FOUND: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (2 page)

When we first met I thought he was hot shit. What else would a nineteen year old who was new to the big San Francisco lights think of someone like him? Always dressed smart, expensive cars and gold chains as thick as my wrist.

I remember the night I first met him. Jerome walked into the Crazy House, the club I stripped at, like he owned the place. The bouncers shook his unsmiling hand and they walked him to my manager who ensured he was given the best table in the club. Women reacted to him the same. All the girls who worked with me were all over him. Shooting seductive bedroom eyes from every angle of the club.

Jerome seemed bigger than life with the attitude, clothes and most importantly money that came with it. It was like having a celebrity fall into the world of us normal people. At least, that's what you think when you don't know any better.

'Come here girl'
, was the first line he used on me and I was instantly smitten. He took a bankroll bigger than my fist out of his pocket and tossed money down like it was worthless. He paid for dances and tipped heavily – all for me.

I couldn't believe he was interested in me.
Why would he chose me over all the other girls here?
I thought.
He could have any of the sexy women in here
. I was such an innocent girl then. In no way did I have the experience, style and street smarts of all the other strippers working around me.

Then he pulled me into his lap and from that moment on I was his. He filled my ears with tales of the beauty I could not see inside of myself and of the life I could have. He told me I was his woman. He said the world was a roller coaster with pitfalls around every bend, but he promised we would both see it through. '
We're winners and we'll see it through to the end. Cassie, there's a pot of gold with our name on it
.
I'm going to take you from this club and you'll be a princess in a palace one day.
Believe me baby
.'

I believed him. Oh god how I regret believing him...

For the first eighteen months our relationship was sunshine and rainbows. Each day an intoxicating adventure of new sights, new sounds and new feelings. My heart was his and I considered myself blessed. He took me from the club, that shallow neon-lit way of life, and resurrected me into a new world.

Though soon the cracks began appearing. Even as a girl I should have seen the red flags and fled, but, high on love, I ignored them.

Jerome's a drug dealer. One of the biggest in our city. The sort of guy you'd never take home to mom and pop. Nevertheless, young and dumb, I sat on his lap, his pretty blond pet, as he cut deals with gangsters and threatened anyone stupid enough to defy him. He was like the king of the underworld holding court with me as his queen. To a girl who has seen nothing of the world that life and the drama that follows it is glamorous and addictive. I loved every second. No matter how dangerous it got.

But by the third year together our relationship began falling apart at the seams. We'd got too close, spent too much time together and I knew Jerome better than any other person on this planet. Anyone healthy would consider that a good thing; couples should know each other as well as themselves. It's how people mature and grow together.

Yet, Jerome isn't healthy.

You see, he might have power, he might have money, he might have men working for him; but none of that mattered because he let me get near enough to see the real him. And up close I realized that the strong mask he wore when facing the world was a front. Behind it there was no substance. Just a man who needs to convince everyone he's a somebody and reacts with violence whenever things do not go his way.

Whenever he came home too drunk or strung out and I knew he'd been cheating on me, he would never admit the truth. He called me a fool and let his fists fly if I protested further. I embraced each punch and told myself that all of this was my doing. I convinced myself that whatever happened was my own fault. That it's due to me not being the perfect girlfriend. From day one I had been faithful to him, but none of that mattered. I believed he cheated because I wasn't enough. My mind twisted it and I took his brutality as a sign of his love. I figured if someone is willing to hit you, they must have feelings for you. As sick as it sounds, I learned to love it. That is, until it became too much to bear and I settled into a relationship I couldn't comprehend escaping.

And things haven't been any better recently. The government's eternal war on drugs has dried up business in the city and his crew has been falling apart. Half rotting in prison, the other half running south of the border. He wouldn't dare to admit it, but we're struggling. Right now he's not making anything worthwhile outside of running drugs to the dying black gangs who are being outmaneuvered by the Mexicans at every turn. That's why we're back out in the Valley to where I grew up. A contact has offered to cut him in on a deal. Jerome says it will make him a lot of money.

