SAINT: Kings of Carnage MC - Prospects

by Nicole James

  “Piece of shit, bike.”

  It’s not all bad. In the distance, I can make out the shapes of Main Street Uprising, Georgia, and it’s not that far to walk. Not even in the heat. I’ve experienced much worse in the Navy—even got the scars to prove it—but I ain’t leaving my bike for any asshole who wants to come along and pile my twenty-four-thousand-dollar piece of shit in their truck. She might be a hunk of shit, but she’s my hunk of shit, and I can’t afford to lose her.

  I glance up the long stretch of road. Nothing but woods between me and the first few buildings. Aww, shit. I haul my gimpy legged self to my feet and turn, holding my phone in the air trying to get a goddamn signal. The beefy growl of a truck sends a jolt of panic through me, and I whirl around. For a heartbeat, I lose myself in a warzone, the sun beating down upon my back, the roar of the engine, and the oppressive heat. It feels a lot like Afghanistan, but the powder blue Chevy pulling to a stop beside me says otherwise.

  A woman with tattooed sleeves, cherry red lips, and lavender hair tied up with a bandana leans out of the driver’s side window.

  “Hey, sugar.” She smiles. “You need a hand?”

  I narrow my gaze and shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans to quit from shaking. Pull it together asshole. “Just what are you proposing to give me a hand with?”

  “Well, it seems like that broke-down Harley could use a little push.” She winks and opens her car door, jumping out.

  She’s all of four feet—not even kidding—and when she struts toward me in her little Daisy Dukes and a Slayer T-shirt knotted at the waist, I roll my gaze over her shapely legs and the inch of skin exposed around her midriff. Jesus. She’s a fucking smoke show and my dick is itching to say hello.

  Where the hell has Uprising been hiding you, darlin’?

  She squats in front of the bike and turns to look over her shoulder at me. “Problems with the clutch?”

  My brow furrows. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  She laughs. “It’s a 114, isn’t it?”

  “What the hell do you know about Harley’s, little girl? It looks like you’re barely out of high school.”

  “Oh, you’re one of those,” she says, standing to her full height, which is pretty much laughable next to my 6’4 frame. “Shame you had to open your mouth, because with a body like that I bet you’re a really fun ride. Now I guess I’ll never know.”

  I smirk. “Listen, Tinkerbelle. I’m flattered, but I don’t fuck jailbait. Not even ones that look like you.” Not that she’d know what to do with me anyway. One look at my fat cock and she’d be running for the hills.

  “Well, I’m so glad we got that cleared up. Anyway, looks like an internal leak is preventing the clutch from receiving enough lift. You’ll need to install a secondary clutch actuator piston.”

  Come a-fucking-gain?

  I stare at her like a slack-jawed fucking yokel. This bitch knows bikes. Really knows bikes.

  I glance back at the truck, and the brightly colored logo emblazoned on the side that reads, “Jupiter’s Custom Builds and Auto”. Beneath the obtrusive logo—which is practically giving me a fucking stroke—is a line in cursive, “We’ll get your motor running”.

  They weren’t fucking kidding.

  She stands with her hands on her hips. “So, you wanna help me get this thing into the back of my truck, or are you just gonna wait for another big, strong man to come along and save you?”

  I frown. I don’t like her fucking tone, or the fact that she’s deliberately pushing my buttons, but her sassy little attitude makes me want to put her over my goddamn knee. It’s been a long time since a woman affected me like this, and the last one practically took a goddamn sawn-off shotgun and blew a hole right through my heart.

  Still, I can’t help but smile at the arch brow she’s giving me, and the attitude packed into that tight little body.

  “Help you get it in the truck?” I give her a dubious look. “What are you, five feet and one hundred pounds soaking wet?”

  “Actually, I’m four feet, eleven inches. And one hundred and six pounds,” She rolls her eyes and moves to the tailgate, lowering it before she turns back to me. “Wet or not.”

  A smirk steals across my lips. “Alright, Tink. You got a ramp and a ratchet strap or two?”

