Harm's Way: Riot MC Biloxi

by Karen Renee

  Her trailing off into silence lasted so long, I thought she hung up. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here. I’ve ordered you some food. It’ll arrive tomorrow or the next day.”

  “Suzy! I told you I didn’t need help.”

  “And I told you, I could help you out. This works even better.”

  I bit back my groan. “I’ll pay you back, Suze.”

  “Don’t sweat it. You work tonight?”

  “Yeah. The way my luck’s going, I’ll be at a tournament table and dealers split one huge tip instead of earning a tip with every hand.”

  “Stop. Be positive, Stephie. At least you’ll have tip money, after tonight.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed.

  “It’s better than nothing. So, on that note, I’ll let you go. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Har

  “WHAT ARE YOU GONNA do with your winnings from last night, man?” Brute asked from the open doorway of the garage bay.

  Traffic flowed by steadily on Division Street. From the dimming sunlight outside the shop, Har suspected it was well after four in the afternoon.

  Har continued buffing the bike he’d finished the day before.

  “You wanna hit New Orleans? Go to a strip club over there... or we could find a woman willing—”

  “No,” Har cut him off, throwing the chamois on the counter. “I told you. Sharing women was great when it happened, but I’m done, man. Need to find a woman of my own. As for those winnings, just gonna add ’em to my bankroll.”

  Brute gave him a hard look, then turned away. Har thought that would be the end of it, but Brute turned back. “You’re not gonna find another Trixie.”

  Har blew out a breath. “This isn’t your business, but I’m not looking for another Trixie. I start looking for a woman, I want one who gets it. A woman who fits.”

  “‘Fits?’ As in, fits in?” Brute asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Not necessarily, because if that were the case, I’d be fine with a decent sweet-butt. I mean a woman who accepts my lifestyle and one where I bring something to her life.”

  Brute shook his head. “You been watching talk shows or some shit? You sound like a chick, man.”

  “You want my fist in your face, asshole?”

  Brute held his hands up. “Nah, man. I’m just razzin’ you, Prez. Didn’t realize you’d gotten so serious all of a sudden.”

  Har shook his head. “Not sudden. Trixie comin’ here and facing her shit storm over a year ago put things into perspective. She got what she wanted, and I’m thrilled for her. Problem is, I realized I want some of those same things.”

  Brute’s head rose in a slow nod, his brown eyes probing. “Good to know, brother. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

  Har fought rolling his eyes. “Not lookin’ for a club bunny, man.”

  Brute nodded. “I get it. I spend time outside our clubhouse, so I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  After a head shake, Har asked, “What are you doin’ here? Just want to spend my money instead of yours?”

  The grimace crossing Brute’s face made Har pay closer attention. After a beat, Brute said, “No. Massive and Wreck ran into some problems with distribution.”

  If he could go back in time, Har would tell himself to fight harder against Brink, their former president, and the rest of his brothers. Other Riot chapters stopped trading in drugs years ago, though not all for the same reasons. Now that marijuana was becoming big business it was harder to make money without moving into harder drugs like meth and coke. Distribution issues with their product were becoming more prevalent and more of a headache.

  Making matters worse, the city of Biloxi had passed stronger zoning ordinances which would prevent the club from opening a gentlemen’s club which would bring in more revenue for them. Yet fewer ways for other brothers to earn money meant the resistance to get out of the drug trade was as fierce now as it was fifteen years ago.

  “What kind of problems? Same as usual?”

  Brute shook his head. “Wreck thinks these two were undercover.”

  Har’s brows knit. “Really? Why?”

  “Just a vibe he picked up,” Brute said with a head shake.

  He glanced at the clock. It was five minutes after five o’clock, and he didn’t usually work Saturdays. Putting the chamois in a bin, Har hit the button to shut the garage door.

  Brute nodded at the chopper. “That finally finished?”

  “Yeah. I’ll call the owner Monday morning. Need you to tell the others there’s church in the morning.”

  Brute groaned.

  “Get over it, brother. Besides, you know I’m talking about a ten-thirty meeting.”

