CHASING THUNDER
A Wyndryder Novel
By GINGER VOIGHT
Published by True North Publishing
An Imprint of Motivational Press, Inc.
7777 N Wickham Rd, # 12-247
Melbourne, FL 32940
www.truenorthpub.com
Copyright 2015 © Ginger Voight
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means: graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system without permission, in writing, from the authors, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, article, book, or academic paper. The authors and publisher of this book and the associated materials have used their best efforts in preparing this material. The authors and publisher make no representations or warranties with respect to accuracy, applicability, fitness or completeness of the contents of this material. They disclaim any warranties expressed or implied, merchantability, or fitness for any particular purpose. The authors and publisher shall in no event be held liable for any loss or other damages, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages. If you have any questions or concerns, the advice of a competent professional should be sought.
Manufactured in the United States of America.
ISBN: 978-1-62865-168-3
Table of Contents
Prologue
1. Runaway
2. Thunderstruck
3. Feel Like Makin’ Love
4. Renegade
5. The Seeker
6. Hollywood Nights
7. Crazy on You
8. No Church in the Wild
9. Killing in the Name
10. King of Hollywood
11. Can’t You See
12. Running on Empty
13. Sweet Emotion
14. P Control
15. U + Ur Hand
16. She’s Always a Woman
17. No More Mr. Nice Guy
18. Born to Be Wild
19. Nothing Else Matters
20. Who Are You
21. Patience
22. Sober
23. Simple Man
24. Tuesday’s Gone
25. Join Together
26. Youth Gone Wild
27. Sympathy for the Devil
28. Sweet Child of Mine
29. In the Air Tonight
30. Uprising
31. Please Don’t Go
About the Author
PROLOGUE
Welcome to the Jungle
Los Angeles, November 2003
The lost and scattered children of Hollywood had learned many different tricks to survive, but one lesson was universal. They kept their ears trained to the crowded streets, listening for one familiar sound to rise above all others. It was the sound of a roaring lion, the dramatic rumble of an approaching storm. It was the sound of hope. The thunderous growl came from a 1973 Panhead, proudly emblazoned with the Stars and Stripes and operated by a massive hulk of a man named Joe Bennett.
His salt-and-pepper mane was partially concealed by a matching American flag bandana, his ponytail securely tied down his back in a thick braid. His beard, mostly white, dipped low in the front, making him look like a rock-and-roll Santa Claus. He wore black, but there was nothing dark about Joe Bennett. His soul was alive and his aura electric as he cruised the infamous mean streets of Hollywood.
It was a place designed to lure the weak and consume the faint of heart. When playing its game, there was a price to be paid. This enticing devil notoriously took its payment in flesh and spirit from those who dared to barter their souls. Yet more continued to come, though the putrid stench of lost dreams and shattered innocence of those who’d come before them filled the air like yesterday’s garbage.
It was dangerous. It was exciting. And for far too many, it was the end of the line.
Despite the loud, rumbling motor of his bike, Joe blended in seamlessly with all the tourists and regulars that populated streets with legendary names like Sunset, Vine, and Melrose. No one looked twice at some aging hippie biker when characters like Jesus and Superman mingled with the commoners for photo ops.
The only ones who noticed him were the ones who needed him. There was a select group of people in Hollywood who knew his name and his reputation, who listened for that roar of thunder to herald the approach of the only savior they had ever known. This group was as invisible to the midwestern tourists in double-decker buses as Joe was. No one saw them, no one cared. They were able to slink along in the shadows like discarded human debris, at the mercy of predators that lurked the city streets, seeking those whom they might devour.
For these lost souls, the sound of a bike was not only the sound of hope, it was their last chance at salvation: a strong hand to clasp theirs, to lift them up from the edge of the abyss and set them right once again on a brand-new course.
Joe had lost count of the number of kids he had saved. It had started with a scared underage hooker in 1978 who had propositioned him on Sunset and Western, even though she was still black and blue from her last trick. He had begun to look through girls like this one just like everyone else, but something in her eyes made him look twice. He realized that her hope hadn’t died yet, despite what this shithole of a town had already taken from her. She was still young, she was still pretty; she was still human. Most importantly, she was still a child, one in desperate need of someone to notice.
He ended up taking her to a diner that night, where he bought her a huge sandwich and a piece of pie that she scarfed down in ten minutes flat. He didn’t say much as he listened to her story, which she was still innocent and childlike enough to share. When she got on the back of his bike, he drove her to the nearest bus station, where he paid for her ticket and handed her some pocket money to hold her over until she got back home to Kentucky.
It was all the money he’d had in his wallet at the time, but it had been worth every red cent when she threw her arms around his neck with a grateful sob. He closed his arms around her in a classic Joe Bennett bear hug, lifting her right off her feet. Tears stung the back of his eyes when he realized how fragile she felt in his arms. Another night or week or month might have broken this young girl. Now she was free to start over somewhere safer, somewhere else, and all it had really taken was for someone to finally give a damn and take notice.
