FOUND: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (6 page)

Everyone begged us for details of what was inside and Boyd gave me an instantly recognizable look. He jumped on top of an old tire and shouted out that the stories were true. He claimed to have killed a terrifying boogeyman during a furious battle in the basement and I backed him up all the way. The baby rat, he proudly proclaimed, had warned us of the monsters impending arrival and saved us from being eaten. All the kids believed every word, as ludicrous as the story sounds now. I guess they were too scared of the legend to question the finer points.

We were overrun with questions and in the rush of interest we were both quickly separated. Him going off with the boys and me with the girls. I didn't see him for the rest of the day. Thankfully he kept his promise of never tell anyone about how frightened I got. Boyd was never one to blab.

I only wish I could remember the name of his rat. He named it something funny. I wish I could remember, but I guess it's so long ago...

~ Chapter Six ~

I woke up the next morning covered in sweat under the sheets. The heat of the sun scorched through the blinds and burnt into my back. It was unusually hot for this time of the year that morning and I knew the drive south today would be a tough one.

Jerome didn't seem bothered. He slept on without a care in the world. Each wheezing breath made his body rise and fall next to me.

From the day we met he never was a morning person. He preferred sleeping through the day and coming alive at night.
'I never want to see
breakfast,' he told me too many times to count. Only with the years of experience do you realize that someone isn't a night owl. The reality is they're lazy. Or sleep late because they've spent an evening strung out. Unsurprisingly the two are often linked.

Of course, his sleeping was for the best because the second my morning shower stopped running an engine revved up outside.

I peered through the window surprised, but was even more surprised when I caught glimpse of who stood outside.

In the blinding morning sun stood Boyd perched on his bike. His hair blew in the soft morning breeze. The only soul in the parking lot.

I didn't expect this. At all.

Without time to even pull on a pair of panties, I jumped into a long white t-shirt and rushed out the door. When my bare feet hit the warm concrete, he stood leaning against his Harley with his helmet under an arm.

Boyd spoke with a grin, “Morning princess.”

I raised a hand, but didn't reply.

God, I hadn't been this nervous in years. In the darkness of the party last night, what with being surrounded by others and coupled by a helping of dutch courage, I coped. Here in the morning glare I was vulnerable and had no idea what to say. I must have looked so awkward there, pausing and half-petrified while I stood there without make up. It's not exactly how you want to present yourself when you're standing feet away from the boy you gave your first kiss to.

By contrast Boyd radiated perfection. Opposite, with his face slightly lowered as he leaned against the bike, his blue eyes met mine. His clear gaze, exactly as I remembered from when I was a kid, seemed unbreakable. I wouldn't be surprised if the party they were having lasted until morning. If it did, it didn't show on him.

I realized I was taking too long to reply and I forced something out. Anything I could.

“Hey.”

He laughed to himself. “I guess you're still the same girl I knew then. That's for sure.”

Suspiciously I asked, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You've always been shy. It's one of the things about you I've remembered.”

Then it struck me for the first time how much I changed from that girl he once knew all those years ago. That innocent thirteen year old in pigtails who played out barefoot and had her first kiss with him was dead and buried. In her place was the woman in front of him today. The woman who wanted nothing more than to escape the person she'd become.

Now, not for one second is the word regret in my vocabulary, but, seeing him again and being back where I grew up, a flame lit in me. When faced with my past of being back in Midnight and standing opposite him I understood the life I lead wasn't one I cared to face. My lack of desire to speak of it to him exposed everything.

“Yeah,” he reflected. “You're just the same. Though it's good to see you've grown out of those big shoes.”

He was talking about the horrible leather ones my mom insisted on buying because they were cheap and practical. I hated going to school in them.

“Yeah. Times have changed. I go everywhere barefoot these days.”

He laughed when I wiggled my toes.

I cut in and got serious, “Sorry to hear about your dad... Blanche kind of mentioned... I know what he meant to you.”

“Yeah... It's hard. My old man meant a lot to me. Still, if he's looking down,” Boyd pointed to the sky. “I know he'd be wanting to ride alongside me today. I am what I am because of him.”

“He always treated us kids so good.”

“Yeah... and he always liked you. I think he saw you as a good influence for me.”

“Me?”

“Definitely. You always had the book smarts I didn't.”

“I'm not so sure about that... It's not like I ended up at college or anything.”

“Know the feeling. Got my diploma from the school of hard knocks. How about your mom and pops?”

“Car crash... Happened soon after you left. Ended up moving across state with family.”

He shook his head, “Bad fucking world we live in... Your parents were too good to die that young. I guess it's like my dad used to say: '
life can be mean and twisted, but you got to always pick yourself up to fight again.
'”

“Wise guy your dad.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled thoughtfully. “I learned from the best.”

“You as girl crazy as he was?”

“Me?” He mock acted shocked. “I've always been good.”

“All married up then?”

He shook his head. “Never found a woman up to my high standards.”

We laughed together.

Boyd, though reminding me exactly of that same defiant boy who I knew then, certainly now had wisdom far beyond his years. Especially obvious in this day and age where no one ever seems to really grow up.

“So what are you doing here at my motel? I know we're old friends, but going stalker this quick is a surprise.”

He didn't crack, “You're too cynical for your own good. Your old man up?”

“Asleep,” I replied keeping a poker face on. It's a sure sign that a relationship is bad when you don't like old friends knowing you are with your boyfriend.

“I've come to give your old man something. He mentioned last night that he didn't have a GPS to get down to Crenshaw with.” He lifted a brown papered package from behind his back and passed it to me. “I picked one up from the shop we run.”

I reached out and my hand froze on the box.

He joked, “What's up? Never seen a GPS before, or something?”

No. No it wasn't that. Again it was him knowing I am together with Jerome.

