FOUND: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (4 page)

I didn't buy it. Boyd and me? No way. We were like brother and sister back then. He might have complimented me, but that's only him being nice. I took a swig of beer and noticed that all everyone in the place no longer even casually glanced at me, let alone eyefucked like they were doing. From the second I walked in here every passing guy gave me the once over, but, almost like a switch had been flipped, the roaming eyes stopped.

“...All I say is your guy better me tough. Boyd usually gets what he wants.”

“Actually he's probably with him right now.”

Her expression changed to surprise. “I should have guessed. We don't get many brothers round these parts. So you're with the dealer coming in from San Fran? Take it as a compliment, I would
never
have guessed.”

“Thanks.”

Blanche started again. “To tell you the truth, sugar, it's going to make the guys here a lot of money. Everyone a lot of money.”

“My man hasn't told me the details.” Actually, he rarely tells me anything.

She patted me on the shoulder in that older sister way of hers, “Best you don't think about it then. Come on, let's get you another drink. We can't have you drinking beer.”

We propped up at the bar and I tried to pry out everything I could about Boyd. The usual stuff. Where he's been. How he ended up back here. What kind of man he is now. Blanche answered all my questions her Southern charm, but I could sense a guarding of what she would be willing to say. It didn't take a genius to understand that she was guarded about revealing all to an outsider. While Blanche wore a sexy red dress and not leather or denim, clearly she was just as affiliated with the club as anyone here riding a motorbike.

According to her; when Mr Vendrell left Midnight after trouble, he and Boyd ended up in Colorado with the old man taking over the Denver chapter of the club. Life seemed typical, well I guess as typical as an outlaw life can be, until Mr Vendrell died young from a heart attack. When his dad passed, Boyd, all ready a high ranking member of the chapter, became the president. The youngest Blanche has ever known of. Since then, he's come back to take over Midnight's chapter, which, surprisingly, is the base of operations for California. Who knew my little old town was famous?

I didn't ask her anything too personal, though I was curious to hear about his love life and if he had any kids or ex-wives. From the sound of it the answer is no.

Of course, in talking about her life, she did let slip that Anton and Tiny were his two right hand men. Anton, with his ageless look that could have put him anywhere from forty to fifty-five, went back far with Boyd's father and was his vice-president too. Clearly loyalty goes far in this place.

We'd been talking across the thunder of the party for close to an hour over her specially made cocktails when Jerome pulled up and tugged at my arm.

“We're leaving girl. Business is done,” he told me gruffly.

I thought back to Boyd and his promise to return. Besides having fun with Blanche, Boyd was an old friend and I would have liked to catch up. I turned on the charm and locked my body around his. I requested, as sweet as can be, “Can't we just stay... A couple of drinks before we drive to the hotel? We could do with having some fun.”

He looked at me no better than something he scraped off his shoe. “I don't want to ask again woman.”

I stood and even before I was upright he started dragging me to the door. That's what he was like in environments where he felt needed to put on an aggressive front – he overreacted by using a sledgehammer to hammer in a nail.

I waved back to Blanche without properly saying goodbye. She blew me a kiss, though her manner suggested she was taken aback by his treatment of me. I counted myself lucky that he didn't see me talking with Boyd. Jerome would have become jealous, and he has the habit of letting his fists do the talking when he gets jealous. Seeing me with an old friend would have pushed him over the edge...

At blinding speed he pulled me from the clubhouse and to the car. Without saying another word, he sped out of the lot and turned on the radio. When we exited the grounds he finally spoke up, “
Shit
. Fucking bikers. I wouldn't go near them if it wasn't for the green.”

Annoyed that he'd taken me away from catching up with an old friend I let my questions fly for once. “What's going on?”

He snapped back condescendingly, “What do you mean,
what's going on
? Why do you need to know?”

“Are you –
for once
– going to tell me what's going on?”

