DAMON: A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel

by Meg Jackson

  His thoughts drifted away from Jeremy and returned to his new favorite hobby: counting up the amount of money he’d be driving away with in a few days. And where he’d go with it. And what he’d do. Maybe buy himself a nice little thing to entertain for the night, take her to some fancy dinner, then give her his special brand of tough love in a five-star hotel.

  Maybe he’d skip the girl and go straight for the border by way of the Florida Keys, hop on a ship to Turks and Caicos and get properly toasted on primo Caribbean hash and rum on the rocks. He smiled, forgetting all about the man fuming beside him. Silas never indulged until he finished the job at hand; he’d go months without a drop of alcohol (unless the job called for it, as this one had), a toke, a snort of white lightning, a warm pussy on his lap, or any other indulgence.

  Then, when payday came around, he’d stock a reasonable amount away and blow through the rest like a tornado rolling through the Grain Belt. He’d saved a nice little nest egg for himself, but he was getting tired of going from job to job. He liked his work, but he liked not working even better. This gig right here…well, he’d have enough to save for a rainy day and a nice, long, multi-year vacation, as well.

  He was humming again, unconsciously. He only noticed when Jeremy brought it to his attention, the cop snapping his head around faster than a nasty schoolmarm who’d seen one of her students passing a note in class.

  “What the hell are you humming?” Jeremy snapped, eyes narrowed. Silas didn’t turn to look at him. That would only taunt the bull, and Silas knew the best matador was the one who made it out of the ring alive.

  “Just a little tune been stuck in my head for a few days. You know it? Goes like this?” Silas hummed louder, the song that had been playing in his head recently, an old Dylan tune called “You Ain’t Going Nowhere”.

  “I know it. That’s one of my favorite songs. Gabriella’s too,” Jeremy growled, but the growl sounded forced and sad. Jesus Christ, kid, you are one sorry piece of shit, Silas thought.

  “Does it bother you, buddy?” Silas asked, his tone neutral.

  “I’m not your buddy, and yes it does. Very much so,” Jeremy said, now looking back out the passenger side window. Silas noted, out of the corner of his eye that his client’s hand had unfurled, no longer a fist. Now he sat his hand on his knee, palm-down. Silas guessed there would be some distinctive crescent moons carved into Jeremy’s palm from the way he’d been clenching throughout the whole trip.

  He wondered how long it would take before Jeremy went back into Rambo-mode.

  Not long, he guessed. And he was right; fifteen minutes later, that hand was a fist once more, whiter and tighter than ever. Silas kept his vocal chords quiet, but the song still played in his head.

  …buy me a flute and a gun that shoots

  tailgates and substitutes

  strap yourself to the tree with roots

  you ain’t goin’ nowhere…

  19

  “Well…I mean…it’s got four wheels and an engine…I guess that’s really…all I need?” I chewed my lip as I stared down at the little junker that the old man had proudly driven around the corner and parked before me.

  I couldn’t tell if it was the color it was because of the rust, the dust, or because it was supposed to be that color. A very faded and half-unreadable logo indicated that the car had, at one time, been a Ford, though I doubted the company would be willing to take ownership of it in the shape it was in. The tires, at least, looked new-ish. A dented passenger-side door, a missing handle on the back driver’s side door, and a crack in the rearview that would put a plumber to shame completed the perfect aura of “total shit” that the car gave off.

  “Ayup, it’ll run ya where ya need to go, but she ain’t no looker, that’s for damn sure,” Frankie, the dealer, said, finishing with a healthy spit of chewing tobacco juice onto the desert dust.

  “Frankie, you’re shitting me. You think a girl like this wants to be seen in this beater? Now, I saw some shiny little pieces back there when we were coming down the road, don’t you tell me you can’t do us better than this,” Reign said, his arms folded. He stood beside me in his cut, a term I’d only just learned. I had no idea how he kept it on in the oppressive heat, which seemed to crack everything in sight. I’d take a sip of water and immediately feel it evaporate on my tongue.

