Club Princess: Royal Bastards MC Durango, CO

by Nicole James

  I yank my wallet from my purse and pull out my checkbook. I rarely ever use the thing. I flip through it. The check number on the image is obviously missing, but so is the one after it.

  I close my eyes. Holy shit he took two checks.

  I grab my phone and call him. Naturally, he doesn’t answer, and it clicks over to voice-mail.

  “You son-of-a-bitch, Trez. You stole my money, you goddamn thief. You better still have it, because I’m going to hunt you down and tear off your balls if you don’t.”

  I disconnect. I know he won’t call me back. I can’t stop my eyes from stinging with tears. I still can’t believe he would do this to me. I know we haven’t been particularly close since his accident six years ago. But this?

  Over the last few months, he’s been sliding further and further under the hold of the painkillers he was first prescribed to deal with his shattered leg and the pins that now hold the bones together. He’s endured numerous surgeries. But even after all of them, he now walks with a limp, and probably always will.

  I know the pain was severe, and I know he suffered through excruciating rehabilitation, but that doesn’t excuse stealing from family to support his damn drug habit.

  See, this is what happens when you let yourself care about someone. They stab you in the back.

  My car, my beautiful GTO has been the only thing that’s held me together these last years. Now the dream of it evaporates before my eyes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lola—

  I pull out of the bank and drive aimlessly, fuming and wondering how I’m ever going to find Trez. Each day that passes, more of that money will disappear. The check was dated four days ago, so there’s no telling how much he’s blown.

  I slam my hand down on the steering wheel. “Damn you, Trez.”

  Eventually, I find myself pulling up to the clubhouse. I shut the car off and sit, thinking. Rock will flip his shit if I tell him.

  Trez is not a part of the MC, although my father has always assumed he’d follow in his footsteps. I’m sure Rock has always dreamed of having his son sit at the table with him, probably even becoming his VP someday. That all changed after Trez’s accident.

  My eyes fall on Baja, the club’s treasurer sitting in a chair on the big wooden porch smoking a cigarette. He’s one of the younger members and one who doesn’t easily fall for bullshit, which I suppose is why the club put him in charge of the money. It’s hard to get anything over on Baha. His eyes connect with mine and he tosses the butt, stands, and goes inside.

  Maybe he or one of the other Royal Bastards has a clue where Trez can be found. I shove my door open and follow.

  It’s cool and dark inside. The logs of the old building give it a rustic look. I spot Baja behind the bar, bending to grab himself another beer out of the cooler. I glance around. He appears to be the only one in the place. There were three bikes parked outside, one of them my father’s, and one is obviously Baja’s. I’m not sure who’s riding the third.

  I take a stool at the bar. “Can you get me one, too, Baja?”

  He looks over, then leans to grab me one, setting it in front of me.

  “Thanks. Have you seen Trez?”

  “Nope.”

  “Any idea where he might be?”

  He shakes his head, and I take a pull off my beer, studying him. He and Trez are close in age and were close for a while before the accident. But since then, Trez has pushed everyone away. When things between him and my father turned sour, pretty much everyone in the club has given Trez a wide berth. They know better than to get in the middle of their president and his son.

  Baja moves to the end of the bar, keeping his distance from me. I suppose I deserve it, the way I act sometimes.

  My phone vibrates, and I dig it out of my pocket, praying hopelessly that its Trez. I glance at the screen, and my shoulders deflate.

  It’s my girlfriend, Amy.

  I put it to my ear. “Hey, Ames. How’s New Orleans?”

  “Hot and sweaty and amazing!”

  I can hear a jazz band playing in the background. It sounds fun and I wish I were there, partying it up with her, not a care in the world. In any other circumstances, if life had been fair, I’d have a brand new ride. Wouldn’t that have been a hoot? But, once again my life has gone to hell, nothing like I planned.

  “Where are you?” I ask, feigning interest.

  “Some place on Bourbon Street. Katie is coming down tomorrow. You have to come with her.”

