Fabio's Remorse (Hell Raiders MC Book 5) (5 page)

8

Fabio

Samurai woke me up, licking my face and making a soft sound deep in his throat. I lay still and tried to listen, but no sounds reached me this far from where most of the partiers had crashed. The fires had burned down and the lights in the buildings were off, leaving everything in quiet darkness.

About the time I decided the dog had enjoyed a few too many beers, and probably a toke or two, from his new friends, I heard it. A low swishing sound, like maybe someone walking through the longish grass, came from near the front of my truck, over toward the bonfire. Probably a hungover biker looking for a place to take a piss.

Either way, I needed to piss, too, so I might as well check it out at the same time. As quietly as possible, I rolled out of my blankets and out from under the truck. Samurai crawled from under the truck, too, and gave a quick wag, then started in the direction the sounds had gone.

No shock there. The fucker had a broad vocabulary, ranging from low rumbles, to grunts, to soft whines, but in all the months he'd been with me, I couldn't recall ever hearing an actual bark from him, not like other dogs. He made low chuffs and short barks in reply to things I said sometimes, but to just bark for the hell of it, he never did. He didn't need to bark to tell me something worried him, and I better follow. So I did.

The faint glow of coals from the big bonfire made the figure stand out in sharp relief as he crossed between me and the remnants. Stealthy movements through a bunch of sleeping bikers rang no warning bells, but the big hunting knife clutched in his hand sure did.

"Hey, man, you need something?"

Startled, the man turned toward me for a second, then bolted. 

I had no intention of giving chase, but Samurai evidently thought otherwise. The big dog launched himself at the fleeing man and, in seconds, caught up. He leaped, hitting the man about hip level, then latched on with those heavy jaws. The man screamed and tried to fight, but Samurai had him.

By the time I reached him, the man submitted and just lay still. Two other men approached, guns in hand. "What's goin' on?"

"Bastard was tiptoeing around with a big-ass knife out. When I asked if he needed something, he ran. Samurai brought him down."

The second man, whom I recognized as one of the Hell Raiders, dragged the sneaky bastard to his feet. "Come on, motherfucker, let's see who you are." With one fist between the man's shoulders, and the other full of hair, pulling the man's head back at a near impossible angle, he shoved him toward the clubhouse.

Unsure what I should do, I followed along with Samurai at my side. When we reached the porch, someone came out, roused by the fuss, and turned on the light. The men stood in silence, staring at the intruder.

"What the fuck you doin' here, Stones?" Badger glared at the stranger.

"You know why I'm here, motherfucker. One of yours killed one of ours in lockup. Blood for blood."

Badger laughed in his face. "What, you thought Beaner would just stand there and let some punk-ass thug shank him? Guess ya'll found out different, huh?" He nodded to the men holding the man he called Stones. "Take this idiot to the shed and lock his ass up. Kellen can deal with him in the morning."

The men dragged Stones roughly away, not being too careful about where their fists and elbows landed. I turned to head back to my bedroll.

"Hey, Fabio, hol' up, man." Badger caught up to me. "Raiders owe you another one, man. Most bastards in your shoes would have stood back and let shit happen. Appreciate you having the balls to step in."

I shook my head a little. "If it hadn't been for Samurai waking me up, I would never have had the chance. Just a matter of luck."

"Don't matter. You did us a solid. We pay our debts." The slap he delivered to my shoulder nearly knocked me off balance. "Hang around a while. We'll help you get that piece of shit bike you're hauling around fixed up a little."

"Might take you up on that. Drifting around, there's not much of a chance to work on it. For now, though, I'm heading back to bed to sleep off the rest of the beer."

He laughed. "I heard that. Gonna go do the same."

It took a long time to get back to sleep once I crawled back under my truck. Samurai seemed to sense my restlessness, and laid with his head up, ears twitching as he listened for anything unusual. After a while, I finally drifted off.

Gunfire sounded all around us as we advanced through the Al Queada stronghold. Several of my men had fallen, but others got them out. I had a feeling they were the lucky ones. A small door lay just ahead, secured with a chain and padlock. Weapons storage? I signaled Jameson for a quick IED sweep. When he declared it clear, Walters moved up and cut the lock off.

As soon as the chain fell, I kicked the door in. An overwhelming stench turned my stomach.

"I'm American!" a low voice rasped from inside the dark room.

My night vision goggles showed several occupants of the small room, but only one moved. He hung from chains against the wall, but lifted his head a little as I came in. "Who else is here?"

"My patrol. Think they're dead."

