Absolution (Heaven's Rejects MC Book 3)

by Avelyn Paige

  I step into the hallway, but Vickie runs smack into my bare chest. Her hands fly out in front of her, but when she sees what object she’s run into, she stammers an apology as she sidesteps me. I laugh off her embarrassment when I see her looking back over her shoulder at me, knowing that the entire town will likely hear about her run in with the half-naked biker in the hallway. No doubt the embellishment will have me being completely naked, but hey, I’ll let her have her fun.

  I step into the bathroom, and get shit done quickly. The hot water did the trick for my muscles, but I hurried to avoid opening up the curtain to find a panting Vickie on the other side of it. Women of a certain age are fucking crazy when it comes to pursuing men, and that’s not the kind of crazy I need or want in my life right now. Though I’m sure some of my brothers would take the chance in a heartbeat.

  Slipping from the bathroom fully dressed and on cougar watch, I hightail it back to my room. Just as I reach the door a familiar ringtone blares from inside. I shake my head as some striptease pop singer and her hit me baby one more time lyrics play through the door.

  Fucking Voodoo.

  That fucking nerd started a game of hacking the club member’s phones and putting the most ridiculous songs as ringtones for all the club brothers. I thought Raze was going to lose his shit when some bullshit pop song interrupted church. Voodoo thought it was hilarious. Raze, not so much.

  The door swings open as I turn the handle, and take long strides to the dresser, where my phone lies.

  “…Hit me baby one more time,” Voodoo sings as I answer.

  “Oh, I’ll hit you fucker the next time I see you,” I growl into the phone.

  “You’re such an angry little elf this time of the morning,” Voodoo chides, as I hear the voices of my brothers laughing in the background.

  “Speakerphone, really?”

  Loud laughter erupts through the speaker, forcing me to pull my phone away from my ear.

  “Sorry, Ratchet,” Hero laughs. “V’s been waiting for days to call you just to hear your reaction. You good?”

  I roll my eyes, knowing the fucker planned this. Payback is a bitch, and I doubt he’ll be laughing about my brand of revenge. Those precious little toys of his might just go missing for a few days.

  “I’m good, brother. I’m assuming he filled you in about why I’m here?” I question.

  “We’re all in the know. You could have told me that’s why you needed to leave. I’d have understood. Hell, I’d have been hot on Dani’s god damn trail if she took off on me.”

  “You have any luck finding her?” Raze asks.

  “You could say that.”

  “Uh oh,” Voodoo’s voice teases through the earpiece. “Trouble in paradise?”

  “This shit was never paradise, V. It’s not like the missed connections bullshit you troll on Craigslist. She wasn’t exactly happy to see my ass.”

  “Hold, please,” Voodoo says, before hushed tones fill the receiver when what sounds like a hand goes over their end of the line. I hear Raze growl and boots hitting the floor in the background.

  “Hello?” I yell into the receiver. “What’s going on?”

  “Gotta go, brother. Trouble may have just walked in the door. I’ll fill you in later,” Voodoo says, before immediately hanging up.

  What the fuck is going on? Shit going down while I am a thousand miles away isn’t exactly what I had in mind. My body immediately tenses, readying for a fight. My brothers and club come first, and if I had to leave to take care of business, I would be risking Ricca taking off on me. Nothing is fucking easy when it comes to my club, and maybe this is a sign that this shit with Ricca, isn’t meant to be. My brothers seem to be able to balance their club and family lives, but my job was a different story. I am the cleanup man who comes back covered in blood, guts, and gasoline when the shit hits the fan. I deal out death like a pharmacy deals out pills to anyone with a prescription. It was my job, and one that I was damn good at. Even the club whores cringed at the sight of me after one of my sessions of please confess your sins and die. How would Ricca react to seeing that with everything she’s been through?

  You should have thought of that shit, before you rode all the way out here, dumbass.

