by Paula Cox
“It’s about death,” Griffin explained. “The Pale Rider on the Pale Horse is how the Bible describes death during the end of the world.”
Natasha’s eyes widened, and then she frowned. “That’s a really, really dark song then.”
“I suppose it is, but I never thought of death as an enemy.”
“Of course you wouldn’t, you’re a Disciple.”
“Well, we all die. It’s a fact, so why be scared of it?”
“Because it’s a change.”
“So many things are changes, aren’t they?”
Natasha clearly didn’t like the way the discussion was going, and Griffin realized that it probably wasn’t the best discussion to have with a woman who just lost her father. He decided to change the subject; Natasha was looking far too hot this evening for him to be wrapped up in his own angst, and he didn’t want to ruin things for her by being sad.
Natasha looked as though she had decided to play the part of a Texas girl, wearing a dusty western-style shirt and jeans. No cowboy boots, but Griffin would have been shocked to hear that she owned them. He liked the idea of her wearing them though. In fact, he liked the idea of her wearing them and nothing else. He felt himself get hard as he thought of her slowly straddling him, wearing nothing but a pair of cowboy boots. It certainly was an incredibly nice mental image. He gave her a wink as he stood from the table.
“I’ll go get us a drink.”
“Oooh, please do,” she said in a voice that implied that she’d do more than thank him.
“Any preference?”
“Beer. Any kind.”
“Excellent choice.”
He moved to the bar, only giving a cursory glance across the faces of the people sitting there. Momentarily, he caught Julian’s eye, as he sat and enjoyed a beer, and they exchanged a smile. Julian seemed distracted though, staring at a dark-haired girl who looked vaguely familiar but whom he couldn’t place. Go get ‘er, tiger, thought Griffin.
He was about to order the beers and saw the hesitation on the bartender’s face. Did the bartender recognize him? It was likely, at least, given how small the town was, but Griffin usually took for granted the idea that he was often seen on a motorcycle. However, he didn’t think he was going to get any trouble from this guy; it looked like he just wanted to do his job.
“Two beers,” Griffin said.
“Right away,” the bartender replied.
He tried not to think too hard or be too worried about leaving Natasha alone. It wasn’t as though someone was going to swoop in and hit on her, not when she obviously belonged to him. Of course, she was resisting that, but she had to know the truth in her heart. It was just going to take a little time for her to realize it, but he was a relatively patient man. If they had met under different circumstances, he wouldn’t have been willing to wait even longer. However, circumstances were far beyond their control now. It was only a matter of time, and then she’d be completely his.
And yet, a part of him still wanted to keep her a secret; he wanted to keep her entirely to himself for as long as he possibly could. Making her part of the club, having her as his Old Lady, that was going to make them public. That would put an even bigger target on his back. Yet, as he collected the two tall glasses from the bartender and walked back through the crowd to the table where Natasha was sitting, he was fully willing to enjoy the time he had alone with her until that had to happen.
She looked up at him as he returned to her side, a bright smile coming to her face as she watched him walk over to her. It struck Griffin in a way that he didn’t think he actually could feel, all hot and cold at the same time, he almost felt shy. What was it about this girl that brought that out in him? How could he desperately want to bend her over his motorcycle and have his way with her while at the same time wanting to simply ask her about her day? He couldn’t help it, her smile just lit up the room.
As he slid her a large mug of beer, he could not help but take in her clothing. “Trying to be one of the locals?” he asked.
“I am one of the locals,” she shot back with a smile. “Just like you.”
Griffin laughed. “You’re not like me.”
She shifted in her seat, playing with the buttons on the cuff of her shirt. “I figured it would help me blend in at least.”
“It does.”
“But I am still a local, or at least I was. Just because you didn’t see me around while I was here doesn’t mean that I wasn’t around.”
“I guess we wouldn’t have run in the same circles.”
“Nah, I was an honor student in high school.”
Griffin’s eyes went wide in mock outrage. “And I wasn’t?”
Natasha levelled him with a quizzical look. “Were you?”
“Of course not.”
They both laughed. Griffin couldn’t help but love it when they pushed each other’s buttons. Her dimples always showed when she knew she had made a point and smiled. Suddenly, he wanted to see her riding that ridiculous mechanical bull, watching her move her hips in an effort to stay on. From the way he knew she moved, she probably could keep them in free drinks for the rest of the night.
“I can’t believe I am sleeping with one of the good girls in high school,” he said, after taking a gulp of his beer.
She shook her head a little and giggled. “I wouldn’t say that I was one of the ‘good girls’—I just did not hotwire cars and smoke behind the building.”
“Exactly, so you were a good girl.”
“My daddy wouldn’t have it any other way.”
