Bonded Couple Read online

  BONDED COUPLE

  By

  Laran Mithras

  Cover Photo by www.Shutterstock.com

  Bonded Couple is a work of fiction. Names, locations and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2017 - All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Bonded Couple (Iron Crows Motorcycle Club, #4)

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  THE AFTERMATH

  EPILOGUE

  As for the one who is weak in faith, welcome him, but not to quarrel over opinions. One person believes he may eat anything, while the weak person eats only vegetables. Let not the one who eats despise the one who abstains, and let not the one who abstains pass judgment on the one who eats, for God has welcomed him. Who are you to pass judgment on the servant of another? It is before his own master that he stands or falls. And he will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make him stand.

  One person esteems one day as better than another, while another esteems all days alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind. The one who observes the day, observes it in honor of the Lord. The one who eats, eats in honor of the Lord, since he gives thanks to God, while the one who abstains, abstains in honor of the Lord and gives thanks to God. For none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's.For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living.

  Why do you pass judgment on your brother? Or you, why do you despise your brother? For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God...

  Romans 14:1-10

  CHAPTER 1

  I struggled, not wanting the diggers to find the body. The shovels stabbed down, over and over, digging at the soil in the graveyard, determined to find the truth. Deeper they dug, destined to discover my secret.

  People were always digging, always finding. Always knowing that justice would solve all crimes.

  I hoped they didn't dig deep enough, but there was a back-hoe there, ready. Its metallic scoop went into action and uncovered more and more, until bones were found. Bones turned in the dirt.

  Those around stood, watching, as the body of Thomas Green was at last uncovered. I felt eyes turn on me, accusing, asking, "Why? Why would you do such a thing? He was a good man."

  I knew I had to run. Flee.

  I jerked harshly to turn to run, and woke myself from my troubled sleep. I was sweating.

  Kristy leaned over me, her touch light. "Are you okay?"

  Already, much of the dream was gone. Remaining behind was the sense of unease at a grave being discovered. But that was unlikely, for certain. Who dug up graves and dug beneath them? Unless someone told...

  I scrubbed a hand down over my face. My beard was getting longer and I gripped it for a second. "Yeah... I'm... okay. Bad dream."

  Her eyes softened in the morning light. "You've been having quite a few recently. Ever since—"

  "Don't ask." I felt it in my bones – the reluctance to say anything. She was my wife, but the Iron Crows expected secrets to remain secrets. There was no way I could tell her I killed a man. For the club. For Keystone.

  I turned over, away from her. I felt her settle back down and heard her sigh. I didn't want to lock her out like this; I had to. I loved her, even if I felt she was drifting away from me. Our lives had been intersected, right after the altar, by the Iron Crows. The impact had sent us spinning in different directions, though we sought the same thing. We hungered for inclusion. Me, in my way. Kristy in her way. But they were different ways.

  I don't know if her need was greater than mine, or more fragile, but her relationship with the Iron Crows turned sexual. I just didn't know any more how many cocks she'd taken. And even if I got turned on over this slutty side of her, I still recognized that something was wrong.

  ~ ~ ~

  I pulled my Harley up to the clubhouse with Kristy clinging to me. Something normal such as this restored a sense of normalcy about our lives. Her grip reminded me she was mine and I was hers. But when she let go, the feeling evaporated. She would be going inside – going in to likely be alone with Ghost. She was always alone with him in the mornings.

  In the evenings, when not working at the Lucky 7, she might be with one of the other patchers. She didn't open her legs for all of them, just a certain few. But I never knew until I saw her off with Gripper, or Viking, or Big Pizza.

  Dealer, the president, kept his distance. It had been weeks since he had fucked my wife one last time at our trailer. He had walked out and kept his word. It was over. I saw the pain in his eyes, the tense set of his mouth, but he led us as if nothing was wrong. I could see it there, lingering, but also growing weaker. His lust for my wife was being put behind him. Like a junkie craving drugs, his withdrawals surged and spiked, then waned. Slowly, he was getting over her.

  I hadn't even dismounted yet when Ghost came out with Flats. The treasurer pointed at me. "Stay on and follow me." He got onto his Harley and started it.

  I reaffixed my helmet and started my bike back up. Flats was on his.

  When Ghost saw us ready, he pulled out and accelerated towards the commercial area of town where Kristy and I rented the trailer. I followed behind Flats for a few streets, then pulled into a yard behind them. I thumbed off my Harley and got off when they did.

  Ghost flipped a set of keys. We were in what looked like an old gas station from the 1960s or 70s. A separate warehouse that had probably been a different piece of property had been added within an enclosed gate sometime in the last thirty years. He said to us, "We considered this place first for the club. But the brothel won out."

  I watched him unlock a dirty glass door and push it open. I went in after Flats.

  The place smelled like old oil with a hint of waterless hand cleaner.

  Ghost said, "It's ours, now. For a chop shop."

  Flats mumbled, "We stealin' cars now?"

  "No, buying them cheap and chopping them. Jimmy's idea."

  Flats grunted, happy.

  "You'll be doing the chopping. I'll need to see if I can lure Jacks away from his job to help."