  “Yeah, but that means I’m not heading to New Orleans tonight.”

  Har’s hand rested on the light switch when a thought hit him. “You have contact info for Stephie?”

  “Come again?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Got a phone number, but not sure if it’s still the one she uses. Why the fuck do you want it?”

  Har met Brute’s irritated gaze. “Saw her bike before I went in the house, and obviously before I knew who she was. It’s a sweet ride with a sweeter paint job. I want to know who did it.”

  “I’d rather know what it’ll take to get her off the damn thing. Not safe—”

  “Don’t even, man. How many times did that argument work against you from your parents?”

  Brute’s jaw clenched.

  “She ain’t gonna be any different. Hell, she’s a woman, it’ll be even worse, you go tellin’ her she ain’t safe and shit.”

  Brute shook his head. “You’re right. And you mentioned she’s living here now. I need to find out where. It’s been a long time since she’s been out here, as far as I know. Things are different.”

  “Yeah. Be good you let her know about that, too.”

  He and Brute had been friends since they were nine years old and he hadn’t forgotten how much Brute hated having two stepsisters when his dad remarried. Though, he never rubbed it in when Brute complained after they were gone. The love he had for Stephie and Susan snuck up on Brute. In Har’s experience, love did that more often than not. It snuck in at weird times.

  The look on Brute’s face said he didn’t like Stephie being in town.

  “And she lost her entire stack to you last night. What was that all about?”

  Har arched a brow, but didn’t answer. And he wasn’t going to let Brute know that Stephie had signed over an entire paycheck to get in the game. That was what concerned Har. It wasn’t that she had no business at a poker table, it was that gambling with a paycheck indicated serious desperation.

  What would drive a woman like Stephanie Combes to desperation?

  Chapter 3

  Don't Get Your Knickers in a Twist

  Stephanie

  I DRAGGED MY ASS INSIDE the efficiency apartment I called home. My feet were killing me and I wanted nothing more than to sprawl on my futon, but my phone was dying and I had to keep it charged. As I plugged it in, I noticed I had a message from my sister.

  “Stephie! Our former stepbrother... is he our former stepbrother? How does this even work? Sorry, I’m tired and babbling. Anyway, Sammy called. Wanted your number. Actually, he demanded your number and was insistent I tell him where you’re living. No worries. I put him off, for the time being. Said, I’d text your number to him once you gave me the green light. He tried to pull the family card, but I pointed out he hasn’t so much as sent us Christmas cards over the past years, even though I sent some to his Dad for a while. Anyhoots, hope things are looking up and I’ll talk to you soon, honey. Bye!”

  I groaned, left the phone on the charger, and trudged to my bed. Being sent to work the Three Card Poker table on the casino floor was a rare thing for me, but that’s where I had found myself tonight. It was debatable if I made more money on the general floor or in the poker room, but tonight I felt certain it would have been a wash.r />
  Part of me wished I had paid Suzy for her fancy foot-tub. We shared it, and when I was moving and downsizing my stuff she wanted me to have it. What I wouldn’t give to soak my tootsies right now.

  Curling up on the futon, I wondered why Sammy would be so adamant to know where I lived. Then I thought about Michael.

  Or, I suppose I had to think of him as Har now.

  When Suzy and I lived here as young girls, I had the hugest crush on him. With six years between us, Suzy had told me I was crazy. Now, though, six years was nothing. In fact, it was ideal.

  However, I still thought I was crazy if I expected him to give me even a second look. The years hadn’t just been kind to him since age sixteen, they had been bountiful to him. His sandy blond hair had grown long, but it wasn’t lank. It fell to his shoulders and it made me jealous how it was wavy, without being frizzy like my wavy hair. Those green eyes of his were flirtatious as hell. Whether he knew it or not, he rocked his goatee in a way most men couldn’t. He had bulked up since I last saw him, but seeing as he wasn’t even eighteen at the time, that was to be expected. His arms were corded and thick, but not overly so, like Brute’s arms were. Just enough to promise he could overpower the average Joe.