Mother. Fuck. I got on my comm unit and spoke to command, filling the Captain in, and giving him our location. "Alright, we got you. You're going to be okay now. I got medics coming." I turned back to the other men who'd entered behind me. "Jameson, get a little light in here. Walters, see what you can do about getting him down without doing more damage."

The nightmares revealed by the flashlight were just too much. The man who had spoken, Sergeant Peters, had been beaten until no one would have recognized him. One of his men, still barely clinging to life, had both feet amputated. Another, already dead, looked like someone had tried to skin him alive. The fourth, also dead, bore severe burns over his face and body, and his eyes were gone.

We got Peters down and managed not to let him know how badly his men had suffered. Finally, the medics arrived with stretchers, and we escorted them out to safety. Just as we reached the cleared area, the man with no feet began to thrash around on his stretcher and scream. Probably reliving the hell those bastards put him through.

The screams echoed in my ears as I woke, sweating and gasping for air. Samurai nuzzled his head into my hand, maybe trying to comfort me. That fucking mission was only one of the many that haunted my dreams. At least it had a happy ending. Peters had survived.

No fucking way I was going back to sleep. I rolled out from under the truck and grabbed my pack. A pair of shorts and running shoes later, I set off down the muddy lane at a jog. The eastern sky grew lighter by the second and birds set up a hell of a racket in the trees. Maybe a good long run would clear my head.

Samurai loped along at my side, acting like he could go forever. I knew from experience he could go longer than me. We cleared the lane, and once we reached the road, I stretched out my stride to cover ground. The morning quiet provided the perfect atmosphere for a good hard run. After three miles or so, I turned back, ready to figure out breakfast.

By the time I made it back to my truck, and Samurai gamboled off on a new doggy adventure with Blue, a few people in the camp stirred. Groans of pain and retching seemed to come along with every movement. Looked like they'd all overindulged last night. Hopefully somebody had a plan for breakfast that didn't include camp food or fast food, because I was thoroughly sick of both.

I poked around enough outside the house to find an old-fashioned hand operated water pump. After a good drink, I rinsed the sweat off and climbed back into my jeans and boots. When I found my way back around to the front, tantalizing aromas came from inside. I let my stomach lead the way and followed the smells of coffee and bacon into the clubhouse.

The place looked nothing like what I expected a crash pad for a bunch of bikers to look like. Someone had taken real care with the place, installing nice wood floors and good furniture. It was even pretty clean, and I quickly saw the wisdom of having the parties outside. If that was mine, I wouldn't want beer and cigarette ashes all over it, either.

"Oh, hey, come here." A dark-haired woman glared at me, spatula in hand, from what I assumed was the kitchen. "Well, hurry up, goddamn it. Ain't got all fucking day."

I got the lead out and followed directions. In the kitchen, I found three other women sizing me up. "What'd you need?"

One, a red-head with streaks of gray in her long hair, screwed up her face and looked me over. "You're new here. What's your name, son?"

Shit. "I'm just visiting. Won't be here long."

She grinned and elbowed one of the other women. "You hear that, D? Boy think he got a choice." The others laughed. "Lemme tell you a li'l somethin'. If you got asphalt in your blood, you might as well not fight it. Losin' battle, right there."

"You girls leave ol' Fabio alone. Boy's got shit to think about." Badger came in behind me. "Jus' follow orders and do not engage, boy. These bitches will eat you alive." The fact he used a low whisper for the last part was not lost on me.

"Fabio, huh? Which one of you bastards saddled the poor child with a name like that?" The woman the redhead had called D lowered her brows.

It looked like the perfect chance to take the heat off myself. I grabbed Badger by the shoulder. "Sorry, fucker, but I'm so throwing your ass under the bus." I dragged him forward a little. "This one right here did that."

"Aw, shit, kid, what'd you tell 'em for?" He edged for the door.

"Well, I ain't taking the blame for that name." I dragged him back into the kitchen to face the music.

"Badger! What'd you do that for? You know who Fabio is, right?" The dark-haired woman who had first summoned me joined in. "He's that guy who was on all those romance book covers a long time ago. Why would you stick someone with a name like that?"

"And don't forget the butter commercials!"

The women started chattering about books and butter, so I quickly started to shuffle for the door. Badger noticed and grabbed my arm. "No you don't, Fabio. The girls have work for you, or they wouldn't have called you in here."

"Oh, here! Take this out to the big table in there, then come back and get more." The dark-haired woman thrust a huge, hot platter of scrambled eggs into my hands.

