Cutter's Hope (15 page)

I tucked the Ruger into the small of my back up under my jacket into its inner pants holster and shoved my purse into the top of my pack, cinching the drawstrings tight and closing the flap. The front door to the house opened and a few of Cutter’s men came in.

“Hear we’re going to the great state of Louisiana!” one of them said, a man I recognized but I didn’t know his name.

“Chill out, Lightning. We don’t know what’s what until the rest of the guys get here. Just because we voted it don’t mean we’re clear to go, you know that.” The man who spoke was an older guy, fifties maybe, bald and built with a graying trucker’s ‘stache.

“Hope,” I said to the older man giving him a chin lift. He grinned at me.

“Beast,” he said back.

“No offense, Beast, Lighting… but that’s my sister. I’m going with or without you guys.”

“Calm your tits, Sugar; just certain requirements have to be met. We don’t live in your civilian world ‘n you don’t live in ours.”

I eyed Beast carefully and bit my bottom lip, worrying it carefully in thought. This was Cutter’s world and rather than get butt twisted and piss these guys off more, I decided I’d bite.

“Can you explain it to me?” I asked and Beast’s grin grew larger.

“You see states, counties, cities… we see territories. New Orleans and its outlying parishes is Voodoo Bastard territory. Now our territory, Kraken territory is small by comparison. We never wanted a big national charter like the Sacred Hearts have. You know who I’m talking about with them, right?”

I nodded.

“Right, well The Kraken just hold Ft. Royal and about five miles in any direction of it. We don’t want more ‘n that. Where we’re heading is another MC’s territory. MC’s operate on respect first and foremost and part of that is you don’t go tromping onto the next dude’s territory without giving them a heads up, or in certain cases askin’ permission. Now our fearless leaders are working on that as we speak. You’ll find Cutter’s got one hell of a loyal crew. Captain barely had to ask and we all signed up for this shit.” That set me back on my heels, these guys barely knew me and what they’d seen of me, well I’d been mostly a bitch since I’d hit town…

“Why’re you helping me?” I asked quietly.

Lightning flashed a grin at me, his light green eyes luminous. He was handsome in his own right, just young for my tastes. Mid-twenties maybe and wiry with short cropped light brown hair. It was he who answered me, “‘Cause, you’ve made the Captain smile again,” he told me which was one of the fucking weirdest and most cryptic things for him to say but I didn’t have time to ask because here came Marlin and Pyro, Radar and I think Atlas with Cutter coming in behind them. All of them carried packs or gear.

“Hey,” I said by way of greeting.

“Awright listen up!” Cutter barked as even more of his men came in behind him, “We’re headed to New Orleans, Pyro has our route planned and Atlas has made contact with the brotherhood in control of the territory out there. They’re expecting us. Pyro, brief us, Man. We ain’t got any time to waste.” Cutter looked at me as he delivered his last and I gave him a slight nod.

“Okay, we’re taking the I-75 North to the I-10 West, you stay in formation. Get your pockets full of change, we’re going to be hitting some toll booths. It’s gonna be around a 10 hour ride, we’re going straight through, that’s Captain’s orders so if any of you want or need to puss out, do it now. We’re going to stop and fuel on the way out of town. Grab an energy drink if you need to. Trike is going to be following us up in the crash truck, Beast, you’re our tailgunner,” Beast gave a snappy little salute at that, “Hope, you’re riding up front with the Pres since you’re A, fucking him and B, don’t know what the hell you’re doing with a crew.” Pyro gave me a tight lipped little smile and I raised my eyebrows a little.

“Jealous?” I asked with a wink. Pyro grinned.

“Ask me in front of my Ol’ Lady I’ll deny it but hell yes. Your ass is fine,” he shot back. Cutter smacked him lightly upside the head and scowled at him. Pyro laughed.

“Atlas,” Cutter intoned.

“Right,” Atlas cleared his throat, “We’ve got clear passage through Voodoo Bastard territory and as long as we stick to the big slab we’re clear through all the territories leading up to theirs. You fuckers better have your bikes in working order, there ain’t going to be any unplanned fuel stops. We should be good to go once we get on the road. You need to stop you know the signal.”