  “Short notice? Clean plates? Full reg? For a trade-in? I’ll do you good, you know that, but I ain’t tryin’ to put myself outta business,” Frankie said, mimicking Reign’s posture and drawing himself up to seem taller than he really was. The two men stared into each other’s eyes; I fidgeted, arms behind my back. Finally, though, Frankie’s shoulders slumped and his eyes and arms both dropped.

  “Okay, okay, Reign, yer a good customer, I tell ya what, I’ll see what all I gots back there for the little Miss,” Frankie said, another glob of chewing tobacco spit flying from the side of his mouth as he turned away and got back into the old rust bucket, driving away with a clatter that could have raised the dead. Not ideal for discreet passage anywhere.

  “Thanks,” I said, looking up at Reign gratefully. I’d doubted that the car even had air conditioning, and in heat like this that was going to be a must.

  “No problem. I told you I’d take care of you. Frankie’s a good guy, but he’ll always try to get one over on you if he can. He knows better than to try and screw with me too much, though,” Reign said. “But if I hadn’t been here, you’d have taken that hunk of junk?”

  I shrugged. I wasn’t much for haggling. And my ability to stick up for myself in any sort of situation had been gathering dust ever since I’d met Jeremy. I probably would have taken the deal, just to avoid the conflict. Reign shook his head and reached out suddenly, hooking his inner elbow around my neck and pulling me in close. It was too hot to be that close to him, honestly, especially in all that leather, but it felt good all the same to smell him, to feel his breath against the top of my head.

  “You gotta get better at stickin’ up for yourself, dollface. You can’t be waltzing around on your own with fear in your heart. That’s a recipe for nothing good,” he said, his jaw moving against my scalp. I pulled away, feeling my body screaming for air. I couldn’t remember ever being so damn hot in my whole life; the day before, I’d slept through the worst of the heat. Now, it was just past noon and the sun was high and beating down relentlessly. This desert life would take some getting used to…

  No, it’s not, because you’re leaving, soon, I thought, surprised at the way my mind had acted like I was staying there. That still wasn’t the plan, no matter how much I’d taken to Reign. He was, after all, just a man. There would be other men. And I didn’t need a man right then, anyway, did I? I’d had enough man over the past five years to last me a lifetime…

  But I couldn’t ignore the twitch of pain in my heart when I told myself all that.

  With a sudden roar, I heard an engine kicking to life from the parking lot behind the little office building, and moments later I had to shield my eyes from the sun’s glare as a bright, shiny, red car pulled around the corner. This car was like Tom Cruise compared to the old Ford’s William DeFoe. It was an older model, for sure, but it had been well cared for and looked brand new. I had to smile and suppress a giggle; imagining myself speeding down the highway in this little red cruiser seemed way too idyllic. This one was a Ford, too; a Mustang to be exact.

  “This more your style, hun?” Frankie said, pulling up beside us and letting the engine idle.

  “Perfect, Frankie, way to deliver, my man,” Reign said, turning to me with a huge grin on his face.

  “But…it’s a little…flashy…isn’t it? I mean…it’ll draw attention, maybe,” I said, eyes roaming back and forth over the humming car, drawn to it for its obvious style and charm but worried all the same. I needed something like a Honda Civic or something that was a dime a dozen; not this eye-catching little number.

  “Gabriella, you’d draw attention in a Kia minivan,” Reign said with
a laugh.

  “I’m serious, Reign, I don’t want to make any waves…”

  “Baby, if you’re gonna get caught, it won’t be ‘cause your wheels are too good. Trust me. Besides, would your ex ever imagine you’d find yourself in something like this? The dick’s gonna be looking for you in something like that old jalopy Frankie just tried to sell ya, or a goddam black sedan. Hidin’ in plain sight, babe, that’s the name of the game,” Reign said, clearly enamored with the car for his own reasons. It was pretty cherry, with the gleaming sunlight caressing the curves and making it look like a little red bullet.

  “You want somethin’ basic, I think I gotta couple I could show ya. Toyota Tacoma, that’s pretty basic…” Frankie started to say, scratching his white beard, which was long enough to reach the collar of his shirt. He didn’t look like any used car salesman I’d ever met before; but, then, nuclear families looking for something to take their kids to soccer practice probably weren’t his typical clientele.

