Riding Resistance: Soul Shifterz MC

by Kayce Kyle

  Before I have the chance to make it to my luggage, three Sheriff’s cars have surrounded my parent’s house and all three jump out, shielding themselves with their driver’s side door. With their weapons drawn, the one that has made his way closest to me in my parents’ driveway starts barking orders at me. “Hands where we can see ‘em.”

  Immediately I pause. Rolling my eyes as this is purely ludicrous, I attempt to reason and explain, “Officer, look.” Letting out a minor laugh while taking a step forward only to be interrupted with yet another warning. This one even more stern than the last.

  “Take another step and I shoot.” The officer snaps as he cautiously maneuvers away from the squad car that was shielding him and toward me.

  Unbelievable. Surely this is all a fucking nightmare, but on the off-chance it isn’t, I comply raising my hands in the air. “Fine,” I manage to breathe out.

  The officer approaches me and so do the other two as his backup. I must look scarier than I imagine, humoring myself with my vanity. The more aggressive officer begins to pat me down. Although, this feels not as much like a typical “pat down” and more like a filthy bastard trying to use his badge as an excuse to touch my body in certain places. “My license is in my bag over there, douche. My name is Jenalyn Strong and this is my parent’s house. This is so unnecessary. Take your hands off me.”

  “Barrett,” the cocky, aggressive officer calls out. “Check her bag for her I.D.”

  He begins to pull my arms behind my back and I wince out in pain as he secures my wrists with the steel handcuffs while holding them firmly behind my back. “Wait. What in the hell?” I begin twisting and turning to make eye contact with officer asshole. I manage to turn just enough to read his badge with his name tag that reads “Littlejohn”. Unable to resist my laughter at his expense and the fact I am much taller than he and I’m only five-foot-seven, I spout off. “Littlejohn? Oh geez. This explains so much.”

  He’s none too thrilled at my comment, and by the snickers of his fellow officers, I can tell he must get teased often. Typical cocky, a short man with a badge syndrome. Power hungry. He tightens the cuffs and I can feel them cutting into my skin. “Son of a bitch. You have no idea...” My words are cut off by one of the other officers.

  “Yep. She’s who she says she is,” the officer says, almost sounding disappointed.

  “Now let me go,” I demand. Only he proceeds to the squad car with me anyway. From behind he is forcing me forward in that direction as I desperately attempt to dig my heels in. “What the fuck? You can’t arrest me. What am I being charged with?”

  He opens the back door of the squad car and very proudly declares, “Resisting arrest.” Then forcefully pushes my head down and into the stuffy squad car.

  “Are you insane?” I ask seriously knowing that I am surely poking the bear at this point, but I continue as this, all of this, has gone way too far.

  Littlejohn just grins at me before slamming the door shut.

  This is the most bogus bullshit I swear to God. Just wait until my daddy finds out. He will surely spit nails.

  My lips are now dry, along with my throat and I really could use a cold bottled water and my lip gloss right now. Not to mention a shower I think to myself, narrowing my eyes at Littlejohn.

  I visually absorb my new surroundings. It reeks of sweat, and possibly other body odors I cannot even bear to think about. My legs are sticking to the leather seat, which happens to be torn and inside that tear, a variation of colored stains that instantly cause nausea to build up in my stomach. I feel even sicker as I realize what my bare legs and partially exposed ass cheeks are making contact with. The bullet proof, or hell, maybe it’s just plexiglass, separates the front from the back of the squad car where I’ve currently taken up residence.

  Littlejohn, or officer asshole as I now call him, is just finishing up talking to the other two officers and he enters the squad car. Thankfully he doesn’t attempt to even speak any more to me as I am done talking. I’m too pissed, and knowing my luck, there’s an actual law against speaking my mind.

  Littlejohn backs his squad car out of my parent’s driveway and I avoid making any eye contact with him. My eyebrows furrow as I look back seeing my luggage containing my belongings and some important Art pieces being left to ruin in this heat, or be stolen. I silently sob inside. Where the hell are my parents?

