Outlaw's Ride: An MC Romance

by Carter Steele

  And more than that, I trusted her.

  “Looks like you're finally coming to the clubhouse with me.” I tried to manage a weak smile, but I knew it wasn't close to convincing. The timing on all this sucked, but there was nothing any of us could do. This was what we were here for. Do our job, fuck some shit up, then leave. That's all there was to it. I just wished I had more time to find a way to get her away from Patrick.

  “I guess so,” she signed in reply. She'd asked me what my clubhouse was like a few times these past few days, but I never gave her a good answer, not really. Now that she was going to see it first hand, if nothing else I figured she'd be more excited.

  The look of dread that washed over her told me otherwise.

  16

  Jezebel

  Don't do this. Don't do this. Don't do this. I pleaded with myself while following Wreck and the rest of the Kings out to the parking lot of the bar. The more they talked about their plans tonight the more that damn cell phone seemed to burn a hole in my pocket...and my soul.

  Their trust in me was killing them.

  “You alright?” Wreck asked in a low voice. Leaning forward, his long hair and thick beard hid most of his face in shadow from the dim outside lights. Except for those dark mahogany eyes, they burned like molten rock with concern, protectiveness...and surprising naivete. Wreck was a rough and ready badass who never backed down and had no problem stepping up or breaking someone down when he thought he needed to, but he had no idea what was coming. What I was doing to them, even now as we walked together. I was his one blind spot.

  And it was tearing me apart.

  “No,” I mouthed the word honestly.

  “Yeah,” Wreck's head lowered. His hard edge took on a distant quality as he looked off into the darkness. I could only guess at everything running through his mind right now.

  Past Wreck I could see Buck, Dreamer and Yoga mounting their bikes and starting them up. Harley, Victory, Indian, they all rode different motorcycles. I realized for the first time that each bike engine was a metal heart, and the low rumbling idle was it's unique beat. Motorcycles weren't all the same, and despite the near identical sleeveless cut all the men wore, the riders weren't either. So much of my betrayal's justification was predicated on the fact that they were just an outlaw biker gang. Bad guys you hear about on the news. The world would be better off without men like them in it.

  That wasn't the case at all.

  Buck lit up a cigarette while waiting for his engine to warm up. He was an accountant before joining up with the MC. Buck collected little spoons from every state they stayed in and kept them in a box beneath his bunk. Apparently he had quite the collection. I couldn't help but want to see it.

  Buck's brother, Yoga, brought vegan cupcakes to the bar tonight. He made them from scratch and they were fucking delicious. I thought Dreamer got his name because of his immigration status but it was really because he was a published poet back in Mexico. Dunk, Mac... each man had their own story. They were criminals yes, but that's not all they were.

  And that's not all Stewart was either.

  I had been lying to everyone, but to no one more so than myself.

  “I'm not going to forget about you. When this is over.” Wreck straightened, staring confidently into my eyes. The intensity and deliberateness of his resolve made me shiver with a dark and impossible hope. “I hope you know that.”

  I could only manage a weak smile in reply as I stuffed my hands into my back pocket, trying my best to cover the cellphone's microphone.

  “I don't give a damn what Patrick thinks is gonna happen. I will not leave you as his prisoner. Tomorrow I'm going to—”

  I cut Wreck off by kissing him. It was an ugly, abrupt thing that was more me smashing my mouth into his. Anything to prevent him from finishing that sentence. I didn't want him to say something else that Patrick might be able to use against him or his friends. The kiss was also so he didn't see me start to cry.

  Wreck was startled at first by the suddenness of it, then he slid a hand behind my back and pulled me closer. In all our time together we'd never actually kissed before, not really. He'd kissed my cheek once and the lingering tingle comforted me for days, but this was something else entirely.

  Our first real kiss.

  Wreck's warmth, the embrace, the emotion between us, it was all so much more than I ever imagined it'd be. Spiking in a sharp gasp of air, I grabbed his vest with both hands and let him crush into me. His rough lips and searching tongue were all I wanted at that moment, more than even the air in my lungs. With his large form wrapped around me everything else fell away. That parking lot was the north pole and Wreck's arms were a sturdy cabin, fireplace roaring. The bitter cold just outside that door, was all around but forever unable to reach us.

  “That's extremely touching you two, but all this sentimentality is going to make Buck cry,” Yoga called out over the rumbling purr of the bikes.

  “Me?” Buck coughed out the last of the cigarette smoke, nearly choking.

  The ridiculousness of the brothers’ exchange curled our lips in amusement and gave us pause.

  “We should go,” Wreck said softly, resting his forehead on mine. I nodded and let him lead me to his bike.

  “The gay vegan's right,” Dreamer retorted, not able to resist getting his jabs in. “I see you getting misty-eyed over there. It's like that fucking Pixar movie all over again.”

  “Fuck both of you in your stupid fucking faces! That was one time.” Buck sneered at the two men. He stuffed out the cigarette on the side of his gas tank, brushing the ash off the paint and grumbling in a much lower voice about how the movie Up was a legitimately sad story.

