Club Justice (2 page)

Chuckling, he tossed her the whole grain from the breadbox. 

“Well, that shot that idea in the ass,” he rumbled a few minutes later, as their son exited the kitchen shoving a sandwich into his mouth.

Ginny laughed and stepped over to run an affectionate hand up her husband’s chest.

“There’s always tonight, big man.”

Ginny was putting dinner on the table when the older boys walked in. At six-two, Rhys nearly matched his father in height but was of a slimmer build at nineteen then Zeke had been. He smiled as Ginny stroked his shoulder-length, dirty blonde hair out of his face for a kiss.

“Hey, Ma. Dinner smells great.” 

“Thanks, baby. Are you two alone tonight?” Ginny asked, catching Mox’s chin and standing on tiptoe to give him a kiss as well.

The big ox grinned at her, the tops of his ears coloring as they always did at her open affection.

Mox had been a constant presence in the Brawer household since the time he was a toddler, and Ginny loved him like her own. He deserved a hell of a lot better than the lot he had drawn for parents. Just thinking about his alcoholic father and his worthless whore of a mother made Ginny’s blood boil. They had all but abandoned him. There had been so many evenings the child had showed up on the Brawer’s doorstep, hungry and afraid to be alone. Ginny couldn’t count the nights she had spent sipping cocoa at the breakfast bar and listening to him wonder aloud why his mom didn’t love him. A special bond had formed between the two of them during those late night talks. 

She had tried approaching his parents on more than one occasion, but Flo and Miles Sr. couldn’t have cared less. It said a lot that neither of Mox’s parents ever protested the countless hours that he spent away from home. In fact, they had seemed grateful to be relieved of the burden when he had moved into the Brawer household for good at only nine years old. It wasn’t legal, but in the end, it was Ginny who baked the boy birthday cakes and made sure he had presents under the tree at Christmas.

To Mox’s embarrassment, his mother’s exploits were well known in Trinity and a constant source of fodder for the gossip mill. Flo banged anything with three legs with the hope of earning a quick buck, and her husband was too soused to notice, or to care. In a town as small as Trinity Falls, speculation came quick, and many wondered if the scrawny town drunk was truly capable of fathering a six-foot-four beast the size of Mox. Even Mox seemed to harbor doubts and resented his birth name to the fullest. 

A wry smile creased Ginny’s lips as she remembered his pleading insistence that they call him anything but Miles.  The family had bounced nicknames off him until Zeke had dubbed him Mox, in a shortened version of dumb ox. Inexplicably, the boy had loved it. The moniker had stuck, and so had the reverence shining in his blue eyes whenever he looked at Zeke or Ginny.

“Amazing, but none of the mooches followed us home tonight,” Rhys said with a chuckle, referencing the handful of club members that worked or hung around the Harley Davidson dealership and custom shop where they both worked for the motorcycle club’s vice-president, Bowie.

The Brawer’s massive table rarely saw just the five of them. The extended family knew the door was always open, and extra service sat on the adjacent sideboard at every meal for stragglers.

“You were home early today,” Rhys commented to his father as they filled their plates.

“News travels fast in Trinity,” Zeke remarked with wry humor.

“If the women of Trinity were as fast, we would be lucky men.”

Zeke laughed at his son, but toned it down at a pointed look from Ginny toward little ears.

“I’m taking a little time off. The club cookout is next weekend and I need to be around here to make sure you yahoos get everything done for your mother.”

Rhys caught his father’s eye and nodded, dropping it there. Instead, he went on to entertain them with a story about the gullibility of the club’s newest prospect. Since gaining his Lords of Mayhem rocker that year and becoming a full member of the MC, Rhys seemed to find the plight of lowly prospects highly amusing. 

Thumping a pillow into submission, Zeke tucked it behind him and leaned against the headboard. His pale, blue eyes followed his wife’s movements as she released her sun-streaked locks from the high ponytail and began to run a brush through them. Even after twenty years of marriage, he still loved just watching her. Four years her senior, the age difference wasn’t an issue now; however, when he had fallen for her at fifteen, took her virginity at sixteen, and married her at eighteen, well … the high and mighty of Trinity Falls had frowned. He had never denied she deserved better than him, but sometimes circumstance brought people together for the right reasons.

