Page 31 of Taming Raptor

“Jesus, it’s hot as fuck today and it’s only ten in the morning,” Tigger grumbled. He’d been a nomad while he was working the oil fields and had agreed to join me when the announcement went out that we were reopening Dallas.

Torque rested the tip of his lopper on the ground and pulled off his ball cap. He wiped the sweat from his face and settled the hat back on his head. He’d been with one of our central Texas support clubs and was friends with Gator. Phoenix had met him once when he’d had a job down here. Phoenix and Gator vouched for him which was good enough for me—for a probationary patch. Time would tell if he could hang with the big dogs.

“Quit grumblin’. You’re sounding like a whiny little bitch,” One Short shot back. He and Gator had both come back after laying down their colors under the old regime that supported Rancid. They refused to support the way the chapter was going, but they did shit the right way, so they weren’t out bad. Gator had also been friends with Torque for years, going back to when they grew up down by Houston.

“Fuck you. I didn’t stop working, I was just making a statement,” Tigger snapped.

“For fuck’s sake. Both of you shut it,” Phoenix growled.

“It’s easy for you to talk. You could live in a fucking oven and be fine with it,” One Short mumbled as he wiped sweat off his forehead. He was a good guy and a solid brother, but had his cantankerous moments for sure.

“Look, it’s only gonna get hotter, so best we get what we can before lunch time. We’re all hot and we’re all sweating our asses off. We’re wasting time bickering,” I reasoned. They made faces, but both kept their mouths shut and went back to work.

“And that’s why you’re a good president, Raptor,” Gator quietly said after he walked back from the truck with several bottles of water. He handed one to me, then called out “heads up.”

Torque, One Short, Tigger, and Phoenix each caught one. We dropped our chainsaws, axes, and loppers as we all chugged the cold water. I took the last little bit and dumped it on my head. Then I shoved my hair out of my face and looked at how much we’d accomplish in a few short hours. After crumpling the bottle and recapping it, I tossed it in the bed of the truck.

Losing steam, I resumed my task by dragging the felled cedar to the trailer then heaving it up with the rest. “Hey! Let’s go dump the trailer and call it a day.”

I didn’t need to tell them twice. They all grabbed up the last of the smaller trees they were cutting down and tossed them on the top of the heap. Once the tools and equipment were in the bed, I closed the tailgate.

“Shotgun!” both Phoenix and Torque called out.

One Short flipped them off. “Y’all are dicks.”

“But we’re the only dicks you love, right? Or do you swing that way? If you do, it’s all cool, but just wanted to get it straight,” Phoenix teased. Gator and I shook our heads and got in the front seats, me behind the wheel.

“Hell, no I’m not into dicks… well, I like my own just fine and so do the ladies.” He grinned as he stroked his salt-n-pepper beard. Tigger, Torque, and Phoenix groaned.

“Get your asses in the truck unless you want to stay out here to work some more!” I called out as I hit the ignition button. The truck roared to life, and they all scrambled in the backseat, One Short sandwiched in the middle.

Tigger hopped on the utility quad to follow us.

“This is bullshit. I have fucking cleavage for fuck’s sake!” One Short bitched and everyone chuckled. Well, everyone but him—he sat there scowling.

We drove to the back of the property and unloaded the trailer in the pit we’d dug. Once we were out of the burn ban, we’d torch all the trees and brush in the hole. Once it was full, we could cover it up if we needed to.

I grabbed the bottom of my T-shirt and wiped my face. “Let’s go back to the clubhouse and have some lunch.”

“And a cold beer,” added Gator.

“Amen,” One Short chimed in.

That evening we decided to take a ride into Dallas—just to show our presence. Sloane and Niara had gone down to Austin to hang out with their friend, Sutton. She had landed herself an NHL player and worked in the ER with another player’s wife and one of the members of the Demented Sons chapter down that way. That meant Phoenix was rolling solo.

I’d never met Styx, or any of the other guys, but Snow had assured me they were standup guys and if I ever needed a hand to reach out to them.

We made several stops at a couple of restaurants and a few bars. In one, we were given a wide berth, but for the most part people were curious but not hostile.

The entire night, we’d slowly been making our way back to the compound. Our last stop was a little bar not far from the land the clubhouse sat on.

“Wanna give me a ride?”

Beer inches from my mouth, I paused and glanced down at the hand touching my cut. Then I finished the drink I’d started to take as I stared into the brown eyes of the chick asking the question. Never breaking eye contact, I set my bottle down and turned the bar stool her direction. She had squeezed her way in between me and Phoenix and he cocked a brow at me over her shoulder. I ignored him.

“Sweetheart, no one rides on my bike but me,” I told her. I wasn’t a dick about it, but I really didn’t want her or any other woman behind me. There was only one… nope. Not going there.

She bit her bottom lip and dragged it through her teeth as she gazed up at me. Her coyness really didn’t do dick shit for me. Neither did the rack she had on display. Speaking of dicks, mine which usually had a mind of its own, didn’t so much as stir. Sweet Jesus, I was officially broken.

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