  Wreck started his bike up, helped me into a helmet, then got us ready to fall in line when the rest of the MC took off. When we pulled out onto the first street, stating a ride that would eventually take us back to their real home. Knowing the cellphone's GPS would lead Patrick to where he desperately wanted to go ate away at me like cancer. None of Patrick's guys had been able to tail the Devil Kings back to their clubhouse. The bikers were just too experienced and careful to ever let that happen. Until today.

  Or so Patrick hoped.

  I reached behind me, pulled the phone out of my back pocket and let it hit the pavement at forty-miles and hour. I was shocked how easy it was to do. When the phone slipped from my fingertips with it went an enormous burden. Guilt and shame that built up over the past week like a dam holding back a river finally burst. The pressure in my mind and heart was gone, just like that. I had no idea what the repercussions would be but in that one golden moment I just didn't care. For the first time in a long, long time I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I made the right decision.

  I had done one small, good thing and it felt amazing.

  They lived in a tractor-trailer truck. When we pulled up I thought it was a complete misdirect like they were only temporarily setting up shop there for the time being before moving on. Climbing into the side door of the larger-than-normal trailer I realized just how wrong I was.

  I could only describe the trailer as part souped-up college dorm room, part motorcycle garage and part weapons armory. Along the side closest to the truck pulling it were the sleeping bunks. At the opposite end down by the lift gate were everyone's bikes, all the tools to fix them and what looked like weapon racks for rifles, shotguns, pistols and a variety of terrifying-looking explosives. Everything else in between, with exception of the wooden, clubhouse table that was affixed into the middle of the large rectangular room, was all contemporary IKEA living – couches, large flat-screen TV, bathroom, and kitchenette. It was utterly absurd that several grown men roamed the country-side while living their whole lives in a big rig, but it also encapsulated what the full extent of freedom could be. It was incredibly impressive in it's own way.

  “The hell is she doing here?” Dunk asked with annoyance that was quickly boiling over into anger as he rose from the table. Mac, the oldest member and apparen
tly the driver of this rolling clubhouse, had been sitting with Dunk. He snorted into a frown, shaking his head at my presence, then left the trailer.

  “You said it was urgent, besides, after tonight—” Wreck started in with the same defense he used on Buck when the president stopped him with a raised hand and firm pat against the air.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind! You pull that shit that got Yoga shot, now this? If she tells anyone about this rig...” Dunk fumed, trailing off. After an extremely uncomfortable minute of silence he eventually got himself under control enough to form words.

  Seeing Wreck's home with my own eyes made me understand why Wreck was always elusive when talking about it, and why Dunk was so furious now. These kinds of vehicles were everywhere and most people never thought twice about them. It was perfect for hiding in plain sight, but it also made them incredibly vulnerable to attack. For all the armored walls and modifications they made at the end of the day it was still just a large truck. Disable the tires, sabotage the engine, or just plain crash it and the MC's biggest advantage was now their most dangerous liability. If any of their many enemies knew the truth about their rolling clubhouse Wreck's whole chapter was screwed.

  Dunk walked up to Wreck, pushed a finger into his chest and in a low growl he said, “Search her. If she has a phone, take it and turn it off. If anything happens tonight because of her I'm holding you personally responsible, and after this is all over you and me are going to have a serious fucking talk.”

  Wreck didn't drop his gaze in submission, but he certainly didn't attempt to argue any further. This was his president and the man who had probably gotten them through countless trying times. It was easy to tell that Wreck respected the man greatly, despite being scolded in front of everyone. I didn't know the group dynamics intimately but it didn't take much to tell that Wreck bringing me here broke one of the MC's most important rules.

  Why'd he do it, I wondered as Wreck led me away from the rest of the guys to search me as instructed. Why risk so much for me, especially when so much was on the line for them already?

  Did Wreck actually care about me that much?

  Confusion, worry and the warmth of acceptance from a man who risked so much for a girl who didn't deserve it were but a few of the torrent of mixed emotions that whirled in me. Protecting me from gangsters and shitheads was one thing but to go against his own club's rules, that was truly crazy! This nomad chapter of the Devil Kings was all he had, all any of them had really and to risk that just to help me... I was awed, humbled, thankful and incredibly guilty.

  “Sorry for all this,” Wreck said in a low voice as he began to pat me down.

  “It's all right, really,” I signed back.

  “Where's your phone? Did you leave it at the bar?” he asked.

  “I threw it off the back of your motorcycle on the way here.” My hands moved deliberately and with more confidence than they ever had before. Witnessing what Wreck had gone through with the people he cared most about in the world bolstered my own pride at making the right decision of ditching that phone. I felt a swelling of renewed defiance. If Wreck had the courage to accept the repercussions in the pursuit of what he thought was right, then so did I.

  Fuck Patrick.

  “Why the hell would you—”

  “I'm also the one who needs to apologize.” I interrupted him with quick signing, needing to capitalize on my fragile courage. Wreck's head pulled back to look fully at me, totally at a loss as to what I could need to apologize for. “I overheard Billy Bones last night talking on the phone with Patrick. They're planning to double cross your MC tonight and wipe you out! I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.”

  “And you're sure about this?” Wreck's eyes widened.