“You know girl, I got a good feeling about this one. You know what we can do with the money? When this deal goes through I'm going to make it rain for you...”

I sighed. He'd used that line on me a million times before. Though they're only words. Words that usually come before the sting of a fist. By
make it rain
he means he'll have enough to let the money flow. Although, to me it has a completely different meaning. Jerome has made it rain – he's soaked my life through.

With a jolt his fist connected with the steering wheel and I was broken out of daydreaming. “Now why the fuck are you being cold with me bitch? You don't fucking appreciate me anymore. I tell you that. How can you treat me this way?”

I turned to him expressionless. “I'm tired, that's all. Don't worry. I guess I'm thinking about the past. Coming home... Seeing this place. You know how it is...”

But he completely ignored what I was saying. “Bitch!” Spoken with a shout as he wheeled left down a small road off the main road and let his rage fly. “Don't you tell me about worrying. I'm as cool as ice. Always am...”

What a lie. He might be able to trick all those associates who he thinks are friends, though I can see the truth. When
I
don't fit his idea of what his woman should act like, his cool veneer cracks revealing the unstable man underneath.

“...Now get a fucking smile on that face. We meeting people who are going to give me, no
us
, a lot of green. I don't want you looking like a piece of shit on my arm when we arrive. Smile, bitch!”

I gave him my best, forced, smile. The kind of fake grin that's a little
too
stretched and teethy. By now I had practiced it more than times than I could count.

“That's better! Good to see that you can finally learn.” His eyes went back onto the road and he took another drag. The ash fell down the leg of the expensive suit he wore.

Where he was taking us must have been way out of the town limits because we quickly left the center and turned out into country. Less than half a mile up the isolated road, the thumping beat of aggressive music began blaring out. Then, out of the darkness, a building came into view. Lit only with a couple of spotlights outside it was the last place you would expect to ever go to for a meet. Hell, it was a lot different from the manager's offices in nightclub where he usually cut deals.

“What is this place? It looks like a warehouse.”

He stretched out his cigarette. “Look over there.”

My eyes followed his hand and a parking lot full of motorbikes came into view. From a distance you couldn't have seen them, but as we drew nearer the faint glow of the moon and the spotlights reflected off the metalwork. There were over fifty in total, though it didn't look like anyone was around. Or at least outside of the warehouse. We came up to a huge metal gate that was open enough for a car to get through.

“You're working with the local club? I remember them from when I was a kid.”

“Yeah. The sinners. That's who I'm dealing with.”

“I always thought you told me you hated bikers?”

“I do, but the word I've got from my boy is that they have a proposition that's too good to miss.” He rapidly cut right and sped into a parking spot before slamming down the handbrake. “One easy deal, and they're paying a fucking lot by all accounts.”

The moment we parked up two men stepped out of a side door leading into the building. One was a huge heavy-set bear of a man who was bearded and dressed from head to toe in black. Other other was shorter, but his bald head and leanness suggested he was just as tough. Both certainly would have driven up here on the Harleys parked across from us and neither were the kind of guys you would want to meet down a dark alley late at night.

As they walked towards the car the one-story concrete building was heaving with life inside. Music, shouting and smoke threatened to burst out of blackened windows and the huge reinforced main door. It might be late on a Wednesday, but the party-atmosphere told me something big was happening in there tonight. It seemed strange that there could be so much life out miles from anywhere. Though I guess outlaws don't play by the usual rules.

“Here we go, here we go. That's who I've been told 'bout.” Jerome flashed the headlights. “That's the VP right there.”

“Which one?”

“The bald one.”

The smaller of the two – though both were huge slabs of men – took off his aviators and waived us forward. The old scar down the side of his face suggested he had led some life.