I shook it off, “Thanks. I'll give it him... I... I, uh, thought you were going to pull out a gun or something...”

“Me? You must think I'm Al Capone.”

“
Well
...”

“You
are
too cynical.” He sat down on his bike. “You know me, I got my soft side and weaknesses like anyone.”

“Like what?”

“Well... I fall in love too easily for one.”

“Is that bad?”

“Sometimes... You making the trip or staying up here?”

“Yeah... We're... making a holiday of it. He's promised to show me the big LA lights when we get down there.”

I lied because the truth pained me to much to consider revealing. My evening would be another crummy hotel with Jerome partying on what he could steal from the deal. I would bet money on it.

Boyd lifted his helmet up. He was leaving. I couldn't bear to see him go this quickly. I didn't want him to go.

Stepping forward, I placed my hand on the leather of his jacket. “What does that mean?”

“Oh this?” His fingertip touched mine over the patch below his club logo, the skull I caught a glimpse of above the club door, and the one reading president. “FTW.
Fuck the world
. It's like that sometimes.”

“Yeah, the world can be a hard place. But...
fuck the world
? That's extreme. How far does that feeling go?”

“Getting serious now, are you?
Alright
... Sometimes the world should be fucked, but not always. You've got to never forget the people you hold dear and always keep them close to your heart.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replied, placing his helmet on and pulling down the visor. “Once you lose someone they're gone forever.”

“Got a busy day planned?”

“A few errands.” Behind his dense black helmet I couldn't make out his expression. “Seeing a few friends.”

“
Friends
in the way your dad used to mean it?”

He lifted up his visor. “Him and his
friends
... Nah, not like he meant it.”

“I don't believe it. I know you Boyd. I bet you're a heart breaker. I bet you have half the girls round here going crazy.”

“Maybe a few... You coming back with your man to drop off?”

“I wouldn't miss it.”

I thought of Jerome lying there across the bed with his mouth open wide and drool dried to his lips. Reunions with friends weren't exactly his sort of deal.

“Good. It'll be great to talk proper. It really has been too long.”

“Too long.”

Boyd kick started the engine and began wheeling it backwards towards the lot's exit.

I waved before crossing my arms and watching him tear away down the highway. Dust rose all around his bike as he slowly disappeared out of sight. Soon the only thing left behind was the smell of oil. The day was well and truly here, though no one but us was stirring around the motel.

Suddenly a door above me crashed open. It was Jerome. He shouted down, “What the fuck was that? One of them bikers?”

“Yeah... One of them bikers.”

Jerome stood bent over the railing wearing only his underwear. “What were they sniffing round here for?”

I shook the parcel in my hand up to him. “They thought you might need a GPS for the trip and just dropped one off.”

I avoided any mention of Boyd being the one who brought it here. Jerome doesn't know we were friends, let alone childhood loves, and I thought it wise to keep that fact under wraps. The less he knows the better. If he knew the truth he would have gone crazy. Especially since I greeted him in nothing but a long shirt.

If you turned the page to the definition of jealous in the dictionary you would have seen a picture of Jerome's face. He was like that. Even though I've never given him to reason to suspect I would be unfaithful. I'm not like that.

His hungover mind put what I said together. “What GPS? Who says I need one? Dumb fucking bikers!” He smacked the railing, turned and walked back inside with a parting shout, “Now get fucking ready. You always hold me up.”

In my mind, Boyd's words played over while I stared off into the distance of the road. Yeah, it would have been fun to catch up and see more of this old town. But it's not to be...

 “Get inside!” Jerome screamed, breaking me out of my thoughts. “The sooner you move, the sooner we can get back to San Francisco!”

~ Chapter Seven ~

By the time we left for Crenshaw and the meet it was well into the afternoon. Besides sleeping in, it didn't help that Jerome insisted on sitting down for breakfast and then giving himself time for digestion. He hasn't been clear if we are supposed to be working to a deadline, though even if we were it wouldn't matter to him. His time and the rest of the world's time are two completely different things. He shot down instantly any question I volunteered about today's schedule with reassurances that it's not my place to be asking.

When we got on the road, the drive down south was a long and uneventful one that only broke with a stop into a superstore. True to his word, Jerome put his plan in motion to take a percentage of the coke to be collected by picking up various things to cut it with. He filled his bags with powdered milk, caffeine pills and baking powder. As strange as the mix sounds, he told me resolute and convinced that even an eighties hair metal act wouldn't be able to tell his cut mixture from the pure. I sat in the car, nodding my head along with him as he spoke. Yet a sense of foreboding filled my heart. I didn't exactly enjoy the idea of him stealing from the club my old friend ran. Let alone messing with a gang of outlaw bikers.

I said nothing of my doubts. That is until they became unbearable and got the better of me.

“Is there no chance...
I mean
... you're picking up from one MC and taking it straight to another. Is there no chance they'll notice the difference in quality? You're not dealing with buyers on the street here.”

He dismissed it on the spot, “Bitch. I know better than you. It's cool. It's safe. Now quiet that tongue. You ain't on this trip to be thinking...”

He put the radio up to eleven and let it do all of the talking for the rest of the journey...

Jerome didn't come alive again until we crossed through the mountains and began driving through the palm tree encircled streets of south Los Angeles. I had never visited before. My only knowledge of the area came from the movie
Boyz in the Hood
and its reputation for serious gang activity. As we drove through the streets, it became apparent why the reputation had stuck. Certain types of young men, obviously drug dealers palming handfuls off to clients in cars, littered each populated street corner like roaming packs of animals. Each time we stopped at lights in an area like that the smell of weed drifted through the windows. When we drove through the more residential areas, the endless rows of single story bungalows created an odd atmosphere.