REIGN: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (16 page)

End
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Part 3

~
18
~

Silas looked over. Pale, red-haired, lanky Jeremy sat white-knuckling
the door handle with one hand, his other hand clenched in a fist. He’d been
sitting just like that since they’d left Summit County. He looked ready to do
some serious business: a total overhaul of his wife’s pretty face.

Silas smiled. He felt a sort of wicked pity for men like Jeremy, middle-school
bullies who grew up to be twenty-something bullies, who would just turn into
middle-aged bullies, until their train came into the station at a nursing home,
all alone, bullying the nurses who had the unfortunate job of giving them
sponge baths and wiping the shit from their asses.

Jeremy would experience a few blissful minutes of blind rage while he
was unloading onto his wife, then he’d feel as empty and angry and unsatisfied
and small as always. Guys like him were a dime a dozen; Silas had come across
many an incarnation of Jeremy in his line of work. A few women, too. People who
needed Silas’ skills to find their favorite punching bag, or who wanted to be
tough but were too damn stupid and weak to get the job done themselves.

After Silas had managed to calm Jeremy down over two glasses of
whiskey, the cop had started in with the bullish questions. Silas had answered
them as vaguely as he could, which was very vague, indeed.

Who was he? Just a man with a knack for finding people.

What was he doing at Jeremy’s house? Well, they’d already gone over
that, hadn’t they?

How did Silas know about Gabriella? He’d come across her on a separate
job and wanted to save Jeremy the trouble of finding her himself.

How had he found out where Jeremy lived? A knack for finding people
meant finding
any
people. Even cops.
Even people who didn’t know they were being looked for.

When it finally came down to talk business, Jeremy had been cagey,
suspicious. Hell, he was still cagey and suspicious. But who cared? At the end
of the day, he’d taken the deal Silas had laid on the table. A hefty sum, for
sure, just to track down a wife who’d had some good reasons for leaving in the
first place.

What had really sealed the deal, though, when Jeremy had been on the
fence, his face wavering from pure desire to find Gabriella and frustration at
needing Silas’ help in the first place, was Silas’ admission that Gabriella
wasn’t just hiding from Jeremy; she was recruiting for his replacement. A hint
at what she’d been up to in the few days she’d been gone had been enough to
push humpty-dumpty off the wall.

And all the king’s men wouldn’t keep Jeremy from emptying his bank
account to get his hands on the man who’d been plowing his wife. Making her
smile. Putting some life into those sad, dead eyes of hers. Kissing away all
the cuts and scrapes Jeremy had left on her little heart. Doing for her what
Jeremy could never do in a million years, even if he’d wanted to. Which, maybe,
he did.

Silas had a lot of time to think on the ride, since Jeremy wasn’t much
for talking. He was thinking about what made the cop tick. Maybe, just maybe,
the poor kid was in such sorry shape because he wanted Gabriella to love him –
but didn’t know how to make her. That almost – emphasis on the almost – made
him sorry for the sack of shit. Whatever.

Silas didn’t feel bad for Jeremy, not really. Just like he didn’t feel
bad for the girl they were on the road to catch. He didn’t feel bad for anyone,
except for himself when things weren’t going his way. Which, fortunately, was a
rare happening. For example, the way he was playing it now, he was going to be
able to get whatever he wanted for a few years to come.

His thoughts drifted away from Jeremy and returned to his new favorite
hobby: counting up the amount of money he’d be driving away with in a few days.
And where he’d go with it. And what he’d do. Maybe buy himself a nice little
thing to entertain for the night, take her to some fancy dinner, then give her
his special brand of tough love in a five-star hotel.

Maybe he’d skip the girl and go straight for the border by way of the
Florida Keys, hop on a ship to Turks and Caicos and get properly toasted on
primo Caribbean hash and rum on the rocks. He smiled, forgetting all about the
man fuming beside him. Silas never indulged until he finished the job at hand;
he’d go months without a drop of alcohol (unless the job called for it, as this
one had), a toke, a snort of white lightning, a warm pussy on his lap, or any
other indulgence.

Then, when payday came around, he’d stock a reasonable amount away and
blow through the rest like a tornado rolling through the Grain Belt. He’d saved
a nice little nest egg for himself, but he was getting tired of going from job
to job. He liked his work, but he liked not working even better. This gig right
here…well, he’d have enough to save for a rainy day
and
a nice, long, multi-year vacation, as well.

He was humming again, unconsciously. He only noticed when Jeremy
brought it to his attention, the cop snapping his head around faster than a
nasty schoolmarm who’d seen one of her students passing a note in class.

“What the hell are you humming?” Jeremy snapped, eyes narrowed. Silas
didn’t turn to look at him. That would only taunt the bull, and Silas knew the
best matador was the one who made it out of the ring alive.

“Just a little tune been stuck in my head for a few days. You know it?
Goes like this?” Silas hummed louder, the song that had been playing in his
head recently, an old Dylan tune called “You
Ain’t
Going Nowhere”.