  “I do, huh?”

  “Yes! You can’t miss Spring Break, just because you dropped out of college. It’s not fair.”

  “I don’t think that’s how it works, Amy.”

  “Screw that. It’s not the same without the whole gang together.”

  We called ourselves the brat pack. The four of us girls met in high school and have been inseparable ever since.

  “I can’t afford it.”

  “Aw, come on, Lola. Katie needs someone to drive down with her. The room’s already paid for, and we’ve got two beds and a pullout couch. I’m sure we can all squeeze in. Please, Lola. This place is fantastic.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You should have just ridden down with Trez. Why didn’t you tell me he was coming down?”

  I straighten. “Trez is there?”

  “Yeah, you didn’t know?”

  “No.”

  “We ran into him last night. He was so fucked up. I went back to his place with him, but he passed out, so I left.”

  “Where’s he staying?”

  “Um, I think it was called the Capri, why?”

  “When did you say Katie was heading down there?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lola—

  I pace in the kitchen of my father’s house. I live with him still. When I bailed on freshman year, knowing college wasn’t for me, I came back to my old room, and I’ve been here ever since.

  At first I told myself I stayed to help with Trez during his recovery from several of his operations, but the truth is that I’m comfortable here.

  I do graphic work and social media ads for a couple of the women in the club who sell things online. I sort of fell into it and found I’ve got a knack for it. I’ve helped them set up their website and garner a good mailing list and online following. As the business grew, they cut me in for a percentage.

  Since then, I’ve networked some connections at craft shows and now have fifteen other clients. I’m not sure it’s what I want to do permanently, but for now it’s making me a good living, and I love the freedom of working for myself. Plus, as long as I have a laptop and Internet access, I can pretty much work from anywhere.

  I hear a hoard of motorcycles and peer out the window to see my father rolling up.

  Shit, he’s bringing half a dozen Royal Bastards with him. On the other hand, this might work out for me. With them here to distract him, it’ll be easier to put my plan in motion.

  They roar up the drive that leads to the big log home on the hill overlooking the river below. We’ve got a giant back deck that’s big enough to hold a couple dozen people. It’s been the scene of many a Royal Bastards party.

  I drop the curtain and move to the kitchen. If there’s one thing I know about bikers, they’re always hungry. Luckily I made a big batch of my father’s favorite chili.

  The bikes shut down, and a few minutes later, they’re trooping through the back door into the kitchen.

  My father is first. He grabs my neck and pulls me sideways to brush a kiss to my temple. Then he breathes in the aroma of what’s cooking on the stove. He grins. “You made chili for me?”

  I nod, my eyes on the pot, stirring it.

  “Got enough for the boys?”

  I glance over. Utah, Wildman, T-Bone, Baja, Tin Man, and Night Train. All his officers, except Darko, thank God. He’s probably still at his garage working. I only hope I can get out of town without him tracking me down for the money for the car.

  It was near the
bank’s closing time, so he’s probably assuming I’ll go tomorrow. That buys me a little time. I’ve got to make this work. The need to track down Trez and get the money before he finds another buyer for the car is my only priority now.

  “I guess,” I reply and reach in the cabinet for a stack of ceramic bowls.

  Dad passes out bottles of beer, and the guys all sit around the big kitchen table. Dad bumps into me as I move to the sink.

  I glance at his chest. “What’s all over your shirt?”

  He glances down and brushes a hand over it. “Dirt and sawdust, I guess. Me and a couple of the boys were trying to pull that old stump out behind the clubhouse. Finally got it out, then we cut it up for firewood.”

  I make a face. “Go change.”

  He runs a hand under the collar of his t-shirt. “This shit does itch.”

  I watch as he heads up to his room, then I turn to the stove and dish up the chili. I hear the shower turn on and smile. This works right into my plan.

  “Lola, you know what’s worse than pullin’ stumps?” Wildman scoops a spoonful into his mouth, then grins at me around the mouthful. “Your chili.”

