Madeline Sheehan - Undeniable

"Oh Frankie," I whispered.  "You gotta stop worrying.  Nothing's going to happen to me and I'm never going to leave you."

☼☼☼

Deuce hesitated leaving Eva alone with that crazy little shit but it looked as if she was the only person who had any sort of control over him, so he left her to it.  He had known kids like Frankie growing up.  Jacked in the head, no control, caught crazy at the drop of a hat and usually ended up dead before they turned thirty.  Preacher giving him a cut had been a big mistake.  He didn’t give a shit how much love he had for the boy.  When shit got intense, and it always did, you needed level headed men on your crew.

"Dare you to touch her tits."

Deuce paused beside a rundown barn at the edge of the farm.

"Dare you to fuck her."

"Preacher finds out he'll kill you."

He stiffened.  Little shits were talking about Eva.

"I'm not scared of Preacher.  ‘Sides she's the only bitch here old enough to fuck."

"She's fuckin' ugly.  Except for her tits, bitch has nice tits.  I'd fuck her just to see those tits."

Deuce saw red.  Eva was twelve years old.  Yeah, she had tits, twelve-year-old tits.  And these fuckers were around sixteen and seventeen.  He cracked his knuckles and stalked inside the barn.

Five little shits were leaning back against a row of empty horse stalls smoking cigarettes, acting like they were grown.

"Deuce," One of the little shits said.  "What's up man?"

He didn't answer, just walked up to the first little shit and kicked him in his face then moved onto the next.  Yanking little shit number two up by his collar, he spit in his face, gave him a fist to the gut and tossed him to the side.

The remaining three had scrambled behind stacked bales of hay.

"Git your fuckin' asses back here," He said, pulling his piece from the back of his jeans.  "And take your fuckin' punishment like the men you ain't.  If not I got some bullets with your fuckin’ names on ‘em."

"What the fuck did we do?"  A pimply faced, gangly little shit screeched.

Using his gun, he gestured to where they had been sitting just moments ago.  "Get.  The.  Fuck.  Over. Here."

They got.

"I hear you talkin' 'bout Eva again.  I see you lookin' at Eva, I see you within a hundred feet of Eva, you are all dead.  You feel me?"

Wide eyed they nodded.

"Gonna go find your father's next and tell them what kinda bastards they're raisin' and I ‘spect they'll be beatin' the shit outta you next but first you're dealin' with me."

He took the third little shit by his greasy hair and brought the kids head down on his knee.  Out cold, he shoved him to the side.

The forth little shit pissed himself the moment he stepped to him.  Laughing, he moved on to the last little shit.  The one who had called Eva ugly.  Grabbing his neck, he shoved the barrel of his gun in the boy’s mouth.

"Know for a fact you got a coupla sisters.  Know for a fact one of ‘em is just a year older than Eva.  How's 'bout I go find your little sister and fuck her?  How's 'bout I get some of my boys to fuck her too?  Maybe we can all fuck her at the same time?  Fuck her in her mouth, and her pussy and her fuckin’ asshole.  Sound good?"

Crying, the kid shook his head.

"You respect women you little fuckin' shit.  It was a fuckin' woman who carried you around in her fuckin' body, fuckin' birthed you and fuckin' loved you, and it's gonna be a woman who keeps you warm at night, who lets you inside her body and it's gonna be a woman who carries around your fuckin' children.  You fuckin' respect that, you feel me?  You fuckin' respect women, all of ‘em, or I will end you."

He released him and the kid fell to his knees retching.

"Fuckin' little shits," He muttered.  Tucking his gun back in his jeans he walked away.

I was sixteen.

It was summer in Manhattan.

And it was the first Sunday of the month.

Smack dab between Morissey's Bar and a Middle Eastern grocery store, up on the roof of the Demon's five story Portland Brownstone, the MC’s monthly family barbeque was in full swing.  Old ladies and wives, children, cousins, friends of families and business associates were talking and laughing, dancing and drinking while dogs and burgers were being flipped on the grills as fast as the kegs were emptying.

On top of a picnic table, Frankie and I were sitting side by side sharing a pair of earbuds.  My discman was wedged between us, our heads were pressed together, while we rocked out to Led Zepplin's Dazed and Confused.   I had my arm slung over Frankie's broad shoulders and his hand was sliding up and down my thigh, his fingers tapping out the beat of the song.

"Heads up brothers the Horsemen are here!"

My head swiveled right.

Another yell.  "Hide your women!"

This was followed by loud guffaws and a lot of feminine giggling.

