Hard Rider (A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance)

by Wild, Nikki

  And sure enough, thirty minutes later, Blade was sittin’ on my brand new sofa, drinkin’ the coffee Bex made for us. She’d woken up alright, and angel that she is, she accepted everything I told her without question. I didn’t want to tell her too much, but she needed to know enough to stay safe. No matter what happened, I was going to keep her safe.

  “You get Hunter?” I asked, drinking my own coffee, needing it fiercely. Blade grimaced.

  “No,” he said. “And that don’t make me feel good.”

  It didn’t make me feel good, either. It was one thing for the older guys to miss a call or two on their cell phones, but I knew that a kid Hunter’s age would keep his phone glued to his damn hip. I hoped he was just dead to the world with a Bukowski-sized hangover.

  Fleet showed up first, and then they all started trickling in, the old guard, looking cranky. Fleet and Mack, Porky and Slider, Jonesy and my old man. I was surprised to see Eagle and Boon at my door, both of them being my age and cocky as fuck, sure candidates for Dutch’s side. Damn, I hated that we were reduced to that: sides. Dutch’s side, and our side. A club should never be divided like that, brother against brother. It hurt just trying to understand what it meant for the future.

  By the time we decided to get started, my living room was full up and I’d run out of coffee mugs. Bex dutifully disappeared into the bedroom, knowing she couldn’t be privy to club talk, even with the club torn asunder the way it was, not even resembling a club at all. I’d say fifteen men showed up, about half the club, all of ‘em lookin’ grim.

  “Dutch has officially fucked us,” Grinder said, cutting straight to the chase before Blade or I could present our case. “You boys are our officers, and we’ll follow you, but I feel I got the right to say this. That fool Dutch fucked us seven ways from Sunday, and we’re gonna die, one by one, unless we do somethin’ about it.”

  “Well said,” Blade offered, deferring to Grinder’s years of experience. “I’d say that about sums it up.”

  “What’s his angle? Why the fuck didn’t we hear about this bullshit from Dutch, instead of gettin’ caught this way, with our pants around our ankles?” Mack growled, his hands clenching and unclenching in his anger; considering his arthritis, that said a great deal about his anger.

  “He’s got himself thinkin’ we can push the Blackhawks out,” Eagle said. “He thinks we should take over their territory. And I reckon he didn’t think any of you old boys would go for such an idea, and might even sway us young’ns against him. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Fleet said. “But how is it that you know all that, Eagle? He come to you, too?”

  Eagle blanched, stole a glance at Boon.

  “Yup,” he finally said. “We heard it by word of mouth from Soldier, but basically, yup. We were meant to be joinin’ him on his fool’s crusade. Can’t speak for Boon here, but I like drinkin’, smokin’, and fuckin’ way too much to put my life on the line for greed.”

  As though to punctuate this, Eagle lit a cigarette, Boon nodding at his side.

  “Smart boys,” Grinder said. “At least we got two of ya.”

  “So what next? I ain’t gonna be waitin’ around Cutter to see what the Blackhawks do for revenge,” Fleet offered, and all eyes turned to Blade and I at the front of the room.

  “Well…”

  “I know where we can go,” Mack suddenly offered. “For the time bein’, if we want a safe house. Got a cabin out near the zinc mine, ain’t fallen into the ground yet, and I don’t reckon anyone knows about it.”

  “Fuckin’ A, Mack,” Blade said. “That’s perfect. You sure Dutch doesn’t know ‘bout it?”

  “I ain’t sayin’ I’m sure of shit, considerin’ how sure I was that no one would be dumb enough to break the truce, but I don’t see how he could know,” Mack said with a shrug. “At any rate, it’s a good place to lay low, if that’s what we’re fixin’ to do.”

  “I ain’t layin’ low,” Grinder suddenly said. “I’m goin’ straight to Lip, and tellin’ him we’re at his disposal.”

  Lip. The Blackhawk’s President. Grinder glanced in my direction.

  “That is, if you don’t try to stop me,” he said.

  “I won’t,” I nodded. “I’ll be right at your side.”

  “That makes three of us,” Blade said.

  “You suggestin’ that we offer to fight against our own men?” Porky protested, his voice rough from years of smokin’ and hollerin’. “’Cause that just don’t seem right.”

