She nods even though she doesn’t really get it, not yet anyway. “Where are you going?”
“To find the truth. Lock the door behind me. Don’t be inviting the tick turd Warren over either.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, clutching the story of our grandma to her chest. Her pink nail polish is chipped at the tips as a tear rolls down her cheek. I burn our parting image into my brain, hoping it’s not the last time I see her.
**
Two weeks later
My bike is rolling on fumes as I pull in at the dusty truck stop somewhere between California and the Midwest. I’ve just been riding, pushing my body and my motorcycle to the limit. It’s been nothing but the open road and me. My head doesn’t feel any damn clearer. If anything, I feel more confused. Parking my bike, I stretch, rolling my neck, breathing in the truck fumes.
Antsy, I scan the lot. Don’t know why I’m paranoid. Guess I’m afraid my overbearing mother will show up to drag my ass home. She’s been mild when I’ve spoken with dad. I expected her to flip out. The old man says he has her under control, to do what I need to, take my time, and clear my mind. He doesn’t know that I know the truth, well, the lie I suppose. When I get to Kentucky, I’ll be finding my grandpa—Grim.
From what I read about him on the internet, about the time he was raided by the FEDS and went to prison, he’s one bad motherfucker. Will he know who I am? Does he still talk to my mom? Does he ever wonder what became of us? Did he send us away? So many questions run through my head as I walk inside the gas station to take a piss and pay for my gas.
Inside, a girl about my age is working behind the counter. She’s kinda pretty in that girl next door way. Her brown hair is cut short, hugging her chin. Her green eyes light up as she takes me in. I’m sure I look rough as fuck from riding hard, but in her eyes, I’m the bad boy her daddy warned her about. She wants to know if a good girl can break a bad boy like me and make me wanna be good. The question is written all over her face. The answer is fuck no, but damn if I won’t let her try.
“You aren’t from around here, are you?” She smiles, exposing a dimple in her right cheek. It’s sexy.
“Nope, passing through. What’s there to do around here for fun?”
“I get off in twenty minutes,” she says appearing bold, but I can see the slight shake in her hand as I hand her my card.
“Sweetheart, I guarantee you’ll get off, but won’t take no twenty minutes.” I smirk as her cheeks flush. “Twenty minutes, I’ll be waiting.” I wink as she slides my card back in the palm of my hand, her fingers brush against mine and she bites her lip. It’s too fucking easy sometimes. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
I move off to the bathroom as the man in line behind me clears his throat.
I’m at the sink washing my hands when the door opens, a wave of perfume proceeds her. Didn’t take long at all.
“I uh…got off early,” her voice scratches in her throat.
Without a word, I dry my hands, and cross the room, locking the door behind her. She nearly jumps when my shoulder bumps hers. “Easy sweetheart, I don’t bite…hard,” I tease, as she laughs nervously.
Not wasting anytime, I pick her up, sitting her on the sink as she squeaks. Her arms circle my neck as her legs stay wrapped around me. “Hi,” I say, dipping my head.
“What’s your name?” She looks up at me with such adoration, I almost feel bad, almost.
I shut down her questions, putting a finger to her soft lips. “Shh.” Replacing my finger with my lips, I get a small taste of her mint lip balm. She doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing, and I don’t have time to show her. Her tongue darts out, sloppy and awkward. I should feel bad but I don’t. Getting straight to it, I pepper kisses down her throat and palm her tit.
Her moan is subtle, soft, sweet. Corrupting this good girl going bad makes the head of my cock swell. “My name’s Sarah.” Her words are like a knife to my dick. I can’t be fucking some chick that has the same name as my sister.
Pulled from the moment, I wipe my fingers through my hair. “It’s been real, it’s been fun, but I gotta go.” My sudden change in mood has her confused, but I don’t stick around to explain. Only offering her the words, “Nothing personal. You were great.”
Back on the road, it’s just me, my thoughts, and the corn snakes for company.
Nash
California
Goddamn, I’m gonna wring that boy’s motherfuckin’ neck when I get ahold of him. Taking off like he did, making his mom worry. Fucking left Sara home alone. Little shithead knows the rules and he broke them. I told him to let me handle Karly, but I guess the call of the road was too much. It’s a song I know all too well.
He’s too much like me. Fucking goes through more girls than ought to be legal, but I told him he’s only young once, to enjoy it will he can. When he meets his match, she’ll be leading him around by his dick like his mom does me.
Karly is driving me fuckin nuts. Telling me to go after him and drag our boy’s ass back home. I don’t care that he’s out on his own. He can handle himself. I taught him well, but he could’ve fuckin came to me and told me he wanted to go. I would’ve got my woman onboard. She’s cried herself to sleep for the past two weeks.