After that, Hollywood had beckoned him like a lonely lover. He found himself purposefully seeking out girls like the first one. It didn’t take a whole lot of effort. Once he opened his eyes to the grim reality of life on the streets, he could see nothing else. It was an ugly place with overwhelming need. Joe knew he couldn’t save them all.
But for those he could, he knew he had to try.
For many girls, and for almost as many guys, Joe Bennett was the last customer they had. He met their need by giving them a way out, and he asked for nothing in return. They got a free meal, a free ride, and a one-way ticket back home, where they wouldn’t have to blow some middle-aged pervert in a back alley just to survive.
It had started as his mission. It soon became his calling.
The only thing that mattered more to Joe was his own family. They were the reason that the risks he took were minimal. There had been a few skirmishes here and there, but he managed to keep a low profile with those who would do his street kids harm. He was needed at home, and he couldn’t risk getting gunned down, yet another casualty to the war most had no clue he was waging.
He led a double life.
He had to. Susan and Molly were depending on him, and he would never let them down.
That was why he cut short his tour of Hollywood that afternoon in November
. He still had to stop by the shop before he headed home for a very special birthday. One doesn’t turn sweet sixteen every day.
He arrived at Wyndryder Custom Cycles just as the sun sank into the Pacific. The parking lot was mostly vacant. Jim’s truck was there, of course, and Joe’s Jeep. There were a few customers lingering at the bike shop. Located off of California’s Pacific Coast Highway, it was just steps away from the sand. The setting sun cast a warm orange glow against the building, sparkling off all the bikes parked just inside the glass windows that surrounded the showroom.
One very special bike—all black, just like she wanted—sat right inside the door, waiting for her new owner. Joe’s face lit up like a Christmas tree when he spied Jim putting a finishing polish on the surprise gift.
Not everyone would buy a sixteen-year-old a Heritage Softail, but if ever there was a soul meant to ride one, it was his little Mojo. She loved bikes as much as he did and had always been a receptive student to anything he had to teach her, whether it was riding a bike or throwing a punch.
By 1991, when Mojo came to live with him, he had been a street warrior for more than a decade. He knew too well that the world around them could chew up little girls and spit them back out again. He also knew that the tragic events that had landed her in his lap had equal opportunity to define her or destroy her. The only way he could protect her was to teach her how to protect herself. He had begun training her in self-defense from the wee age of four. She had grown tough as nails in the twelve years that followed. She was as fiery as her mane of copper-red hair, and just as formidable as her grandfather had hoped she would be.
Just like every Bennett who had come before her.
The deck had been stacked against her almost from birth. She had to be unbreakable. And he made damn sure she had all the tools she needed to wage her own war when the time came. So this wasn’t just some average teenager who listened to pop music and overdosed on reality TV. She was smart. She was strong. And even at sixteen, she was ready.
“Looking good, Jim.” Joe followed up his compliment with a robust slap on his friend’s back. “She’s going to love it.”
“She’s going to break her fool neck,” Jim retorted.
Joe laughed. “Bullshit. She’s a more careful rider than you are, Jimbo.” They shared a knowing glance. Of course she was careful. She had already lived through one accident. “Besides. You won’t agree to be my lieutenant, so I had to grow my own.”
Jim shook his head with a humorless chuckle. “I still think you’re crazy, Joe. She’s only sixteen. She’s not ready.”
“You’re not ready,” Joe corrected gently. He knew that Jim had a soft spot in his heart for Mojo. She was practically the mascot of Wyndryder and all it represented, and had been for more than a decade.
Jim shrugged off the sentimentality. “Yeah. Well. You know.”
Joe laughed. He knew all too well. It wasn’t easy for him to let his little bird fly, either. But for her own good, he knew he had to give her room to stretch her wings.
After all, he wouldn’t be around forever.
“What time is the party?”
Joe glanced at his watch. He was running late, as always. “Ten minutes ago,” he answered with a wry grin. He turned for his office, cell phone in hand, to tell Susan he would be running a little late.
“As usual,” she said, and he could almost see her rueful smile. He cradled the phone lovingly to his ear, melting all over again at the thought of his lovely wife. He had met her on a beach in 1966. The dazzling brunette had worn a memorable navy-blue bikini with big white polka dots. He’d been smitten ever since. “But you get a reprieve this time, mister. She’s not even here yet.”
His eyebrow lifted. Mojo hadn’t been able to talk about anything other than her sixteenth birthday for at least a month solid. Now she was late for her own party? Before he even had a chance to ask, Susan was quick to fill in the blanks. “She’s with Cooper.”
“Ah,” he said, and sat at his desk. Cooper Scoggins was Molly’s first real romance, and it had taken up quite a bit of her time as of late. But he was a good kid and a hell of a mechanic, so Joe had allowed them to date despite the fact that she was barely sixteen and he was a more mature twenty. Most of the time they spent together was around family anyway, so he already knew that Cooper genuinely cared for her, and that mattered more to Joe than something as arbitrary as age. In a couple of years, it wouldn’t really matter anyway.