  Justice

  Stepping out of the shower wrapping my lower body with a towel, I look out into my room at the clubhouse and notice Roxie still sprawled out on my bed. “The fuck are you still doing in here?” I question her as I light a cigarette. I’m not a full-time smoker, but enjoy the occasional smoke. “Shit is getting old Roxie. We’ve been over this. We fuck, you leave.”

  “Come on, Jus. We’ve been screwing around for over four years now. She’s been gone five years now. Give me a god damned chance.” She pouts.

  “What have I told you about calling me that?” I lean over her on my bed as she lays there half clothed, and pick her up along with the remainder of her clothes, placing her in front of my door. I can’t stand her jealousy. It just indicates she wants more from me. Not to mention the way she cuts my name off only prods thoughts of what I had and lost.

  “Oh, I get it,” she prompts, “Jus must be a fucking form of pet name reserved only for her.”

  “No offense, Roxie, but just hours ago you had Joker’s cock in your mouth on full display in the hallway. You’re a good fuck. We all know that, un-attach yourself from me or this…” Waving my hand around my room and between the two of us suggestively.

  “This is gonna have to be completely done. You’re catching feelings or wanting more. Fuck, something. I dunno, but I don’t roll that way and you knew this when we first started hooking up,” I warn and finish pushing her the rest of the way out of my room and closing my door.

  Her muffled question through my closed door causes further annoyance. “Is that why you never kiss me on the lips?”

  “Go the fuck away, Roxie,” I growl.

  This club lockdown bullshit is almost over and I cannot fucking wait to get back to my own home and a real bed. Two more days.

  Dressing myself in my usual washed out, ripped jeans, I’m feeling like today is a plain white T-shirt kind of day to go under my club cut, topping it off with my usual black converse. I have never been the traditional type and my choice in clothing is no different.

  Today’s been quiet. Aside from that bullshit with Roxie. Quiet is just fucking abnormal around here. It has my guard up a bit more than normal. I grab my Colt forty-five caliber pistol off of my tiny nightstand, tucking it into the back of my jeans. Two AR-fifteens reside in my closet and my Glock forty caliber sits in the top drawer of my dresser. I also keep a Smith and Wesson nine millimeter in my bathroom. Better to have all my bases covered than be caught off guard.

  “Oh shit.” Breaks free under my breath as I damn near leave my wallet in the drawer of my nightstand. Aggressively, but not actually meaning to, I damn near break that less than sturdy wooden piece of garbage. A picture dislodges itself from I don’t even fucking know where and falls, resting next to my wallet. Its facing down so I can’t exactly tell what, or who it’s of.

  Casually and curiously, I turn it over, and what I see on the other side sucker punches me right in the gut. The one fucking woman I’d foolishly allowed myself to care for. Jena-Fucking-Lyn. The daughter of our President. It’s a picture I’d taken of her with her own camera. She didn’t even know I’d taken it at the time.

  Denim shorts and a cut off white T-shirt. Her long brown hair tousled from the breeze. There she sat, on the aged wooden dock, fishing pole in hand and barefoot. We used to go there growing up and fish early in the morning. Before actually growing up and becoming who we are now was even a reality. Allowing my mind to think of this only invites fury and pure anger.

  My fist slams down on the flat surface, splitting the wood of my nightstand like a miniature earthquake had just assaulted it.r />
  This subject is purely off limits and everyone around here knows that. Hell, I even keep it off limits for myself.

  Shit was so different back then. Such a tomboy, that girl. She was a carefree spirit but had a super feisty side to her that only I seemed to be able to tame.

  Now I hear she’s just a prissy girl, who’s apparently forgotten where she came from. At least she’s thousands of miles away. The more distance between us the better.

  A hard and steady knock pounds on my door. “Who the fuck is it?” Quickly I stuff the picture that just haunted my thoughts for a minute back in the drawer.

  “Your fucking brother, asshole. Come down and shoot some pool with Pop and me,” Ace says inviting himself in my room.

  “You’ve been in the damn gym all day. Except for maybe these last five minutes.” He jokes, taking a jab at my most recent rendezvous with Roxie.