He looked at me like I had just shit in his cereal. “Who the fuck are you to ask? Those drinks go to your head?”

I couldn't bear him talking to me like that, though I sensed the growing heat in his voice. His agitated hands tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel and his eyes were bloodshot. He was getting mad and I would have put money on him having indulged in
something
. I held back and cooled my voice, “I just want to know. That's all... You told me we were going on a road trip, but you've taken me back to my hometown without telling me anything and now we're leaving as soon as we arrived.”

“Since when do you care about your roots?” He took in a couple of deep breaths. He was definitely higher than hell. “Well –
if you must know
- a deal. We're on the road again tomorrow. Going south. Los Angeles.”

“What's down there?”

Jerome shook his head, but I sensed he was eager to talk. “The kind of deal that'll buy me a new car. What's with the questions? You talking fast all of a sudden. Now I prefer the silent bitch I got on the way up...”

To tell you the truth, money had been tight these past few months. Since when I first met him it's safe to say he's been losing inroads month on month and year by year. The money, and opportunities, are simply drying up. Of course, he wouldn't say that out loud or admit it to anyone. He had everyone convinced that he was still the big shot he once was.

“...If you must know, it's a shit-ton of coke coupled with a few guns to round out the package. Getting a big five figures for one day of work and a little driving.”

“Guns? You're running guns?”

“Shit, bitch!” He slammed his fist down into the wheel. “I don't need you moralizing on me. How do you think I pay for the fucking house you live in and the clothes you wear?”

Drugs might be one thing, but I've always hated guns.

“Now shut up,” he told me, “and I expect you to be on your best behavior on the way down to Crenshaw tomorrow.”

“Crenwshaw?
In LA
? That far down south?”

He nodded, “These bikers don't understand how that's my part of the world.”

“What?”

“The meet. They dealing with a gang down there.”

“But why you?”

“'Cause I'm black, they're a motherfucking black gang and I know one of their associates. These white boys can't be seen running from LA to this bumfuck town and past all the Mexicans in between. They need this carload and it needs to go unnoticed. That's where I come in. Shit's in the bag. Money for nothing besides a little driving...”

I leaned back into the chair as he drove on. Trying to piece together what he was saying.

Then he grinned from ear to ear. “...And you just know I'll be able to make a few extras.”

“Extras? What are you talking about? What extras?”

“Skimming a little from the top.”

“What? You're going to steal from them?”

“Yeah! What I know about cutting coke can't be taught! Even if I take ten-percent, these dumb-ass white boys won't know a thing. Easy money on top.”

I thought back to Boyd, and the scenes of that rowdy clubhouse. He walked up to me with calmness and affection, though I've been around enough men to be able to separate the weak from the strong. It might have been the first time I laid eyes on him since he was in short pants, but underneath his skin lay a man not to be messed with. Let alone the brotherhood of the combined MC. Even to an outsider like me that was evident. I sunk back into the leather passenger seat stewing and worrying as I watched the stars light the night's sky. The world up there seemed so peaceful compared to down here.

I had a bad feeling about what he was planning. A very bad feeling. Of course, I couldn't mention any of this to Jerome. By now I could predict how he would react nearly word for word. I fought the urge within to say anything, but finally, after stewing too long, it burst out. “Do you think... I mean, they're bikers. Does it make sense to go for that ten-percent?”

He broke into laughter. “Bitch. This ain't the seventies. You think I'm scared of some motorcycle gang. You know who I am?”

Reasoning with him was no use. I said no more and we drove on to a run down motel. Probably the oldest and cheapest in Midnight.

Do you know who I am?
His words played again in my mind. All too well. You're a big shot who booked a twenty-dollar-a-night room. We're living the dream, that's for sure.

I took our bags from the trunk and waited for him to collect the keys to our room. We were staying at the Crossroads Motel located far out of town. I remembered it from when I was a kid when my dad always turned his nose up to it. It had a reputation even then as a flea-pit and today it looked worse. Yet, half-drunk and tired from being on the road all evening I was thankful for somewhere to lay my head.

