Fractured MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 9) Read online

  Chayton headed up the stairs. Nantan was braiding his hair, still wet from the shower. Chayton pulled up a padded seat, pushed Nantan's hands away, and took over.

  "I don't hear the shower," said Nantan, rubbing lotion into his elbows.

  "They're downstairs coding. They have the most amazing game they're coding. They've brought the Quad into it." The Quad was how they referred to their four boys.

  Josh and Nick's mother had okayed Chayton adopting them, but leaving her as a parent as well. Chayton was already in the process of adopting Little Nico and Tam, so they decided to have him go whole hog and get four boys at once.

  "The Quad are officially Wolfpack?" asked Nantan. He bent his leg, and rubbed peppermint balm onto his feet, of his own creation. He nodded to himself. "It was inevitable. Both younger boys are testing way above their 'regular school' levels, and Josh and Nick are banging out all the requirements for high school, even AP courses, at a level I wouldn't have thought possible." He sighed, and switched feet. "It looks like we're going to be doing a lot of driving to work sites."

  "We already do," said Chayton. "This way, all four boys get real-world job experience."

  Nantan sighed. "We need a bigger van."

  "No," said Chayton. "We need another van."

  "We're short on funds. We added onto the main barn, again, and we've taken on a lot of Wolfpack, and sales are up but we have to meet demands..."

  "Hush," said Chayton, and kissed Nantan's cheek. "Love, we'll just make them pay for it themselves. Get someone to fix it up with them, maybe Robert. Or teach them automotive science, maybe someone from the community college."

  "With what...? Gosh, you think the video game checklist thing is going to be that big."

  "Bigger," said Chayton. He finished the braid and wound it with black and silver braided cord. "I don't think they'll have to worry about college, any of them." He rubbed Nantan's shoulders, making him groan.

  "You have forever to stop that," said Nantan. He felt muscles relax he didn't know were tense, even those in his neck and jaw.

  Chayton chuffed a laugh. "We kept adding --well, they did, actually, adding businesses. Those coming up came up with new ideas, and some of them made money. Now we've got a real powerhouse here. We are at the tipping point, I think."

  "They eat and drink more than twice their number would, in adults. Growing teens. And the more chores, the more they eat." Nantan groaned as Chayton dug into a sore spot. "And yes, they do grow a lot of what they eat, and work to grow and deliver, and we do recoup some of it there. The flavored sparkling water machine was a genius idea."

  Chayton bowed theatrically. "Thank you."

  "They still run up huge bills, even with growing food and living frugally."

  "Each generation will be cheaper, as we dry and store food, like beans, and corn and rice."

  Nantan groaned. "Rice is a bitch to grow. You need real hydroponics for that, not just misters. It loves to grow in charred clay. The UAE is making great strides growing it, but it's not a large-scale thing."

  "Okay, no rice. We've got all sorts of things growing, from vines to leafy, to really big; like those pumpkins. You're a genius, love." Chayton dug into another knot, making Nantan hiss.

  "Not a genius. Just following the science of others," Nantan said. "So glad we got both Mike, who's been drinking the Kool-Aid, or the coffee, in the case of the plants he planted in the corner, and Robert. Robert's so steady and --just real, you know? There, in a solid way."

  "When is his sister coming?" Chayton moved his hands lower down, digging into Nantan's right side.

  "After the wedding, which is just stupid. We're going to have a great time. I think both the sister and her significant other are afraid of crowds."

  Chayton nodded. “You may never see more than fifty people your entire life on some parts of the reservations. I hope they do well." He sighed. "The man knows a lot of Zuni. Took the pressure right off me. He's got Vu all in a tizzy to get everything he knows into his computer."

  "We've got the pressure off us," said Nantan. "Even with seventy teens to look after, and four of our own..."

  Chayton huffed a laugh. "It just seems like seventy."

  "Anyway, we can take some time. Take the boys and go somewhere, hiking, camping. Or, just take us."

  Chayton kissed Nantan's neck. "Sounds wonderful. Let's start planning trips." He pulled his shirt off over his head, and laid it over the back of a chair. "Later." He turned Nantan's face toward him, and kissed him deeply.

  "Later," agreed Nantan, when they came up for air.