“I know it. That’s one of my favorite songs. Gabriella’s too,” Jeremy
growled, but the growl sounded forced and sad.
Jesus Christ, kid, you are one sorry piece of shit,
Silas thought.

“Does it bother you, buddy?” Silas asked, his tone neutral.

“I’m not your buddy, and yes it does. Very much so,” Jeremy said, now
looking back out the passenger side window. Silas noted, out of the corner of
his eye that his client’s hand had unfurled, no longer a fist. Now he sat his
hand on his knee, palm-down. Silas guessed there would be some distinctive
crescent moons carved into Jeremy’s palm from the way he’d been clenching
throughout the whole trip.

He wondered how long it would take before Jeremy went back into
Rambo-mode.

Not long, he guessed. And he was right; fifteen minutes later, that
hand was a fist once more, whiter and tighter than ever. Silas kept his vocal
chords quiet, but the song still played in his head.

…buy me a flute and a gun that shoots
tailgates and substitutes
strap yourself to the tree with roots
you
ain’t
goin
’ nowhere…

~
19
~

“Well…I mean…it’s got four wheels and an engine…I guess that’s
really…all I need?” I chewed my lip as I stared down at the little
junker
that the old man had proudly driven around the
corner and parked before me.

I couldn’t tell if it was the color it was because of the rust, the
dust, or because it was supposed to be that color. A very faded and
half-unreadable logo indicated that the car had, at one time, been a Ford,
though I doubted the company would be willing to take ownership of it in the
shape it was in. The tires, at least, looked new-
ish
.
A dented passenger-side door, a missing handle on the back driver’s side door,
and a crack in the
rearview
that would put a plumber
to shame completed the perfect aura of “total shit” that the car gave off.

“
Ayup
, it’ll run
ya
where
ya
need to go, but she
ain’t
no looker, that’s for damn sure,” Frankie, the dealer, said, finishing with a
healthy spit of chewing tobacco juice onto the desert dust.

“Frankie, you’re shitting me. You think a girl like this wants to be
seen in this beater? Now, I saw some shiny little pieces back there when we
were coming down the road, don’t you tell me you can’t do us better than this,”
Reign said, his arms folded. He stood beside me in his cut, a term I’d only
just learned. I had no idea how he kept it on in the oppressive heat, which
seemed to crack everything in sight. I’d take a sip of water and immediately
feel it evaporate on my tongue.

“Short notice? Clean plates? Full
reg
? For a
trade-in? I’ll do you good, you know that, but I
ain’t
tryin
’ to put myself outta business,” Frankie said,
mimicking Reign’s posture and drawing himself up to seem taller than he really
was. The two men stared into each other’s eyes; I fidgeted, arms behind my
back. Finally, though, Frankie’s shoulders slumped and his eyes and arms both
dropped.

“Okay, okay, Reign,
yer
a good customer, I
tell
ya
what, I’ll see what all I
gots
back there for the little Miss,” Frankie said, another glob of chewing tobacco
spit flying from the side of his mouth as he turned away and got back into the
old rust bucket, driving away with a clatter that could have raised the dead.
Not ideal for discreet passage anywhere.

“Thanks,” I said, looking up at Reign gratefully. I’d doubted that the
car even had air conditioning, and in heat like this that was going to be a
must.

“No problem. I told you I’d take care of you. Frankie’s a good guy,
but he’ll always try to get one over on you if he can. He knows better than to
try and screw with me too much, though,” Reign said. “But if I hadn’t been
here, you’d have taken that hunk of junk?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t much for haggling. And my ability to stick up for
myself in any sort of situation had been gathering dust ever since I’d met
Jeremy. I probably would have taken the deal, just to avoid the conflict. Reign
shook his head and reached out suddenly, hooking his inner elbow around my neck
and pulling me in close. It was too hot to be that close to him, honestly,
especially in all that leather, but it felt good all the same to smell him, to
feel his breath against the top of my head.

“You
gotta
get better at
stickin
’
up for yourself,
dollface
. You can’t be waltzing around
on your own with fear in your heart. That’s a recipe for nothing good,” he
said, his jaw moving against my scalp. I pulled away, feeling my body screaming
for air. I couldn’t remember ever being so damn hot in my whole life; the day
before, I’d slept through the worst of the heat. Now, it was just past noon and
the sun was high and beating down relentlessly. This desert life would take
some getting used to…

No, it’s not, because you’re leaving, soon,
I thought, surprised at the way my mind had acted
like I was staying there. That still wasn’t the plan, no matter how much I’d
taken to Reign. He was, after all, just a man. There would be other men. And I
didn’t need a man right then, anyway, did I? I’d had enough man over the past
five years to last me a lifetime…

But I couldn’t ignore the twitch of pain in my heart when I told
myself all that.