  My phone dinged with a notification and I couldn’t believe it hadn’t rolled into “do not disturb” mode. I should have ignored it, but curiosity would kill me if my own stupidity didn’t do it first.

  As I walked into the kitchen, my feet felt slightly better. Bizarre how that worked. Getting off my feet for just twenty minutes always made them feel half-way like new.

  The notification was for a new email from Turk.

  Turk, a member of the Jacksonville Riot MC, used to be my boss at the Flatiron Bar & Grill. While he never admitted it, I suspected he had a thing for my sister. It was the only explanation for his frequent presence at Suzy’s place. Sure, I had been staying there at the time, but he spent way more time with us than necessary, and his constant chatter with Suzy said it all to me. I hadn’t enlightened my sister because I didn’t think there was any way she didn’t know Turk was interested in her.

  The thing I didn’t understand was why Turk hadn’t laid his cards on the table with Suze. The brothers of the Riot MC took life by the balls. If he had an interest in Suzy, why he hadn’t gone after her?

  Turk ranked as one of the only men on the planet I trusted. He had helped me get moved, and by ‘helped’ I mean he drove the U-Haul truck with my bike strapped to a trailer on the back. I could see where Suzy might view that as him being interested in me, not her, but I knew Turk was just that much of an upstanding guy. My phone showed the time as just after one in the morning, which would make it just after two in Jacksonville. Why would Turk email me so late?

  I opened his message and thanked my lucky stars I did.

  Yo Steph!

  Hope your fresh start is going well in Biloxi.

  Brute needed your address and contact info. You never told me you and Suzy were his stepsisters, what the hell woman? Holding out much?

  Anyway, told him where you’re at. It’ll be good to know other Riot brothers have your back and I don’t have to worry so much.

  Later,

  T

  I wanted to be mad at him, but I couldn’t. Brotherhood was everything with those guys in a way most women would never understand. I liked to think I understood, but I didn’t, really. My mind couldn’t wrap around being so loyal to another person who wasn’t my blood-kin. I couldn’t open my mind to go there, even though I envied the hell out of them for having that.

  A family made from bonds thicker than blood, those bonds strong enough to endure and forgive anything.

  I had never had that, and my mother wasn’t a good example for loving bonds. She loved me, yes. But she didn’t have a bond with me and Suzy that would forgive much, let alone endure anything. When I thought about it like that, I would think she was a bad mother, but I couldn’t bring myself to say that. She was the only mother I had, and deep down I knew she did the best she could. It helped when at the end of her days, she had been diagnosed with depression. As more of that diagnosis was explained, I realized she’d had that my entire childhood, but it went undiagnosed.

  My morose trip down memory lane halted when someone pounded on my door. I jumped with the noise, and I felt a rush of fear surge up my neck, but I tamped it down.

  Either Brute’s fists were tearing down my door, or it was someone else. I grabbed my phone and tip-toed to the door. From the peephole I saw it was Brute. As quickly as I could, I unchained the door, then twisted the deadbolt.

  I opened the door, but blocked it with my body. “What are you doing here, Sammy?”

  He gave me a long look before his chin dipped in a semi-nod. “You’re a hard lady to find, Stephie.”

  I smiled. “You think that might be by design?”

  He shook his head. “How about you let me in, so the rest of the people around here don’t hear us?”

  I shrugged and moved out of the way of the door. He shouldered inside the room and his size hit me in a way it hadn’t Friday night. Sammy wasn’t just big like his father, he was gigantic.

  While he turned and locked my door, I said, “Don’t tell me, I want to guess. You bench three-eighty and can clean and jerk four-twenty-five.”

  He turned from the door with his eyes closed. When his eyes opened, they glittered with irritation. “You shittin’ me right now?”

  In a small voice, I said, “Um, no. I’m sorry. I suppose that was a rude way to open things. So, again, I’m sorry.”

  He raked a hand down his stubbled face. “Christ. Don’t be sorry for that. Be sorry you’re staying in such a fuckin’ dive. Speaking of that, tell me why you’re staying in a hovel like this?”