  The other boys all chuckle, and I roll my eyes, turning away.

  “Aw, come on, don’t let him get to you, Lola. I’m sure there’s something you do well, even if your cooking sucks,” T-bone teases.

  I don’t even crack a smile as I try to ignore them and clean the dishes I dirtied.

  “Come on, Ice Queen, he was only teasing you. It’s not that bad. I’ve had worse,” Baja says.

  I should be used to their teasing by now. But for some reason the jab about my cooking really hits home. Maybe because my mother never got to teach me before she died. A heavy weight settles in my chest at the reminder and I scrub the fry pan harder, the hot water turning my hands red.

  Fifteen minutes later, Rock’s back with a wet head and clean clothes. I’m only hoping he left his wallet upstairs.

  I hang out a few minutes, spooning up refills, then slip away and quietly creep upstairs, praying the wood risers don’t creak under my feet.

  I hear cards shuffle and know they’re starting a poker game.

  I enter my father’s bedroom, close the door, then flip on the light and tip toe around the room. There’s a low dresser with a mirror, two nightstands, a highboy chest of drawers, and a chair in the corner where my father always hangs his cut when he’s not wearing it. It’s there now.

  I glance around the room, searching for his leather wallet, but don’t see it anywhere. I move through to the master bath and find a pile of clothes on the floor. I grab up his jeans and find it still in the back pocket, the chain still attaching it to the belt loop.

  I pull it free and thumb through the bills, counting them up. God bless him, Dad’s always got a good stack on him.

  I see four hundred-dollar bills and a half dozen twenties. I snatch the hundreds and leave the twenties, then return the wallet to the floor.

  Katie isn’t planning to leave until tomorrow, but I’m sure I can convince her to head out tonight. I need to get out of town before my father finds the missing money and Darko realizes there’s no deposit made into his account.

  I’ll have a lot of explaining to do when I get back, but right now, I’ve got to try to get my money from Trez. And if I know my brother, I don’t have a minute to lose.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rock—

  I storm into the clubhouse at half past ten in the morning. There’s no one to be found in the main room, but a bunch of empty beer bottles and cups prove there was a party here last night after the poker game broke up. With single-minded purpose, I push through the swinging door that leads to the private bedrooms that many of the Royal Bastards use.

  I try the first door, and it swings open. It’s dim inside, but there’s a bed with two bodies in it. Night Train, our Road Captain, bolts upright as the woman next to him covers herself.

  He reaches toward the nightstand for his gun, but stops when he realizes it’s me. “What the fuck, Rock?”

  “Where is she?” I boom.

  “Who?”

  “Lola.”

  “Your daughter? Not here, for Christ’s sake.”

  I glance to the brunette in his bed and stalk out. I slam down the hall, throwing unlocked doors open and pounding on those that are. Heads start poking out. “So help me, if I find out she’s in one of your beds you’re all dead men,” I roar, my voice bouncing off the walls as I threaten every fucking one of them.

  “Prez, what’s wrong?” someone asks.

  “Church, five fucking minutes,” I bellow down the hall and stomp in the direction of the room we use for club meetings, which is on the other side of the building. I can’t resist slamming the side of my fist against the wall as I go. One final reminder to them all of how pissed I am.

  I move through the main area, stopping at the bar to grab a bottle then march into the room we use for church, and fall into the seat at the head of the big oak table.

  I twist the cap off in my fist and tilt the bottle up, gulping down a substantial portion.

  The men shuffle in with bleary, hung-over eyes, leery of me as they take their seats or stand against the wall. Some still buttoning flannel shirts or pulling thermals over their heads. A few dip their heads to light up smokes, their hawk like gazes shifting to me.

  “Where’s Lola?” I ask.

  They look around at each other as if waiting for someone to tell me.

  “Haven’t seen her, boss,” Critter says around a cigarette.

  “Don’t think she was up here last night, least not after we were at your place. Why?” Tin Man mutters.

