by Naomi West
With the way they were sitting on the park bench, his lips were just inches from hers. She could just lean forward and . . .
Her eyes flickered from his eyes, down to his full, delicious mouth. “Do we have to kiss?” she asked.
His eyes followed suit, but his glance down lasted longer than hers. “Why not? I've always figured work should be a little fun.”
She smiled, bit her lip again. “Okay,” she said with a nod. “I'm in. But only because I need the money.”
“Sure it's not because of my winning personality?” he asked, smirking.
She didn't respond.
“Didn't think so. I'll pick you up tomorrow night, alright?”
“Tomorrow,” she agreed, before giving him her address.
Finished with their meeting, he got up from the park bench and went to his bike. She kept her eyes on him the whole time, taking in the way he moved, the way he seemed to stalk across the grass like a predator. One part of her already regretted her decision, but another was conjuring butterflies to flutter in her stomach. It had been so long since she'd just been allowed to have fun, to cut loose.
Maybe, with this she could let things go for a little while, even while she solved her problems and gave her life some new direction.
Besides, it'd be good to get laid. Even a prim and proper priss like herself needed a good fucking every once in a while. And, as she watched the rugged, handsome biker pull out to roar away on his bike, she knew Tanner was the man to do it.
Chapter Four
Tanner
“Hey old man,” Tanner said to the tombstone planted just at the top of the slight incline at the back of the cemetery. The name “Logan Rainier” was chiseled across the front, with the epitaph “Loving Father and Blood Warrior to the end” just below it. On the ground, a spot next to the plot lay empty, just waiting for when Tova Rainier gave up the ghost. Hopefully, that'd be later, rather than sooner.
He drove up here after leaving Star at the park. He didn't tell his mom he came up here, sometimes. He didn't want her asking about what he talked about.
He hadn't brought his pops flowers or anything. Instead, he'd brought a little pint of bourbon that he clutched in one hand. It had been his favorite brand when he was alive. “Brought you some Knob,” he said, holding it up so his pops could see the label. “Wasn't sure what else you'd want, since you didn't ever like flowers or any of that shit.”
The old man didn't reply. Not that Tanner thought he would have. He leaned down and set the bottle up against the base of the big chunk of marble.
“Got the letter about your estate, you old goat fucker,” he said as he turned away and looked out down the rise to the opening of the cemetery. They'd interred him up here, near the back, so he'd always be able to look down at the highway that led to the Blood Warriors clubhouse. This way, he could keep an eye on the boys as they rode by.
“Still can't understand why you always wanted me to settle down, but always told me not to. Or how you'd fuck over your own wife like that. I get that there's hard decisions to be made, old man. I understand that sometimes we don't get a choice between an easy path and a hard one, or that if we don't choose soon enough, life will choose for us. But, you really fucked me over on this one, you know that?”
He turned back to the tombstone and squatted down next to it. He reached out, ran his finger over the inscription laid there. Loving Father? What a joke. What kind of father would put his kid through this shit? And what kind of husband would do to his wife what old Logan Rainier was doing right now?
“You know what, though? I made my choice. Found a hot little piece of a girl, one that's proper and shit. She'll be able to raise your grandchild, but she'll be out of this town. She won't slow me down, or tie me up and make me settle. Hell, I'll hardly know the kid's mom. That kid'll be your legal, alright, but it'll never know who you were, or bring you whiskey. Nothing.
“And, do you know what the best part of it is, pops? I'm going to use your money to fix this problem. I'm paying her half a million from your estate to help me beat this shit you threw at me.”
He grabbed the bottle of Knob Creek and cracked it open. He looked at it in its hand, flipped it around and looked at the back. His pops had loved this shit, had been his liquor of choice. God, the old man had been a drunk, though. Tova Rainier had to come drag him home, drunker than piss, from the Old Crow more times than Tanner could count.
Thankfully, he hadn't been a mean drunk. He'd never laid a hand on Tanner's mom, or him or Brendon. Well, not when he was drunk, at least. He'd whooped him and his brother plenty of times for being little shits. They'd more-than-deserved each smack from the belt, though.
He cracked open the bottle of whiskey and took a big, healthy swallow off it. The liquor went down hot and smooth, burning the whole way. He exhaled the fumes and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then poured out a drink or two for the old man.
He settled back against the tombstone and looked out on the highway. He saw a biker down there, ripping along the countryside. Maybe it was Tyke? Or Blade, the man who'd replaced Logan Rainier as President of the Blood Warriors? Could've been any one of his many other brothers.
“Brendon's still missing, by the way,” he said, conversationally. “Still haven't seen him since he left with that whore of his. Sorry, I know I said I'd find him before your funeral.” He took another swig of whiskey and sucked air through his teeth.