  “No,” I said, the word flying from my mouth quite unexpectedly. I did want this car. It was sexy, and cool, and I could just imagine how it’d feel to gun down a lonely desert highway with the top down, headed south, to freedom. “I’ll take it.”

  “Atta girl. Whooee, damn, Frankie, where was this baby last time I needed a getaway car? You been hiding ‘er in the shed or something?” Reign said, taking a step closer to the car to inspect it.

  “Just got ‘er couple days ago. Took a look under the hood and told the guy the tranny was fucked, gave ‘im 700 for it. But I’ll let ya in on a little secret; tranny’s fine. Whole damn thing is fine. You’ll get another hundred thou out of her, that’s for damn sure,” Frankie said, shutting off the engine and stepping out of the car. Reign and Frankie convened at the front of the car as Frankie popped the hood; while the men inspected the engine, murmuring and pointing and nodding, I ran a finger along the side of the car.

  I realized, rather suddenly, that I hadn’t owned my own car in – well, not since before college. I’d sold my high school car to help pay tuition, and the car that I’d been driving had been a “gift” from Jeremy: meaning, it wasn’t really mine, and he’d sometimes threaten to take it away if I did something he didn’t like.

  And now that “gift” was going to take up permanent residence in this old man’s used car lot, amidst the ever-twirling dust, baking under the sun, slowly decomposing until it was as shitty and worthless as that first car I’d been offered.

  Good riddance.

  I smiled.

  Things were starting to feel more and more real to me – like it was finally, finally setting in. I had a new life. A brand new life. A better life – a life of clear blue water and sandy beaches and all the nachos I could eat and margaritas by the barrel and sexy swimsuits and learning to tango and a brand new vintage Ford Mustang and a sexy new lover…

  That last thought ended the train with a crash: I don’t want a sexy new lover, was the next thought, far more dismal than the ones that had come before. I looked over and could see just the top of Reign’s raven-haired head over the popped hood; I wanted him to be my lover.

  But I’d just met him…

  I shouldn’t feel that way…

  I mean, it made sense. I was smart enough to know exactly why I was feeling that way; I was on the rebound, in a lot of ways. And he was there, and he was sexy, and he wanted me…and from the looks he sometimes gave me, the way his eyes would stare into mine as though I was water and he was dying of thirst, he wanted me for more than just a tumble in the hay.

  But I shouldn’t give in to those feelings. They were false. If I gave into them, stayed with him somehow, brought him with me to Mexico, I’d wind up unhappy, because this wasn’t real love; it was just lust, with a hint of hope for something more. I was love-starved, desperate. I wanted to love him because I thought he’d be able to love me right.

  But that didn’t feel right, either. It was what I knew had to be true: it was the only thing that made sense. People don’t just fall into fairytale love stories in Utah. Especially not a girl like me, and not with a guy like him. We were from two different worlds, two different universes. Three days was not enough to say you loved a guy.

  But…

  But…

  Doesn’t it fucking feel like you were meant to meet?

  It sure fucking did.

  20

  Honey looked and looked, but she couldn’t find that fucking guy anywhere. Not in the bar, not loitering around the motel, not in the grocer’s or the gas station. She told everyone she saw that if they caught sight of a stranger, tall and dark and anonymous, they should waste no time letting her know.

  Her word carried a lot of weight around Ditcher’s Valley, and she knew that if anyone saw anything, she’d know in a few minutes. No one asked any questions, either. Club business was club business, and club business was the only thing keeping the crappy little town from being swallowed into the earth.

  She paced around her little room, air conditioner blasting to keep away the noontime heat, and ruminated on what she’d remembered that morning. She’d ushered Georgia, the girl she’d woken up next to, out the door with a flood of excuses and promises to call. Promises she wasn’t really sure she’d keep, promises she didn’t really care if she kept or not. That girl wasn’t important in the long run; Honey might be fond of her, but more pressing matters needed attention.