“A mother’s love for her son is something you can’t understand,” she told me when I tried to talk some sense into her.
I told her that we can track him with his bank card and his cell phone. I have to admit I wasn’t expecting him to go so far east. I suspected he’d maybe head to Vegas or go north, but not east. Him going east isn’t weird, it’s just we left our old lives there—our pasts…Drag Creek——Black Rebel Riders’ MC.
When Cole took off, Karly flipped. She didn’t even want to allow Sara go to summer cheer camp. Thankfully, she changed her mind. I never would have thought I’d be a Goddamned cheer parent, but I am.
I’d do anything for my baby girl. I’d do anything for my family. California has been good to us. Against all odds, we’ve made a damn good life here. I started my own custom shop, my passion for motorcycles still drives me, but I do a lot of different restoration jobs. Last week, I restored a vintage barber’s chair.
Karly works as the social director at a special needs home. Assisted living for adults. Her favorite client is Cacey, a guy who is twenty-seven in age, but mentally he’s more like nine. We were able to take him to Disney with us last year. He had the best time. Seeing Karly working with him is amazing. She has so much patience and is so understanding of his needs. I’d never be able to do what she does. However, the old her never would have been so patient. She has changed a lot for the better. We both have matured.
It gets stressful at times, but she loves her work. I’ve never seen her more passionate about anything in her life, except maybe my dick. A smile stretches across my face when she comes through the door after a long day at work.
Love seeing her sexy fucking legs, and tight ass in that grey fitted skirt she is wearing.
She’s one of those women who gets better with age. There’s been times I wasn’t sure we’d make it this far. That after all this time that we’d still be just as attracted to one another as we were nearly twenty years ago. It’s always been her for me. Sure, I fucked other women, had other women before her, and once after her, but she’s it for me. I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.
Kicking off her heels, she tosses her purse onto a nearby chair, and lets down her gorgeous red hair that I love to wrap my hands up in. “You heard from Cole today?”
“Called this morning. He’s fine. Having a good time. Sightseeing and shit.” I grin, meeting her in the kitchen, pouring the glass of wine I know she was going for. “Love you in this skirt,” I compliment her before grabbing that thick ass that owns me.
Her lips melt into mine offering me a thank you kiss. “I love you,” Karly says softly, taking the wine from the counter and filling the glass to the brim.
“Rough day?”
“You have no ide
a.” She sighs, and I step around her to rub her shoulders as she takes a long satisfying drink.
“Tonight, no talking about work or the kids. We have the house to ourselves, and I want you naked.” I work my fingers down her spine, aiming for the zipper of her skirt.
“Nash,” she says with a laugh trying to twist away.
“Nu uh,” I tell her as I press my weight against her, pushing her into the counter. Sweeping her hair to one shoulder, my lips brush her exposed ear. “Taking what I want, baby. I’m not asking.” Licking the shell of her delicate lobe, I continue to unzip her skirt. A polite moan leaves her lips as I continue to kiss down her neck and along her collarbone. Her skirt falls to her feet exposing her silk thong.
My dick practically weeps at the sight of her juicy ass, dying to slide between her cheeks and sink deep in her tight cunt that curves to my fit. Been fucking her since she was barely a woman and still can’t get enough. If anything, I find I want her more with every passing day.
Her ass arches into the nook of my crotch, and my dick stretches against the seam of my jeans, eager to seek out her velvety heat.
Her wine and her worries are long forgotten when I drop to my knees and pay worship to her pussy with my tongue. My fingers dig hard into her shapely curves, feasting like a dying man, getting his last meal. I suck her pulsing clit between my lips, not letting her go while she tries to wiggle free as my fingers tease her ass and play with the heart of her desire.
Her hands are gripping my hair, digging her nails into my scalp as she cums on my tongue. Goddamn, if she doesn’t taste like motherfuckin’ perfection, I don’t know what does.
Chapter 2
Cole
Kentucky
Finally, I’ve crossed the Kentucky state line. Just being here, I feel somehow like I’m almost home. It’s strange and I can’t begin to explain it, but deep in my bones I feel connected to the call of the road here. I can hear it loud and clear, screaming at me, “You are one with me.”
Maybe I’m going crazy from too many days and nights on the road.
Deciding on stopping for the night, I take the first exit that shows promise.
Pulling into the motel parking lot, I take in the scene around me. Hardly any cars in the lot, and it’s quiet. Too fucking quiet. It’s perfect. The first “A” on the neon sign flickers, about to burn out. The pool is pathetic; green algae covers the surface. A chain-link fence surrounds the patio area, ready to fall over if the wind blows hard enough.