  “They ain’t our own men anymore,” Fleet argued. “The minute Dutch went ahead and drew first blood, without tellin’ those of us who been riding for him for years, who been keepin’ that truce before he ever wore a patch…well, that’s the minute he broke this club in half. Those who followed him ain’t my brothers no more.”

  Silence fell upon the room as Fleet’s word rang through our minds, tellin’ a truth no one wanted to acknowledge. But he was right, and the slow nods of the gathered men told me that everyone knew it, even Porky.

  “We’ll put it to a vote,” Blade said. “All in favor of offering our aid to the Blackhawks, until we can drive Dutch out of town and get our club back to rights?”

  The room resonated with ayes.

  “All opposed?”

  Silence.

  And in that way, the matter was decided.

  Bex

  The bedroom door was barely shut before I was on him.

  “You’re not going,” I hissed. “Let them go. You don’t need to be there. I’m not going to let you…”

  “You were listening?” Cross’ eyes flashed, his mouth a sneer, arms crossed over his chest. I knew I was treading on a lot of toes here. Even old ladies were strictly barred from club business, and I didn’t even have that distinction yet. Besides that, no man – especially a bike-riding man like Cross – wants his woman telling him what he can and can’t do.

  But letting my man ride straight into the arms of those who’d kill him? I wasn’t too keen on that, either. The way I saw it, he was doing me wrong just as much as I was doing him wrong.

  “It’s not exactly a big apartment,” I spat. “And these walls ain’t sound proof.”

  His eyes stayed narrow, his shoulders high with tension.

  “And what makes you think you can convince me not to do what my duty says I must? I love you, but I’m a Crusader through and through.”

  “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be,” I cried. “Maybe you should make being my man your priority!”

  I knew I was sounding crazy. But shit, I felt crazy. Cross wasn’t just thinking about a suicide mission, he was fixing on leading it! And I was just supposed to sit around and wait and hope that he made it back in one piece? Fuck no. I crossed the room to stand before him, meeting all the venom in his eyes with all the fever in mine.

  “Don’t you make me choose, woman,” he grit out. “Don’t you dare make me choose.”

  “I’m not the one who’s making you choose, Cross,” I said. “The club is. You ride with them, or you ride with me. I could sit by and watch you beat men half to death in the club’s name, but I’m not gonna be waiting here for you if you go traipsing off into Blackhawks territory.”

  “Oh, you’re not? And where are you gonna go, Bex? You gonna go home to Arkansas? You gonna hitch a ride across the states?”

  He was calling my bluff, and I knew it.

  “I still got money,” I spat. “Half the money Dutch promised. I’ll be out of here and heading towards Mexico before you can even turn that Vincent ‘round the corner.”

  We stood, face-to-face and eye-to-eye, for a long, full minute, both with our chests heaving and our nostrils flaring. Like prize fighters in a ring.

  And then something awful happened.

  Cross gave up.

  I watched his shoulders slump, his head starting to shake back and forth, slow and sad.

  “I can’t stop you, Bex,” he said. “And you can’t stop me. So I guess that leaves us in no kind of
shape to be fightin’. If you can’t stand the waitin’, if you’re fixed on leavin’, you better do it now.”

  He stepped to the side, his eyes never leaving mine but looking miles away. My heart thudded dull and slow in my chest.

  “Cross…”

  “I wanted to protect you, Bex,” he said. “But maybe you’re better off leavin’ town. I can only try to keep you safe. Can’t make no promises. Maybe anything I could do for you would just put you in more danger. Hard to say, but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “I don’t care about my safety, Cross,” I said gently, his surrender triggering mine. “I care about yours. Blood’s been shed. Blackhawks aren’t gonna let you waltz in like nothing.”

  “That’s my worry to worry ‘bout,” he said. “I’d die for these men, same as I’d die for you.”

  “You’re really just gonna let me go?”

  “Bex, I couldn’t stop you the first time,” he said, wincing. “I don’t reckon I could stop you now.”

  “Cross…”

  “I told you, leave if you’re gonna leave,” he cut me off, growing angry again. “Longer you stay here, less chance you’ll get out at all.”