By the time I dropped the plate on the table, my fingers were definitely singed. Still, I went back for more, as ordered. I had the distinct feeling crossing those women would be a bad move on my part.

9

Fabio

Breakfast turned into a noisy, rowdy affair, with bikers and guests drifting in long enough to eat, then moving out of the way for the next bunch. From what I could see, everyone was welcomed, though some of the bikers talked shit to each other. I helped myself to eggs, biscuits that looked homemade, bacon, and hash-browns.

I could handle that kind of breakfast every day of the week. It reminded me of home, and the meals mom used to make. No time to get bogged down in what should have been, so I shoved the memories away and ate quickly. I had some thinking to do. Everybody here seemed to take it as a foregone conclusion that I would stay, and I needed to figure out if that's what I wanted.

The whole atmosphere around the club house felt comfortable to me, similar to the kind of camaraderie I'd grown accustomed to in the Army. No doubt, all that could change in the blink of an eye, but I'd missed that feeling of belonging. Maybe I would stay a little longer than it took to get my bike going. It might be nice to have a place to call home, even if only temporarily.

And it would have to be temporary. Staying in one place for any length of time meant giving in, and I couldn't do that. No matter how much time passed, I refused to accept losing Justine. One day I would wake up and the nightmare would be over. But for now, a break might be nice.

After everyone ate, I got drafted into helping clean up. The women who cooked breakfast, whom I learned were ol' ladies, apparently had the last say on nearly everything related to meals, parties, or the house. And they were not shy about giving orders. Before I knew it, I had my hands in soapy water up to my elbows, washing pans.

I finally made it back outside with some leftover eggs and a couple strips of bacon for Samurai. It looked like a lot of the non-members had left while the ol' ladies bossed me and a half dozen other guys around. Someone got the bonfire started back up, and several people were already hitting the beer again.

Samurai and his buddy wolfed down their treat, and took off again as Kellen approached. "Everybody treating you okay?"

"Yeah, except for the bunch of ol' ladies in the kitchen. They put me to work." I laughed a little. "It's all good, though. I don't mind washing dishes for a breakfast like that."

Kellen grinned. "It's a good thing. They make us all work for our supper."

"It's worth it."

He leaned his elbows on the side of the truck bed, looking at my old bike critically. "You got any plans for this old girl, besides getting her back on the road?"

I leaned opposite him. "Not really. Don't even know why I bought the damn thing. Waste of gas hauling it around all over."

"You could settle down, hang around here for a minute."

"I probably will, at least long enough to get this thing fixed up. Badger and some of the others offered to help out. Then, I don't know, maybe I'll sell it." I ran a finger over the dusty chrome. "Needs a lot of work still."

Kellen lit a cigarette. "Look, man, I'll quit beating around the bush. We're always on the lookout for good, solid men to become Prospects. We don't know you very well, and you don't know us, but Crank has offered to sponsor you if you're interested in a few weeks."

I got the feeling this was a big deal. "Prospect, huh? What would I have to do?" I'd already seen some of the hazing they put some of their prospects through at the party last night. I had no intention of doing anything like that.

"Usually, when somebody thinks they might want to be a Hell Raider, they'll hang around here some, sorta get to know everybody. Eventually, one of the brothers might decide to sponsor them. Then, they spend a year or more as a Prospect, with us getting to know them, deciding if we can trust them, and seeing if they stand under pressure." He took another drag off his smoke. "Eventually, they get put to a vote, and either become patched members, or head on down the road."

"Since you're being straight with me, I'll just tell you, I don't fetch beers or clean up puke."

Kellen grunted and stubbed out his cigarette. "Kinda doubted if you would. This ain't exactly the usual, but we already know you can keep your cool when things get hot.
If
you become a Prospect, you won't get the hazing and shit most of them do. Some of the guys will have to see how far they can push you, of course."

That I could understand. "Of course. It's human nature. Okay, I'll think about it. Might be nice to stay in one place for a little while."

We talked a few more minutes, then Kellen went off to take care of something else. The rest of the day passed with plenty of beer, and meeting the rest of the club. It didn't take me long to decide I would at least stay put a few days and see how it went. These guys weren't the white hats, but they weren't bad people either, for the most part, though I was sure they'd done their share of bad things.

The party finally started dying down around three a.m., and I took Crank up on the offer to bunk in one of the spare rooms since rain threatened and I had no desire to wake up soaked. As I took my bedroll inside, Samurai went everywhere, excited to check out the new digs. I was glad no one objected to him. Lots of people feared big dogs, and he weighed over a hundred and thirty pounds, all solid muscle. All the Hell Raiders seemed cool with him, though. And Cherry, the graying redhead from breakfast, took a serious liking to him, sneaking him treats throughout the evening.