  Flats nodded thoughtfully.

  Ghost waved the keys at me. "You're going to hustle the parts. Sell to mechanics, advertise in newspapers, online, wherever you can push it."

  Wow, cool. I can do this. "Sure thing."

  "Cable company is coming to wire you in. We'll move in a desk. Run out to the city and get the kind of computer you'll need. Can you credit card it?"

  "Sure. Just need a laptop."

  "Get it done by tomorrow. I have an order in at the Print Shop for business cards. When those come in, hit every garage you can find."

  I was nodding. "Yep. No problem."

  "I also have a run of flyers that should be done by noon. Pick them up in the meantime and start placing them wherever you can." He indicated the phone on an otherwise empty old shelf. "That's going to get turned on today." He pulled a slip of paper from his vest. "That's the number. Voice mail included. Set up a proper recording until you're here full time."

  "Understood." I was smiling. It almost felt like my own business.

  "Leave off the toilets. This is your new focus. It's also going to be your new job."


  "No more bouncing?"

  "We don't make money off of bouncers." His scowl and squint drilled into me. "The club is putting money into getting this off the ground, Jimmy. Don't disappoint us."

  I stopped smiling. "I won't."

  "Don't worry about the bars; we got guys who can take over. You've a lot to do here." He looked around at the dirt and dust. "If you need supplies and material, give me a list."

  "Will do."

  My days as a bouncer were over.

  CHAPTER 2

  I was wore out by the end of the day. But it was a good feeling. I had arranged signage. Procured a business license. Picked up and passed out fliers. Biked into the city and picked up a decent laptop that would serve the purpose, and a backpack for it. I haggled with a contractor about security lights and an alarm. I bought a heavy chain and a new lock for the fence. And I gave a long list to Ghost by email: office supplies; receipt books; cleaning supplies, and a wish list for a yard dog.

  Flats was working a list for equipment; that was the real money. He kept mumbling about buying some old tow truck to bring cars to us.

  I backed in near the front door of the clubhouse next to the other Harleys.

  Wallet and Viking were outside the front door, leaning against the wall and drinking beers. Tall, blonde Viking raised his beer to me. "Hey, Jimmy."

  Fuck, I hate that name. I gave him a grin. "Hey. Hey, Wallet."

  Wallet was a shorty but young and muscular. He had taken punches from some of the Sons of Aggression posers at the Daily when I was bouncing. He made a wry face. "Some of your friends are in there."

  "Oh? You still grudging them for that—"

  He belched. "Nah. Just got nothing to say to them. Not until I see more."

  I nodded slowly. That sounded like Wallet. Hell, that sounded like the whole club. I waved and went in. I slung my laptop backpack and helmet on the table. At the bar, I sighed.

  Donna was behind the counter. "Hey, handsome."

  "What are you doing back there?"

  "Grannie wanted a break. Said maybe this was a good chore for me."

  "Instead of cleaning the kitchen?"

  "It doesn't get all that dirty very often."

  "Mm."

  "So, what will it be? Scotch, beer, whiskey, or me?"

  I chuckled. "Beer. Your husband still being a dick?"

  She reached into the cooler under the counter and brought up a Miller Genuine Draft. She popped the top and slid it to me. "The skies did not open up today delivering an angel to set him straight."

  "Well, I don't imagine we could accomplish much out here." I looked around. "Kristy...?"

  "In with Ghost, of course."

  "What's new?" I took a long pull on the cold beer.

  "Actually, she turned down Big Pizza and Gripper."

  I looked at her funny. "Are you shitting me?"

  She leaned on both forearms and gave me a fantastic view of cleavage. "Now why would I want to do that?"

  "No, you wouldn't."

  She straightened. "Go have some fun. I'm stuck behind the counter here, anyway. Maybe tomorrow, huh?"

  I winked. "I'll see if I can squeeze in some time."

  She pursed her lips. "The chop shop thing, huh?"

  I nodded.

  "Don't forget about me."

  I walked around the counter to where she stood. I kissed her ear. "Never."

  She gave me a pursed-lipped smile and looked down.

  I circulated. I knew Donna was lonely. I knew she identified with me because she was so like me. So like Kristy. Some of us needed to be included. Some of us wanted to know we were needed – valued. It was why Kristy and I had married: we were two loners who found happiness being alone together. But now my wife was finding inclusion in the club and opening herself in ways that might have excited me at first. I felt my excitement was now coalescing into worrying clumps of concern.

  Meatgrinder and Slaughter from the disbanded Sons of Aggression were playing pool.

  I went over to them. "Hey, you two."

  Meatgrinder's face broke into a broader smile than he had been wearing. "Hey Jim."

  At least the posers don't call me Jimmy.

  Slaughter said, "Hey, Jimmy."

  I slapped my hand to my face and drew it down.

  Slaughter, though, was no slow cookie. "You don't like that name?"

  I looked around quickly, then lowered my voice. "Fuck no, I hate it. I'm Jim."

  "Sorry, Jim. It's just that I've heard others use it."