  “She went out after dinner. I checked her room this morning. She didn’t come home last night, and she’s not answering her phone.”

  “Rock, she’s twenty, now,” Wildman dares remind me. He’s one of the oldest members of the club; his long gray hair and thick beard around his sunburned face contradict the rock hard body he still has. Squint lines crinkle around green eyes that stare back at me, daring me to deny it. He’s one of the few in the club who won’t hesitate to tell me the truth, even when I don’t want to hear it.

  I give him a death stare that shuts him up quick, and look around the table. “Anyone seen her?”

  They all stay quiet. A few shake their heads.

  I put my elbows on the table and run my hands over my hair. “I’m fucking worried.”

  “Then we’ll tear this town apart until we find her, Prez,” Utah offers, always my trusted Enforcer.

  Baja clears his throat, and my gaze slices to him. He runs his hand over his jaw and leans forward in his seat. “I… ah, might have an idea where she could be.”

  “Spit it out,” I growl, pissed at his hesitation.

  “Overheard her on a phone call. Said something about Bourbon Street and asked whoever she was talking to what time Katie was leaving.”

  “Who the fuck is Katie?” I bite out.

  He shrugs. “I’m guessing a girlfriend, maybe one of that rat-pack she runs with.”

  The door opens, and Darko sticks his head in. “Wondered where everyone was. We call a meeting and someone forget to tell me?”

  T-Bone, our Sargent at Arms, leans back in his chair. “Lola’s missing.”

  Darko strolls inside, closing the door. “Since when? I just saw her yesterday.”

  “Where?” I straighten in my chair.

  “She came by to look at the GTO. She’s been salivating over it for months. Told her she could have first shot at it.”

  “You what?” I boom.

  “You didn’t know?” He frowns.

  “I knew she was saving up for a car, but that GTO? She’ll kill herself.”

  Darko huffs out a laugh. “Well, she did pretty good on the test drive yesterday. The girl can drive, Rock.”

  I arch a brow. “She doesn’t need a fucking muscle car.”

  “Then you don’t know her very well,” he has the nerve to tel
l me. “She’s been wanting one since she got her license.”

  I run a frustrated hand over my hair and lift the bottle to my lips, turning it up. Maybe I have been distracted the last few years since her mother died, but it fucking hit me hard. Dealing with the grief of that, I suppose I let a lot of shit slide. Maybe I’ve been too lax with Lola, failing to give her the guidance she needs. The failure of it tastes bitter in my mouth, and I grind my teeth. I’m not one to easily admit when I fuck up, but shit’s been on the downslide with Lola for a while now, I’ve just looked the other way. It’s easier than dealing with all the fallout of Gillian’s death.

  I set the bottle down a little too hard. “So you sold it to her? She’s off in it right now? Maybe even wrecked it and dead in a ditch?”

  “Slow the fucking tragedy train down, ol’ man. I’ve still got the car. She was supposed to transfer the down payment to my account, but she never did. And she’s not answering my calls.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Prez, have you tracked her?” Baja asks.

  I frown. “Have I what?”

  “Don’t you remember that app you had me install on her phone? You can track her with it.”

  Fuck, with everything going on over the last few years, I’d forgotten about that. I’d had him do it when she went away to college for her freshmen year.

  I pull out my phone and slide my thumb across the screen, searching for the icon. I hit it and soon a map pulls up with a flashing dot. I zoom out. “Jesus Christ. She’s on I-20 between Dallas and Shreveport.”

  “Sounds like she’s headed to New Orleans, all right,” Baja says.

  I shake my head. “How the fuck did she make it that far? She was home for dinner. Made us Chili.”

  “Her chili is the bomb, by the way,” Wildman puts in.

  I glare over at him. “Shut up about the damn chili, old man. That’s not the fucking point.”

  Utah leans forward and tamps out his cigarette in an ashtray. “Sounds like they drove all night.”

  I run a hand down my face, frustration pulling on my last nerve. “I’m gonna kill her.”