The bed in the non-descript spare room left a lot to be desired, but at least it was dry and softer than the ground. Without the sounds of the night around me, though, I had to turn on some music on my phone. I'd grown too accustomed to falling asleep with some kind of noise.

The nightmares held off a little while, and I actually managed several hours' sleep before I woke gasping for air, and dripping sweat. Like always, Samurai shoved his big head into my hand, reminding me where I was. No need to try and sleep more. It wouldn't happen. So I climbed out of bed and pulled on my jeans, let Samurai out into the drizzly morning, and found the shower.

The hot water practically did me in, after weeks of tepid campground showers. It took a minute to get used to actual
hot
again. When I did, though, I let the water pound the aches out of my shoulders and neck. By the time I got out and went in search of coffee, the rest of the place was starting to wake up, too.

Badger came out with his own coffee while I gave Samurai his breakfast kibble. "Have a seat, Fabio." He gestured to one of the chairs that littered the porch.

I nodded and sat, wondering what the old bird had to say. Samurai gave him a quick glance, wagged, and went back to eating.

"Kellen said he was going to talk to you about staying around a little while, see if you like it here."

"Yeah, he mentioned it yesterday." I took a careful sip, keeping my expression bland. Badger might be an old dude, but he was sharp as hell, and I had no doubt he could read me like a book. Still, I'd rather keep some things to myself.

"You think you'll give it a go?"

I shrugged. "I'll stick around a few days, see where it goes. No promises. But first time somebody tells me to clean up puke, I'm out."

He threw his head back and laughed. "Do not blame you there, not one bit. When I was a Prospect, it was a year of pure hell. In some ways, it's a little easier now, but the stakes are higher, too."

That got my attention. "What do you mean?"

"Well, back in the day, if I got busted with a few ounces of smoke, or a not-exactly-legal gun, the club could grease a few palms and shit went away. Now, we can handle it within our territory, but runs are often outside, where we don't have the influence." He lit a smoke. "Shit can go sideways in a hurry."

I took another sip of my coffee, thinking. "Tell me, Badger, if you had it to do over, would you?"

One shoulder went up in a stiff shrug. "Depends on what I was running from, or running toward."

"What makes you think I'm running?"

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, boy. You got that look in your eye. Demons hot on your tailpipe. Now me, I was running from a tour in Nam that still has me waking up in cold sweats. I didn't have anything to come back to, and the club saved me from the monsters that go bump in the night."

"Guess I got a few of those same monsters. And a few homegrown ones, too." It would have been so fucking easy, sitting there in the quiet morning, to tell the old man all of it. But I didn't. He had enough shit of his own, without some stranger laying more on, and it was my burden, anyway. So I kept my mouth shut.

After a while, Crank came out and started giving Badger a hard time about some chick he'd hooked up with at the party. Apparently, the girl was a screamer. When that subject exhausted itself, Crank turned to me.

"How 'bout you, Fabio? You make any progress getting that ex out of your system?"

I shook my head. "Nah. Probably should, but I'm not ready to move on, I guess." I had no doubt his advice was right on the mark, but for the time being, I had no real intention of acting on it. Hell, I spent all but the last few months absolutely certain I would never be with another woman. Justine was it, and I knew I wouldn't miss a damn thing.

Badger nodded. "I heard that. These boys will be like a bunch of nosy old women matchmakers, and sometimes that's all it takes. Other times, just makes matters worse."

"Bullshit, ol' man, what could be worse than getting no pussy?" Crank leaned on the porch rail, clearly prepared to argue the point.

"Ha, you'll see one of these days, kid. And the only thing worse than getting no pussy? Getting the wrong pussy." The old man levered stiffly from his chair. "Fucking coffee's too weak. Who the fuck set the pot up, anyway?" He stomped inside, presumably to take care of that problem.

Crank looked unconvinced, but he tossed the dregs of his coffee over the rail. "Bitchy old codger. What say we get that bike of yours off-loaded and see what she needs?"

"Sounds like a plan." In truth, I might have agreed to throwing boulders at a rubber wall just to get away from the conversation. But I was itching to really dig into fixing the bike, too.

I moved my truck around by the small barn that had been converted into a garage/workshop, and we unloaded the bike and Crank started looking it over.

"Know if it still runs?"

"Not a clue. It did when I bought it, even if it sounded painful. I haven't even had a chance to get it off the truck and start it up since then."

"Okay, let's see what we got, then."