“I know he’s your partner and you love him like a brother, but is Jimmy solid?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Zeke met her gaze in the dressing table mirror, mulling over the question. He nodded. “He’s solid.”

“Whose extra piece?”

“The gun belonged to Porter. It was just a little matter of location.”

It was Ginny’s turn to nod in thought as she put down the brush and stood from the dressing table. Pulling her nightgown over her head, she dropped it over the end of the bed and slipped between the sheets to cuddle against her husband’s chest. She sighed in contentment as his strong arms encircled her. Neither of them had had an easy childhood. Their own relationship had started in turmoil, and Lord knew the past twenty years had included its fair share of ups and downs, but no matter what was going on, she felt safe and loved in his arms. From the beginning, Zeke had always been upfront with her if she asked, be it work or club business. There were times she didn’t ask, but there were no lies between them.

Chapter Two

The Midwestern sun glinted off the pool’s cerulean waters and many a beer can, as the Lords of Mayhem Annual Memorial Day Picnic got underway. A large white tent covered a portion of the back yard, the sides rolled up to reveal tables and chairs in addition to those around the pool. Nestled in a shady nook, companioning a couple kegs, were troughs of ice well stocked with beer and soft drinks. Nearby, five-gallon beverage coolers containing juice, lemonade, and iced tea lined a table. Smoke rolled from the roaster, where a whole hog would provide the main course for the tables already laden with side dishes, salads, and desserts.

Ginny leaned against the doorjamb, letting her eyes run over everything, making sure all was perfect. After nineteen years of organizing this particular get-together, and some a whole lot larger when all the chapters came together, she had earned her hostess stripes. Zeke had established the Lords of Mayhem Motorcycle Club shortly after returning from the Marines. What had started out as a handful of Harley enthusiasts looking to ride and party had branched into twenty-three chapters sprinkled throughout the Midwest. The MC was Zeke’s escape, his passion, and played a huge role in their life. 

The pool was full of children doggy-paddling between bike bunnies in skimpy bikinis. Rhys and Mox were dangling their legs in the water like the overgrown kids they still were, the sun reflecting off sunglasses and Mox’s smooth, bald head alike. As she watched, he flexed his bodybuilder biceps, drawing admiring comments from the girls as he did curls with giggling kids hanging from him. Living in the Brawer household, Mox had grown up in the club. He had prospected alongside Rhys and both boys displayed their allegiance proudly with full back tattoos of the Lord’s dragon insignia. Ginny rolled her eyes as one of the little whores traced a wet finger over Rhys’ sculpted six-pack. Even in tiny Trinity, there was no escaping the allure of motorcycle clubs. The Lords had their fair share of groupies.  

It was hard to tell the club members from the cops in the group that surrounded Zeke near the roaster. Colors and uniforms both put away, shorts and t-shirts were the dress code of the day. Ginny swore that some of those legs didn’t see the light of day any other time of the year. Obviously of the same thought, Amber approached her towering titian of a husband with sun block in hand. At six-foot-nine, Bowie was one of the few men Ginny had ever seen dwarf Zeke. The two men had stood shoulder to shoulder on the high school football field, in the Marines, and now as president and VP of their beloved Lords of Mayhem. They were as inseparable as Rhys and Mox.

Tech was putting the finishing touches on the sound system up on the master bedroom deck. At six-two, three hundred pounds, the longhaired hell-raiser was covered in tats and piercings. He was your stereotypical biker, with the exception of his degree in Computer Science and Engineering from Berkley. He was a video game junkie and a wiz with computers and electronics of all kinds, hence the moniker, Tech. He didn’t mind. It distracted the guys from the fact his parents had stuck him with the name Josey.

Not spotting the club’s artistic soul in the thick of things, Ginny scanned the crowded yard for Sambo. The son of a Chicago cop who had abused both him and his mother, Samuel Boscelli was at times not comfortable in the company of Zeke’s colleagues. She relaxed when she spotted his lanky form stretched out under the old walnut tree with his trusty Gibson and a note pad in his lap. He gripped a pencil between his teeth and flipped hair out of whiskey-colored eyes as he strummed the battered six-string, lost in his own world.

