Club Princess: Royal Bastards MC Durango, CO

by Nicole James

  When the dust clears, he growls, “You’re a fuck of a lot of trouble, woman.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Memphis—

  I’m pissed I almost lost control of the bike. I’m pissed I had to call Rock to track his daughter again, but most of all I’m pissed I let this girl give me the slip in the first place.

  “Need a ride?” I ask snidely.

  She brushes off her pants, huffs out a sigh, and looks off.

  “What happened? Did the bum you followed down to New Orleans dump you out on the side of the road? A loser like that’s not worth your time.” Before she can answer, my eyes skate down her dusty pants and scrapped elbow. I climb from the bike and approach her. “You okay, babe? You hurt?”

  Her eyes glaze over with unshed tears.

  “Who the fuck is that loser?” I snap, pissed she ran from me but furious she was literally shoved out on the side of the road like yesterday’s trash. I want to go after this guy and beat the shit out of him. Lola’s the daughter of a Royal Bastard, and that makes her family, and no one is going to treat her like that and get away with it.

  “That loser is my brother.”

  Her words bowl me over—take me aback so much so I actually do take a step back. “You’re fucking kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “What the fuck’s going on, Lola? None of this adds up.”

  “That guy at the motel, the one in the suit?”

  A chill of foreboding crawls up my spine. “Yeah, what about him?”

  “Trez owes him a bunch of money, and he wants it back. That dude scared the crap outta me.”

  I wonder if Rock knows any of this. There’s more drama in this family than I want to get in the middle of, that’s for sure. But I was sent here on an errand, not to fix all this. “Well, he’s your brother’s problem. Get on.”

  “I have to help him.”

  “Yeah? How’s that gonna happen?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know, but someone has to save him from himself.”

  “Look, I wasn’t sent to save your brother. I was sent to retrieve you and that’s what I’m doing. Rock can deal with this mess.”

  “No. You can’t tell my father.” She settles her hand on my forearm, her touch gentle. I try hard not to let it affect me, and my words come out harsher than I intend.

  “Why the fuck not?”

  “You just can’t,” she insists, then after a moment, whispers, “please.”

  I don’t know why, but that little catch in her voice undermines my resolve. I grab her by the chin and tilt her face to meet my eyes, and I arch my brow. “You done runnin’?”

  She nods in my hand.

  “Get on the bike and don’t give me any more trouble and maybe I won’t call Rock.” Still she hesitates, and I can’t let her think she’s running this show. “Best deal you’re gonna get, babe. I suggest you take it, or I’ll be making that phone call right now.”

  She glances down the road, and I can see the wheels turning inside her head. She’s probably wondering how long a walk it is back to that truck stop or if she can flag down another ride.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I warn.

  We stare at each other a long minute in a contest of wills. I outlast her, and she deflates with a sigh. I climb on the bike and fire it up.

  “My things are at my girlfriend’s hotel in the Quarter.”

  “I’m not riding all the way back to New Orleans to get them. Besides, I can’t haul a suitcase on the bike. Your friends can bring your stuff back.”

  She crawls on the back without another word.

  I twist the throttle before she has a chance to argue.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Memphis—

  We ride for hours, stopping only once for gas, where I text Rock to let him know I have Lola and am bringing her back. The sun’s sliding below the horizon now, and with all the shifting Lola’s been doing, I know she’s had about as much of this bike as she can take.

  The last three or four exits we’ve passed have had nothing I could see, no motels, no food, not even a gas station. I’m wondering how much farther I can make it on what gas I have left when I come over a rise and traffic is backed up in a line as far as I can see.

  Fuck.

  I let off on the throttle, and slow to a stop, checking the sky. Dark clouds line the northern horizon and misty trails of rain fall in the distance. I take the shoulder, hoping there’s an exit up ahead. I ride it for about a mile before I see a sign indicating the Natchitoches exit.

  There’s a line of cars with the same idea of exiting the backed-up interstate, and it takes a while to finally make it to the stop light. When I do, there are only two places to stay right off the interstate—an Econo Lodge and a Fairfield Inn.

  I try the Econo Lodge, pulling under the portico and climbing off the bike. Lola does the same, stretching and rubbing her ass.

  “Wait here. I’ll see if they have any vacancy.”

  Through the automatic glass doors, I spot a line at the counter. A guy in an Atlanta Braves cap walks out as I walk in.

  “Don’t bother, man, they’re full up. A tractor-trailer jackknifed and spilled its load about twenty miles up, and everyone’s getting off the interstate.” He jerks his head back toward the clerk. “Clerk said he heard they won’t have it cleared up for six to eight hours.”

  “Damn. Guess I’ll try the Fairfield.”

  “I just came from there. They’re booked, too. I’m gonna head into Natchitoches. The clerk said some of the B&B’s might still have room. Said there’s several down by the Cane River near the downtown historic section. Otherwise, you’ve got to double back about fifty miles to find the nearest chain with vacancies.”