  I wait by the phone for over an hour, before my stomach starts protesting the lack of food in it. Sitting here and waiting isn’t going to change that something is happening with my club, and that I am on the outside for the first time waiting to be filled in. Stuffing my shit in my saddlebags, just in case, I head out the door toward the front of the Inn. Vickie is thankfully tied up on the phone when I walk by, allowing me to get by un-groped.

  The front door chimes as I open it, but she doesn’t even look up. The red and chrome of my bike shines in the sun, reflecting into my eyes. I grab my shades from my saddlebag, slipping them on and making the sun shut the fuck up with its rays of happiness. Settling the bags on my bike, I swing my legs over the warmed metal and flick on the ignition.

  The engine idles between my legs as I try to map out my destination on my iPhone. Google doesn’t fail me and finds a diner just up the road. I think this is the first time that I have ever wished for a Wal-Mart to be close by, but the closest one is nearly an hour away. The citizens of this town must have a secret because I have no fucking clue how they survive this far out of civilization. No major hospitals or businesses outside of the bars and diner. Do people just drop dead and that’s it?

  I pop the kickstand, and head towards the diner, hoping the entire time that the food there is edible. I smell the place before I see it. The air becomes thick with the scent of fried food and lost dreams. I might be exaggerating on the latter, but one look at this place and the people who live here is self-explanatory. Just a few blocks into the ride, the diner comes into view. Much like the rest of the town, it’s stuck in the nineteen fifties. The old boxcar design built into the front of the building doesn’t do a damn thing for the place, but I doubt that this town cares much. This is the kind of place that the city dwellers would die over for its rustic esthetic. Me? I don’t give a flying fuck about materialistic things. Only my brothers, my club, and this damn woman are all I need to be happy. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  I note the local LEO’s squad car parked in the first spot by the door. Their presence is both a good and a bad thing for me. Good in the sense that if they are eating here, the food won’t kill me. The bad part of it is that I stick out like a Goth at a pop show in this place. Nothing screams trouble like a tattooed biker riding into town. Just as I pull into an open spot, the local cop steps outside the diner and heads straight to his car. His head is turned to his walkie talkie on his shoulder so he doesn’t notice me. I watch as he drives off, and dismount my bike.

  Stepping into the place, the air conditioning smacks me in the face as people stop talking once I enter. Every eye is trained on me, an outsider to their small town, and every move I make is monitored closely. A whispered laugh leaves my lips, while I smirk at their reaction. And they say small town USA is the friendliest part of this country.

  Scanning to find an open place at the bar, a sound of breaking dishes and glasses startles me. A collective gasp from the crowd around me draws my attention to the source of the noise.

  I smirk even more when I find Ricca staring at me like a deer in headlights with broken plates surrounding her feet on the floor.

  “Morning, Siren,” I chide to her, before crossing the room and settling onto the red worn plastic of the barstool. The hushed murmurs of the other diners begin to fill up the place as Ricca quickly bends to start cleaning up the mess.

  I have to say, judging from her reaction, that I do know how to make an entrance.

  The other waitress, a pretty blonde thing, rushes to her side. She kneels beside her as a large man steps from the bat looking wing doors of the kitchen, his hands firmly crossing his chest.

  “That’s coming out of your check, girl.”

  Ricca l
ooks up at the man towering over her, and I see her shiver at his dominating presence. She remains stone silent, trying to quickly clean up the mess, but the guy doesn’t take the hint. The blonde stands abruptly; moving away from the scene I have a feeling is about to take place.

  He reaches towards her, grabbing her elbow and hauling her off the ground roughly.

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me, Ricca,” He hisses as I spring from my seat, charging toward them both. No one touches my girl like that and without her permission.

  “Get this fucking mess cleaned up or you’re fired,” he screams, shaking her.

  “Big Joe ─ she stammers, before I cut her off, when I move between the two of them and force him to break contact.