  My arms crossed on my chest. “It’s not a hovel, for heaven’s sake.”

  His eyes widened and he snorted. “It’s not far off, babe. But, you haven’t answered my question.”

  I leaned forward. “And I don’t have to. Hell, you haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”

  He trudged two more feet into my efficiency before he stopped dead. As his head twisted to take in the space, I realized he didn’t know it was a one-room apartment. His eyes glittered anew, but with sheer anger. “Fuck this shit, Steph. You aren’t spending another night here. My room at the compound is bigger than this.”

  I huffed out a breath. “I’m not leaving, Sammy.”

  “Brute.”

  “Whatever. I’ve been here three weeks and no problems. You’re overreacting, and besides, your room at the compound doesn’t have a kitchenette.”

  He chuckled derisively. “Damn right it doesn’t, because there’s a full-fledged and well-stocked kitchen three steps from my door.”

  My traitorous stomach growled at the notion of a well-stocked kitchen and he heard it. “I’m not going anywhere, Brute. I don’t need pity.”

  His hand slid through his hair and rested on the back of his head. “It won’t be pity, woman. It’ll be keeping you safe. For fuck’s sake, do you know where you are?”

  I blew out a breath. “I know it’s not the best part of town, but it’s quiet.”

  “Now. An hour from now, there might gunshots.”

  “Haven’t been so far.”

  “Jesus. Let’s stop arguing. I’m here because I wanted to know where you live. Heard you worked late tonight, so I knew you wouldn’t be asleep yet.”

  My eyebrow arched upward. “You heard I worked late?”

  He grinned. “Biloxi might be a tourist trap, but it’s a small town at heart, honey. Doesn’t hurt I got connections who told me...”

  I nodded knowingly. His connections were either Delmas Huntley or Charles Huntley. To get my job, I’d cashed in a reference from Beast, another Riot MC brother. I probably could’ve landed the job without the good word, but when moving to a new state, any leg-up helped. “Fine. I just got home half an hour ago. You could’ve called to find out where I live
.”

  His grin brightened. “Yeah, except those two men are both worried about you. While they didn’t have your unit number, they know where you’re living, and they know it’s not right.”

  I straightened my spine. “It’s temporary, Brute.”

  “Call me, Sam.”

  My head cocked. “Really? After you insis—”

  “I was being a hot-head. So were you, but... I’ll always think of you as my little stepsister.”

  Reluctantly, I smiled. “Thanks. I’ve missed thinking of you as my stepbrother. But all the family reunion shit aside, I’m not leaving.”

  He tilted his head back, his eyes widened, and he leaned forward immediately. “Did you miss the shit-brown stain on your ceiling?”

  My eyes drifted up to an ugly brown mark on the ceiling.

  Thing was, I would swear that hadn’t been there three weeks ago. Hell, it hadn’t even been there thirteen hours ago, because I’d been on the phone with Suzy, laying on the futon staring at the ceiling.

  “How the fuck does that happen in half a day?” I whispered.

  “Half a day? What are you on about?”

  I grimaced at the ceiling before looking back to him. “I talked to Suzy this morning before work. I laid on the futon staring at the ceiling and that stain was not there, I assure you.”

  His head dipped and he exhaled in such a way, I knew he was hiding laughter. “You assure me,” he muttered. Looking down at me, he said, “Get your shit, Steph, You’re on the back of my bike. Let’s go.”

  That snapped something inside me. “No, Brute. I’m not on the back of anybody’s bike because I have my own bike. Got it?”

  He sighed and it sounded remorseful until he pointed a finger at me. “And that’s another thing we’ll be talking about. You got no business on a bike, Steph.”

  I laughed. “Guess I can paint you the color ‘hypocrite’ because your dad said the same shit to you, right after you and Michael fixed up that first bike of yours.”

  His head shook as his eyes narrowed. “No, Stephanie. The first thing he said was how badly he would kick my ass for taking you on a ride without a helmet, let alone your Mama’s permission.”