  They touched each other lightly, with long strokes and even longer kisses. They went deep, then back to the surface, then deep again. Chayton knelt, and stroked Nantan, making him groan. He sucked on Nantan, making him arch his back, then stroked him, then sucked again. Nantan came, arching his back, and groaned. Chayton found a wet wipe and cleaned them both up.

  "Hurry," said Chayton. "Before the boys knock at the door." Nantan sat Chayton down in the chair, and did the same, stroking and kissing all the way down, then teasing by kissing his thighs. He used his teeth, making Chayton jump, before sucking him, then stopping, making Chayton ask for release. Chayton came more quietly, digging his fingers into Nantan's shoulders. Nantan cleaned them both up, then they put on boxers. Chayton put on a robe and went to check on the boys. They were in their bunks, coding away. He kissed their heads, and headed down to check on Josh and Nick. They had set up a screen in between them, and they were coding together on a split screen in their bunks.

  "Night, boys," said Chayton.

  "Night, Ma," said Josh, making Chayton laugh. He left them to their coding, and went back upstairs to do the one thing he and Nantan had nearly forgotten how to do --sleep.

  "Talents lie in every heart. Not everyone gets to express them --or go looking for them."

  Lonely Ride

  "Reaching acceptance is taking what you can't change, and working with reality."

  Ghost laid back in the chair and stretched. "You're right!" she said to her wife. "Dis be da bomb!"

  Killa smiled smugly. "I be right all da time. You jus' not noticin.'"

  Ghost wiggled her toes in the water. "Ya was right to have anudder baby. We do need ta help dem people. Dey is very nice."

  "Yea, an' now we get downtime so we kin experience our money. We so busy wif da Soldier Pack we gotta rememba to take da time for ourselfs." Killa relaxed as the Vietnamese woman began working on her heels with a sander.

  "That no lie," said Ghost. "Dey doin' real-well, except fo dat Sheila."

  Sheila was a lover of one of the Soldier Pack, and a drug addict and thief. She'd been caught breaking into another soldier's apartment, and was now in jail. The soldier was allowed to stay, but "Mouse" had it explained to him that he needed to find a better class of woman to date. He agreed, and became even more quiet in embarrassment. Mouse and Yodeler were on a trip to scout out locations in Arizona and Nevada for new shops.

  "We gotta find places to send dem ladies," said Killa. "Dey is awesome. Dat Kym got her own bike done in two weeks." Kym was smart and very strong, and could lay down a perfect welding bead. She was half Thai and half African-American, and all attitude and good humor. "Dat girl gonna go far, run her own shop. Been takin' dem small business courses, too."

  "Da girl great wit’ da customers, too," said Killa. "Put her far out from us. She not be needin' much help."

  "'Kay," said Ghost.

  "Den we gotta get tree new ones off da list."

  Ghost waved her hand. "Already set up da emails. Just gonna send 'em when we find da place fa our girls now." She groaned in pleasure as the technician worked on her heel.

  "You ever feel we did da wrong ting?" asked Killa.

  "Wif da Soldier Pack? Naw. We get moah work done now, mo bikes out. Done taken care of our backlist. I even got time ta teach dem new Wolfpack how ta make da miniature bikes. We keepin' up wif da orders there."

  "We need a vacation," said
Killa.

  "Jamaica, baby," said Ghost. They both laughed.

  Gregory pointed to the photo on the screen. "What's wrong with this picture?" he asked.

  Sergeant Avery "Grade A" Aames raised his hand. He was tall, good-natured, with brown hair, brown eyes, and an easy smile. The best thing about him was that he was completely forgettable, something worth taking advantage of in the game of protection. Gregory nodded at him to speak.

  "Out of position. The principal is too far away to prevent a snatch."

  "Good," said Gregory, and pointed at Private First-Class Julie "JJ" Jones. "JJ?"

  "The principal is at a weird angle; offset, and too close to the fan. The fan could stab her with a knife, or even a pen."

  "Good," said Gregory. "And the way to prevent the stabbing part?"

  JJ held up her screen. Body armor had gotten a lot lighter, and could go under clothing. Stars liked revealing clothing, but could be convinced to wear "cool" leather jackets. The body armor went into the price of the protection.

