Page 10 of Always My Fate

Blackie

The Texas sun beat down hard as Blackie leaned low over the tank of his bike, the wind whipping past him like a living thing. The road stretched out ahead, blacktop shimmering in the heat, with Rook holding tight on his left and a couple of solid patches—Oaky and a newer member named Cruz—flanking their small group. Their plan wasn’t for a full run, just a quick check-in on the Belle chapter, but Blackie never traveled light when club business was involved. Not anymore.

“Prez, you gonna tell us why you’re ridin’ like the devil’s on your ass?” Rook called out on the Bluetooth communications system they were all using. It made it easy to hear his voice over the roar of the engines. Blackie glanced his direction to see a grin splitting his face as he pulled up alongside. “Peaches is doing okay, isn’t she? Why the huge need to get to Belle faster than the speed of light?”

Blackie shot him a glare but couldn’t keep the smirk out of his expression. “Fuck you, Rook. My old lady’s on bed rest, carryin’ my kid, and you think I got time to dick around? I’m checkin’ on Horse and makin’ sure those MDMC losers aren’t sniffin’ around again. Last thing I need is another call sayin’ my brother’s got trouble while I’m sittin’ on my ass back home.”

Oaky laughed from behind them, his voice coming through clearly. “Yeah, well, if Horse can’t handle a few stray cockroaches, maybe we shoulda left him a prospect. Kid’s got balls, though. That Belle ranch setup he’s runnin’ is solid.”

“Damn right it is,” Blackie growled, throttling up as they hit a straight stretch. “Horse earned that patch the hard way. He’s family. Which means the same as every fuckin’ member in Belle’s family. And we don’t let family bleed alone.”

Blackie rolled his throttle to drive his bike to the front of their formation, signaling he was done with the conversation. A quick glance in the mirror showed Rook smiling wide. Asshole. The crew fell into an easy rhythm after that, the miles running out under their tires. Banter flew back and forth—Rook ribbing Oaky about his latest failed attempt to charm a sweetbottom, Oaky firing back about Rook’s tendency to trip over his own dick when a pretty face was involved. Blackie let his emotions at their interactions roll over him, the familiar shit-talking a comfort even as his mind stayed half on Peaches back home. She’d been resting when he left, but the doctor’s warnings echoed in his head. High-risk. Bed rest. Don’t fuck this up.

Halfway to Belle, he pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the secure line for Horse. The call connected on the second ring and he threw the phone behind his windscreen, knowing his earpiece would pick u the call.

“Prez,” Horse answered, voice steady but alert. “You rollin’ my way?”

“On the road now, brother. Small crew—Rook, Oaky, Cruz. How’s shit lookin’ down there? Any more MDMC ghosts rattlin’ fences?”

Horse exhaled. “Quiet for the last couple days, but I don’t like it. Glenna’s holdin’ steady, but she’s still healin’ from all that bullshit. Shamu’s on high alert, and Myron from the Rebels got us hooked up with electronic eyes on every approach. The new clubhouse is taking shape—got the barn converted for meetings and storage, and the main house, where the pool is, looks to be solid for hangouts. But those MDMC pricks are like rats. You stomp ’em once and they scatter, but they always come back.”

Blackie’s jaw tightened. “Goddamn right they do. Those losers don’t know when to quit. You keep that ranch locked down tight, Horse. No lone riders, and no half-assed watches. If they show their ugly mugs again, you call it in immediately. We hit ’em together—full force. I ain’t losin’ another brother to those motherfuckers.”

“Copy that,” Horse replied, a note of steel in his voice. “We’ve got the perimeter wired and patrols running. You comin’ to check the new setup yourself?”

“Yeah. And to make sure you ain’t turnin’ my Belle chapter into a fuckin’ daycare,” Blackie shot back with a grin, the wind whipping his words. “Keep it tight, Horse. I trust you, brother, but I still wanna see it with my own eyes. We’ll roll in soon—should be there in under an hour. Stay sharp.”

“Will do, Prez. Ride safe.”

Blackie reached out and ended the call, then shoved the phone into his pocket, and twisted the throttle harder. The road hummed beneath him, the crew in formation. Club business. Family. Peaches waiting back home with their kid growing strong.

He’d protect it all. No matter what it took.

***

Blackie throttled down as his small crew rolled up the long drive to Horse’s ranch, the bikes kicking up a cloud of dust behind them. The place was solid—fences tight, buildings well-kept, with that lived-in feel that said someone gave a damn. He killed the engine near the house, swung off, and his boots hit the ground with a solid thud. Rook and the others followed suit, stretching after the ride.

Before Blackie could take two steps, a low growl cut through the air. Shamu came bounding around the corner of the house like a goddamn ghost, all sleek muscle and attitude, ears pinned back and teeth flashing. The dog stopped short a few feet away, sizing him up.

Blackie dropped into a crouch, holding out one hand palm-up. “Easy, you ugly bastard. It’s me. Remember me? I’m the big guy who don’t take shit from nobody?” Shamu sniffed once, then twice, and the growl eased into a wary huff. Blackie grinned, reaching out slow to scratch behind those big ears. “Yeah, that’s right. Good boy. You guardin’ your momma like a champ?”

Shamu leaned into the touch for a second, then gave a sharp bark and trotted off towards the porch like he’d decided Blackie was tolerable. For now.

“Fuckin’ hell, that dog’s got better instincts than half my prospects,” Blackie muttered, straightening up as Horse stepped out the front door with Glenna right behind him.

Horse looked good—settled, steady, but with that enforcer edge still sharp in his eyes. Glenna stood at his side, one hand resting lightly on his arm, her posture saying she’d been through hell but wasn’t about to let it break her.

“Prez,” Horse greeted, stepping forwards with a firm handshake that turned into a quick, back-slapping hug. “Good to see you. We appreciate the personal touch.”

Blackie clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make the man rock. “What, you think I’d send a prospect to check on my Belle chapter? Fuck that. Had to see it with my own eyes. How’s the ranch holdin’ up? Any more MDMC asses sniffin’ around the fences?” He laughed lightly, “How’s the clubhouse comin’ together? I’ve heard it’s a prime location for family vacations. Gonna have to get you some scheduling software.”

Horse shook his head, but his jaw tightened. “Quiet the last few days, but we’re not lettin’ our guard down. Glenna’s keeping the place runnin’ smooth even after that bullshit with Snyder. Security’s tight, with doubled patrols, new cameras on the perimeter, and Shamu here’s got a personal vendetta against anything that moves funny.”

Blackie spoke to Glenna, his expression softening a fraction. “Little sister. You look like you’re healin’ up good. Horse treatin’ you right, or do I need to kick his ass?”

Glenna’s laugh was warm but carried that gritty edge Blackie respected. “He’s doin’ fine. Keeps tryin’ to wrap me in bubble wrap, though. You Riders are all the same—big tough men who turn soft when it counts.”

“Guilty as charged,” Blackie said with a grin, then sobered. “Seriously. You need anything—extra hands, supplies, someone to run off more assholes—you call me direct. Belle’s part of us now. We protect what’s ours.”