“Out,” Jerome ordered. As I excited I glanced down and saw him reach for his Desert Eagle in the glove box and slip it into his jacket. He took it everywhere. Its polished steel as flashy as his exterior.

“Now, now, now... That's one fine looking woman,” the large one catcalled towards me the second my heels hit the concrete. “You here for the fun tonight?”

I couldn't remember the last time someone called me fine and I fought back an appreciative smile. While Jerome hadn't given me a compliment in years, if he'd seen me react he'd have smacked me silly the moment we were alone.

“She's with me,” Jerome barked as he placed an arm round me. There was no tenderness in his voice. It was only a show of dominance.

“Shame,” the bigger one continued with eyes still transfixed on me. “That's one precious flower. You got there.” He gratuitously took in my body from my heels up to the knee-length dress I was wearing. We all hear rumors about how bikers act with women and, coupled with the leather jacket I wore around my shoulders, I was relieved I didn't come here looking slutty.

“Hold it in Tiny,” the other biker, looking coarser with lines etched into his face up close, commented. “We're here for business. You can get your cock sucked later.”

“I understand, I understand. A man can deal and think with his dick at the same time, can't he?”

They were like a double act. That's for sure.

The rougher one ignored big-boy's comment and turned to us seriously. “You Young?”

Next to me, Jerome nodded. That was his last name, but it was rare to hear someone call him by it. “I take it you the VP?”

He returned the nod before placing his shades back on. “Then welcome to our club house. Our president's been expecting you.”

Jerome stepped forward, leaving me to trail behind. All together everyone turned and walked towards the closed main door. My black heels clattered against the bare concrete as I hurried to catch up.

“You gonna like this girl,” Tiny called back to me. “We know how to have fun round here.”

Almost on cue, the instant he finished talking a biker collapsed through the doors before us with an almighty thud. Hard rock music blared from the door. The young outlaw stumbled, eyes bloodshot and hazy with drunkenness, until his legs gave out and he slammed face first on the concrete. His bottle of beer crashed to the floor and rolled out in front of me. He was scary drunk and if I had to bet on it certainly wouldn't be getting up again tonight.

“Goddamn! Our first casualty of the night!” The behemoth shouted before the boom of his laughter drowned out the music. “Trust that motherfucker to drink himself silly this early!” With a heavy boot Tiny kicked the guy in his shoulder. “You've got a five minute time out before I'm coming out with the dogs. You hear me?”

An incoherent groan escaped from the guy's lips.

“Leave him to sleep it off,” the bald one said while stepping over the fallen man. “He looks like he needs it”

Jerome didn't look at all impressed. Ignoring the drunk, we all stepped over him and headed inside. Above the entrance door I caught the glimpse of a symbol. An image of the club insignia: a skull and crossbones with
Midnight Sinners
etched heavy in script underneath it.

Midnight Sinners...
the motorcycle club of the town I grew up in.

~ Chapter Three ~

“Fuck!” I swore under my breath astonished at the sights meeting my eyes. Though I needn't have bothered. With the noise blasting through the sound system there was no chance anyone heard me cursing.

I've been to wild and crazy parties before, but what faced me in there was unlike anything I'd experienced. Throughout the vastness of the place, from the well-stocked bar covering one portion of the room we entered to the pool tables that went on forever, bikers were everywhere. Drinking, smoking, partying, arguing, half fighting. Each covered in leather or denim from head to toe and every one looking meaner than the last. I always thought of gangs like this being a thing of the past, though what I saw in vivid color instantly convinced me how mistaken I was.

“Like what you see sweetness?” Tiny eased up close to my, with a hand pressed around my waist, and shouted in my ear over the music. “I told you we know how to have fun.”

They certainly did. Though it was good Jerome was occupied with the VP. He would have caused a scene if he saw Tiny trying to get friendly with me.

“What's your name, honey?”

I felt his fingertips tickling my waist and my eyes went straight for Jerome. “I'm Cassie.”