  "Jacket number two, Sir. This actress likes to wear red."

  "Good," said Gregory. "Red?"

  Staff Sergeant Aileen Kerry was a very natural redhead, who wore her locks braided back. She had the tilted green eyes, gold freckles, and porcelain skin of Irish ancestry. She also had keen eyes.

  "The guy on the right has a gun," she said. "Black matte; probably a small-caliber. He's also not club security or Meghan's security, either. The club likes beefy guys, and she likes female security. And, the woman on the far left is supposed to be an ecstatic fan, but she looks almost bored. I would say she's Meghan's security, and that she has a bead on the guy with the gun. I think she has a weapon hidden by her notebook."

  "Whoa," said JJ. "Nice catch."

  "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is situational awareness," said Bannon, from the doorway. "The pictures may seem silly to you, but you're learning what to look for. I've got an excellent VR company using Google Glass to create an environment for you to practice. So, first, go through these scenarios, then you'll compete with the two other teams to create the best VR scenarios. This way, you'll train each other, and then you will actually be training those that come after you."

  "Yes, Sir," said the soldiers.

  "We won't let you down, Sir," said Kerry.

  Bannon smiled. "Bannon High Desert Security is going to smoke everyone else," he said. "Now, get back to work."

  The course in defensive driving had to take into account artificial hands and feet. The soldiers needed to learn how to drive vehicles at speed and take evasive maneuvers, while wearing (many of them brand-new) prostheses they had only recently acquired. Any soldier accepted into the motorcycle rebuilding program got new and better prostheses if they asked for them, or if they demonstrated a need for them. Anyone showing up with a hook for a hand or a stick with a foot attached automatically got new ones. Bannon paid half the cost as a secret ex-soldier angel; the other half was paid for by donations, from those wanting to help ex-soldiers thrive. The 3D printers that printed prostheses for ex-soldiers stayed busy. Bannon and Gregory developed a training course to take advantage of prosthetic feet and hands. Reaction time was key, so they worked on that as well.

  They shot guns at the range, used a variety of martial arts Herja and some other Valkyries taught, and put an old warehouse to good use with constructing scenarios --crowd, urban, hotel, giving a speech --and other situations where their principals might need assistance. Bannon paid various Iron Knights and Valkyries to participate. They thought it great fun, especially Skuld; she devised some nasty ones. They made money having local law enforcement and military train with them, and even sold the VR sims to their departments. Eventually, the training paid for itself, and then some. Bannon worked on getting his training certified; he might as well sell it.

  Their first case was a slutty, coke-snorting teen rock star who was known for doing things that would get her arrested. Her call sign was Happy Girl. They found out her manager was supplying the coke --her mother.

  Kerry was on point. She knew what to do, and called Gregory. "Happy Girl needs baby powder her mother gets for her," she said, not willing to say more on an unsecure line. "Have plan, will travel and corral."

  Gregory looked at Bannon, and put the call on mute. "The mom is either supplying cocaine or heroin to her daughter. I think Kerry takes protecting the client very seriously. I think she plans to send the mother to the Big House and get Happy to rehab."

  "Good plan," said Bannon. "Gets the girl lots of good press. We just can't have our name on it." He thought a moment. "Kerry wouldn't risk her job. Give her a go signal."

  "You are a go," said Gregory.

  "Acknowledged," said Kerry, and hung up.

  Detective Damon "Sledge" Harkness, LVMPD, was an Iron Knight. He was African-American, with pale brown eyes and very short hair. He had worked his way up using his brain and a lot of shoe leather. He'd trained with Kerry, knew her sharp brain --and even sharper instincts.

  "What can I do for you, Staff Sergeant?"

  "My DEA contact has her ass in traction," she said.

  "Drugs," he said. "I did a stint in Narco. Whatcha got?"

  "Coffee shop, right around the corner."

  "Nice," he said. "If you're buying. Mind if I bring my contact?"

  "Get two double shots of espresso if you do."

  "On it," he said.

  He called Jen "Njola" Nightingale. She was a Valkyrie named Night who had been taking up Wraith's slack in several areas. She had blue-black hair, braided on one side, and skin the color of old nutmeg, with brown eyes, and an attitude.