A small pall fell over the table as the both of them thought about Emanuel. If Griffin were a different sort of person, he would have asked her a million questions about how Manny acted as a father. He was not that kind of person; he did not like to show that much emotion and definitely did not want to show that he was curious. What was the point? Natasha could clearly see something was up.
“What kind of a kid were you in high school?”
Griffin frowned at the idea of explaining his own backstory, but when Natasha cocked her head to one side, her amber eyes flashing with adorable curiosity, he could not help but want to indulge her.
“Quiet,” he replied. “I quit high school my junior year because I did not see a point to it anymore.”
Natasha’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Well, I’ve been a part of the Disciples since I was about fourteen, doing various things. I figured my future was there, so why take six hours out of the day doing anything else?”
He noted her look and half expected it to be full of some sort of judgment, but Natasha accepted his answer with barely a shrug, taking another drink of her beer and staring down at him. “You know, I wanted to join the Disciples when I was a kid, too.”
Griffin raised an eyebrow. “Really? Why? You are so on the fence about it now.”
“I am an adult now; I was not an adult when I was thirteen.” She laughed at her own foolishness. “My mom and I were having some fights, I missed my dad, so I hopped on a bus and went down to see him, hoping that he would let me join his club.”
“Guess that did not work out?”
“I was on a bus back home the next morning.”
Griffin laughed. “Emanuel was always brutal to the younger club members; I guess he would be just as brutal to his own kid.”
Natasha looked into her beer, as though she was going to find a truth at the bottom.
“I hate to say it, but I do think it is a little weird that you joined a motorcycle club when you were only a kid. Shouldn’t you have been doing something else? Like joining some club at school?”
“Well, it definitely still felt like a club,” Griffin explained. “It just was not affiliated with the school. I was lost as a kid. I did not have a dad, and my mom was barely around. I needed some sort of direction, and yeah, joining a motorcycle club is kind of like the nuclear option, but I found a home there. Emanuel gave it to me.”
Natasha studied his face. �
��You really miss him, don’t you?”
Griffin grinned in an attempt to hide the true emotion that was fighting for a spot on his face. “Definitely,” he replied. “Every day.”
She sighed. “I wish I felt the same.”
This perked Griffin up in surprised. “You don’t miss him? He was your father.”
“He was more like the Disciples’ father,” Natasha replied. “We were close; I am not going to say that we weren’t, but I am beginning to suspect that there were a lot of things that he was keeping from me, and it kind of makes me see him differently.”
“What do you think he was keeping from you?”
Natasha looked at Griffin as though he was crazy. “The fact that he was in a position where murder was possible, for one,” she said. “I never thought that this sort of thing would ever happen to anyone I know—let alone my own father. Let alone me.”
Griffin’s piercing blue eyes bore into hers; she could feel the sincerity radiate from him as he reached over to touch her hand. “We’re going to get them back for you though, for you and Manny.”
She shook her head at that. “You don’t need to get anyone for me,” she replied. “But you can definitely get them back for my father. Which reminds me…” She swatted him on the shoulder. “How did it go? The meeting, I mean.”
He knew she was going to ask about it, of course. The girl was too damn nosey for her own good, and yet she had offered to help. What’s more, he had accepted that offer of help, so his hands were pretty much tied. He took another sip of his beer. He had also basically baited her by mentioning revenge in the first place.
“We’re running a revenge attack on the Los Diablos.”
Natasha let out a slow breath. He could tell by the look on her face that she was prepared for this sort of thing, but the reality of it had hit her all at once.
“I supposed that I knew that was going to happen,” she said, confirming his suspicion. “What are you going to do?”
“Well, Damon wants to hit them at their clubhouse, uh, a clubhouse is—”
“I know what a clubhouse is,” Natasha interrupted. “My dad was the former president of the club.”
“Right. Well, it will be a standard sort of thing: two teams, one to distract and the others to hit. We’ll get them right when they are not expecting it, and we are going to do it for Manny.”
Natasha did not respond to this right away and merely drank her beer as she thought about the plan. She did not seem happy about it, but she also was not necessarily broken up about it either. Her eyebrows knitted together as she worked something out and then shook her head. Then she said, “I don’t like it.”
Neither did Griffin, but he was not going to admit that to her, of course.
“Well, yeah,” he replied. “But violence is the name of the game here.”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” Natasha answered, her amber-colored eyes flaring. “You are going to have to do what you have to do, and I understand that, I just think that the plan is fundamentally flawed.”
What? Griffin thought. He was too surprised to say it out loud, which did not seem to matter because Natasha simply continued, completely wrapped up in her own sense of the plan.
