Rusty Cage: Rawlins Heretics MC, #1

★ Rusty Cage ☆

Bijou Hunter

Copyright © 2017 Bijou Hunter

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmosphere purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Cover

Photographer: johan-jk

Source: Depositphotos.com

Cover Copyright © 2017 Bijou Hunter

Dedication

My babies who now loom over me

My mom who likes ballsy women

My betas—Sarah and Debbie—for telling me the way it is

&

Judy’s Proofreading

Table of Contents

Chapter One

➸ Oz ★

Chapter Two

➸ Oz ★

Chapter Three

➸ Oz ★

➸ Ginger ☆

Chapter Four

➸ Oz ★

Chapter Five

➸ Oz ★

➸ Ginger ☆

➸ Oz ★

Chapter Six

➸ Oz ★

Chapter Seven

➸ Ginger ☆

➸ Oz ★

➸ Ginger ☆

Chapter Eight

➸ Oz ★

➸ Ginger ☆

➸ Oz ★

Chapter Nine

➸ Oz ★

➸ Ginger ☆

➸ Oz ★

➸ Ginger ☆

➸ Oz ★

➸ Ginger ☆

➸ Oz ★

Chapter Ten

➸ Oz ★

➸ Ginger ☆

Chapter Eleven

➸ Oz ★

Chapter Twelve

➸ Oz ★

Chapter Thirteen

➸ Oz ★

➸ Ginger ☆

Epilogue

➸ Ginger ☆

Bijou Books

About Bijou

Chapter One

maha‘oi

➸ Ginger ☆

Rumor has it criminals whisper my name, fearing I’ll hear them and appear like the bogeyman to punish their evil deeds. I don’t blame them for pissing their panties. My ugly reputation took years to hone. Being a violent woman in a world of violent men forced me to embrace my inner monster unless I wanted to end up feeding someone else’s.

Despite my reputation, I don’t think Heretics club president Osiris Savo or his MC brothers will wet their blue jeans in my presence. They’ve been running this area for too long to worry about a girl. No doubt I’ll need to treat them as threats rather than partners. Men always need to witness a little violence. before they agree to behave.

The Rusty Cage Bar & Grill acts as the club’s base of operations. The non-descript tavern blends in with the other brown and green buildings located on the city block in a mostly residential part of Rawlins, Arkansas.

Even open for lunch, Rusty Cage is nearly empty when Clove and I arrive for our meeting with Osiris and his people. This meeting isn’t my idea, and I doubt Osiris asked for it either.

Back in Blytheville—aka Little Memphis—my crew worked with the local motorcycle club. When their president, Joker, made a pact with this fellow Arkansas club, he decided the Rawlins guys needed more muscle. Osiris agreed if only to gain access to the influx of cash from Little Memphis. No way did he expect Joker to send the Everything Nice Crew.

I stop at the hostess station to see if anyone will guide us to the Heretics. Next to me, Clove wraps her long, brown hair into a messy bun. She’s prepping for a fight as usual, but I won’t need to worry about her mouthing off. It’s why I brought her along rather than Yarrow. Our youngest member and men do not mix well.

Help you? squeaks a girl I suspect is days out of high school. With her shiny red smile, she’s the epitome of the kind of women who fawn over club men’s every fart.

We’re here to see Osiris.

Does he know why you’re here?

Tell him Ginger and Clove are here, and we don’t have a lot of time to wait.

He’s busy, she says protectively.

We’re busier. If he doesn’t see us in the next five minutes, we’re bailing. You be sure to tell them that, will ya, Dee?

The girl shoots me daggers, which only sends Clove into a fit of laughter. Dee spins on her heel and hurries away. She’s a dumb, oversexed kid. If she doesn’t fuck her life up in the next few years, she’ll look back one day and view this time as a growing experience.

I forget how stupid the club girls are, Clove says while stretching out her long, toned arms. I spent too much time around the old ladies back in Little Memphis.

Joker said most of the Heretics dicks are ringless, so there’ll be no old ladies to soothe us.