“Yell if you need to, Sweetheart,” Cutter told me. I was actually kind of surprised at how well organized and efficient these guys sounded for looking as hodge podge, rough and slapped together as they did, they seemed to have this shit down to a science.

Atlas and Pyro rattled off some other miscellaneous information and we all pulled on packs, cinching straps and making sure clasps and buckles were secure. I picked up my helmet and fell into step just behind Cutter, going for my bike. I put my helmet on, not caring to ride without it, mostly because my bike didn’t really have a place to stow it. Cutter gave me a side long look with a little smile as I climbed astride my baby.

“We gotta get you a real bike,” he said. I fired up with the sharp growl and whine unique to Ducati sport bikes and smiled.

“I like my bike just fine,” I said.

“No accounting for taste, Sweetheart, but I sure do like you on the back of mine,” I grinned secretly, my mouth hidden behind my helmet’s face mask and snapped down my tinted visor.

Cutter waved me up on his left and Marlin took to his right. I’d never ridden in a procession so large. I’d occasionally fall in with one or two other riders heading in the same direction while out on the interstate or highway, but I’d never been in more than a pack of four or five at the most. This was different. There was something base and almost tribal about it and I could tell my presence among them weirded a few of the guys out. I think it was both that I was a woman and that I was riding and it definitely didn’t help that I was riding a bike that was completely out of form from the rest of theirs. I imagined they had a rule for everything and what sorts of bikes were permissible within the club was one of them.

The roar and pulse of the bike’s engines was deafening, I tucked my earbuds in up under my helmet and plugged the wire into my phone which I zipped into a pocket in the upper arm of my jacket. My music played, Cutter gave a hand signal and we poured out of the drive and onto the street. An old U-Haul box truck falling in behind us. It was going to be a long ride.

Chapter 16

Cutter

Hope was holding up like a champion, there were times she would edge a little far up and I would have to throw her a hand signal but I got it. It was her sister. Hell, I had a brother, we didn’t speak but if it’d been him, I would want to get to him at break neck speeds myself. She’d been antsy at the first stop to top off our tanks. There were only so many pumps at the station and it’d taken two rounds to get all the bikes topped off and the crash truck too. She’d filled up, all the while bouncing on the balls of her feet ready to just fucking
go.

The first pit stop we’d made she’d gone into the women’s restroom, returned to her bike and fired it right back up. She wasn’t speaking to anyone, didn’t even pop off her helmet. She was brooding and I didn’t blame her. She and her sisters were close, which meant one thing and one thing only. Whatever her girl Faith was into, it wasn’t something she wanted to be doin’ and she wasn’t in any position to get away or call for help or she damn sure would have done it by now.

It was creeping up on six-thirty in the am when we pulled off the exit of the I-10 West and dropped down into the outskirts of the city. I checked my rearview and followed Pyro’s hand gestures, making turns and wending through some quiet, busted ass, hoods. Some of the buildings around these parts were nothing but the cement slab of a foundation. Houses taken out by Hurricane Katrina and just never rebuilt.

It was a fuckin’ shame too. Those white slabs gleaming in the dark reminded me of the flat markers in modern cemeteries and with the destruction that storm caused, I probably wasn’t far off the mark. Hope edged up next to me and looked over, her face hidden behind the gleaming carapace of her ultra-modern helmet. I gave her a reassuring nod and when she dropped back just behind me to my left. It was kind of nice we were in tune enough after such a short time that we could pick up words and intent without ever having to speak. Her little move had spoken to me clearly,
are we close?
All it took was a slight inclination of my head to reassure her that yes, we were close.

I didn’t think I had to be nervous about her and the meet and greet with this new MC, but she
had
pointed a gun in my face the last time she got worked up. I sighed, we’d deal with it if and when it came up. I glanced back and Pyro gave me the signal that it was the next driveway on the left.

It was a fenced in lot, one of them chain link fences topped with barbed wire with the plastic privacy slats in them. The slats were gray but some enterprising street artist had gotten to them with their spray cans. What resulted wasn’t any half assed gang graffiti though. No, they’d done quite the mural of the MC’s colors on there. A skull grinned out at us from an angle, one of those round eye piece things, like Mr. Peanut sported, crammed into its eye socket, magnifying the eyeball behind it which was green. The Skull wore a purple top hat and in gold letters
The Voodoo Bastards
was proclaimed loud and proud.