“I mean, why go to the place where they’re the most concentrated? I mean sure, of course, you are going to take a few out, but it seems more like a stab in the dark than an actual planned attack. You do realize that, right?”
Griffin stared at her long enough to make her blush slightly but not break his gaze. He seemed like something from a different world to her then, and she could not place her finger on why it was so strange to her.
Finally, she broke the silence. “What?” she asked, downing the rest of her beer in one quick gulp.
“I am just impressed is all,” Griffin admitted. She laughed at him.
“Riding a motorcycle, pointing out obvious flaws in a plan, doesn’t look like it takes much to impress you,” she said with a hint of sardonic humor. Griffin shrugged.
“I guess it doesn’t, but I am still impressed.”
A real, genuine smile came to Natasha’s lips, but it disappeared behind another guarded smirk almost as soon as it came. For a moment, Griffin thought he was imagining it. “Well, stick around,” Natasha said in a cool, controlled voice. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
***
Of course, he had already moved on, that’s basically how Griffin worked. Desiree was incredibly annoyed to feel the ugly rise of jealousy in her chest, and she turned to order another whiskey at the bar. The bartender’s eyes ate her up, and she wasn’t surprised. Desiree knew that she was hot; she didn’t need some Western dive bar guy to tell her that. Stretching against the bar, she could feel the appreciative glances leveled her way, but none of them really mattered, especially since Griffin was only a few feet away and hadn’t noticed her at all.
He was talking to some girl that Desiree had never seen, with long blond hair and eyes that almost looked like gold. She tried to find something unattractive about the girl, like maybe her nose was crooked, or she had big ears, or to have any part of her body fail in some way. Desiree, herself, knew that she had knobby knees, although no one had ever called her on it before. She knew it was there, however, and that was what mattered.
It wasn’t as though he was expecting to see her in a bar like this, not many girls of her caliber went there, but she did not care. In the darkest part of her soul, she truly liked the silly ambiance and part of her wanted to ride the bull. It was tiring being so serious all the time; it was tiring being badass; and she always wished that she could find someone who would see through all that.
Clearly that person was not Griffin, but she was stupid to think that it ever would be. Of course, she didn’t think that she really wanted him as much as she had originally told herself that she did. Apart from being a good lay and the vice president of the Lost Disciples, who really was he? He was as opaque as a piece of cardboard, and she couldn’t list a single thing about him that didn’t tie back to his physical appearance or position in the biker club. It wasn’t a flattering thing, but it was unfortunately the truth.
She sighed and turned back to her friend, Kristi, who was watching her like a Griffin. Kristi was an old friend from way back, middle school even, and she had never really gotten into the entire biker thing like most of the other girls had. A successful baker deeper in town, she followed the comings and goings of the Disciples and whomever else Desiree messed around with. Sometimes Desiree wanted to explain that it was not as fun as it seemed. Griffin wasn’t the first biker who had tossed her aside for something else, or something better. That was always the way with these guys, they loved and left and never really cared unless they declared you their Old Lady, and even then it could potentially be tenuous.
“Was that the guy?” Kristi asked, rubbing salt into the wound. Desiree sighed and nodded.
“Yes, that was the guy.”
“Oh my god, he is so hot. You should go over there and try to talk to him.”
Desiree remembered Griffin’s eyes as they slid over some faces at the bar. She was pretty sure that he had seen her, but she simply hadn’t registered to him. Why would she do that to herself again? Why would she walk up to him and basically demand that he forget who she was to her face? He hadn’t remembered her name immediately after having sex with her; she was pretty sure that he wasn’t thinking about her at all.
And with that girl he was sitting with, why would he?
“No,” she said simply. “I came to the Tumbleweed to stay away from guys like that.”
Kristi seemed to pout. She had worn her reddish blonde hair in two dangling braids, clearly preparing herself for a possibility to ride the mechanical bull.
“Hello,” a quiet voice said to her right. Desiree turned to see a big man, blonde, with a bunch of tattoos creeping up his arms. His eyes were a soft kind of blue, nothing like the piercing ice that was lodged in Griffin’s head. There was something kind about h
im, which usually was an immediate turnoff, but maybe for once she could use a nice guy.
She turned on her most sultry smile.
“Hey,” she replied. “What’s going on?”
He seemed momentarily startled by her smile, and it made her feel powerful and doubtful at the same time. He was clearly a big, handsome man, and yet he seemed vaguely uncomfortable. Had he only meant to ask her to move out of the way so he could get a different seat at the bar? Immediately, she wondered if she should backpedal, and she could feel Kristi nudging her ribs under the table, clearly trying to tell her something.
“I’m sorry,” the man said. “I just saw you across the bar and desperately wanted to buy you a drink.”