Claiming Treasure
Backup Plan

Three Tequila’s POV

Orlando Steel Brotherhood Clubhouse

Tax time was my least favorite time of the year.

The Orlando Steel Brotherhood Chapter is a 501(c)7 social club for tax purposes. As a non-profit, we didn’t have to pay Federal or State taxes as long as we stayed within the lines of our tax classification. Most of the requirements were straightforward; the Club had to be a social club, organized “for pleasure, recreation, and other nonprofitable purchases.” Also, “substantially all of the activities” of the club must be for these social purposes. No problem there, since we organized around our love of motorcycles. We organized Club rides, supported local charities, maintained a fully-equipped garage for member’s use, and operated a private Club bar. Finally, “no part of the net earnings of the Club may be for the benefit of any private shareholder.” Unless the Chapter folded, no individual saw any money in return.

And just because we didn’t have to PAY taxes, didn’t mean we got out of filing them.

As an incorporated Club, we also were required to have officers and maintain incorporation paperwork with the Florida Secretary of State. Locally, the Club had to transfer its liquor license to the new location, along with the business license that allowed us to operate a kitchen and rent rooms in the Clubhouse to guests from out of town. It had taken us months to work through the system to get everything up and running again, and it wasn’t easy.

That didn’t mean we didn’t have employees. Bartenders, kitchen staff, cleaners, maintenance people, they all had to be paid like any other business. Even our Prospects were paid a salary for the jobs they did. The difference between us and another bar/restaurant was that we were not open to the public. We had to maintain careful records of guests to show we weren’t making too much off of them.

This year was more complicated than previous years for two big reasons. The first was that the attack on the Clubhouse last year had cost the club dearly in lost revenue and uninsured losses. Eighty percent of our revenues came from the Club kitchen and bar; remodeling and food trucks had cut into the earnings significantly. The Club stayed afloat with the cash donations that had come from other Chapters and members of the public, plus the cash given by Rori and Chase Nygaard. With the fire losses, funeral expenses, sale of the old Clubhouse property, and purchase of our new Clubhouse, it was a tangled mess for our accountant and lawyer.

The second reason was the Chief of Police in Orlando wanted us gone. He was using every means, legal and political, to try and shut our Club down or force us out of town. We’d had to hire lawyers to keep our licensing after the City Council held public hearings. Health inspectors, compliance checks for liquor laws, OSHA inspectors, fire inspectors… it was constant until we got our lawyers involved and worked the local press. We’d been in the city for decades, and had never been in trouble. Our decision to require prospects to obtain Concealed Weapons Permits had proven wise, as felons and drug users were never welcome. Our charitable work and the publicity from the funeral carried the day, and things were back to normal.

“Done yet,” Mongo asked as he came into the office.

“I wish,” I said as I looked up from the printouts. “Remind me again why I volunteered to be Club Business Secretary?”

“I think it was the big paycheck,” he said as he pulled me up and into a scorching kiss. “That ten dollars an hour will be important when I’m on Social Security.”

“Oh, hush. You’re not even fifty yet.”

He grabbed my ass and pulled me against him just as his cell phone rang. Groaning, he pulled it out and didn’t recognize the number. “Mongo,” he said.

His face got serious, and he listened for a minute before saying, “All right, we’ll be there in an hour,” and hanging up.

“What was that?”

“Pack, now, for a couple of days in cool weather,” he said as he opened the door for me. “I’ll let everyone know something came up.”

“What’s going on?”

“Not here,” he said. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

We always kept extra clothes in our room at the Clubhouse, since we might spend a few nights a week here. I went up there, packing a suitcase with what I would need. Ten minutes later, a prospect was driving us out of the clubhouse in the back of a cargo van. He made some random turns to ensure no one was following us before he drove us to the airfield.

A small business jet waited for us outside hangar number seven. The pilots pulled the door closed as soon as we got in. The interior had four leather seats surrounding a table; a man sat facing the rear in one of them. The pilot got us settled in, then returned to the cockpit and closed the door. “Good to see you again, Mongo, Three Tequila,” he said.