  “Baby…”

  “And don’t fuckin’ baby me,” he shouted, scaring me so bad that I jumped. “I ain’t your baby, Bex. I’m your fuckin’ man. I’m your man, or I’m nothin’. You live with me ridin’ for the Crusaders, the way a man ought to do, or you don’t live with me at all. You got me?”

  “Why? Why are you so damn willing to kill yourself for them?” I asked the question even though I already knew the answer. I hadn’t buried my father just to forget why. A Crusader was a Crusader until the last beat of his heart. Taking the patch wasn’t like trying on a pair of shoes. You rode for your brothers, and if you died, you died for them, too. Wasn’t that half the damn reason I loved Cross, anyway? Because I knew that his heart was strong enough to hold me – being a Crusader made him strong enough to hold the whole world.

  “You know why,” he growled, like he could read my thoughts. “You can pretend like you don’t know all you want, but I know you do. Just like I know you’re gonna go where I tell you to go, and let me take care of my men, the way I vowed to do when they chose me as Sergeant.”

  My lip was quivering, my eyes threatening to tear. But when he turned to me, quicker than I could react, and grabbed me up in his arms, I was all compliance.

  “I’m gonna keep you safe, Bex,” he said, his lips brushing mine.

  “I don’t care,” I whispered, trying to resist him and failing. “I don’t care what happens to me, Cross. I just want you to come home. I just need you to come back to me. Promise me, you’ll come back.”

  I’d made a promise like that, a long time ago. I hadn’t kept it. But Cross – he was better than me. He wouldn’t make a promise he didn’t plan on keeping.

  “I promise,” he said. “I’ll come back to you, Bex Carter. Always.”

  Sealed with a kiss, his promise rang hollow in my head but true in my heart. I’d vowed to keep Cross, and that meant keeping him through every foolish ride, every panicky night, every hour of worry.

  This was the life I was born into. This was the life I’d tried to escape, only to find myself right back in it. Because it was meant for me, just like Cross was meant for me, just like I was meant for Cross. Some people get the white picket fence. Some people get the wild ride. You don’t get to trade, so you better make it work the best you can.

  Cross

  Sendin’ Bex off on the back of Mack’s bike, to that cabin in the woods where I hoped they’d be safe, I was damn close to shakin’ in my boots. And I’m not tellin’ you that because I’m proud of it, believe me. I’d lay down my life for my club any day. But Bex’s life meant a whole lot more. If anyone found our safe house, found her…

  Grinder put a hand on my shoulder, and when I turned to him he nodded gravely. He’d loved my mother something fierce, and I knew he could tell what was going through my head. He’d lost his old lady to cancer, and never recovered. If I lost Bex to my own bullishness, I might as well have a Blackhawk bullet crack through my skull.

  But we didn’t have time to fret over women. The sooner we got to the Blackhawks, the better. Likely, they were already mobilizing, preparing to lash back at us. They might very well shoot us down the second we crossed into their territory. Lord knows, if the shoe was on the other foot, we wouldn’t be overeager to listen to anyone wearing their colors.

  Not that we were stupid enough to wear our cuts when we rode in.

  That didn’t stop a gang of ‘em from cutting us off not even a half mile into their territory. Four men, looking angry as all hell, already with their fingers curling ‘round their guns. The three of us – Grinder, Blade, and I – put our hands in the air as soon as we could, hoped to hell and back that they would give us two seconds to explain before mowing us down.

  The man leading their patrol put up a hand to stop his men from shooting.

  “You Crusaders?” he shouted.

  “Yessir,” Blade shouted back. “But we come in peace.”

  “Yeah fuckin’ right, and I’m a neon green peahen,” the man roared, and almost signaled for his troop to open fire.

  “We’re unarmed! We just wanna talk! We’re not ridin’ for Dutch anymore, we want to help you get rid of him. You take us to Lip, you tell him Grinder wants to make his case.” Grinder’s voice was strong despite his age. I hadn’t heard him talk like that in a long time. Not since I was a kid and gettin’ myself into trouble three times a day.

  The leader held his hand steady, considering us. Then, he lowered his arm, and the men behind him dropped their hands from their guns. The sigh of relief we collectively released could have blown Humpty Dumpty off his wall. I couldn’t hear what the lead man said to his patrol, but it became clear enough as two of their riders cycled round us.