I watched as a large group of leather clad men joined the crowd on the roof.  On the backs of their cuts were the Hell's Horsemen insignia.

Just like the insignia on my medallion.

My heart started pounding.  Was Deuce here?  I scanned the crowd but the Horsemen had already dispersed within the sea of people.

Frankie squeezed my thigh to get my attention.  I pulled out my ear bud and slanted my eyes at him.

"Want me to hide some booze for later?  Some smoke?"

Demon barbeques were infamous for becoming wild and reckless and more often then not every last biker would be passed out drunk before midnight.  This was when their offspring partied with their leftover booze and green.

"Yeah," I said and smiled at him.

Frankie stood, ran his fingers through my long dark hair and pulled my head flush against his hard abdomen.  "Be right back," He whispered.

"And Eva?"

I looked up.

"Don't fuckin' go anywhere until I get back."

Rolling my eyes, I put my earbuds in and resumed my head bobbing, foot tapping and overly loud singing, happily ignoring the openmouthed stares my singing always caused.

Middle school had been rough for me but I'd since grown into my awkwardness.  I'd embraced my weirdness, I was cool with my oddities.  I was who I was and I didn't care anymore what anyone else thought.  High school so far had been good to me.  I was pretty, I was popular and I had a ton of friends.  I suspected most of my girlfriends used to me get near Frankie, trying to bag him.  Frankie was a good-looking guy, big and broad with finely chiseled features.  He was a pureblood Italian with brown eyes the color of dark chocolate and thick blown hair he'd grown long.

The girls flocked and bag them he did.  In droves.   Never did the same girl twice.  So other than having to listen to all the girls at school whine and pine over Frankie, life was good.    It was fun and uncomplicated and I was happy.

My eyes trained on the blacktop beneath me, a shadow fell over me and a pair of leather boots walked into my line of sight. I stared down at them.  Full grain black leather with a rubber sole. Detailed at the ankles with metal buckles, they looked edgy, sexy.

I looked up.

"Still wearin' chucks and singin' out of tune I see."

Yep.  Edgy and sexy.  Just like the man wearing them.

Deuce was all dimples and smiles and icy blue eyes that matched perfectly with his long blonde hair that he'd pulled back in a stubby ponytail.  He was just as large as I remembered, broad and well built; he towered over me and was at least half a body wider.  He looked hot as hell in a tight white tee, his leather cut and ratty, low-slung jeans. This time when I grinned at him, it wasn't with little girl awe it was with sixteen year old sexual fascination.

"Eva fucking Fox," He drawled.  "You've grown."

"Deuce," I said, smiling impishly.  "You've aged."

He threw his head back and laughed a deep, rumbling laugh that had my belly clenching and my nipples tightening.  I wasn't the only female affected; several women on the roof were openly fawning over him.

Reaching inside his cut, Deuce pulled out a pack of cigarettes.  He kept his eyes on me as he lit it.  "How old are ya now, darlin'?  Eighteen, nineteen?"

"Sixteen," Frankie hissed appearing beside me.  "Six fuckin' teen."

Deuce's eyes cut to Frankie and I watched as recognition dawned.  It wasn’t happy recognition.

"Crazy fuckin' Frankie," Deuce said smirking.  "Got a pretty impressive rep for a brother so fuckin' young."

Frankie had been coined “Crazy Frankie” a few years ago because…he was crazy.

Hands clenched into fists, Frankie glared at Deuce.  "You're gonna wanna back the fuck off Eva, Horseman."

I tugged on his cut.  “Calm down.  He’s friends with daddy.”

Frankie turned his glare on me.  “No baby, he’s not.  He’s in business with him.  It’s fuckin’ different. You shouldn't be around him, he's fuckin’ dangerous.  If Preacher could he’d take him to ground.”

I gaped at Frankie.

He shrugged.  “Way it is babe.”

Unaffected by Frankie’s casual talk of his death, Deuce took a deep drag of his cigarette and blew a long stream of smoke right into Frankie's face.  Frankie turned red with anger.

"Killed two of Bannon’s boys last week in Pittsburg, yeah Frankie?  Whole circuit knows.  Word is he’s gunnin’ for ya.  You got Eva cuffed to your side all the time, think that might be kinda fuckin' dangerous for her?”

My mouth fell open.  “You killed someone?”  I whispered, floored that Frankie was capable of killing.  I knew it happened when MC business went bad but no one ever talked to me directly about it and I certainly hadn't thought my nineteen year old brother had been doing his fair share.