With a sudden roar, I heard an engine kicking to life from the parking
lot behind the little office building, and moments later I had to shield my
eyes from the sun’s glare as a bright, shiny, red car pulled around the corner.
This car was like Tom Cruise compared to the old Ford’s William
DeFoe
. It was an older model, for sure, but it had been
well cared for and looked brand new. I had to smile and suppress a giggle;
imagining myself speeding down the highway in this little red cruiser seemed
way too idyllic. This one was a Ford, too; a Mustang to be exact.

“This more your style,
hun
?” Frankie said,
pulling up beside us and letting the engine idle.

“Perfect, Frankie, way to deliver, my man,” Reign said, turning to me
with a huge grin on his face.

“But…it’s a little…flashy…isn’t it? I mean…it’ll draw attention,
maybe,” I said, eyes roaming back and forth over the humming car, drawn to it
for its obvious style and charm but worried all the same. I needed something
like a Honda Civic or something that was a dime a dozen; not this eye-catching
little number.

“Gabriella, you’d draw attention in a Kia minivan,” Reign said with a
laugh.

“I’m serious, Reign, I don’t want to make any waves…”

“Baby, if you’re
gonna
get caught, it won’t
be ‘cause your wheels are too good. Trust me. Besides, would your ex ever
imagine you’d find yourself in something like this? The dick’s
gonna
be looking for you in something like that old jalopy
Frankie just tried to sell
ya
, or a goddam black
sedan.
Hidin
’ in plain sight, babe, that’s the name
of the game,” Reign said, clearly enamored with the car for his own reasons. It
was pretty cherry, with the gleaming sunlight caressing the curves and making
it look like a little red bullet.

“You want
somethin
’ basic, I think I
gotta
couple I could show
ya
.
Toyota Tacoma, that’s pretty basic…” Frankie started to say, scratching his
white beard, which was long enough to reach the collar of his shirt. He didn’t
look like any used car salesman I’d ever met before; but, then, nuclear
families looking for something to take their kids to soccer practice probably
weren’t his typical clientele.

“No,” I said, the word flying from my mouth quite unexpectedly. I
did
want this car. It was sexy, and
cool, and I could just imagine how it’d feel to gun down a lonely desert
highway with the top down, headed south, to freedom. “I’ll take it.”

“Atta girl.
Whooee
, damn, Frankie, where was
this baby last time I needed a getaway car? You been hiding ‘
er
in the shed or something?” Reign said, taking a step
closer to the car to inspect it.

“Just got ‘
er
couple days ago. Took a look
under the hood and told the guy the tranny was fucked, gave ‘
im
700 for it. But I’ll let
ya
in
on a little secret; tranny’s fine. Whole damn thing is fine. You’ll get another
hundred thou out of her, that’s for damn sure,” Frankie said, shutting off the
engine and stepping out of the car. Reign and Frankie convened at the front of
the car as Frankie popped the hood; while the men inspected the engine,
murmuring and pointing and nodding, I ran a finger along the side of the car.

I realized, rather suddenly, that I hadn’t owned my own car in – well,
not since before college. I’d sold my high school car to help pay tuition, and
the car that I’d been driving had been a “gift” from Jeremy: meaning, it wasn’t
really mine, and he’d sometimes threaten to take it away if I did something he didn’t
like.

And now that “gift” was going to take up permanent residence in this
old man’s used car lot, amidst the ever-twirling dust, baking under the sun,
slowly decomposing until it was as shitty and worthless as that first car I’d
been offered.

Good riddance.

I smiled.

Things were starting to feel more and more real to me – like it was
finally, finally setting in. I had a new life. A brand new life. A better life
– a life of clear blue water and sandy beaches and all the nachos I could eat
and margaritas by the barrel and sexy swimsuits and learning to tango and a
brand new vintage Ford Mustang and a sexy new lover…

That last thought ended the train with a crash:
I don’t want a sexy new lover,
was the next thought, far more
dismal than the ones that had come before. I looked over and could see just the
top of Reign’s raven-haired head over the popped hood; I wanted
him
to be my lover.

But I’d just met him…

I shouldn’t feel that way…

I mean, it made sense. I was smart enough to know exactly why I was
feeling that way; I was on the rebound, in a lot of ways. And he was there, and
he was sexy, and he wanted me…and from the looks he sometimes gave me, the way
his eyes would stare into mine as though I was water and he was dying of
thirst, he wanted me for more than just a tumble in the hay.

But I shouldn’t give in to those feelings. They were false. If I gave
into them, stayed with him somehow, brought him with me to Mexico, I’d wind up
unhappy, because this wasn’t
real
love;
it was just lust, with a hint of hope for something more. I was love-starved,
desperate. I wanted to love him because I thought he’d be able to love me
right.

But that didn’t feel right, either. It was what I knew
had
to be true: it was the only thing
that made sense. People don’t just fall into
fairytale
love stories in Utah. Especially not a girl like me, and not with a guy like
him. We were from two different worlds, two different universes. Three days was
not enough to say you loved a guy.

But…

But…

Doesn’t it fucking feel like you were meant to
meet?

It sure fucking did.