It took a second for me to put it together. “Tom?” He was one of the security guys who had come down with a patrol dog when the Clubhouse got attacked. “What is going on?”

“It’s Heather,” he said. He must have seen the look of panic because he quickly brought his hands up. “She’s safe, for now, but there have been some developments.” As the plane took off and climbed to altitude, he filled us in on the past three months. “Heather was staying with Aces and Bunny near Vegas, along with Roadkill, Possum, and Rori’s twins. You know she was in a relationship with Greg Barks last year when she was in hiding in Minnesota?”

I nodded and gritted my teeth; he’d had sex with her, something I’d kept hidden from Mongo. Rori had promised she would take care of it, and he was heading out of the country for three months. “Yes, and I didn’t like it.”

“It’s worse than you thought.” He told the story of her showing up at the Arrowhead Pack to surprise him; her not knowing he’d moved on to someone else, and him not knowing she was pregnant with twins.

“PREGNANT? I’LL FUCKING KILL HIM,” Mongo said as he fisted his hands. I put my hands on his arm, calming him down.

Tom must have known what I was thinking. “We’re not going to Minnesota. Chase had her moved, and she is well-protected by people we trust.”

“Is it the Sons,” I asked. “I thought the Feds wiped them out.”

“I wish,” he said. He explained what had happened after Heather told Greg she was pregnant, and how Chase’s brother Carson was fighting to keep the Council from killing her to keep their secret safe. “You’re our backup plan. If Carson loses, the Council will take her and execute her.”

I started shaking, and it was Mongo’s turn to calm ME down. “That won’t happen,” he said. “What’s the plan?”

“When we land, I will drive you to a rendezvous point in the mountains. If the Enforcers enter Carson’s land, Frank and Colletta will escape with her and meet up. We will return to the plane, where you will take her somewhere she can be safe, with someone you trust.” I started to say something, and he raised his hand to stop me. “Don’t tell me; I don’t want to know. When this all comes out, any Werewolf can be commanded to talk. I can’t tell them what I don’t know.”

I was already running through ideas in my head, and I’m sure Mongo was doing the same. “And if Carson wins?”

“Then Heather will be staying with his Pack. They will come out to retrieve you, and I’ll meet you in two days to take you back to the plane so you can get home.”

He didn’t have any information from the trial, and he couldn’t answer the questions I had. What he DID know scared me; our interactions with Werewolves had been positive until now. We dealt with Rori’s Pack, which was almost like another chapter of the Brotherhood to me. The idea that people wanted her dead for the same knowledge I’d had for years? It scared me. “Are we safe? Will they be coming for me next?”

He closed his eyes and leaned back. “Honestly? I don’t know all the politics of it, but the world’s Alphas are evenly divided. Rori and Chase are leading one faction that is pushing to be inclusive to humans. They believe that we cannot continue hiding our nature forever, and the Council should focus on managing how we come out to the human world. The others are traditionalists, conforming to rigid rules on human contact. They believe any human who knows of us should be killed immediately to protect us all.”

“Who is going to win?”

“I have no idea. If the Alphas can take Chase and Rori out, then take out Carson? It might only take one more Pack to change sides for those Packs to gain a two-thirds majority where they could change the laws again.” He reached into the refrigerator and removed an orange juice, opening it while he thought. “The real worry is if the Council forces their own man into the Alpha spot at Arrowhead. Your status as Trusted Agents is dependent on the Arrowhead Alphas taking responsibility for your actions. If the Alpha changed, he could revoke your status.”

“And then they would kill us,” Mongo said.

“Yes.” He looked out the window, seeing we were at cruising altitude. He’d given us a lot to think about already. “Through those doors are a bathroom and a small bedroom, should you wish to rest or talk in privacy.”

“I am tired,” I said. I got up and used the bathroom, then went through the door. The rear of the plane was just big enough for a twin-sized bed; I had to sit on it so Mongo could close the door. “This is cozy,” I said.

“Strip,” he said as he pulled his vest off.

“Now?”

“When else will we get a chance to join the mile-high club without getting arrested?”