  “Yep. I’ve also got a wheel chock.”

  “You ride?” It would explain how she knows so much about bikes when even most mechanics don’t know jack shit.

  “No, but we have an awful lot of bikers in this town. Who do you think they call to come pick them up when they break down?” She shrugs and climbs up into the bed of the truck like she’s done it a million times before. “Besides, I prefer burning rubber on four wheels.”

  That does get a rise out of me, but before I can respond, she turns to me and snaps, “Now, if you’re done with your little interrogation, can we get this goddamn bike on the truck?”

  I take the small ramp from the bed and unfold it. Tinkerbelle gathers together a couple more ratchet straps and jumps down, her boots sending up a cloud of dust when she hits the gravel. Then she crouches and hooks the strap under the towbar, threading it through the rungs on the ramp and securing it to the Chevy. I smirk as I watch her. Definitely not her first fucking rodeo.

  “Alright, let’s get that pretty baby on board.” She climbs into the truck bed again as I head to my bike, flip up the kickstand, and wheel it toward the ramp. She’s a beast of a machine, and not as easy to maneuver as I’d like, but once I line it up correctly, I push forward and hold the weight of the bike when it hits the bumper. Tink grabs the handlebars to hold it steady while I climb into the truck and we both drive it home into the wheel chock.

  “You wanna climb on to steady the bike while I fasten it?” I tilt my chin toward my baby.

  She gasps in mock surprise. “And here I thought bitches were only supposed to sit on the back of your bike?”

  “You got a man in the club?” I’ve been here for a few weeks now, and I’m pretty sure I would remember seeing this little side piece hanging around.

  She laughs, and I have to fight my irritation because I don’t see what’s so goddamn funny about that. “No. I don’t date club brothers.”

  “We beneath you or somethin’, darlin’?”

  She grins, grabbing onto the handlebars and sliding one leg over the bike. I have to suppress my growl of appreciation … because I’m sure this little angry feminist would just love that. “Does it look like a brother is beneath me?”

  Not yet. But I promise you I’m working on it, baby doll.

  “You know for a woman who’s not property of a club brother, you sure seem to know a lot about club life.”

  “You’re not from around here, huh? This is Uprising. You make it your business to show the brothers respect, or the club teaches you some. At least, that’s apparently how it was before Chaos took over. I think most of the town is still adhering to that and are just trying to stay out of their way.”

  “But not you?” I fasten the strap to the frame and watch the suspension shift as I use the ratchet. The movement jostles her perfect tits, and I suddenly have a hard time concentrating.

  “My daddy didn’t like doing business with the Kings, but their money’s just as green as everyone else’s,” she says. “Besides, they’re not that scary once you get to know them.”

  I arch a brow and set about fastening another ratchet strap to the main frame and tying it off on the truck. “I’ll be sure to tell Chaos you said that.”

  “I came up in school with Sterling and Ruin. They weren’t as scary as they pretended to be either. Of course, it didn’t hurt that I could fight my own battles.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “So, you got a name? Or shall I just write inbred, misogynistic biker on your docket?”

  I narrow my eyes. “Bitch, you sure are mouthy.”

  “And you sure are insolent for a man stranded on the side of the road.”

  I scoff and fold my arms
over my chest. “You can call me Bear.”

  She actually rolls her fucking eyes at me. “You got a real name and an address … Bear?” She says my road name with particular disdain.

  “Nope.”

  “Where is that accent from?”

  “Tennessee,” I bark. “Where does your attitude come from?”

  “I guess I’m just a product of my raising.” She smiles, and it about knocks the wind clean out of me. “I’m gonna call you Tennessee.”

  I arch a brow. “You can call me whatever you want, darlin’, so long as you’re screaming it.”

  “Good to know.” She slides off the bike bringing us face to face—or, I guess, face to nipple, since she’s so goddamn tiny. “Now, if you’re done with your male posturing, you mind if we get this bike into the garage?”