  “Thanks, man.” I walk out to the bike and tell Lola.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “It looks like rain’s moving in. If we double back, chances are we’ll get caught in it. Let’s try farther in town.” She nods and we climb on the bike. I fire it up as the guy in the ball cap pulls out in an Escalade. I roll out and follow him toward town. A few miles later, we turn down Church Street and I spot a quant, little inn. I stop to check there.

  One couple stands at the counter, the desk clerk just finishing up with them, handing them their key card and explaining there’s a free breakfast in the morning.

  They move off, and I step forward.

  He smiles up at me. “May I help you, Sir?”

  “You have any rooms left?”

  “I’m sorry. That was our last one.”

  I run a hand through my hair and blow out a breath. “Okay, thanks. You wouldn’t happen to know any other places, would you?”

  “Let me make a call.” He dials and talks in a low voice to someone, then looks up at me. “One-thirty-five a night okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I’d pay twice that now just to get off the road.

  “Your name?”

  “Rafe Ballard.” He repeats my name to the person on the phone. When he hangs up, he points toward the road. “It’s on the other side of the river. Take this street through the intersection and across the Church Street Bridge. Make a left and it’s the second place facing the river. Riverside Bed and Breakfast. They’re holding a room for you for the next ten minutes.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m keying the door on one of their three suites. It has a private outdoor entrance off a walkway that extends from the road out off the sloped bank. I look to the left and see a grassy area at the river’s edge with a little fire pit and a set of Adirondack chairs.

  I open the door, and we walk in. The place has a tiny living room with a small dining table in an L-shaped alcove surrounded by white painted bookcases. Tucked into one of the built-in bookcases are a mini fridge, microwave, and coffee maker. Off to the left, there’s a set of French doors leading out to a small balcony overlooking the river with a wrought iron bistro table and two chairs.
Through the archway on the right is a bedroom with a single queen bed.

  I glance at the living area. It’s small, and there’s only a love-seat and chair with an ottoman but no couch. I drop the small backpack I pulled from my saddlebag. It contains only a change of clothes and a few toiletries.

  Lola, I know, has nothing. I suppose I’ll have to buy her a few things to get her by until we get home. You can bet her father will be getting the receipts for what I spend on her.

  A bottle of wine and two glasses sit on a small table with a welcome note. I pick up the bottle and read the label. “You like wine?”

  She doesn’t respond, and I turn to look. She’s staring at the bed. Guess I better set her mind at ease.

  “Don’t worry, you can have it all to yourself.”

  Her eyes drift over to me. “But where will you sleep?”

  I glance around. “I guess that chair. I’ve slept in worse places, doll.”

  She folds her arms. “Suit yourself.”

  I turn to open the wine and pour two glasses, then carry one to her. She’s moved to the French doors and stares out. I lift my chin. “Let’s sit out there.”

  She pulls the doors open, and we move to the bistro table. I set her glass in front of her and take the other seat. It’s quiet outside and across the river we can see the lights of the historic district. I draw in a breath and smell the rain coming. With any luck, it’ll hold off until we finish our glass.

  “It’s pretty out here,” Lola murmurs.

  I nod. “Yeah. Real nice.” The lights from across the way reflect on the water setting a magical mood. Taking a sip of the Pinot Noir, I realize the last peaceful moment I had was sitting on my sister’s porch this morning. Lord, that seems like a lifetime ago.

  Music drifts to us from somewhere, maybe from the Italian restaurant across the river with its back patio butting up to the bank. Moretti’s spelled in neon on the roof.

  I look over at Lola; she’s staring into space, and I wonder if she’s still worried about her brother. I’m not sure that’s a can of worms I want to open, so I pick another topic. “You around the club much?”

  Her eyes lift to mine as if coming out of a fog. “The club?”

  “Royal Bastards.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

  “I’ve only been to Durango a couple of times, but I’ve never seen you.”

  She sips her wine. “I guess we missed each other, because I sure would have remembered you.”

  I grin. “That so?”

  Her eyes get big, like she’s said too much, then drop to her glass. She puts her chin in her hand and stares off, and then suddenly straightens. “Oh, shit.” She yanks her phone from her pocket.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I forgot to call my girlfriends. I’m sure they’re worried sick.” She glances at her screen. “Yep. Six missed calls.”

  “Guess you better let ‘em know you’re alive.”

  She pushes back her chair, stands, and walks inside to make the call in private. I light a smoke and check my own phone. By the time I’ve drained the last of my wine, she’s back, and a strong breeze is kicking up bringing in the cool front and rain.

  I stand, grinding the butt of my cigarette out in the ashtray. “Better move inside.”

  She grabs her glass, drains half of it, and follows me.

  I pick up the bottle and refill hers and then mine. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes. They were really worried, but I assured them I’m all right. They know how crazy my father can get. They’re going to bring my stuff back for me.”

  “Did you talk to Rock?”

  “Yes. He’s pissed. I’m sure I’m in for it when I get back.”

  “Probably.” I sit in the chair, pick up the remote, and flip on the TV. Lola takes the loveseat. I stop on a news channel. A reporter is standing in front of a bank talking about a robbery that occurred this afternoon in Marrero. I frown, because the front of the building looks familiar.

