A Leap in the Dark (Assassins of Youth MC Book 2) (11 page)

He said, “I could maybe scratch your back if you scratch mine.”

I backed off a bit, letting go of his shirt. With disgust, I realized he had a fucking hard-on. Under the overhang of his belly he had a fucking hard-on just because
I
was close to him, and that creeped me out more than anything. “You’ll do that? Issue me a business license? Leave Deloy alone?”

He nodded curtly. “I could see my way to that. Yes indeed, I could. But you’d have to give me something in return.”

“Forget it,” I spat, and turned on my heel.

“Oh, it’s all right to sell your body for money, but suddenly you’re above selling it for a business license? And to keep your darling little boy in dental school?”

The dental school part almost got to me. But the man disgusted me so heavily it propelled my legs to carry me from that sickening office.

The last thing I heard him call out was, “I’m not here to run you out of town, my sexy slave. I’m here to destroy you, to grind you back into the dust you came from. You’ll be groveling at my feet before long.”

This time, I took him seriously.

OAKLYN

T
he local Avalanche
paper was only printed twice a week, so the article hit everyone like a shockwave.

Mahalia warned me about it. She texted
Buy the local paper. See page 14
. I had to zip down to The High Dive to get a copy of that worthless rag. And maybe it was my imagination, but people were already looking funny at me.

I sat inside and ordered a coffee. Cornucopians were allowed to drink booze and coffee, I guess one of the original 19
^th
century tenets they’d reinstated. There were comics and editorials on page fourteen, but my eye went to a gossip column called
Around the Horn.
Referring, I guess, to a cornucopia being a horn of plenty.

“Some ‘newbies’ in town have already created quite a stir with their colorful pasts and questionable lifestyles—and for once it’s not a member of an outlaw motorcycle gang. The fellow who is attempting to start an occult arts studio on Crosstown Street, Levon Rockwell, should have lots of experience dealing with the public. He’s still the owner of a house of ill repute up in Bountiful. I shan’t give out the name for fear of giving free advertising to such an establishment. Let’s just say the workers there are of the male persuasion, and one of them has shacked up with Levon. I shall not name him because he’s attempting to go straight, so to speak, and start a new career. Don’t let it be said your faithful reporter is only interested in slander! Just juicy gossip. More, please, more!”

My heart sank into my stomach as I read the vile slander—yes, it was slander! Only a few of the facts were even true! Levon wasn’t kidding—this Pratt asshole was out to get him. And to drag poor Deloy into it!

When I dared to look up, that odious bartender Skippy Cavanaugh was definitely giving me the evil eye. Why did they keep that guy around, anyway? He was obviously in Cornucopia’s back pocket. I knew for a fact that even though he lived outside their walls, he had at least three wives, the better to get into heaven with. It was rumored that most of the decrepit and moldy Avalanche town council—men only, of course—had multiple wives.

The swinging doors burst open. I was relieved to see Gideon, Dingo with his ever-present laptop, Deloy, Sledgehammer, Maximus and a few others. Their heavy engineer’s boots shook the old wooden floorboards, and most of them demanded coffee from Skippy. I got Gideon’s attention, and he sat at my table. Wordlessly, I slid the newspaper over to him, but he had already stopped me with a raised hand.

“I know. I saw it. It’s fair game that Levon was a sex worker, let’s face it. What community is
not
gonna be all over that in a few seconds? But I draw the fucking line at what they’re trying to do to Deloy. This ruling class has gotten way the fuck out of hand. That’s our main agenda item today. I don’t normally talk business with lambs, but I want you to know we’re on top of this. We’re going to submit our own candidate for mayor. Dingo’s been all over everyone’s background to find someone clean. This mob rule has to stop.”

“Well, yes!” I cried, jabbing my finger at the offending newspaper article. “And I don’t even agree that Levon’s past is fair game, Gideon. When is a man allowed to put that past behind him and start fresh, like Deloy’s trying to do?”

“Well, Levon’s an adult, and he knew the risks. He says he’s fine with people knowing his old business because he’s got nothing to hide. What tweaks me is these are the same people who tried to
ruin
these kids. Now they’re doing it to them all over again. We’ve got to put a stop to this shit.”