  "Got one of Bannon's soldiers, think she wants to give us a gift, tied up neatly in a bow."

  "Mama didn't raise no fool," said Njola. "Let's do this. Where?"

  "The Grinder," he said. "We get a shot of espresso each in our coffee, right now."

  "I'll take two in mine, thank you," she said, and hung up.

  Kerry acted as if she didn't have a blade for a leg. She had on a dark gray suit, cut to hide her weapons, and a soft-silver silk top. Her wide face and snapping eyes didn't hide her intelligence from anyone.

  "I'm having Kenyan roast with a shot of espresso. You two?"

  "Same," said Njola, "But I want two shots of espresso."

  Sledge smiled. "One, but make mine a large." They got their large coffees, and sat.

  "Mama, we'll just call her that for now, buys coke for her fifteen-year-old daughter, and is violating laws, a lot of them. Dad is out of the picture. We cloned Mama's phone and found her supplier network. Rajana Moon is a pills-to-the-stars type, billing herself as a new-age practitioner of old arts." She showed a picture of a woman with her hair dyed ink-dark and in a gold sari. "She's based in Hollyweird, but she likes to visit peon places from time to time. Travels with Mama sometimes." She slid her finger, and another picture came out.

  "Hans Gruschen," said Njola. "Did you bring me Hans all wrapped up in a bow? You shouldn't have!"

  "Dude’s as slippery as an eel covered in petroleum. And just as nasty," said Sledge. "I'm in."

  "Mama's the important one as far as we're concerned," said Kerry. "You guys have as much fun as you want. Deal goes down tonight, around nine. We'll get Baby out of the way while you slam them down. If you need support..."

  "No, Ma'am," said Njola. "I'll have volunteers from here to Saskatchewan in ten minutes. Where?"

  "Bathroom at Mama's hotel room. I'll get Baby out."

  "Which hotel?" asked Sledge.

  "The Chamberlain." It was a small, very exclusive, boutique hotel. They wouldn't notice the intrusion of law enforcement because they had been paid not to notice the little things.

  "Done," said Njola. They all shook hands. They all stood, put on their game faces. Sledge left first, a tiny grin on his face and a song in his heart. "You know we still want you," said Njola.

  "Still thinking," said Kerry. "Wraith getting hit just... made it real. Already happened once
, you know? Haven't joined the Nighthawks either, and Ivy's practically begged." She smiled a slow smile. "I was 'bout ready to pack up and get a random ticket to anywhere, you know? Small town girl gets shot up. Everyone looking at me like I'm a grenade they need to run from. Mum needs my help. She had me when she was forty. She's got arthritis in her hips, her hands. I've gotta take care of her. Now I'm making money to care of her. Can't get her away from her friends, the garden ladies in Evanston. Too damn cold for her, but she won't listen. Did get my college done, in civil engineering. Now I can keep idiot kids like Baby safe, and put her mom and her entourage away and get her some help."

  "You doing any engineering?" asked Njola.

  "I'm making some plans. Geothermal plans. Bridges too. A lot of bridges and other infrastructure was built in the '30s, under the Civil Conservation Corps. Not sexy to spend money on them. Got some plans to make them toll roads, get the bridges replaced. When the bridge is paid for, money goes to the next bridge. Trying to get some counties somewhere --interested." They walked out into the desert sunshine together, the sun's light like a hammer blow to the eyes.

  "Keep thinking, then do," said Njola. "Whether you join us or not, you're one of us. Call on any of us for whatever you need."

  Kerry grinned. "I just did." They grabbed the back of each other's necks, and touched foreheads. "With your shield," said Kerry.

  "Or on it," finished Njola. They parted without a backward glance.

  Bannon knew something was up. Happy was supposed to be in her suite, working on her new song, and memorizing the lines for a makeup commercial. But, Grade A had been driving the limo around, and a bellman brought down a suitcase with Happy's favorite clothes, a hanging bag, and guitar. JJ covered the hallway, deliberately ignoring the "waiter" bringing flavored waters to Happy's suite.

  Kerry said, "Let's go someplace... private. Secluded. Beachy."

  Happy was tripping. There was something in the coke that was making her eyes go in and out of focus. "Hell, yeah," she said. "So that's why that guy left with my stuff."