  I placated him with my hand. "No, no, it's all right. Don't say anything about it." I took a deep swig. "I'm just scared shitless if I ever get patched it'll be my nickname."

  Meatgrinder laughed. "Could have a worse one."

  Big Pizza wandered into us. "Mind if I break in here and challenge Meatgrinder to a game?"

  I held up my beer. "Have at it."

  Slaughter ducked his head. "Go ahead. I'll just chat with your prospect here."

  I moved over to the counter with Slaughter. I tossed my empty into the recycle can and said, "Another beer, please?"

  Slaughter said, "Me, too."

  Donna popped two bottles. "Hey, would you like to do me a favor?"

  I said, "Sure, Donna."

  "Could you run back to the walk-in and grab me another case? We're getting low."

  "Miller?"

  "Please."

  "Sure thing." I winked at her. I motioned to Slaughter to follow me. We walked back toward the left hall.

  He said, "So this place used to be a whore house?"

  I grunted. "Yep, they bought it and shut it down."

  "I would've figured they'd keep it. Take over and—"

  "Iron Crows are different." I stopped and faced him, a world of want in me to say why, but I said, "Very different. They're more concerned about the community than you can imagine."

  He raised an eyebrow. "I remember Brett – I mean Ace - talking to Massacre about the Iron Crows having an in with the sheriff—"

  My hand on his chest stopped him. We were right outside the kitchen and I heard voices inside. I leaned close and said very low, "Best keep that to yourself. For the time being."

  His mouth was open but I could see both question and understanding in his eyes. "Sure. No problem."

  I motioned and we went into the government-green kitchen. Grannie was there, huddled with Smoke and Tequila.

  Grannie was saying, "...never seen such a thing—" She straightened. "Oh, hi, Jimmy."

  I acted normal. I kissed her cheek and patted Smoke on the shoulder. I gave Tequila a wet kiss on the lips. "Hi, ladies. Just grabbing a case." I didn't wait for an answer. I handed Slaughter my beer and opened the heavy metal walk-in door. Along the right on the floor were cases of beer. I hefted two and used my foot to hook the door and push it closed.

  The women looked like they were deliberately waiting for us to be gone.

  I grinned at them and left with Slaughter.

  He said, "Sometimes I don't know what to say."

  I stopped and leaned my head towards him. "At those times, it's best to say nothing."

  "Are you making it here? As a prospect?"

  I laughed, feeling a tickle somewhere deep inside. "Shit if I know."

  He was giving me a curious look.

  I said, "Look, Bob – it was Bob, right?"

  He nodded.

  "I was a loner. I had shit until Kristy. The Iron Crows made me feel at home, even if I was just a hang-around. That meant a lot to me. And to Kristy, too. And Donna is the same. Fuck, for all I know, every biker in here was a loner before—"

  A hand clapped down on my shoulder. Gunner's gravelly voice spoke around his unlit cigar. "You got that fucking right, Jimmy. Abso-fucking-lutely."

  Slaughter chuckled. "You really don't sound like a chaplain."

  Gunner wheezed – that old Chrysler sound. "Shit, boy, you ever read the old testament?"

  "Well..."

  "You should, though you get
all you need from the new. But all those prophets God sent? Nasty, iron-ass bunch. Yanking beards, cursing and cussing." He whipped his cigar from his mouth and stabbed Slaughter in the chest with it. "Those are my kind of men. You throw some mealy-mouthed wimp at me who looked like he just sucked a green persimmon and I'm more likely to shove my boot up his ass."

  Slaughter look amused to the point of shocked laughter. "Okay... should I grow a beard so you can yank it?"

  Gunner wheezed as if he was going to die. He clapped Slaughter on the shoulder. "Stick around, asshole." He walked out of the hall.

  Slaughter looked at me as if he just couldn't believe what he had heard.

  I said, "He's a very strong believer."

  "Him?" He sounded incredulous.

  We were at the end of the hall. "See that love seat near the pool table?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Few months back, he took me down to my knees and I accepted Jesus in front of the entire club."

  He looked at me with wonder in his expression. "In front of..."

  I gave him a dry look. "Don't ever presume to think he's a phony."

  "I won't."

  "Let's go deliver these beers."

  CHAPTER 3

  I stopped in at the clubhouse with Kristy for breakfast; she had taken to riding with me on my Harley and walking to the Lucky 7 for her shift. We entered the kitchen to familiar smells of bacon and coffee.

  Grannie leaned over the counter. "You want bacon with your pancakes?"

  I chuckled. I knew there was no menu here except for what she felt like making. She and Smoke worked the kitchen like pros, but they only made one breakfast.

  "Sure, please, Grannie." I grinned.

  Kristy said, "Me, too."

  Grannie waved at us as if we were flies that had gotten too close. It was a familiar gesture and not delivered with any distaste.

  We poured coffee while we waited.

  My normal spot next to Donna was taken by Celia. The two women were huddled.

  Kristy barked a short and derisive laugh just low enough for me to hear. She didn't like me being around Donna, at all.

  I grabbed up my plate from the counter where Grannie had dropped it. "Thanks, Grannie."