This place is a dump.

Frowning at her, I whisper, You knew that before we agreed to move here.

It seemed less trashy before I started forwarding my mail here.

Are you having second thoughts?

No. I just want to complain to pass the time.

We share a smile that ends as soon as Dee returns with a lump of tattooed, long-haired muscle following her.

He’ll see you now, Dee says.

Are you him? I ask the lump.

I’m Glitch.

Of course, you are. Let’s get on with this, I say and gesture for him to lead.

Glitch doesn’t move right away. Though I shouldn’t assume he’s stupid, his frozen facial expression makes me think he’s currently attempting to jump-start his brain.

I’m going to walk around you now, Glitch, I say when he only stares.

Once Clove and I start moving, the lump follows close behind. We walk past a line of empty tables, the bar counter, and small dance floor before reaching a back room. Behind double doors rests a long table with five lounging men.

The seating arrangement with violent men always tends to have the leader at the end of the table. If he’s not at one of the ends, the other men will still have their chairs slightly faced to his in a sign of submission. Also, whenever a possible threat approaches—in this case, me—they’re quick to glance at the man in charge and mimic his reaction.

Based on this fact, Osiris is the exotic-looking gigantor leaning back with his feet up on a chair and a huge beer mug in his right hand.

He doesn’t sit up when we arrive at the table. The other men continue to lounge too. I don’t know if they’re putting on a façade for our benefit or if they’re really this clueless. Either way, I have my work cut out for me.

Which one of you is Ginger? Osiris asks, gesturing between us with his beer-holding hand and spilling some of his drink in the process.

I am. This is Clove. The rest of our crew is waiting to get settled, so we should make this quick.

Yeah, quick. Let’s jump right to the only question I have. What can a gang of foxes bring to the table that my guys can’t?

Did he seriously just call us foxes? Okay, I totally get the bravado that goes into being a leader. I also understand how a man with his massive size and striking good looks is accustomed to saying stupid shit without anyone calling him on it. Of course, he’s never met me before.

From what I understand, Osiris, most of your older members are dead or locked behind bars. The rest of you are rookies with less than five years at the top of the pyramid. My crew provides experience, a well-established violent reputation, and a sniper.

I emphasize the last word, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Osiris.

His full lips curl into a smirk. What I like about this bar is how there are no windows to allow peepers to keep an eye on us.

My sniper isn’t stationed here. She has someone else in her scope.

And who would that be? he asks, revealing a hint of uncertainty in his rich, brown eyes.

That doesn’t matter unless we have a problem here.

Do you see this shit? he asks the brawny blond to his right.

He does, I reply. They all do. They’re shocked but mostly amused by the fox mouthing off. Now that we’ve established I’ve walked into your bar and shown you disrespect, can we finish up? I have unpacking to do.

Osiris stands up, revealing a few more inches of height than I expect. Unfortunately for him, I’ve been around large men for a long time. If he hopes I’ll quiver at the sight of his massive male presence; he’s about to be disappointed.

He walks past his men and stops a foot from me. I very obviously size him up before nodding approvingly. Osiris narrows his eyes and then nods.

You’re sporting the balls of a bull, kid, but this is my club and town. You’re here as a favor to Joker.

Is that what he told you? I ask, smiling up at him. Because the version he told me was different.

Why, what did you hear? he asks, tilting his head back and forth as if he’s working out a muscle kink.

I don’t think I should tell you, I say and exhale deeply. There’s no reason to cause trouble and make you insecure.

His dark eyes study me with the goal to tear past my indifference shell to discover the juicy meat at my core. I show him what I show every man.

Nothing.

Finally, his lips lift into a smile. This ought to be fun, he says in a rough, deep voice as if we’re sharing a secret.

I’ll be in touch once my crew is settled in. Until then, keep your boys from crossing my path, okay, Osiris?

People around here call me Oz, and I promise nothing regarding what my men do.

Interesting indeed, I mutter and turn to leave.

