Reborn as the First Boss, Book 1 Prologue (Patreon)

The start of a brand new series! This will fill the Friday spot now.

Prologue – Well, crap.

Thwack!

“Aagh!” The worm in front of her cried out as her foot met his gut. The sniffing, sniveling little shit just curled up trying to protect himself. Pathetic.

“What’s the matter, Nicky? You were all big and bad a moment ago. Where’d all that energy go? Telling me you weren’t going to go and buy me something for lunch. I thought my dog finally got some fight in him, but it looks like I was wrong.”

Honestly, she wasn’t surprised about how quickly the wimp folded. The only surprise was that her target found the balls to stand up to her at all. She was the leader of the Red Dragons MC, after all. Sure, they might not compare to the big shots in New York, but out here in Peekskill? They ran things! This was their turf!

Yeah, Peekskill was only a city of twenty-five thousand, but it had a good location, where US 9 met US 6, making it one of the arteries getting from Albany or Scranton to New York. Good for those who wanted to avoid the congestion of the interstate or passing through Newark. But it was still a ways away from any of the big cities, which meant that there was plenty of room for the Red Dragons to thrive, where otherwise they’d have to put up with a bunch of bigger gangs and motorcycle clubs, or even the syndicates trying to muscle in.

Which brought her back to the little worm in front of her. “Nicky, Nicky, Nicky,” she sighed. “I thought you were smarter than this. You know how things work. You give us our money, when we say to, and then we make sure nothing bad happens to you, or your business. That’s how things work.”

Nick Masters should have known better. He never would have tried this when Uncle Carl was running the Dragons. But Carl got hit by a drunk driver while out on his bike. The driver ‘generously’ paid off all the hospital bills, and set Carl up for life, but he couldn’t ride anymore, stuck in that wheelchair. Which meant the Club had been forced to find a new leader.

Most clubs would never consider a woman for the leadership. Especially the 1% clubs, like the Dragons. But Catherine “Sexkitten” Hall was born into the club, and had been part of it her entire life. She knew every one of the guys, and their wives. She’d been riding bikes since she was 15. Learned to ride a bike three years before she ever sat behind the wheel of a car.

And she wasn’t just a pretty face, like some of the women who circled around the club. She could work on and maintain the bikes just as much as any of the men could. Even built her own ride, once she turned twenty-one. Best thing she’d ever had between her legs, and it never disappointed her, unlike some of the men (and women) who had tried to ‘tame’ her.

And she knew how to fight, too. Not that fancy kung-fu stuff you saw in the movies. Actual fighting. Her dad and Carl made sure that if she was going to ride with the club, then she knew how to fight with the club, and hold her own doing it. No dead weight in this club. When they needed to put boot to ass to make sure people understood this was Dragon territory, she was one of the first ones swinging.

Some of the guys spoke up when she put her name up for the leadership, but she won them over, same way she always did. The ones who wanted to fight about it, she fought. The ones who wanted to talk, she talked. Two she drank under the table. And Grim? Well, he and his old lady weren’t so grim when she was through with them.

But outsiders still didn’t get the message. They thought that because a woman was in charge, that the club had gone soft. That they couldn’t or wouldn’t continue to take what was theirs and protect what they took. So, she had to keep going around, and having this same ‘conversation’ with people who thought that they no longer had to pay.

“Kitten, why we even bothering with this guy? Let’s just torch the place and hit the bar.”

“Horse, if I wanted your opinion, I’d give it to you,” she snapped. Looking back at still whimpering Nick, she said, “Now, Nicky, I want you to listen up. One of two things is about to happen. Either you’re going to give me the money you owe us, or Horse is going to show you how he got his name. See, he’s more than happy with any warm hole, no matter what other equipment they might have, but he’s got a bit of a mean streak in him. Loves the ones that are weak and whimpering. Just like you are now. So, are we going to get paid, or is Horse going to give us a show?”

They got paid, much to Horse’s disappointment. She laughed as they walked out of the warehouse, and promised him that, if he was a good boy, she’d see about saddling up later on that night. Maybe it wasn’t the normal way a club president would motivate their members, but it worked for her, and her club, and that was all that mattered.

“Boss, look out!”

T-Bone’s cry was the only warning she got. Motorcycles roared to life. Not her crew. They sounded like those Japanese crotch rockets, not a Harley, like most of her crew rode. Gunfire tore through the night. She caught a sight of jackets as she dove for cover. Green patch. The Barbarians. They’d been looking to muscle in on Dragon turf for decades, but they never did something as big scale as this!

This was big. Oh, clubs would rumble, now and then. But there were rules. Etiquette. You didn’t start with guns, because then there was no going back. Fists, even brass knuckles? That was one thing. Part of the life. Pull a knife, and things escalate. Pull a gun, and that means things don’t stop until there’s a pile of bodies, on both sides. You never started with guns.

Barbarians didn’t seem to want to play that way. Well, that was fine. They wanted war, she’d give them a war. She pulled her gun, popped up over the cover she’d found, and started blasting. Daddy taught her how to shoot, too. Handguns, shotguns, rifles. Never knew when it might come in handy. Like now.

Two Barbarians went down. Headshots. Fuck ‘em. They started it, so they could wade in blood. More shots. Breathing was getting tough. Probably should lay off the booze a bit more, hit the gym some. Must be getting out of shape.

More shooting. More dead. Seven of the twelve Barbarians were down. No clue how many were out permanently. T-Bone was down on her side. Hit in the leg. Probably live, but he was out of the scrap, unless it all went sideways. That meant only her and Horse left, after that ambush. Fuck.

One of the surviving Barbarians yelled something. Couldn’t tell what. She saw him pull the pin and throw, though. His aim was shit, though. Landed in the middle of nowhere, between both sides. Then it went off. Smoke.

“They’re running!” Horse yelled as the sound of their bikes replaced the sound of gunfire.

“Let them run,” she coughed, wiping her cheek. Definitely harder to breathe, now. Was it getting darker? “Bitches thought they could just slaughter us in an ambush. Showed them, though. How’s T-Bone?”

“I’m good!” T-Bone called out. “Got my leg good, though. Gonna need to see the doc, but it ain’t bleeding too bad.”

“Good. That’s good.” She slumped back against the car she’d dove behind. Why was she so tired all of a sudden? She wasn’t normally this bad after a fight.

“Boss, you all right?” T-Bone asked. Concerned. Why was he concerned about me, when he was the one who got hit?

Horse crouched next to her, his eyes full of worry. “Shit, Boss, you’ve been hit!”

I looked down, and saw red all over my nice white shirt. All over my leathers. Fuck, that would be a bitch and a half to clean. Wait. Red? That must be why she was so tired. Stupid blood not staying inside like it’s supposed to.

And all I could say, as the darkness took me was, “Well, crap.”