“How does this ‘writer’ know about Deloy’s school? Who’s feeding him this sort of information?”

“We’re working on that, too, Oaklyn. Don’t worry. We’re not gonna just sit here and take this shit. This guy knows way too much for a guy no one in our backyard even talks to.”

“I’ll say. I suspect that bartender.”

Then a couple more men entered—the Stanford geologist Dust Bunny, the coffee shop owner Yosemite Sam—and it was time for them to enter their “chapel.” Gideon stood, asking me,

“How’s Levon’s dog? He gonna pull through?”

“Yes,” I spat, “no thanks to that corrupt building inspector. He’s Pratt’s puppet too. Poor Lazarus comes down here and this is the first shit that happens to him? Poor baby is still at Urgent Care on IV fluids.”

“Yeah. Heard about that fucked-up mess. We would take care of that too, but that’s Levon’s battle to fight.” Gideon chuckled. “He’d probably get tweaked if we took care of it and sucked all the wind out of his sails.”

“Yes,” I said skeptically. “I just hope he doesn’t get in trouble when he ‘takes care of it.’ All eyes are on him now.”

“Don’t worry, sister. We’ve got it.”

He knocked twice on the table with his knuckles and the men filed into their conference room. Folding the paper into my purse, I drifted over to where Dingo avidly surfed the net, Deloy looking over his shoulder.

I murmured, “If it’s top secret stuff, I’d turn the computer around so our friendly neighborhood bartender can’t see what you’re doing.” As if he could hear me, Skippy Cavanaugh glared at me again. He had nothing better to do than to endlessly polish the bar.

Dingo and Deloy glanced at Skippy. “Oh. I know. I trust that guy about as far as I can throw him,” said Dingo, but he rotated his computer a few inches anyway. I gasped when I saw what Dingo was looking at.

“What the hell—”

He held out a calming hand. “It’s all research, Oaklyn. I know, I know. It’s a horrible job but someone’s got to do it.”

Deloy’s eyes were round with fear and awe. “It’s the darknet, Oaklyn.” He said “darknet” as though saying “chunky raccoon vomit.” “These are camboys who perform for set prices per minute.”

“I can
see
,” I said, hand to my chest like the judgmental prude Levon thought I was. Dingo was surfing fast, not settling on any one camboy, but the flashes I caught were certainly enough to tell me these poor boys were degraded. Mostly they just masturbated but a few had a horrifying array of dildos of all sizes and textures. They penetrated themselves lewdly, apparently capable of popping impossibly large items in the toaster. A couple suspended themselves from the ceiling, one hanging by piercings in his pectorals. “What are you hoping to find?”

Dingo said, “We’ve narrowed down the geographical location to a hundred square miles.”

Deloy said, “Dingo’s a frickin’
genius
.” Mild swearing like that was new to Deloy, too. His entire world was expanding—a bit too far, I feared. Did he know about the insinuations in the article? Like any good parent, if he didn’t know about it, I would try to protect him as much as possible. “He can find anything on the interwebs.”

Dingo whispered, so I had to lean down to hear. “I’ve found a few tags and indications that our mayor Pratt has been on here—doing what, I don’t know yet. But when I find out, we’re going to nail that mother to the floorboards.”

“Dingo is getting his top rocker,” Deloy said with shining eyes.

I shook my head vacantly. “What does that mean?”

Deloy explained, “See this moon-shaped patch on his back—Avalanche, Utah? Well when he goes full patch he gets a top rocker that’ll say The Assassins of Youth. Then he gets to attend chapel.”

“Well congratulations, Dingo!” I said cheerfully. I meant it, too. This was the best news ever. Six months ago, I had heard, Skippy Cavanaugh had nearly caved in Dingo’s skull with a rifle barrel for stealing nachos or something from behind the bar. He’d been living in the abandoned elementary school, afraid to go to Bountiful where his friends had gone before him. He’d come a long way, all thanks to the protective guidance of the motorcycle club. “Then who’ll be your next Prospect? You need someone to do the grunt work.”