Clove waits an extra thirty seconds before following me. She doesn’t want them seeing me signal my sniper to stand down at Oz’s house. By the time I slide a leg over the seat of my Harley, Pepper responds to my order with a winking face.

Once Clove joins me outside, she surveys our new town. Based on her smile, she’s warming up to Rawlins already.

➸ Oz ★

Ginger is one hell of a foxy woman. A real ballbuster too, but I shouldn’t be surprised. The Little Memphis MC’s president plays like he’s a fun guy—he is called Joker after all—but no one gets to be the head guy without having a dark side. Despite his assurances about our new partnership, Joker sent these girls down to Rawlins to make sure the Heretics are at his beck and fucking call.

I’d say those foxes need a good fuck, Camo says while signaling the waitress for a refill, but I suspect they don’t swing our direction.

That’s for show, Blackjack says with his head back against the wall and eyes closed. They’re playing the tough chick role. The sleeveless shirts. The not-concealed guns in the back of their jeans. Tough chicks have to work harder to look tough than tough dicks.

Poetic, man. Really, I say and kick his feet off a chair. Joker expects us to be nice to these girls, so we’ll be nice.

Once I check outside the double doors to be certain the waitresses aren’t listening in, I look over the remaining Rawlins Heretics.

Six fucking guys.

This is the club I inherited when our president, VP, and three other guys were killed in a shootout with cops in Little Rock. Seven other members were arrested, convicted, and will now sit on their asses for a few decades.

Do you think they really have a sniper? asks our youngest member, Camo.

Why say they do, if they don’t? Glitch says and yanks on Camo’s shoulder-length blond hair. Seems pointless.

What’s a sniper gonna do with these darkened windows? I ask and wonder where the sniper was located.

Realizing that’s a question I’ll ask Ginger another day, I cross my arms and glare hard at my guys.

I don’t care if they’re lesbians or hot for dick, no one makes a move on any of them. We can’t afford even one to get her feelings hurt and cause the shutdown of this deal with the Little Memphis club. Do you understand?

The guys only mumble in agreement, so I toss a chair over Camo’s head. It scares the shit out of the waitresses in the kitchen who think we’re under attack and run out the back door. My dick wagging move turns comical as the guys chase the women. I hear the waitresses’ squeals followed by stupid laughter from the men. These are the moments that make me think I’ll need to kill one of them to cement my position as president.

I leave them to act like horny children. Riding off, I notice Camo chasing Hannah around the back parking lot. It’s fair to say he’s currently on the top of my kill list. At the very least, the little shit won’t be snapping up the VP spot.

I ride down the quiet roads of the town I’ve called home since I was in diapers. My mom moved here after her time in Little Rock turned ugly. She worked two jobs to support us. Real hero mom shit that made me think all women were badasses. Unfortunately, most aren’t. The rare few who are have no patience for a man like me.

While I could change my ways, I’m not stuck on the idea of having a woman. Well, not just one anyway.

Sitting at a light, I think about Ginger and Clove. Both are sexy in their butch bitch ways. I ought to be drawn to the blended beauty, Clove, who I’d guess is a mix of several races. Despite my never having a weakness for blondes, Queen Bitch Ginger crawled under my skin, and I’m wondering if she digs men.

Despite my threat to the guys about not making moves on the girls in Everything Nice Crew, I’m planning on doing just that with Ginger. I can imagine her long, silky blonde hair wrapped around my fist. Ginger’s the kind of woman who won’t lie still during a hard fuck. She’ll ride me just to prove she’s in charge. The temptation of breaking down her walls and making her submit to my dick is too damn much.

So while Ginger might think she knows men, she’s never met me.

Chapter Two

‘ohana

➸ Ginger ☆

Hildy’s B&B is a Queen Victorian with pale green shingles and white trim. A grand porch curves from the front of the house around to the left side. Despite its beauty, our temporary home is perfectly suited for a horror movie with evil living in the basement.

Fortunately, I suffer a soft spot for horror movies. I’d rather die from some ancient evil than in a mundane way such as old age or skidding out my Harley on a wet road.

"This place will cause