by Blue, Jayne
“I hate to do this. You know I’ll keep it safe Stone,” he tucked my Great Wolves cut into his pocket.
“I know brother,” and Sawyer and I clasped hands then he pulled me into a hug. I would be leaving my family for the first time since I’d found them as a brawling teenager fresh out of juvie.
It had to be done. I think I’d die rather die before being locked up again. And I’d for sure die before I fucked up the club in any way.
The road was my only option right now.
“There’s a safe deposit box down south when you need to replenish it’s at the Downtown Gold Cross Bank. I’ve got a little boat there too. You can call it a vacation. Don’t check into any hotel rooms if you can avoid it. And just take your time getting there. I need time to sort the Berry Stabler shit out up here. Here you go.” He handed me the key to the safety deposit box.
Thanks to Sawyer’s planning there was always an escape route for club members. I needed it now. Cash, a boat, and a slow road to get there. I’d be gone before the devil knew I’d taken one of his evil little henchmen in Berry Stabler.
I was going out on the run. I really wasn’t afraid of the cops. I wasn’t afraid of God. I’d killed because there was evil in this world and I got rid of a rancid piece of it.
I was going on the road to protect the rest of the club. I was afraid of being cut off from my club. That was the hard part. They were my connection to the world that I knew. That’s why the worse shame I could think of was dishonoring my club. So it wasn’t a question that I was gone. I’d only had the chance to say goodbye to Stone.
The thing was we all worked too hard to turn all of Great Wolves operations legit. Connecting the club to the murder of a politician’s cousin, even a low-level politician, could put all of the Great Wolves Charters at risk.
I hoped there’d be a time I could see my brothers again. But I knew that when I’d died I’d die with the respect of Sawyer and the club. Whatever it took.
Could a man ask any more than that? This man couldn’t. Sawyer was talking about what I should do. How to reach out if I needed to. There were M.C. Chapters all over the country now.
“Great Wolves Emerald Coast Chapter is the go-between. They’ll get you fresh cash if you need it. And when you get to Gold Cross don’t forget to enjoy the fucking beach once or twice. It's goddamn gorgeous.”
“Thanks. Will do Prez.”
“I’ll fix this shit on my end. I promise you.” Sawyer McCall was the best Prez I’d ever served with. I was lucky to be here with him even it was brief.
“No hurry. Keep your priorities straight. The pack before the patch brother I know that. Hell, I’m looking forward to the road trip.” And I was. The open road meant freedom. As long as no one asked me too many questions.
“And Stone, every man who wears the patch knows what you’re doing for us. What you did for that little girl. I’m honored to ride with you again with I fix this shit.”
I nodded and left. I wasn’t one to cry over shit that had to be done.
That was a month ago.
I’d been riding ever since, hiding on the highway, and keeping the heat off the club.
The road was taking its toll. I needed to stop for at least a day or two.
I was running low on cash. I had plenty of my own money. That wasn’t the problem. It was how to get it. A man on the run didn’t use an ATM machine unless he was an idiot. I needed to get to that stash Sawyer had for me.
My bike was also fucked up it needed some repairs.
I’d pushed things to the limit. So after four weeks of making my trail impossible to follow I finally rolled toward the cash and boat that Sawyer had stashed for me. I could live on the boat for a few days.
So that was the plan.
I was headed into Gold Cross, Florida.
I didn’t know a damn thing about the town. But the rest stop before Gold Cross made it very clear why Sawyer chose it as a hiding place.
I’d be a biker among many. And hiding in plain sight. A big billboard loomed over the rest stop exit.
Gold Cross, Florida Welcomes Bikers! Exit 292!
I couldn’t help but smile when I thought about it. Another brilliant idea from Sawyer.
I parked my bike and heard my joints crack and pop as I got off.
I’d been on the bike for four hours, since two a.m. Riding before dawn meant fewer people on the road to see me pass them.
I looked around. The rest stop was like a million others I’d seen on the road.
I rinsed off in the sink of the john. I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror. I looked rougher than when I left Michigan, which was saying something.