Feeling Zeke’s stare as sure as a physical touch, she turned to meet his warm gaze. He smiled, motioning her to him with a slight inclination of his head. Giving the get-together a last look, she left her post and wove through the crowd to her husband’s side. Catching her about the waist, he kissed her with unabashed enthusiasm before looking down at her.

“Everything is perfect, baby. Relax and enjoy it,” he said, his tone soft yet serious. Seeing the protest in her eyes, he silenced her by covering her lips with his own. His hand wrapped in the back of her hair. Hoots and hollers broke from the crowd as he kissed her into submission with unhurried ease. When he straightened, she melted against his chest and struggled to slow her thundering heartbeat.

“Damn,” she whispered.

“Uh-huh. Now do as you’re told, woman.” He chuckled, kissing her one last time and turning her in his arms.

“Talk about a tongue-lashing!” 

“That’s one way to shut a broad up!”

“Chastise me baby!”

Ginny met the wolf whistles and lewd comments with an unrepentant grin and a sassy wink as she leaned back into the cradle of his arms.

Humming to the strum of Sambo’s guitar, Ginny pulled Tupperware out of the big side-by-side refrigerator to refill the veggie platter. Music and laughter floated through the open windows on the evening breeze, the cooling air a welcome respite after the heat of the day.

“How do you two do it after twenty years?”

Ginny whirled at the voice, fumbling a couple carrot sticks in her surprise.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Jennifer apologized.

“That’s all right,” Ginny reassured, bending to pick up the errant carrots. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”     

Stepping to the sink, she glanced at Jimmy’s wife as she considered the question.

“We’re no different than any other couple. We have our ups and downs.”

“You made every mistake in the book, and still you came out of the shit smelling like roses. On top of that, when other couples your age are sleeping in separate bedrooms or divorcing, you still act like newlyweds.”

“You sound a little bitter, Jen,” Ginny said, her smile forced as she turned to face the other woman, a hand on her hip. “Why don’t you educate me on all the mistakes Zeke and I made?”

“You know, getting married straight out of the Marines for him, high school for you, barely knowing one another, getting knocked up right away, saddling yourself with kids, a house, a big mortgage, a long commute, new cars and expensive toys. You did it all, and yet here you are living like a queen in your suburbia kingdom,” Jennifer spat.

The spite in the other woman’s words took Ginny aback for a moment, and then fired her Irish ire.

“What pisses you off most, Jen? Is it that you spent twenty years handing your husband’s hard earned money to a seedy landlord, or that this place is almost paid off? Maybe it’s the fact that you chose your ‘feel the burn’ career over family and now you’re feeling the empty nest. Stretch marks don’t sound so bad now, do they?” Ginny leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conversational whisper. “You know, Jen, give Jimmy his balls back, and it might not be too late for those kids.” 

“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jen sputtered.

“Try to stay with me through the peroxide fog, Blondie. Did you ever wonder why the squad calls your husband Newt? Let me narrow it down for you. It’s not a likeness to the politician or the salamander.” 

“You lying bitch,” Jennifer hissed, her face coloring.

“You haven’t begun to see bitch,” Ginny whispered with a taunting smirk.

“Ginny,” a soft voice called as the screen door opened. “Reaper asked me…” A stunning Asian girl paused in the doorway as she spotted Jennifer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No worries, Lee. I think we’re done here,” Ginny said. Shaking the water from the couple of carrots in her hand, she turned her back in dismissal to toss them on the platter. “What does Reaper need, honey?”    

The girl hesitated as Jennifer pushed past her, slamming the screen in her wake.

“Lee?” Ginny prompted, knowing how impatient the apt named Reaper could be. His icy gaze even sent death’s fingers dancing down her spine.

“They are setting up for the fireworks and his Zippo is low,” Lee said, holding the lighter up with a shy smile.

“The lighter fluid should be in the cabinet to your left above the breakfast bar. If there isn’t any there then I will get some from Zeke’s humidor cabinet.”

“Did I interrupt something?” Lee asked, carefully filling the Zippo.

“It seems Zeke’s partner’s wife needs another nose job because this one’s out of joint,” Ginny said with a sly wink. “Don’t worry about it, honey. She’s one of those women that measure her man and everything else in dollar signs. You and I both know there is more to a man than his wallet.”