Not very subtle, but if you had the reputation and the balls to back it, you didn’t need subtle. I pulled into the lot with my guys and my woman ranging out behind me. There were five or six bikes backed against the cinderblock building, by the single door. I chose to back us into the open area on the left.

At the sound of the bikes, three men came out the front door. Probably their wrecking crew, to scope us out. Didn’t blame them one bit. I shut off my bike and put down my kickstand and a fourth man exited the club house. A big dude, bulky and solid.

“What the fuck you riding, Boy?” he demanded, eyes fixed on Hope who was standing beside my bike, I smiled and she looked down at me, face still masked by her helmet. I shrugged and popped my chinstrap. She shrugged back and went for hers.

She pulled off her helmet and her hair had come unpinned during the ride, tumbling almost artfully down around her shoulders, her bangs flopping into her eyes. She stuck out her luscious bottom lip and blew, her bangs flying up out of her dark eyes and fixed the men of the Voodoo Bastards with a curious look.

“One, I’m not a boy, and two, she’s a 2013 Ducati Diavel and I love her,” she flashed the boys her cheeky grin and I chuckled.

The man who’d spoken from the back huffed a laugh and pushed through his guys, “Well, I’ll be damned. What’s your name, Darlin’?” he asked her and she pulled off her gloves while she calculated what she could and couldn’t get away with. I could see her doing the math and it was hot as fuck.

“Hope,” she said and stuck out her hand to shake. The big dude took it and turned it and bowed gallantly brushing it with a kiss.

“Well Hope, welcome to my humble abode, I’m Ruth. My boys call me Ruthie but only the ladies are allowed to call me Baby Ruth.” He gave her a roguish smile.

So this was the President of the Voodoo Bastards. Interesting. I got off my bike and left my helmet on the seat.

“You Cutter?” he asked, turning his attention to me.

“That I am,” I said and stuck out my hand.

He shook it and asked, “You do that?” and indicated with a nod of his head the bruise on Hope’s jaw.

“Unfortunately,” I intoned and made my regret clear.

“If it makes you feel any better I
did
point a gun in his face. Not sure you can provoke a man much more,” she told him.

“Is that right?” he asked, “Well, come on in, we got some cots set up so y’all can grab a little sleep. I’d really like to hear the whole story on why it is that you’re here, in the meantime please accept our hospitality.”

Hope gave him a wan smile, “Much appreciated,” she said, “But if it’s all the same I would really like to go get my sister. Happy to tell you whatever you want to know and then some
after
I’ve got her.”

Ruth looked over to Hope and glanced her up and down before saying slowly, “Nah Darlin’, I feel you… you know where you’re going?” he asked.

“Plaquemines Parish Sherriff’s Department, I have the address right here,” she reached for a pocket in the upper arm of her jacket but Ruth waved her off.

“Naw, Darlin’, it ain’t nothin’ but a thirty minute ride from here, we’ll show yah, you sure you’re up to it though?”

“Yep, I’m not waiting another minute to get my sister. I’m sorry but I can’t… I know you boys are used to doing things in a certain order or a certain way but I’ve got to go get her,” she was looking at me as she spoke and her expression spoke volumes. She was so very apologetic with her eyes but her desperation had me mounting my bike.

“Lightning! Radar!” I barked, “You’re with us.”

There was no way I was letting her go with anyone without me by her side, whether she could take care of herself or not. Atlas and Lightning were the most rested out of the guys that’d come with us.

“Hex, La Croix, mount up, Boys. Let’s take the lady where she wants to go,” Ruth winked at me and I nodded in return. This was going to cost me and mine a pretty penny but it didn’t matter much. Most of it was coming out of my pocket and cuts of our smuggling operation. I went into my saddlebag and pulled out the box of Cubans and handed them to Ruth. He smiled broadly and lifted the lid on the cigar box, eyes alight.

“Why thank you kindly, Cutter,” he said with a wink and called out, “Collier!”