People were giving me a wide berth when I did come across civilization in gas stations and diners.
I didn’t look like a nice man. Which didn’t bother me. But it was a problem.
People remembered the leather-clad biker with jet-black hair who was dusted from head to boot in road dirt. I stuck out. And that was not good. Being around a bunch of leather-wearing bikers could help that situation. I splashed some water on my face and headed back to my bike.
On the way back I passed a grizzled old dude setting up a card table with a sign that read, “Gold Cross Bake Sale for Vets.” It was a better option than the beef jerky in my satchel so I gave the old timer five bucks for a muffin. Even tough guys liked muffins dammit.
“You headed to Gold Cross?” The man asked and then pointed to a poster on a stand positioned at the end of his array of baked goods. It listed off what looked like dozens of Bike Month Festivities. On top of his balding head was a ring of wispy white hair. He looked like skinny biker Santa if you asked me.
Rock concerts, beer festivals, and the like were on tap for Gold Cross all month. It would probably be swarming with tourists which made me nervous. But I had to trust Sawyer on this one.
Biker Santa offered me three dollars change.
“Keep it, it’s for the vets right. Yeah, I’m headed to Gold Cross. They welcoming my type?” I pointed to the list of Bike Week Activities.
“Son most towns do a bike week, we do a bike month, and it started today. Good eats, good beer, fine women, and miles of white sandy beach. I showed up in ’77 and never left.” I noticed the man’s cut. The Rolling Sunset M.C. Okay, maybe it was an old club, one I’d never heard of. He was an old dude.
“Let me top off that Thermos of yours at least. You did pay five dollars for a .50 cent muffin.”
“Obliged.” I unscrewed the metal top of the road worn Thermos and tilted it toward the old biker.
“Jesus kid you’re on fumes. No good decisions were ever made without a good belt or two.” I had to agree with him on that. Coffee was the only thing keeping me alive on the lonely road I traveled these last few weeks.
I looked the billboard again, Gold Cross Florida Welcomes Bikers!
“Gold Cross seems pretty holy to be so open to well, this.” I indicated the beat up leather, denim, and boots, certainly I was not ready for a Sunday service or sermon.
“Oh, the name? Yeah Gold Cross is a pirate town or used to be. It’s how pirates marked the location of buried treasure. Ain’t nothing to do with what’s up in heaven, just what’s buried in the sand.” The biker’s eyes had a sparkle to them.
“You part pirate?”
“Argh.” He replied. “Pirate? Biker? Same thing.”
I conjured a vision of a maple-haired wench and was envious of some ghost pirate getting to pillage her. She was standing on a boat, and golden sun was in her hair. It took me away from the rest stop and my current conversation with Santa Biker.
And I don’t know where that came from, but this maple haired beauty appeared in my brain. I closed my eyes tight, and she was gone.
Yeah, I was for sure going a little nuts. Turning into some sort of Highway Hermit. I needed a little break man.
I rolled it around in my head again. Sawyer’s idea was brilliant, in a town overrun by bikers, I’d be less conspicuous. I’d
already removed my cut, traded my good leathers for the old generic shit, and let my hair grow longer to obscure my face when I hunched over. It would be okay. I’d lay low and blend in as best as I could.
“Got a name of a good bike shop in town?”
“I’d recommend the one next to Pontiacs OTB, uh, that means on the beach. Get a nice meal, a cold beer, and look for Jason Ross’s Bike Rental and Repair next door. He’s the best mechanic on the coast for my money.”
“Thanks for the tip and Java.” I nodded and poured a little of the coffee into the Thermos cup. I took a sip and felt the hot liquid slide down my throat and past my chest.
“I’m Slim.”
“Nice to meet you Slim, I’m Stone.” Stone was the only name I’d gone by since I was a probie. It wasn’t my legal name, and it was safe as any to share.
“Hope to see you in Gold Cross, thanks for the donation.”