  Abruptly putting my cigarette out, I lunge at him and sucker punch him in the arm playing. “Fucker. I don’t see you getting any ass around here,” I say, teasing him back.

  Rubbing his arm and laughing at the brotherly banter that has ensued between us, he says, “Yeah little bro, that’s because I have standards. One of us has to.”

  As I nudge him forward, I say, “A man has needs. At least I’m getting real pussy while we’re stuck here.” As I playfully examine his palm, I say derisively, “Just as I thought, looks pretty raw.”

  Ace yanks his hand away and shoots me a glare, followed by a smirk he desperately tries to keep to himself.

  Ace and I take each step down two at a time. I may be the younger brother, but I stand a good solid four inches taller than him. Being behind him going down the stairs is just a reminder of this. He and Pop always tease that I must be the milkman's seeing as though they are only six-foot in their boots. Barefoot, I stand at six-foot-four inches tall.

  As we reach the bottom of the stairs, I pat his arm with the backside of my hand. “I’m gonna grab a beer first, bro. Want one?”

  “Grab me one, Son while you’re over there,” my pop interjects.

  “Got it, Pop.” I look at him in acknowledgment.

  I arch my brow at Ace as if to ask him once more.

  He looks at me and shakes his head to answer no.

  “No pussy…no beer. Should I find Clarke to check you for a damn fever?”

  “Man, shut the hell up,” he grunts.

  Suddenly, Don comes out of his office with several others calling out for my pop. “Casper. Need to speak with you now please.”

  Ace and I notice that familiar tone in Pres’ voice and we both look at each other simultaneously. Something’s up.

  After a literal minute both Pop and Don come back out. Don eyes me.

  Pulling the cigar from his mouth he demands, “Justice, I need you to go down to SPD and get Jenalyn. Don’t ask any fucking questions and make it quick. Threats are still out there and I want her back here safe and sound as quickly as possible.”

  Then turning his eyes to my brother, he orders, “And you Ace, take one of the SUV’s and go get her luggage from my driveway.”

  Ace and I look at each other again, this time, stunned. Ace just shrugs, his eyes widen and appear to be having a great laugh at my expense.

  Did I even hear him right? Like tidal waves crashing to shore hard and unforgiving, a multitude of thoughts begin to crash through my mind. Jenalyn. Jenalyn at the police department? None of this was making any sense.

  Like the loyal member and enforcer I’ve become, I don’t question, I just grab the keys to my baby and head straight out to the garage. Even though every fiber of my being desperately has a horde of questions, it takes everything inside me to refrain from going back in and demanding answers. This is fucking bullshit.

  Looking at my bike, and now her name floating at free will through my mind, all I picture is her straddling my baby like the days of old. Just gave my bike a tune up and haven’t had the chance to open her up on the road. At least this is the silver lining in this sudden worst case scenario that’s been dropped in my lap. That’s what I attempt to keep on repeat in my mind as I rev the engine up.

  I ride up to the reinforced steel gate and punch in the code, granting me access to the outside world I haven’t seen in nearly two whole weeks. Strange how something so minuscule and simple as a gate, can be all the difference between yourself and the free world. For a moment I imagine this must be what jail feels like. Jail. How the fuck did Jenalyn end up back here, in jail?

  After I make sure the gate shuts behind me securely, I Iet loose. Shit, I’ve missed these open roads.

  The fifteen minute ride to SPD wasn’t as enjoyable as I’d hoped for. Too many questions. The first one would’ve been “why me?” if I’d been given the damn chance. Don knows the history between his daughter and I. My stomach twists and I feel each knot forming. One in my stomach, chest, and now that I’m here, my throat.

  I’m pretty sure I’m the last person Jenalyn’s expecting to see. She sure as hell wasn’t a blip on my radar until earlier. I’d mastered forgetting her. That’s just what I’m mentally prepared to continue.

  She’s a mouthy little spitfire, and I came prepared. Looking down into my leather saddlebag, I grin at the role of duct tape I keep in there. Along with an array of other necessities, including another handgun of mine. Just so happens to be the three-eighty Jenalyn last shot with me, when we were practicing at the range. One of our last days together. I had been in complete denial and unprepared that in less than a week, she’d be gone. The girl was a badass with any gun she shot. She was fearless, and a damn good shot.