  “Whatever you want. As long as your mechanic knows his stuff and doesn’t fuck my bike, lead the way.”

  Tink smirks. “I’ll be sure to pass that along.”

  She slips off the back of the truck and I follow suit. Then I help her close the tailgate, though I’m sure she’s already got it covered.

  I climb into the truck and close the door. Tink slides into the driver’s side, throws the stick shift in gear and hits the accelerator as if her foot is made of lead. I grab the door frame and hold on for dear life as the trees fly by.

  Her lips quirk, and she takes the last corner before town at breakneck speed. I keep my white-knuckled grip on the truck. This bitch is gonna wreck me and my bike before we even make it back to town.

  She pulls into a double lot filled with rusted-out old cars and some new ones too that look to be in pretty good condition. That’s a shit ton of real estate for the center of town. The rent on this junk yard must cost them a pretty penny.

  The main building is painted in swirls of blue and purple, with a hint of pink and a smattering of white dots that make up the stars in the Milky Way. Above the building, there’s an old sign shaped like a planet with the words, “Jupiter’s Custom Builds and Auto Repairs”.

  She climbs out of the truck and opens the tailgate. “Bobby Ray, Jeb, Liam, Grant, will one of y’all come help me with this?”

  Well shit. Now I feel like a real asshole. “Wait, you’re Jupiter?”

  “That’s what the sign says.”

  “Lemme guess, you’re outta this world.”

  “I’m out of patience,” she mutters, grabbing a clipboard from the dash and scribbling on a form.

  “So, this is your garage?”

  “Surprised?”

  My brow creases. “Little bit, yeah. Listen … I’m real sorry I was a dick.”

  “That’s okay, most bikers are.”

  “Whoa,” I say, holding up my hands to ward away the aggression. “Now who’s judging who unfairly?”

  She climbs out of the cab and I shake my head, looking around the lot. A sleek black Mustang that looks like long nights of whiskey and fucking, catches my eye. It sits in front of the shop, calling to me like a goddamn siren with her shiny paint, chrome hardware, and red leather seats. Jesus. My dick’s getting hard just looking at her.

  “Tennessee?”

  “Yeah?” I tear my gaze from the vehicle and meet pissed-off Tinkerbelle’s eyes.

  “Are you getting out? Or are you gonna sit there jerking it all day?”

  I shake my head and climb out of the pickup, meeting her at the tailgate.

  “Look, I ain’t got a whole lot of time so if there’s nothing else you need, there’s a diner that way.” She points to the building next door. “I’m sure they’ll let you use their phone to call a ride. Your bike will be ready in a few days, depending on how long it takes me to get a new part.”

  I tap the side of the truck with my fist. “It says here you offer a free complimentary driver service to ‘get you where you need to go’.”

  She sighs. “I’m gonna kill Bobby Ray for putting that on the side of my truck.”

  “So, you’ll take me where I need to go?”

  “Well, we’d love to help out, but I don’t think we can spare the manpower to take you all the way to hell.”

  I chuckle. “What about to the clubhouse outside of town, then?”

  “Sure. I’ll have Bobby Ray get right on that.” She gives me a tight smile and then turns and pats the approaching mechanic on the chest.

  He rolls his eyes, and his shoulders deflate. “But I got the Johnson job to finish up.”

  “Then you better get goin’,” she calls over her shoulder. I smirk. Nice to know I’m not the only guy she enjoys emasculating.

  Two other men who look just like Bobby Ray—only taller and without the shaved head—wheel my bike from the back of my truck and set it on the oil-stained concrete. One of them whistles low. “You fucked up the clutch good, didn’t ya?”

  “Yeah. Looks like.” I fold my arms over my chest and watch Jupiter move around the garage like an irate little fairy. “A friend back home in Tennessee souped it up, but now this shit keeps happening at the worst possible times.”

  “Well, if anyone can fix it, it’s Jupiter.” Bobby Ray scratches at the scruff on his jaw, leaving behind a smear of grease. “Come on, get in. I’ll drop you wherever you like.”