I screwed the cap back on the Thermos and walked back to my bike. I tucked it into the satchel and ran a hand over the rough stubble that had grown on my face. I’d shaved few days ago. It was time again. I had more of a beard in Grand City. The stubble made me look a little different. Though hiding a man my size was pretty fucking hard to do.
I got on my bike and revved the engine. I had to admit month on the run was getting to me. I needed a few days in a real bed. Certainly the bike repair was getting to be an urgent situation.
All these were logical reasons to head to Gold Cross.
But something else was pulling me to the town. Something in Gold Cross was trying to get my attention. Maybe it was that maple-haired beauty that had leaped in my imagination at the thought of pirates.
I wasn’t one to argue with the forces of the universe. If a man needed killing, I killed him.
If a town was trying to lure me there, I was going to find out why.
Pirate and outlaw biker? Maybe Slim was right. Maybe they were one in the same. I revved my engine and headed into town.
Kara
“So you’ve missed two payments in a row Kara.” Kevin Potter of Potter Saving and Loan was looking at me as if he won. He was sure of it.
“Kevin, you have to give me more time.”
“You know if it were up to me I would.” Kevin walked around from his desk and stood behind the office chair that seemed like an executioner’s chair at this very moment.
I was shaking, scared, and there was a fury that I couldn’t show. All of it was bubbling up in me. Kevin put his hands on my shoulders. I felt his eyes. They were sliding down my tank top and looking down it. I knew it. I had to go to work after this, on the boat, I’d dressed for that. Not a good choice. Any other time my white shorts would be fine, appropriate. But here with Kevin, I felt exposed.
Though Kevin always made me feel like that. Like he wanted to eat me alive.
He rubbed my shoulders. I guess he was trying to comfort me? But if he really wanted to do that he’d give me more time to pay the debt on Ross Island, my inheritance. My debt-ridden inheritance.
“I have a board to answer to you know. It’s not all up to me.” His hand rubbed lower, and it felt like he brushed under my bra strap. That fucking bastard. He was trying to cop a feel. I was helpless, and he was ready to take full advantage of it.
“I have thirty days right?” I was going to play dumb, play the victim, play into Kevin’s hands, and do whatever I could in the next 30 days.
“Yes. It’s not so bad really. Your daddy paid for your college with these mortgages. And all the debt is right here, with me, not at some bank in New York City, I control it.” He leaned in and was talking into my ear. I felt his breath, moist on my neck.
His office was glassed in, anyone could see, but that was the point. He wanted everyone to know he was the boss, he held the strings, and that he could put his hands on my shoulders. He was milking his little power play for all it was worth.
“True, I’m lucky. I’ll get the money somehow. I promise. I hate having debt.” I said through gritted teeth as he came around in front of me and took my hands in his. He was fifteen years older than me, a son of a rich man, used to getting his way, and ruthless. I was the daughter of a dreamer. He held all the cards in my life right now. I hated his guts. But he didn’t know it. And I couldn’t show it.
I did my best to be still. Not to reveal the only card I still held on tight to. I hoped it was an ace.
Kevin stood in front of me and moved a lock of my hair back and behind my ear. His fingers always lingered. They had since I was fifteen and he was a dirty old man already in his twenties. Now I was 21. He was pushing forty, and he figured that was the perfect age for him to take a wife. To take me.
“You keep yourself pure like your daddy told me you were. In 30 days, this is going to transfer to me. And maybe you won’t lose it after all Kara honey.”
He wanted me and the land. The word pure. It grossed me out that he even said it. I know my Daddy didn’t tell him that. He liked to pretend he had Daddy’s blessing. I knew it wasn’t true.
“Thirty-days. Thanks for the extension Mr. Potter.”
“Call me Kevin, you know I always tell you that Kara honey. You’re all grown up now.”
“Okay, Kevin. I’m going to need to visit the deposit box now.”
“Okay, aw, you’re shaking like a leaf.” He pulled me in and squeezed me. Mr. Potter, uh, Kevin’s palms splayed out and slid to the top of my ass and pushed me into the hug. He couldn’t see my face. Thank God. I knew my mouth was in a tight line.