  “Follow,” he yelled, and we obeyed, flanked on all sides by Blackhawks. We rode straight to their clubhouse, which was packed full, every man from every corner of their territory ready to avenge their brothers. The lead man went in first, presumably to tell the crowd not to kill us outright. To our collective surprise, he came out with another man trailing behind him. A man I didn’t recognize, but Grinder did.

  “Lip,” my father said, standing aside his hog, standing as tall and strong as I’d ever seen him. He looked young again. It was amazing.

  “Grinder, you and your boys got balls of steel crossin’ that line today. I ‘spect you’ll understand why I don’t wanna shake your hand. Not feeling overly nostalgic today.”

  The Blackhawks President was older than Dutch; almost as old as Grinder. He looked stronger than Dutch had in those last few weeks, though. He had a cowboy-style gray mustache and long white hair pulled up underneath his bandana, a cigarette dangling, unlit, out the side of his mouth.

  “I wouldn’t imagine you could possibly feel like shakin’ my hand,” Grinder agreed. “I’m truly sorry for what my side has done to yours. I’m here, hopin’ against hope that you’ll believe me when I say that we had nothin’ to do with it. Me and half the rest of the Crusaders weren’t even aware it’d happened until this morning, when it was too late to stop.”

  Lip studied us, his eyes giving nothing away.

  “I would rather have shot the kids who did it than let them break our truce, Lip,” Grinder said. “You hear me? I’d shed my own damn blood before startin’ this war all over again.”

  “Ayup,” Lip grunted. “And?”

  Blade and I stayed back, letting Grinder run this show. Even though he wasn’t an officer anymore, barely even fit to ride with the rest of the club, he knew this man. He had history with him. Blade and I weren’t dumb, and we were young and strong, but none of that meant a damn thing. It was Grinder’s years of riding, his knowledge of the Blackhawks, that was gonna save our asses.

  “We’re offerin’ you our services,” Grinder said. “We got fifteen good men, all ready, wi
llin’, and able to fight at your side. We want Dutch gone. Dead or run off. Either way. We want it as bad as you do, if you can believe it.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Lip spat. “But go on.”

  He was actually considering it. That, or he was stallin’ while his men back in the clubhouse took a vote on the best way to torture us. Grinder took another step forward.

  “We didn’t take no vote on that attack. Dutch’s gone rogue. Convinced the dumb half of our club this his drug-addled brain is still worth listenin’ to. But the rest of us, we just want peace with you. We don’t…”

  Everyone tensed at once. It was like a summer rain, comin’ out of nowhere. How they slipped far enough into Blackhawks territory to spray past the clubhouse, I don’t know. Dumb luck, I suppose.

  At any rate, one moment we were negotiating to save our asses, and the next we were dodging bullets as four men in Dead Crusaders cuts rode past us, guns blazing.

  I’m willing to admit that, no matter how noble our intentions, we did tell the Blackhawks a lie. But you can’t fault a man for wanting to be prepared. Blade and Grinder and I were all packing; my pistol lodged in my boot. I don’t know where Blade stashed his, and I don’t even wanna know where Grinder had his heat. At any rate, it was a good thing we’d lied, because we were able to fire back on the men we’d once called our brothers.

  Levelling myself behind a tree, I peeked around the trunk, a hunk of wood shattering beside my ear. Soldier, again. He was one of ‘em, at least. My stomach dropped out and my heart turned stone cold as I aimed and fired.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Blade behind a mailbox, unloading on a kid with a prospect’s rocker. Couldn’t tell who, from the back. I couldn’t see Lip, and wasn’t looking too hard, because I was still trying to hit Soldier; when I finally did, it was straight to the shin, and I nearly lost my nose ducking for cover as a bullet sailed past.

  By then, Blackhawks were streaming from the clubhouse, shootin’ like crazy, and the Crusaders were slammin’ pavement. Sendin’ men into Blackhawk territory by the threes and fours was a strange strategy, but I figured it was meant to scare and intimidate. At any rate, four Crusaders rode into Blackhawk territory, but only three rode out.