The thought stopped Joe cold. These last twelve years had gone by much too fast. In just two years she’d be off on her own, a grown woman. His job raising her would be over, and he wasn’t quite ready to retire. All he wanted to do was hold onto each precious minute they had left together while she was still his kid to love.
Joe called Cooper next, to tell him to bring Molly by the shop for her gift. Cooper had done a lot of the restoration on the bike, so he already knew what surprise was in store for his favorite girl. The young mechanic assured him they would be there in ten minutes or less.
That was perfect timing. Jim was already closing up the showroom, ushering out the few customers who remained. Joe headed to the warehouse to dig out something festive to deck out this once-in-a-lifetime gift for his favorite sixteen-year-old.
Not even a mile away, just down the beach, Molly Joanne Bennett sat on a blanket next to her boyfriend, watching the sun set on her sixteenth birthday. Cooper had provided a blanket to wrap around their shoulders against the cool marine air. His arm draped around her shoulder as he held her close. She grinned up at him, losing herself in those warm, dark eyes that had captured her from the moment she’d first tripped into them, two years before.
She had been such a baby then, she thought to herself, barely fourteen. She had even worn a bit of baby pudge around her middle, but Cooper never seemed to care. He loved to make her laugh, and they became friends immediately.
It had taken him a year and a half to muster the courage to ask her on a date. Most of that had to do with her formidable grandfather, who ruled over Wyndryder Custom Cycles like a cantankerous grizzly bear. He was president of both the shop and the Wyndryder MC itself, and his shadow loomed large. He was soft as nougat on the inside, though, and once Cooper figured that out it had been a lot easier to woo Joe’s favored princess.
It didn’t hurt that Cooper knew how to treat women. He didn’t see them as conquests to be had. He liked her as a person first, and he treated her like a friend. This had won over both Molly and Joe Bennett in the end. Cooper wasn’t out to bag some underage girl. He was barely a man himself, but he already knew he was willing to promise this incredible girl forever.
Her big green eyes were wide as she stared up at him. “Now?” she asked.
He grinned. “Not yet,” he said, turning his attention back to the sunset. “It’s your first kiss. It has to be perfect.”
She knew that it would be perfect, just because it was with him. But she didn’t say that. She just waited for the last little sliver of the sun to disappear. The second it did, his warm hand cupped her chin and turned her to face him. She lost herself in those eyes as his mouth descended towards hers. She released a slight sigh as their lips met for the first time.
His hand wound in her long tangle of red curls as he deepened the kiss. He had dreamed of this moment for months, but nothing could have prepared him for the way his body responded as her mouth opened under his. She was so innocent to the havoc she wreaked on his senses. He dragged his mouth away while he still could. “Happy birthday, Mojo,” he said, using her grandfather’s nickname for her, making her swoon even more.
“It is now,” she told him before boldly reaching for yet another kiss.
He could only indulge her for a second. His phone buzzed in his leather jacket. They broke apart so he could answer. He grinned, keeping his side of the conversation cryptic until he disconnected the call. “It’s your grandfather. Change of plans. He wants us to meet him at the shop.”
She couldn�
�t contain her squeal. She knew what that meant. He had tried to be sneaky. Hell, they had all tried to be sneaky. But she knew that her Pops wouldn’t let her down.
She had wanted only two things for her sweet sixteen. One, she wanted the boy she loved to kiss her at last. They had dated for months, but he had been nothing but the perfect gentleman, respecting her age (and her grandfather) enough not to take advantage of her youthful enthusiasm. It had driven her crazy, but she was equally crazy about Cooper. She knew he was worth the wait.
The only other thing she wanted, and even more worth the wait, was a bike of her very own. She was tired of being a baby that people had to protect and take care of, which is what she felt like every time she climbed behind a rider—always male—who had his own bike. She wanted to show everyone how grown she was, how mature she was, how ready she was to take control of her own life.
She’d spent her whole life training to be everything her Pops knew she could be. This was more than just another birthday. It was a new start, one in which she could control her own destiny at last. And she wasn’t about to wait one minute longer than she had to.
She sprang to her feet, pulling Cooper up with her. She’d finally shed her baby pudge, thanks to her grandfather’s grueling workouts, so she was every ounce lean muscle as she raced toward Cooper’s bike. She flew across the sand and onto the parking lot with an enthusiastic “Let’s go!”
Cooper sauntered off of the sand and onto the pavement, taking the time to pick off the residual grains of sand one by one. She practically hopped in her seat as he approached. “I can’t help but notice that you’re excited.”
“Cooper!” she groaned. She already had her helmet on and was raring to go. If he didn’t get a move on, she’d hop off the bike and run all the way to the shop. She said as much, crossing her arms in front of her chest defiantly.
He chuckled as he put on his helmet. “Keep your shorts on. I’ll get you there in no time.” He swung his leg over. “Maybe we’ll take the scenic route. How do you feel about San Francisco?”
Chasing Thunder Page 1