“The club's doing good, though. Tyke kicked down one of those Roaming Wolf bastards a couple weeks back. You'd have been proud of him. Left that poor fool bleeding in the street. And Blade's still doing a good job. He really cares about the club, just like you did. Cares about the guys in it, too, and our honor. Not just the name.”
He kicked at a tuft of grass near his boot. “Mom's not doing well, though. You left her in a bad place, old man. You let the house fall apart, and now it's coming down around her ears. Then, you went and did this shit with the estate, tied everything up in this fucking trust of yours. I know you did it just so I'd be backed into a corner, too. But, you could've left Mom out of it, Pops. You could've set some aside, just for her.”
He looked out at the highway, at the cars going by under the afternoon sun. “But then, you know, accidents happen faster than we care to admit. Life's with us, then it passes us by, right? Is that what you're trying to do with this shit? Give me some stability, so maybe I'll appreciate the world around me?”
Tanner shook his head and drank another swallow of Knob Creek. “Nah, you're just trying to be a dick, even from beyond the grave. Always were, always will be one, huh? Why let death slow you down?”
He set the now half-empty pint of whiskey down next to the grave marker and leaned it back against the immovable marble rock. “You keep the rest, old man. I gotta get going to see how the bar's doing.”
He hopped up to his feet and went back to his bike. He climbed on his motorcycle and took one last look at his pops' gravestone before he started it up and took off.
“Fuck you, old man. I'll beat you at your own game. Just you wait and fucking see.”
Chapter Five
Star
“Look, Martin,” Star told her skeezy, middle-aged, skin-and-bones landlord, “your money's coming, okay? I just finalized something yesterday, and I think I can get everything paid by the end of the month.”
He propped himself on the frame of her front door with one hand, barely concealing his leering appreciation of her body. “Yeah, believe me, I've heard everything in the book, sweetie. Had one guy tell me once that his grandma was on death's door, and he was getting her whole estate. Turns out he helped her progress along to get the inheritance. They found her chopped up and stuffed in her own septic tank.”
Gross. Star made a face, regretting so many decisions in her life, particularly the one where she'd moved into this furnished apartment that Martin owned. Cockroaches and ants she could deal with. Even the shitty, abusive neighbors next door. Hell, she
even sometimes liked the loud music from the guy upstairs.
But, above and beyond all that, the worst part of moving in here had been Martin. The way his eyes were on her hips and breasts, leaving a cloying, filthy feeling behind on her skin as they swept over her body. She shivered inside, and fought to control her face.
“Just pointing out, I've seen it all and heard even more.” He slapped the door frame twice, punctuating his statement. “But, how's this? I like you, Star. You seem like you've got some shit luck, but you're alright. Look, I'll get you a payment plan, sorta, in the mail, alright? We go from there.”
A group of bikers rode by, sounding like a symphony of tailpipes as they ripped along the road. Their chrome shined under the afternoon sun, glinting like a million diamonds as they tore down the street.
Was that the Blood Warriors? Star's head involuntarily whipped towards them, trying to track their drive as she searched for Tanner amongst them. Her face fell as she realized that, even had he been amongst them, she wouldn't have been able to tell at this distance.
Martin laughed. “Into bikers now, huh, kiddo? Well, good luck on snagging you one of them, little Miss Priss.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Means you ain't got enough leather or black jeans in that wardrobe of yours to catch their eye.”
She thought to tell him off, that she would be with one tonight. Not that it was any of his business, of course. But, he wouldn't believe her anyways. Instead, Star just snorted her contempt of the skinny, sleazy man.
“I'll put the payment plan in your mailbox, alright?” he asked, ignoring her snort. “We'll get you caught up.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Don't thank me,” Martin said as he retracted his arm from the door frame and turned to leave, “just fucking pay me. Got it?”
Star nodded and silently watched as he headed out to his pickup. She closed her door as he climbed inside and drove away.
Now, the question was, what do you wear to an appointment like this?
# # #
Tanner
“It looks like Brendon's somewhere over by that damn college,” Tanner's mom said to him. They were both in the kitchen, Tova busily washing dishes in the sink and Tanner seated at the kitchen table. The old dishwasher had crapped out a couple weeks before. Just one more problem that needed to be fixed, and just one more reason why he needed to hurry up and get Star pregnant.
“One of Sandra's boys saw him when he was out picking up a load of scrap over that way. I asked Blade and the boys to keep an eye out for him. I hope they find something soon.”
“I know, Mom,” Tanner replied, irritation creeping into his voice. “I heard you the last time. You keep forgetting that I don't give a shit, though.”
“I know you don't,” she said, going back to scrubbing at one of her pans. “I just wish you would, though. He's your brother.”
“He fucking abandoned us. That's why not. He ran off with that skank of his and stopped taking our goddamn phone calls. It's his fault, not yours or mine.”