Deloy started answering. “Oh, they’re going to invite Lev—”

But Dingo shut him up by stomping forcefully on his tennis shoe. Dingo was only wearing some boating shoes that didn’t exactly scream “biker,” but then that was what I liked about this odd group of men. They didn’t seem to play by the usual rule book. It was a new chapter, the mother chapter being in Bullhead City, so Gideon probably had lots of latitude when choosing who to enlist. But
Levon
? He’d make a fine biker, already riding a Harley and all, but…

Actually, the more I thought on it, the more sense it made. They needed more members and Levon could be a bad-ass, I knew. His dark past before he’d started Liberty Temple was written all over his slick, smooth face. He could be a nasty customer. Casually flipping my hair behind my neck, I stood and said, “Speaking of, I need to pay him a visit.” I didn’t address Deloy’s near-accident, but he gave me a glimmering, in-the-know smile.

“Oh!” cried Dingo, glued to his screen. “Look at this guy! He’s suspended by ankle cuffs.”

Deloy pointed at the laptop. “That looks like a double ball steel anal hook,” he said knowledgeably, nodding.

“You should know,” teased Dingo.

Dingo’s light speech made me think Deloy hadn’t seen the offensive article yet. I walked the few blocks to Levon’s studio, pausing to look in the front window of Sledgehammer’s enticing butcher shop and grocery. Someone had really made a nice layout with a checkered picnic blanket and jars of jam, olives, and fresh loaves of bread. I realized Deloy had probably done it, since he’d started work there part-time as a checker. Lots of shops on Watchtower Street were still empty after being abandoned twenty-five years ago in a giant exodus of “outsiders” away from Cornucopia. But the MC’s revitalization program had really put a new face on the downtown area. A guy was even at work painting the Elks Lodge.

And these ruling motherfuckers, these stale old mummies in their clothes of righteousness, wanted to run these guys out of town on a rail? These bikers were the best thing that had ever happened to the town. Real estate was booming, more outsiders were moving in to take advantage of the low housing prices and all the new services. I’d even read in that odious newspaper that they were thinking of reopening the elementary school.

Levon was up on a tall ladder hammering a bracket or something for an enormous mirror. The interior painting had all been done and everything smelled fresh. New mats had been laid out on the floor, and I didn’t want to step on them in my heeled boots.

I called out, “Can’t Deloy help you before he starts work at Sledgehammer’s in the morning?” Levon jumped and fumbled with the hammer. I didn’t realize he didn’t see me, and I gasped. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

“I’m coming down.”

He wore nothing but one of those tight wifebeater T-shirts and a pair of completely worn, low-slung jeans. Many implements hanging from his belt had the added advantage of dragging them down a bit, revealing the waistband of his boxers. I had plenty of time to admire the gorgeous slope of his back, the play of his biceps, the taut, almost concave plane of his belly as he descended the ladder.

I’d been slowly admitting my huge attraction to that man. Giovanni had only texted me once more since I’d hung up on him. I was proud that I hadn’t contacted him. I was sticking to my guns. He could have the damned rented Provo condo. The nurse at Dr. Lee’s office was set to go into labor in about three weeks, and I had to be on standby to take over. In the meantime, Levon’s surprise kiss in the middle of the night had stuck in my mind like an earworm song playing over and over on a loop. Could I have something strictly physical with the nasty, animalistic former prostitute?

Why not? Why not be a player like my boyfriend?
Ex-boyfriend
, I should say.

Levon loped over with the poise and gait of a runway model. He’d grabbed a rag and was wiping his throat. A rush of endorphins spread up my chest, and I knew my face was getting red. I lifted my chin to show I was no slave to my hormones, but when he eyeballed my paltry, flat chest, my confidence sank again.

“Did you see the article?” I asked.

He was rubbing the back of his neck. His nipples stood out sharply under the white ribbing of the flimsy shirt. With a little shock that went straight to my pussy, I noticed for the first time he had a nipple ring. Why hadn’t I noticed before? He sometimes went shirtless in the house, much to my frustration. He must’ve just put the tiny hoop back on. I felt my hands clenching into fists, and forced my brain to relax them.