I wasn’t going to turn down this chance, and soon I was in the middle of my bed with my legs over my man’s shoulders. I held his head where I wanted it as he ate me like a starving man at a buffet, his beard tickling my sensitive inner lips. “I need you in me,” I said after the first orgasm rolled through my body.

“I need you more,” he said as he dropped his pants. He pulled me to the edge of the bed, leaning over me as his big cock pushed into its home. “My God, you feel good,” he said as he filled me full.

“Just fuck me hard and fast, I need it so bad,” I said. I needed my man. I needed to feel loved and safe, as my head tried to look past the real dangers of today. I wrapped my legs around his back, urging him on as he started stroking me long and deep. The room was quiet, except for my moans and the wet smack of his hips into mine. He leaned over, kissing me before he put my knees over his shoulder and put his arms outside them. Now I was at his mercy as he used his size and strength to hammer me into the thin mattress. “FUCK YES, TAKE ME,” I yelled as he started moving faster.

He reached up, pinching and twisting my nipples, and the pain sent me over the edge. “MONGOOOOOO,” I screamed as my body exploded in pleasure. My greedy pussy clamped down on the invader plundering my depths, and that was all he needed. He slammed deep and started to cum with me, my needy kitty sucking all his cream from him.

When he finished, he let my legs down and slowly pulled out. We’d made a mess, and he cleaned what he could with the Kleenex from the holder in the wall before he climbed up next to me. Both of us were exhausted, and I fell asleep in his arms to the drone of the engines.

“Time to wake up,” Tom said as he knocked on the door. “Landing in ten minutes.” We quickly pulled on our clothes in the tight quarters and headed back to our seats. He smiled as we sat down. “Have a good rest?”

“Yes,” I said. “You didn’t hear us, did you?”

He laughed. “I think the pilots could hear you. No worries, they are professionals. They’ve heard it all before.” We landed and taxied to a hangar; a black SUV with tinted windows pulled up next to us as the aircraft door opened. The driver tossed the keys to Tom, then walked off towards an SUV waiting outside. We loaded into the back of the Ford Escape. He handed us ski hats from the passenger seat. “Put these on and keep your heads down until we are out of town,” he said.

“Yeah, right. My head is down, and it’s still hitting the roof,” Mongo said. He leaned towards me, and I buried my head on his shoulder. We watched as we left the plains and climbed up into the snow-covered mountains. “Where are we headed?”

“Trailhead about thirty miles from here as the crow flies,” he said.

It took close to an hour to make that on the narrow, winding road. We turned off after thirty minutes onto a Forest Service gravel road, finally stopping at a parking lot. The lot was empty, but I could see some tracks. “Who comes up here?”

“Snowmobilers, sometimes horses,” he said. He parked at the back of the lot before we got out. It felt good to stretch our legs, but I was soon cold. “Here,” he said as he fished a winter jacket out of the back. “We always have extra clothes in a vehicle in case we shift.”

I pulled it on, and it was a few sizes too big but warm. Tom found a big sweater that Mongo put on, plus we both got gloves. The snow was powdery, the mountain air still cold, with spring was a month away. “When will we know?”

“I don’t know.” He took off his clothes, shifting into his silver wolf. We drank coffee out of the thermos that was left for us as Tom ran around, sniffing and marking trees. He froze as we heard a wolf howl in the distance.

Tom howled back, then ran back to us. Shifting, he quickly dressed in the SUV and came back out. “They’re coming,” he said.

“Where?” I didn’t hear or see anything.

“Over that ridge,” he said.

Looking up, I saw three wolves coming down through the trees, but one looked funny. “Is that?”

“Heather,” Mongo said. “She’s riding on the back of one!” I was jealous; in all the time I’d spent around Arrowhead, I never got a wolfy ride. The three picked their way down the slope, managing the snow and the rockslides. Twenty minutes later, Heather jumped off her wolf and into my arms.

“Baby!” I hugged her tight as she cried into my shoulder. She let me go and hugged Mongo just as tightly.

“Does this mean?”

“We can’t stay here,” Heather said.