Tova dropped the pan in the kitchen with a loud clang. She spun around, scrub brush in hand like it was the paddle his father had used on them growing up. “Now, you listen to me. I don't think he's with that damned whore anymore. Blood looks after blood, boy. Whether they've forgotten you or turned you out.”
“Blood's not everything,” he snarled, suddenly livid, as he got up from the kitchen table. “Where is he now, huh? Where's your fucking golden boy right now? He won't even fucking call to see how you're doing. Was he even here when Pops died?”
Instead of answering, she gritted her teeth and turned back around to finish the dishes. A mean temper ran in their family, but Tova had always been able to control hers better than her dead husband, or her sons.
“You know who was here?” he continued, his volley of words aimed at her back. “The Warriors were fucking here, that's who. They were here for you, they were here for Pops, and they've been there for me every day since your sweet baby boy left.”
She slumped at the kitchen sink, her shoulders sagging as he berated her.
He felt regret for yelling at her like that. But, it was regret mixed with a certain sense of blood-boiling rage and satisfaction. Brendon was a piece of shit who'd walked away from his friends and family. The exact opposite of Tanner.
Worried about the time, he checked his phone. It was close.
“Look, I gotta go,” Tanner said as he grabbed his vest off the back of his chair and shrugged into it. “I've got an appointment.”
“At this time of night?” she asked, looking out the kitchen window at the darkening sky. “Who meets for business this late?”
“Not business,” Tanner said, even though he knew it was, or should have been. “But, I think it'll fix our problems.”
Sure, Star was attractive, and smart, and funny. But she didn't want a man like him, not forever. Just for as long as he could pay her bills and take care of his end of the bargain. She was just as desperate as him, just in it for the money like he was. Too bad, too. If she was half as hot under her clothes as he pictured in his mind's eye, she might be too good to just forget about.
“Fix our problems?” Tova asked.
“Yeah,” he said as he crossed to the backdoor and opened it.
Realization dawned on her face. “You're going on a date?”
“Not a fucking date,” he said. Then, before she could ask any more questions that pried deeper than he liked, he was slamming the door behind him and crossing the backyard to his bike.
Chapter Six
Star
Star was putting on her earrings when she heard Tanner's bike pull up in front of her apartment. He was punctual, just like the day before. There was something to be said for a dependable man.
She pulled on her heels as fast as she could. Her thoughts returned to Martin's earlier, words about her not having enough black jeans or leather in her wardrobe. She wondered if her jeans and blouse were still too dressy for him.
She considered taking her purse, but decided against it. Instead, she just tucked her ID and some cash into her pocket and headed out. She locked up behind her, and went as fast down the walkway as her heels would allow.
He'd stayed astride his bike, out on the street that ran in front of her place, waiting like James Dean, or some other bad boy from myth. The breath almost caught in her chest as she hurried along, as her eyes traced that strong jaw again, those muscular arms, his MC vest.
Realization set in, and a little palpitation of excitement ran through her body. She was going to fuck this man tonight. Or, rather, he was going to fuck her. It had been so long since she'd gotten laid, and never before by a hunk like this. It hardly mattered that she didn't know anything about him.
And, on top of a good lay, she'd be getting what she wanted: a solution to her years of financial problems.
Still thinking, she chewed her lip. Was this really how she wanted to pay her bills, though? Wasn't she just a whore for doing this? But, a whore was just someone who gave pleasure in exchange for money. Somehow, this was worse. Wasn't it?
Her mind flashed back to Martin, to his snide comments. To his grubby body, and his grubby hands. She needed to be able to pay rent, and fucking her landlord was out of the question. If it came down to a choice between eviction and screwing him, she'd rather just call her hatchback home.
Still, even with the doubts, that little thrill was still there, that exciting, wondrous feeling that reverberated throughout her whole being. Somehow, despite all the warning signs to the contrary, this felt right. And it had been so long since anything had felt good.
Who knew making five-hundred grand could be so exciting?
Or so terrifying?
Tanner's pale blue eyes followed her like a desperate, hungry predator sizing her up for its next meal. His eyes lingered on her shapely hips and thin waist, taking them in.
Another realization stopped her in her tracks, though
, and she clutched her hands together in front of her. “I've never ridden on a bike, before,” she announced as she approached.
He quirked an eyebrow at her.
“How do I get on?”
“First, you come here,” he said with an uncharacteristically wry smile and a beckoning hand. “We ain't gonna bite.”
Hesitant, she made her way slowly forward. First one step, then two, then three. She reached out and grabbed hold of his hand, and he guided her onto the back of his seat.
“Watch the pipes back there,” he said loudly, his voice clear over the engine, “and put your arms around my waist.”
She made sure her legs were free and clear of the hot-to-the-touch exhaust pipes, as the vibrations of the motorcycle began to give her some hot-to-the-touch feelings. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms loosely around his chiseled torso. As she settled in, his muscles twitched and flexed beneath his black tee and vest.