Eventually Jerome returned looking more wired than he disappeared. He, with shaky movements, sat down on the car bonnet with me. “Babe, let me ask you something... You from here. What do you know about that club?” He reached into his pocket, took out his pack of smokes and lit one for the both of us. There was something on his mind. Rarely was he that generous.

“Not much, just stories from when I was a kid. How they ran the town, kept things right and under control, had the local force in their pocket...”

He took a deep drag while taking in everything I said.

“...You know they aren't the kind anyone should mess with.”

Without any warning he flipped. “Bitch, you can't be serious! Their day in the sun has come and gone. I tell you this ain't the seventies. These gangs have no clout... I ain't worrying. I'll be laughing my way to the bank! Now get up those fucking stairs with our bags. You going to fucking pay me for the shit I'll be buying you with my profit.”

He marched up the rickety stairs and under the rusting signboard to our first floor room. I was literally left carrying the bags.

Yet the second we walked through the door and into the shitty hotel room, Jerome told me to get to him. I dropped our bags and warily moved to him. By then I understood that he had certainly been snorting his supply and I was fearful he may explode. The blow made him mercurial.

He gripped my hair at the roots, “I want a piece of that ass tonight.”

My skin crawled. Not like this... Especially when he's like this...

He pushed me flat against the wall. His palm sneaked up my skirt and headed straight to my pussy.

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. In his embrace I shuddered and let my body go limp. He planted a huge damp kiss along the smoothness of my neck before pushing me flat onto the coarse-cottoned bed. I lay on my front focusing on the room's alarm clock while his sharp fingernails edged up my skirt and roughly tore down my panties. The weight of his knees kicked open mine without any care and he mounted me. Shoving himself inside and pressing his hands deep into my back...

It wasn't love making. It was someone using someone else's body to take their need. It's been like this for nearly as far back as I can remember. It gets worse whenever he is high, which seems like all the time these days.

We still fuck, now and again, but I get nothing from it anymore when he uses me like a warm hole. All the pleasure of being with him left me long ago. I only lie there, let him consume my body, and count the seconds until he finishes. It's easier than saying no. Saying no, for any reason, equals a punch before he fucks me.

I watch the alarm clock. Blanking out everything.

Soon Jerome was lying next to me gasping for air.

~ Chapter Five ~

In dreams of times lost...

“Don't go there! Stop or I'm telling!” Anita demanded while stood at the end of the dirt path. Protesting in the way only little girls can. She was even stamping her feet. Though we didn't want to let her stop us.

Boyd strode on with me, like usual, keeping pace behind. I shouted back to her, “Tell for all I care, but I'm –
we're
- going in.”

We jumped the fence on the way towards the old Kilmister house that everyone at school claimed was haunted. So haunted that no one in our third grade would ever dared to look at it, let alone gone inside. The story was the family once living there was brutally murdered by an intruder over a hundred years ago. Now the ghosts of the deceased stalk the house to make sure no one enters their property again. We didn't buy it, but she sure did.

“But it's haunted!” She cried out again while struggling to climb the fence. “Everyone knows that!”

“Don't be so boring!” I cheered with a smile on my face. “We just going up there for some fun!”

I might have replied to her with a smile, but, to tell you the truth, I believed every word of the stories. I had always been petrified by this place, though Boyd's presence made me strong. You couldn't help but get swept along whenever he wanted to go on an adventure.

“You two –
stop
! Please don't go!” Anita hollered before quickly realizing that we were serious. She rushed after us. “Don't leave me! OK, I'll come. But it's only because you two'll get in trouble without me.”

I stuck out my tongue and called back, “Don't be so
unfun
!”

Yeah
- I probably should have paid more attention in class instead of getting into adventures with Boyd; but, at eight years old, that's all a girl wants. Who needs smarts when you're having fun?