  “Thanks. You know the Kings of Carnage Clubhouse on the outskirts of town?”

  “Yeah, you could say I’ve been there a time or two.”

  “You ride?”

  “Nah. I thought about it, but Jupiter talked me out of it.”

  Oh, I’d just love to know Tink’s opinion on riding. “How’s that?”

  “Well, she can be pretty convincing when she wants to be. Let’s just put it that way. She’s always coming up with reasons we shouldn’t do stupid shit.”

  “What’s her deal? She seems kinda uptight.”

  Especially since she looks like a fucking rock princess who’s far more likely to be posing for a calendar hung in the garage than actually running the place.

  “Jupiter?” His eyes dart from the road to me and back again. The corners of his mouth turn down. “Why are you askin’?”

  “Just curious.” I shrug, then grab the frame of the window and pretend I’m real interested in the view as we fly through Main Street. Uprising is just like any other small town I’ve passed through between here and Tennessee. The townsfolk take pride in their community, that much is obvious from the manicured lawns to the fresh paint and the trimmed Cherokee Rose bushes, but no town ever came close to the beauty of the Appalachians.

  “Then you best get uncurious,” Bobby Ray says with a low growl. “My little sister don’t date bikers.”

  Sister? Thank fuck I didn’t say anything incriminating. I’m sure Tink would fly her itty-bitty self over to the clubhouse in a fit just to tear me a new asshole. I inhale slowly and take a beat to disguise my irritation before I ask, “There somethin’ wrong with bikers?”

  Bobby Ray purses his lips. “Look, I don’t got no beef with you or the Kings, but I know Jupiter. She ain’t interested.”

  “That her talkin’, or her big brother?”

  He grins. “Well, you can try to shoot your shot, but she’s not backwards about comin’ forward. If I know my sister at all, the fact that you’re riding with me right now means you pissed her off good.”

  I huff. Like I give a shit if the angry feminist is pissed at me. I don’t have time for bitches anyway. I’m here to help out a fellow charter and to put as much distance between me and my lying, cheating fucking ex as possible. The last thing I need is another bitch twisting me up on the inside. I’m married to the goddamn road, to my bike, and I have no intention of putting down roots in rural Georgia.

  We round another bend as we leave downtown behind and the buildings give way to a thicket of trees. The clubhouse gates come into view.

  Bobby Ray pulls over to the shoulder. Clearly, he has no intention of going up the drive. Probably for the best, civilians showing up unannounced are never a good thing. And I’m sure I’d hear all about it
if I let Tink’s brother meet the wrong end of a .45.

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Yeah, no problem, man. We’ll call in a few days when your bike is ready.”

  Great. Now I’m going to be riding bitch.

  I nod and climb out of the cab. Bobby Ray throws it in drive and turns the truck around. I watch it disappear down the dirt road, then I head up the drive and inside the gate.

  “Dude,” Sterling claps me on the back. “What happened to your bike?”

  “Piece of shit broke down on the way back from Atlanta.”

  Ruin pushes off the side of the clubhouse. “Was that Jupiter who just dropped you off?”

  I fucking wish. I grit my teeth. “Bobby Ray.”

  “Oh shit.” Sterling’s smile is fucking Colgate worthy. “What’d you do to piss off the boss lady?”

  “How much time you got?”

  The guys laugh like I’m the butt of some stupid joke.

  “You are never tapping that.” Saint says, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he lights up.

  “Sorry, brother, but I think he’s right,” Mako adds unhelpfully.

  “Never,” Ruin adds.

  “Ever.” Sterling laughs.

  “Are y’all fuckin’ done, now?” I ask impatiently.

  “Nope,” Crow says. “But I’m pretty sure you are.”

  Fucking assholes.

  They can laugh all they want but I’m not gonna give up until Tinkerbelle is bouncing on my big, fat dick. I’ve just got to find a way through her fucking impenetrable, man-hating shield first.

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