  Chapter 3

  Jenalyn

  The inside of this police department is as bad as I’d imagined. Clutching my hands around the rusted steel of the bars, I plead to officer asshole. “Please, I’m not playing around. I need some water, sir.” Stroking his ego with the word “sir”, then further tempting my luck, “And my one phone call would be nice, please.”

  His back is to me at a desk that looks as if it is going to fall apart at any given moment. He doesn’t even bother to turn around to respond. “It’s about my lunch time now, darlin’,” he declares while looking down at his wrist watch.

  He fumbles around with whatever it is he’s finishing and stands up and actually walks toward me this time. My hands still clutching those rusty bars, he grabs them with his, nice and firm as I try pulling away. I’m unable to free my hands from his or these bars. He looks me up and down and the nausea rises from my stomach to my throat again. “You’ll survive long enough for me to go eat lunch, darlin’,” he says.

  I’ve only ever feared two things in my life. Not being able to achieve my dream of becoming an artist and photographer, and losing Justice to the club forever. The latter has already happened. I’m not weak, and I’m unsure if it’s dehydration now taking over my body, or if I’m truly afraid of this slime ball.

  I dig deep inside myself and manage to use what feels like the last bit of strength I have left to bark back, “Get your fucking hands off of me. I’m not your darlin’, and once I’m out of here I promise I will make it my personal mission to find ways to make you suffer for this.”

  “Now you’re threatening an officer. One more charge I can add to that list. I’m the law around here and…” Littlejohn's words sharply cut off as a deep raspy voice takes over.

  “Actually, I’m the law around here, and you’re on leave until further notice, Littlejohn,” Burkes says sternly.

  Confused for a second, but relieved just the same, I realize it’s my daddy’s cousin and he’s wearing a uniform and badge that reads “Chief Burkes”. He slides the key into the locked cell and freedom is finally mine. “Uncle Tom.” I wrap my arms around the chubby gray-haired man. “Thank you.” My throat is now so dry I can barely speak and my body slowly sinks to the ground as if I’ve no control.

  “Christ, you fucking idiot. Can’t you see she’s on the verge of completely collapsing from dehydration?”
Burkes slaps Littlejohn on the back of the head and looks back at me. “You sit right there Jenalyn I’m going to get you some water.” Narrowing his eyes back at Littlejohn, he leaves the room.

  I’m definitely much weaker than I originally thought, but now that Burkes is here, I am now able to convince myself I won’t be dying in this hellhole.

  A shadow is suddenly hovering over me and I look up expecting Burkes with my water, only to be horrified at Littlejohn leaning down whispering a threat onto the nape of my neck. His breath thick with the smell of whiskey and for lack of a better term, vomit. “You will pay, darlin’. I will get you and your daddy’s group of outlaw, thug biker gang wannabe's.”

  Now completely crouched in a ball, and hugging my knees, I lean into the rusty metal bars, this time from the opposite side of them. It feels as if my body is melting into them as I try the best I can in my condition to put distance between Littlejohn and me.

  What is only a minute or fewer feels like hours waiting for Burkes to return.

  Like a bolt of lightning, swift, sharp, and merciless, an enormous figure snatches Littlejohn up and slams him into the cell bars startling me.

  Peering up I see Justice, or what I think is Justice. I mean it looks like his size and profile. That strong jaw line and the tiniest bit of scruff around it. Only this man or Justice, is completely covered in tattoos. At least from what is visible. From his literal fingertips to his neck right up under his chin. Justice only had ink on his back when I left.

  He has Littlejohn pinned and lifted about two inches off the ground with a gun pointed directly to his forehead. It’s then and only then when he speaks, I am certain it is Justice. His very deep husky voice had always just had its own way of commanding respect. “You ever fucking touch her, or even entertain the thought of coming near her again, I will end you.” Tilting his head, I can tell Justice is debating something. “Maybe I should do it now, and save myself the hassle later.” His tone dark and serious.