  “Oh my God,” Lola whispers so softly I barely hear it.

  I glance over and her face is white as a sheet. “Wait, is that the bank you were in today?”

  “Oh, bro… what did you do?” she mumbles under her breath, then pulls out her phone and taps out a text.

  It dings with a reply.

  “Oh my God,” she blurts.

  I grab the phone out of her hand and read the texts.

  Please tell me that wasn’t you, Trez.

  Check your account, Lola. I told you I’d give it all back.

  “What the fuck’s going on, babe?”

  “Nothing.” She snatches the phone and hurriedly pulls something up on it. I can only imagine she’s doing what he told her to do.

  Her eyes get big and I grab her phone again.

  She makes a grab, but I stand and hold her off while I look at what she has pulled up. It’s a bank account with a pending deposit of twelve thousand dollars. I cock a brow at her. “What the fuck is going on, Lola?”

  “Give me my phone, and I’ll tell you.”

  I hand it over. “Spill.”

  She picks up her glass and downs the contents. “It’s a long story.”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  “I was saving up for a car, my dream car, a GTO. Darko, he’s the club VP…”

  “I know who he is, babe.”

  “Okay. Well, he had one. I had the deal all worked out. I went to the bank to get the down payment I’d saved up, but the money was gone. I found out my brother had forged a check and taken it all.”

  “You’re shittin’ me?”

  “Nope. That’s why I came down here. Amy spotted him in the Quarter. I was hoping I’d get to him before he blew it all.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  She shakes her head. “That guy in the suit? Mason Lockwood?”

  “Yeah? How does he figure into all this?”

  “Apparently Trez met him at Harrah’s where he went to try to make a killing at poker using my money for his stakes. He ended up getting invited to Lockwood’s place for a private game. The guy took him for everything he had.”

  “Christ.”

  “Yeah, so my brother decided he’d swipe something of value from him.”

  “What’d he take?”

  “Some expensive Jade figurine.”

  “And I take it that’s why Lockwood showed up at that two-bit motel. That’s where your brother was staying, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does Trez still have the figurine?”

  She shakes her head. “He pawned it. We tried to get it back, but they claimed it was gone. I think the owners must have realized its value.”

  “Wonder what that is.”

  “Twenty thousand. Lockwood told me.”

  “Wow.” I jerk my chin to the TV. “And the bank robbery… that was Trez?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he put the money in your account.”

  She nods.

  “You realize, if he gets caught, that money transfer implicates you.”

  “Oh my God.” She drops her head in her hands. Apparently, she hasn’t thought that far ahead. “Lola?”

  She looks up at me. “I’m so screwed.”

  “Tell me the truth. Did you have any part in this?”

  “No, I swear. I just came down to get my money back. I don’t want anything to do with any of this.”

  I pace, wondering if there’s any way the cops are going to tie me to this as well. I was parked kitty corner from the bank this afternoon at the same time Trez’s truck would have been on security camera. If one of them is aimed in a way that takes in the intersection, and I’m betting one is, then they might think I’m involved. They might have even gotten a shot of my license plate.

  I think back to that wild chase out of the lot and down the street. That’s going to draw suspicion, but I remember something else, too. Trez’s pickup had his plate obscured with a paper used-car lot tag tapped over it. I’m guessing
he must have snagged it somewhere.

  Which means he was planning this heist when he drove Lola to the bank earlier in the day. I whirl on her. “Did you know what he was planning? Did he send you in there to case the place?”

  “I had no clue. He told me to go in and see if they’d break a hundred dollar bill.”

  “Seriously? And you bought that excuse?”

  “At the time.”

  “And later? Did he say anything?”

  “Yes, but I thought he was bluffing. Trez’s never been a thief.”

  “Seems to me he’s stolen three times in the last few days, alone. First you, then Lockwood, and now First Bank of Marrero.”

  She deflates. “This isn’t like him. I thought when I came down here he’d taken my money to buy drugs. He’s developed an addiction to pain killers.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He wrecked his bike a few years ago.”

  “Regardless, your loser brother is now a bank robber.”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  “Someone needs to. And now he’s involved you.” I pull out my phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling the New Orleans Chapter.” Lola’s still got that worried look in her eyes, but she doesn’t try to stop me.

  Knuckles picks up. “Hey, Memphis, what’s up? You find that chick you were looking for?”

  “I did. What do you know about a Mason Lockwood?”

  “I know you don’t want to fuck him over, why?”

  “Apparently Rock’s son already has.”

  “Hell, Memphis, my chapter does business with Lockwood.”

  “Shit.”

  “Does he know who the kid is?”

  “I don’t think so,” I hedge. “But he spotted me with Rock’s daughter, so maybe.”

  “Lockwood finds out that kid is connected to the Royal Bastards, this could have club implications. It could fuck up our dealings with him.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “Thanks, man.” I disconnect and scroll through my contacts.

  “Now who are you calling?” Lola asks, the agitation in her voice escalating.

  “Rock.”