  “This ain’t any of your business, pal,” he snarls. I shove Ricca behind me then get into this fucker’s face.

  “Keep your fucking hands off her,” I growl. My hands fist at my sides as the man postures up to me. Rage courses through my body at the vision of him touching her again. She may not want me, but no one has the right to shove around a woman like that.

  “What I do with my employee is my business. Why don’t you go sit your lily ass back on that stool and let me handle my business?”

  He reaches for her again, but I step into his path and shove his hand away.

  “Ratchet, please,” Ricca begs from behind my back. “It’s fine.”

  “See,” the man says, gesturing to Ricca, who shivers behind me. “It’s none of your business. Now get to stepping.”

  Wrong move, dickhead.

  I swing wide, connecting a right hook to his face. He stumbles back, falling into the bar top. A few men from the diner jolt out of their seats towards me. I turn, staring them down. They back down immediately, and I pivot my attention to Ricca.

  “You okay?” I question, looking for redness forming or emerging bruises from his grip on her arm, and a sign that it’s okay to touch her. I lift my hand to her jaw line, caressing her soft skin with my elbow and she leans into my touch.

  “I’m fine,” she mutters, just as I am jerked backwards. The man wraps his forearm around my throat in an attempt to choke me. Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t work. I angle my back releasing the pressure on my neck enough to head butt him. He stumbles back again and taking the chance, I turn, kneeing him in the stomach.

  He gasps for air and falls to his knees. His eyes fall on Ricca.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” he gasps. “You’re fired.”

  “No!” she exclaims, glaring at me. “Big Joe, you can’t do this.”

  “Get OUT!” he screams, while wiping blood away from his lip. Knowing the fucker is bleeding brings a smile to my face. He should be happy that a bloody lip is all he received, after pulling that kind of shit on my girl.

  Ricca shoves past me towards the bar, gathering her things from underneath the counter top. I try to stop her, but she rushes past me and right out the door. Big Joe still gasps for air on the ground below me. I swipe a rag off the countertop and kneel before him.

  “You don’t fucking touch what’s mine,” I warn him, tossing the towel into his face. “If you so much as breathe in her direction, I will end you.”

  I rise from the ground and stalk out of the place without so much as looking at the people gaping around me. It was a risk getting physical with the guy, but no one touches her or any other woman like that in front of me. I may be a cold-hearted killer for my club, but even I know that rule. Women and kids are off limits, and should be protected. A lesson I wish my own mother had learned prior to being my incubator. Some people were never meant to be parents, her included.

  Just as I step through the door, I see Ricca peeling out of the parking lot in a truck. Dust fills the air, clouding her escape. I look around, surprised by the lack of red and blue lights. Knowing the patrons of the diner were smart enough to not get the police involved, eases the tension of the possibility of staying the night in the gray bar hotel for assault. I’ve done the jail thing before as a teenager, and I’d rather avoid that shit happening again. Apparently, taking orders is just not something I am equipped to do, unless it comes from my Prez and the club.

  I smirk watching her leave because this cat and mouse game is only just beginning.

  “FUCK!” I scream as soon as I slide into my truck. Anger courses through my body like raging rapids. Ratchet has been here less than twenty-four hours, and he’s already managed to get me fired from a job I desperately need. That son of a bitch thinks he can bulldoze his way into my life, and expects me to be fine with it.

  It’s not fucking fine. He nearly cost me my job at Willie’s last night with his back-alley rendezvous “You are mine” bullshit. I was honestly surprised that Willie bought his fake as fuck story and let him back in the place. Thinking about him talking with my boss, while I worked, makes my blood boil.

  The nerve of that man to do to this to me, under the guise of protecting me. I don’t need his protection anymore because with it comes a price that I don’t think I am willing to pay again. My heart on his platter just waiting to be devoured.

  My hands beat against the weathered leather of the steering wheel, while my chest heaves and my heart beats wildly.

  Why was he even there? Is he following me? I know it’s a small town, but after last night, I had thought for sure that he’d have left by now.

