something out.

She squinted her eyes trying to see the figure standing in the misty gloom more clearly. He was small in stature and his clothes disturbed her, but she couldn’t reason why. Maybe it was the dark vest he wore with the bright colors splashed in the middle of it. Her eyes felt a magnetic force pulling at them and making her watch, so she watched. He reached behind his back, pulled out a gun, and took aim. That’s when she noticed someone was standing in front of him. He let out an eerie laugh that sent shivers up her spine before a shot rang out and the figure in front fell to the ground. She heard more laughter. Fear was choking her; she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to run, but her feet wouldn’t move. She watched as this childlike apparition slowly turned around. Then she saw his face … a face that resembled his father’s and hers.
  

Renee’s whole body jerked and she sat up in bed quickly. She pushed her sweat laden hair off her face and waited for her eyes to focus and figure out where she was. She looked around and realized she was in her bedroom and her clock said two in the morning. Her nightgown was plastered to her damp body. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest like she had just run a marathon. She tried to calm herself down by taking deep breaths.
Another damn nightmare! Will they ever stop?
Ever since Renee gave birth to her son, she’d been having these occasional nightmares. She knew why, too.

Her baby’s father was Mick Jenkins. He was a member of the Satan’s Prophets MC, a one-percent motorcycle club just outside of town. Renee had a sexual tryst with Mick, but just once. When Mick wanted to see more of her, she gave in to the temptation of his handsome face with that sexy smile and went for a motorcycle ride with him. That ride ended in deadly violence. Renee ended it with Mick before their relationship went any further. The MC life was too brutal for her, and she explained that to Mick. Renee wanted a house with the white picket fence, a nice yard with a few children playing in it, and a man she could depend on. But most of all, she wanted a man who didn’t live by his gun and break the law.

Renee peeked into the crib next to her bed and stared at her precious little son sleeping so peacefully. She never knew love like this even existed until she held him in her arms for the very first time. And when he cried, she’d soothe him and hold him clutched tightly to her chest knowing how much he depended on her to care for him.

She prayed for the same thing every night. She prayed she was strong enough to raise her son on her own, and that she could keep her child away from that motorcycle club and all the violence associated with it.

Feeling overwhelming sadness, rivers of tears ran down her cheeks. Then came the wracking sobs.

A soft knock sounded on her bedroom door before it opened. In walked her dad like he always did when she could be heard crying. He sat down on the bed and pulled Renee into his arms.

“Shh… Honey, shh. Your dad will take care of you and your child. All will be well, you’ll see.” Renee hugged her dad tightly, thinking of the day she went to him and told him she was pregnant. It was one of the worst days of her life and it killed her. The last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt her father and make him ashamed. She remembered seeing the
disappointment and sorrow written all over his face.

From the sad look on her dad’s face, Renee knew he was wishing her mother were there right now. Her mom and dad thought they would never have a baby after eight years of trying, and when her mother finally became pregnant, her dad told her how ecstatically happy they were. But their happiness ended all too soon when her mother died in childbirth. Her dad also told her how he was so grief-stricken that his sister, Jenny, had to step in and raise her for the first two years of her life. Finally, her dad emerged from his grief and brought her back home.

* * *

After the fitful night Renee had, she was glad for morning to finally arrive so she could go to work at the store her father owned, Charlie’s Clothing Closet. The store was a favorite of the townspeople because it carried many household items along with clothing apparel and hunting supplies. Aunt Jenny talked her into going back to work part-time, convincing Renee that she needed to get out of the house a little now and then. Renee followed her aunt’s advice whenever she felt herself feeling down in the dumps.

Aunt Jenny had come to stay with Renee for a while to help her adjust to being a new mom. Renee didn’t know how she would have managed without her. It was overwhelming at times to take care of a baby, but Aunt Jenny had lots of experience. Her neighbor’s daughter had a baby not too long ago, and Jenny would help them out whenever she could, but there was still a lot they were learning as they went along.

Her friend Susanna was already at the store opening up. Susanna was hiding out from an abusive husband and had been dancing in bars to survive. When Roach, an old friend of Susanna’s family and the vice-president of the Satan’s Prophets MC, happened to see her on stage one night, he hauled her ass off of it and helped her get a new start. Renee’s dad gave her a job in his store, then eventually he took her in to live with him and Renee. Susanna was twenty-four, two years younger than Renee.

“Hi, Renee. Do you think you should be walking to work these days? I mean, it’s got to be tiring for you.”

Renee looked at Susanna sadly. “If it weren’t for the disgusting looks I get from the uppity old women as they pass by. You’d swear I made a pact with the devil or something, the way they look at me.”

Susanna hugged Renee. “Screw them old harpies! There is nothing to be ashamed of. You have a beautiful baby and I just love spoiling him. Aunt Susanna. I love the sound of that.”

Renee smiled. “What would I do without you, Lori, and Jaz? If it weren’t for you girls standing by me, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I love my son with all my heart, and I am going to do my best for him.”

When Renee got quiet, Susanna knew who her thoughts had turned to. “Are you sure you and Mick won’t work out? I know you aren’t into his MC lifestyle, but he is the father. Maybe you should give him a chance.”

Renee let out a bitter laugh. “Mick hasn’t exactly been around to see me, now has he? I know I sent him away, but really, he hasn’t even come to see if I am doing okay since he found out I was pregnant. And now that I had Michael, he didn’t even come to see if he was healthy and doing well. Doesn’t that tell you something? It sure as heck tells me that he doesn’t want anything to do with me or my baby. I can’t talk about this anymore, Susanna. Let’s just get through this day. Dad said he will be here to relieve us later on. He says it’s because he doesn’t want you carrying the load of the store, but I know it’s me he worries about.”