Free Slate (Rebel Wayfarers MC) by MariaLisa deMora Page B

breakfast and then bed. Exiting through the bar’s backdoor, he locked up using his key and turned to his bike, only then realizing he wasn’t alone in the back alley. “Fuck me,” he muttered underneath his breath, recognizing the two men sitting on their bikes parked next to his.
    He pulled his jacket from the pannier bag, yanking it on as he straddled the bike. “Watcher, Devil.” He nodded as he kicked the bike to life. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was in a situation like this, but when they started their bikes too, Watcher made a motion for him to proceed them, so he pulled out.
    Headed down the main drag towards the diner he frequented, he pulled into the parking lot, not surprised when they pulled in behind him. He waited on his bike while they backed theirs into spots next to him, and sat for a second after they killed their engines. “Can I help you, gentlemen?” he asked, finally.
    Devil laughed hard. “You gotta quit bein’ so fucking funny, Ice Man.” Andy cocked his head, looking at him. “We ain’t no fucking gentlemen. That’s twice tonight you’ve made that joke.”
    Devil laughed again, and Watcher said, “Just wanna have a chat, Ice Man. That’s all. Public place is good for this,” and he stood up off his bike.

    8 -     Scars
    Nearly a month later, Andy leaned against the edge of the doorway, blocking the men outside from coming into the adobe building. He casually held a length of iron pipe in his hand and scowled starkly at the crowd gathered in the street. He yelled over his shoulder into the house, “Watcher, we got a fuckuva lotta company out here.”
    There was a meaty thud from behind him, and he risked a glance backward into the main room, seeing several men gathered around someone sitting in a chair.
    “Keep ‘em outside, Ice Man,” Watcher said tightly. “We don’t have our money yet.” Andy took a breath and stood up straight, bringing the pipe to rest on his shoulder as if it were a baseball bat. He took one long step forward and saw nearly the entire crowd step back by at least three feet. “ Vamonos. No hace falta que te quedes ,” he said to the crowd in general, tapping his shoulder lightly with the pipe. “Get the fuck out of here, bastards,” he muttered to himself. “Nothing to see.”
    A large portion of the group broke off, wandering up streets and away from the house. Their departure exposed the people he’d been set to watch for. “Watch, I got green patches,” he called over his shoulder again, muttering, “Fuck me,” when those patches didn’t turn and leave like the citizens did. The Soldiers had said to watch for the rival club colors, and here they fucking were. Jesus fucking Christ, what was he doing here in Mexico, getting into a fucking biker gang war? “ Fuck me ,” he muttered again.
    “Fucking Machos,” Watcher swore from behind him. “Watch ‘em, Ice.” There was another thud, and then he felt a presence at his back, knowing it was Watcher and his club members. He stepped out into the sunshine and off to the side, allowing the Soldiers to take the lead.
    Watcher had brought a full dozen of his patch brothers with him to Mexico; they were trying to find out where the money had gone for one of their last shipments. Either a full case of handguns had gone missing, or the tens of thousands of dollars in payment had. Machos or cartel, either way, the Soldiers wanted payment or restitution, and they’d come hunting one or the other.
    There was a roar coming from the right, and Andy turned to see an old convertible sedan driving quickly up the dirt road. It was lurching back and forth in the ruts between the adobe and cardboard houses. As if they were in a movie, he saw a man pop up from the backseat like a jack-in-a-box. But this version of the children’s toy had its own plaything, and what looked like an AR-15 was pointing at the center of their group. Andy watched as the men around him hit the ground, and either got behind