  There was no sign of him this morning, even though a part of me wished to find him outside the shit hole I temporarily call home right now, but that’s beside the point. My feelings be damned. He is butting into my plans and starting to make this entire thing harder than it should be. I was dead fucking wrong in my assumption, and now, I am paying for it.

  My mind replays the entire scene over and over in my head, and it frustrates me even more. The images flutter by, before focusing in on him as I pulled away. His lips pursed as he watched me peel out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. He didn’t budge from his spot there in the dusty aftermath of my theatrics. Not him. Instead, the bastard smirked at me.

  Smirked.

  He fucking ruined a piece of my plan, and he fucking smirked, while doing it. It took everything I had in me not to throw this truck into reverse and run over his pretentious ass. To think, I was happy to feel his light touch on my cheek. Happy that he was protecting me from Big Joe’s unnecessary tirade, but in the end, that is what got me fired, and now I’m fucking pissed off.

  I was already on Big Joe’s shit list after being over an hour late for the start of my shift. I tossed and turned all night, reliving my encounter with Ratchet outside of Willie’s. Even as I dozed, his face haunted my dreams. His eyes drawing me into him. His body joined with mine in a passionate embrace of intertwined limbs and screams of passion. His hands touching every inch of my body and making me feel alive again. Just the two of us without the pull of the world trying to tear us apart. Now that I am awake, it’s only worse.

  I try to slow my breathing by exhaling and inhaling deeply, but my breathing exercise is cut short by my cell phone ringing in the seat next to me. Its chimes continue and abruptly end as soon as I pull off onto the shoulder. Far too many accidents have resulted in the use of a cell phone while driving, and California laws forbid its use, without a Bluetooth device. Old habits don’t fade easily, and because of my one rule following nature, I miss the call.

  “Shit,” I mutter, while reaching over for my phone. I quickly unlock the screen, and pull up the missed call. Seeing the familiar number, I curse. I throw my head back against the headrest of the bench seat and release an exasperated sigh. It was the caseworker for my brother. With a flick of my finger, I hit the button to return her call.

  The phone rings as I force my heavy breathing to quiet. The tone rings four times, before someone answers on the other side of the line.

  “Kentucky Cabinet for Health and Family Services. How may I direct your call?” the operator says in a clipped tone.

  “Nico
le Wild, please,” I respond, trying to ease my nerves by tapping my fingers on the dashboard.

  “One moment, please,” the woman responds, before the transfer goes through.

  “This is Wild,” my caseworker gruffly declares.

  “Hey, Nicole,” I stammer. “It’s Erica Delmont returning your call.”

  “Ah, Ms. Delmont. I’m glad you called right back. Listen, I am about to step into a meeting, but I wanted to check-in about the status of your application.”

  “About that,” I stall, knowing she is not going to like my excuse. For nearly a month, she’s been after me about finishing up the application to petition the courts. I stalled the best I could to get things and myself in a better standing, but as my caseworker, she is about as impatient as one can get. I understand that my brother being with my asshole father isn’t an ideal situation, but things needed to be in place so that the courts don’t have a reason to tell me no the first time around.

  “Until we receive your two-hundred-dollar payment to initialize the filing with the courts for a relative adoption, I cannot proceed any further.”

  “I understand that, Miss Wild. I had some unexpected changes to my employment, but I am working on getting the filing fee to you soon.”

  I hear shuffling papers in the background, which annoys me instantly. I get that she is busy, but her insistence to keep working, while we are talking, strikes me as rude.

  “I understand, but as I said, we cannot proceed without it. I do need to clarify one other thing with you. I have in my notes from our phone conversation that you listed that you are unmarried. Is that still the case?”

  Why does that even matter?

  “Yes. That’s right,” I curtly reply. “It’s been three weeks since I last spoke with you, Nicole. It’s not like good men grow on trees around here.”