Someone else did see my face, just beyond the glass office and in the bank lobby, and he also caught my eye. He caught the eye of everyone in a 50-feet radius I would guess.
Stone
Gold Cross Savings and Loan was in the middle of a tiny downtown. But it was easy to see it was bike week. I parked mine next to a row of cycles. Everywhere I looked there were bikes and bikers. I looked down the row of parked bikes. There was a honky-tonk bar at the end of the block with a sign that said “Dollar Pitchers.”
A packed Honky-Tonk bar on a weekday at noon, check. These dudes were in full vacation mode.
I walked into the bank and up to a teller with no one at her window. The entire bank layout was open. A throwback to a 1970s arrangement. The teller looked me up and down and then I saw her eyes dart to a glass office that took up a huge chunk of real estate in the back corner.
At first, I thought maybe the teller was eyeing security. I didn’t exactly look like I was checking on my stocks and bonds. But she was watching something else. I followed her eyes.
A blonde man in a business suit was behind the glass. He had his tanned manicured fingers all over, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She had masses of maple colored hair and long, lithe legs that led up to a perfect ass, covered, just barely, by white shorts. And maple-colored hair. Wouldn’t you fucking know it? Maybe that was my wench.
Her white short-shorts were not exactly an outfit that worked in a bank setting. Even if it was a bank in a tourist town. I wondered what the story was with her. I knew I’d like to find out.
The man was touching her, caressing her hands, and his eyes were hungry.
The woman was clearly upset, she was stiff, and she was doing everything but run away. I had the urge to break the window and get her out of there.
“Can I help you?” The teller finally realized she had a job to do. But it was too late. I was mesmerized by the strange little play going on behind the glass.
“What’s going on in there?”
“None of my business or yours. But, if you ask me,” which I had, “he’s going to get her, and her island. Poor thing. She’s so young.”
“Uh, yeah, well is that legal? He’s not so young.”
“Oh, Kara Ross is 21, but 21 and never been kissed they say. Her daddy saw to that. But now he’s gone you know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just good local gossip. What can I do for you?” Maybe she remembered she was telli
ng tales about her boss and finally get back to business. I looked at her tag.
“Carleen, I need to get to the safe deposit boxes.” I produced the key that Sawyer had given me. No need for i.d. when you had the key. I worried over security cameras for a second. But then there was no all-points bulletin on me or anything. Hopefully, they’d straighten this out before my face was plastered all over the internet.
“No problem. Let me just lead the way.” She gave me a wink and a wiggle. I might have been interested, she was cute if I hadn’t first seen that beauty behind the glass. That little beauty had me thinking about those shorts and about putting my fingers in that maple colored hair as I walked down the hall through a vault area and to several rows of boxes.
“Just leave it locked on the table when you’re done.” And Carleen the teller left me to my business. And she left me to wonder what would happen to that pretty thing in the bank manager’s office. It wasn’t my town or my problem I guessed.
Getting an infusion of cash had brought me here. Not a pretty little virgin. Though she was very tempting.
I matched the key and the number and slid out the safety deposit drawer.
Inside the box was another phone. I traded the one Sawyer had given me for the new one. There was also a key at the end of an anchor-shaped key chain, more cash, mine, stuff I hadn’t had a chance to get before I ran, and stuff I wouldn’t risk withdrawing myself.
Sawyer had arranged for the Emerald Coast currier to make sure I had a stash here.
The box had a stack of fifty-thousand dollars in hundreds. Plenty to wait out a long stretch here. I grabbed ten-grand. It fit in one fist. This would be enough to get some food, and start bike repairs.
There was also a note from Sawyer. I opened it.
“Hope you took your time getting here. I think you’ll like the boat I got for you to hang out on for a while. I figure your legs are getting tired of riding about now. It’s docked at Cutter’s Marina. It’s big enough to live on, fish, whatever. No hotels to rent or credit cards to scan brother. Enjoy the beach.