  Who was that man? What did he want with Reign’s new girl? What did he want with the club? He didn’t look like a member of any of the other clubs in the area; he didn’t have the air of a member. Of course, he could just be a good imposter, but she had the nagging feeling he was a hired hand. And she had learned that her nagging feelings were pretty accurate.

  Maybe it’s just her hubby looking for his wifey, she thought hopefully. But that didn’t exactly mean that they were out of the woods; Reign could still be in deep shit, and if Reign was in deep shit, the whole operation was in deep shit.

  Truthfully, Reign had been acting like president ever since Charcoal had hit his 60th birthday and begun to slow down. Charcoal wasn’t even in town; he was in Cancun with his old lady, celebrating their thirty year anniversary with a month-long vacation. Reign had been the go-to man while the club’s president was away. What was that adage? “Cut off the head of the snake…”

  Honey considered making some tea, or at least a sandwich, to settle her turning stomach and calm her nerves. As though the hangover she was fighting wasn’t enough to deal with…

  A sudden knock on the door inspired first surprise, then a jolt of fear. She pushed the emotions away, knowing she was just getting ahead of herself, and looked through the peephole. Endo was standing in the hall; she opened the door for him, stepping aside to let him through.

  “Jesus Christ it’s hot today,” he said, spreading his arms out wide as though to absorb more of the cool air inside the apartment.

  “What the hell are you doing out of the kitchen? It ain’t both our days off,” Honey said, shutting the door behind him with a glance in both directions, making sure no one was lurking in the hallway. She hated feeling this nervous and jumpy; it reminded her all too much of how she’d felt when she’d first left her husband, afraid at every little sound.

  “I’m on break. Can’t a guy take a break to check in on his favorite gal? And ask what the hell she’s been doing telling people to call her about a mysterious stranger?”

  Honey scoffed and crossed her arms across her chest.

  “C’mon, give up the goods, little darlin’. You see a stranger you fancy in the bar?”

  “Far from it,” Honey said, debating whether or not to fill Endo in on all the details. He was trustworthy, of course, and she didn’t have much to tell him, anyway. Her boys trusted her instinct; he’d believe her if she said she just knew something was up. But if she told Endo, it might get around, and the last thing she wanted was a bar full of violent men looking for someone to beat the shit out of.

  She�
��d learned that lesson once before, when she’d told someone she thought that a kid from out of town was spying on the club. The kid she’d been talking about had, in fact, been spying on the club; but a different kid had gotten what the spy had been due. Some of her boys, on the lookout for a “strange young guy”, had seen someone fitting that rather vague description and unloaded their worst on the poor innocent kid, while the actual spy had already skipped town. She still hadn’t forgiven herself for that.

  But if she swore Endo to secrecy…

  But, of course, there were no secrets in the club. At least, not those sort of secrets. The upper echelons had their secrets, of course, and members always had some side-girl or hobby that they didn’t share with their brothers (Honey knew, for example, that Road Rash loved painting watercolor landscapes, and hadn’t told a soul), but anything that involved the club would get circulated pretty quickly. Even Endo, who Honey loved more than almost any of her other boys, was prone to drunkenly spilling the beans.

  But she felt so shitty, she didn’t care, she just needed to get it off her chest. Her pounding headache wasn’t helping her think logically, either. She told him the whole story, what little of it there was, and waited for a response. Endo scratched his beard thoughtfully.

  “Yeah, yeah, ok, I think I know the guy you’re talking about. I thought he was just a man on the run from his wife and kids or job or some drug fiend or something. But if you think something more’s going on, I bet it is. The question now is…what do we do? I sure hate to think that little girl’s gonna get dragged back to wherever she came from,” he finally said.

  “Who cares about her?” Honey demanded, immediately realizing that, as much as it surprised her, she did. She would feel awful if Reign’s little girlfriend got hurt or killed by her cop ex-husband. Not so awful that she wouldn’t get over it, but pretty bad all the same. The girl was so jumpy, but seemed sweet, had a real genuine smile…it was hard to not feel a little empathy for a girl like that. And Honey had her own reasons for caring whether or not the girl made it to Mexico and safety. Endo shot Honey a knowing look and she threw her hands up and nodded.