  I nodded, my lips pressed into a tight line. The seriousness of it all written across my face. I wanted to tell him everything – Patrick's offer to me, the phone spying, and why I betrayed his trust, but it all happened so fast. In a blink he was gone, rushed over to the rest of the guys now gathered around the wooden table. The news was obviously too important to wait.

  I tried not to shrink too much at all the attention suddenly turned my way from the animated conversation that erupted with the new revelation. The men were angry but not at all disbelieving of the news. The conversation had an air of inevitability to it. The betrayal was inevitable, it was the timing of it all that was surprising to them.

  “I know, goddammit!” Dunk slapped a hand down on the table quieting the rest of the club. Despite being easily the shortest and smallest person in the room, Dunk's steely eyes and authoritative posture, that could only be from ex-military service, demanded attention. “Why the hell do you think I called you all here early? I already worked it out with Patrick. The double-cross is all part of the plan to take out Billy Bones and his top guys. The fact that Sarah heard the conversation means Billy has no idea. I didn't tell you sooner because I didn't have all the details until I called you all in.”

  “So what's the plan now?” Yoga asked with crossed arms. It was apparent he didn't like how fast all this was moving.

  “Alright listen up,” Dunk's extensive military service crept into his tone and demeanor. “We're torching Mikhail's Neighborhood Auto Body and the attached apartment above it. The Russians are the last hold out against Patrick running this city. Patrick wants us there in three hours, but Dreamer, Buck, Yoga and I are leaving now to recon the place and make sure there aren't any surprises. Wreck is playing babysitter until Mac gets back here with the getaway SUV. We'll deal with Sarah after all the heavy shit is over.

  “Mac stays here to wrap up any last minute repairs on the tractor-trailer in case things go really tits up and we need to retreat in a big way,” Dunk continued without so much as pausing to look over at me. If he did he'd see me trying to sink into the couch at the mention of my name and how much trouble my mere presence here was probably causing them. “Wreck will meet us with the SUV and we'll load up with the big boy guns and ambush Billy Bones and his crew as they arrive. Afterwards we torch the shop, collect all our money from Patrick and get the fuck out of Baltimore.”

  Dunk went on to discuss in detail each member's role in the night's events, the likelihood that Patrick was going to fuck them over and what to do when that eventually happened. I was quickly forgotten, which I was grateful for. I was glad I told Wreck what I heard, and hoped it helped in some small way, but guilt still stabbed me for not telling him everything.

  There will be time to tell him about my full betrayal later, I thought, watching Wreck prepare for what was going to be a very bloody night. The dark worry crept into my heart and sunk it's talons deep.

  If there is a later for any of us.

  17

  Sarah

  “Mac shouldn't be long.” Dunk checked his watch then pounded on the wall twice lightly before opening the trailer's side door in what looked like a pre-mission ritual. “When he gets back—”

  “I got it,” Wreck replied, not able to keep the quick gruffness out of his voice.

  “You'd fucking better.” And with that Dunk stepped out, letting the door slam behind him. The rest of the MC had their marching orders and were already gone. Dunk was the last to leave the clubhouse save for Wreck who was my chaperone until Mac came back from picking up their getaway SUV.

  From what I gathered contextually in my time around the MC the truck had suffered some battle damage from a deal gone wrong with some cartel members before they'd ever even made it into Baltimore and Mac was the one making the repairs. I was also getting the impression that whatever happened that soured everything was somehow Wreck's fault. I could only imagine what the details were.

  After Dunk locked the door on his way out I got off the couch and made my way over to Wreck who was haunting the clubhouse table deep in thought. Between the mission this evening, his strained situation with Dunk and everything going on between us I could only imagine how much was weighing on him. In only a few hours things had gone straight t
o hell and the night was only just beginning…

  “Are you alright?” I asked after touching Wreck's shoulder so he could turn to see my hands.

  “Yeah,” he sighed, then began signing back in response. “It always gets stressful at the end of a job. Dunk falls back into his special forces training which means he becomes a total dick, but I get it. He needs to. There's so many moving parts and shit tends to get much more dangerous when the money gets divvied out. We have to be on our A game. All of us.”

  Wreck had gotten so much better at signing in such a short time. It was incredibly impressive. During the MCs meeting, while sitting on the couch trying to stay out of the way I came across a book stuffed into the cushions on how to sign and realized that he must've been practicing even more when we weren't together.

  “Now that we’re alone I have an important question to ask you,” I signed, then pulled him a few steps away from the table. I looked up sheepishly at first, before settling into a mischievous smirk. “Can I see Buck’s spoon collection?”

  Wreck looked at me like I had two heads for a moment then his hardened demeanor cracked. The request was so absurdly out of place in the light of everything else that was going on that he couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Yeah, but don’t tell anyone,” Wreck cracked a smile through his thick beard. “Buck would fucking kill me.”

  Wreck drew a carry-on sized suitcase out from under Buck’s bunk, and popped it open. The sides were lined with rows of spoons. I was genuinely impressed with the variety, volume and the overall condition he kept the spoons in. For such a gruff, womanizing borderline stereotypical badass outlaw biker, it was easy to tell that he really cared about this.