Normally, this is the last place I would pick, but this isn’t normal circumstances.
Now that I’m in Kentucky, I need to lay low.
Take my time, see what I can find out about my family—Grim and his MC without them knowing. I’m not sure if I really want to meet him…yet.
As upset as I am about being kept in the dark, my parents must have had a good reason for leaving and starting a brand-new life under new identities.
My mother is one of the most hardheaded people I’ve ever known. My old man is hardass at times, but I’ve never seen a man so quick to bend to his woman’s will like he does.
I’ll never be that damned wrapped up in a woman if I can fucking help it.
Too many women out there eager to please. My mom would smack the back of my head if she heard this shit come out my mouth. It wouldn’t be the first time though. She’s got a wicked left hook, I witnessed her going after my old man one time when he came in drunk reeking of reefer. She laid his ass flat like a fucking pancake. Needless to say, he didn’t do that shit again.
In the office, I’ll pay with cash. May have taken me a few weeks, but I figured out why my old man was being so fuckin cool…he was tracking my every move with my bank card. Solved that shit. Found the nearest branch of my bank and emptied my account. Mud-stomped my cellphone too, then I bought a new one.
From fucking now on, I only call over a secure private line. I’m sure it won’t stop them from finding me, but it buys me some Goddamned privacy. Buys me enough time to do what I need to—figure my shit out.
The lobby is more of a tiny ass dank room with some nerdy motherfucker sitting behind a counter. A single painting of a cabin in the snow hangs on the wall behind the dude.
The fucker can’t take his eyes off his computer screen, if he’s choking his chicken I’m gonna shove his dick up his ass.
Ring ring motherfucker. I smack my hand on his little gold bell. “Where’s a good place to get a beer? Lowkey, if ya know what I mean.” I ask the pencildick behind the counter, after I’ve told him I need a room. I’m convinced the seedy bastard was watching porn on his computer when I walked through the door.
He eyes me, assessing me. “Off the Hinges. You’ll fit right in.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” I grit out, getting in his beady nosed face.
“Biker bar. Roughnecks.”
“Good.” I slide him enough to cover the next three days as he hands me a key. Fuck, this place is decrepit. Thought most places had cards now. Whatever. He put me on the ground floor near the swamp of a swimming pool. I can only hope my room doesn’t smell like death or ass.
Twisting the doorknob, the cheap motherfucker nearly falls off. I’d like to think I can rough it, but I don’t need my shit getting stolen. My old man would laugh and tell me to stop being such a fuckin’ pansy. He’d tell me he’s stayed in worse.
Crazy bastard. As much I want my freedom, I do miss my parents and my shithead sister. I’ve not gotten to talk to her; she’s at cheer camp and cell phones aren’t allowed, they want all their focus on their activities. I’m sure she’s fine though. She’s tough. She had to be to survive me.
I wouldn’t say I was a piss poor brother, but I did make sure she can hold her own. Taught her how to defend herself and not to take any shit, especially from a man. That little fucker, Warren, who lives down the street from us is always trying to sniff around her.
There’s nothing wrong with him per se, but Sara is twelve going on sixteen; she has a thing for red lipstick that fucking drives me and my father nuts, but mom says to let her be. I know what little fucks like him think about though. He hit puberty last year, grew a Goddamned foot and got his braces off. Thinks he’s the shit now. He can think it all he wants to, as long as he thinks it away from my little sister. Men are bastards.
Inside, the room is a helluva lot better than the outside. Nothing special, but better than expected. Kicking off my boots, I shrug my vest off, tossing it to the bed. Next, I pull my shirt over my head, making my way to the bathroom as I shred my jeans.
Getting rid of my socks, chill bumps fan over my body as the cold tile of the floor sets a chill on me. Twisting the knobs, I play with the water trying to find the right temperature. Grabbing the cheap motel soap, I peel the wrapper off and step under the warm spray of the water.
The tension leaves my muscles as I rub deep, massaging all the kinks out of my neck and shoulders. Washing the grime of the road away, I stand under the steady fall of the water, letting the warmth run over me until it turns cold.
Water dripping down my chest and onto the floor, I wrap a small towel around my waist that feels more like a damn napkin in size. Damn thing wouldn’t even work as a hand towel. Fucking forgot to bring my bag in. Stomping across the room, I dart quickly through the door to the parking lot to retrieve it. The hot asphalt burns the bottom of my feet, even though the sun is going down, making me move faster.
An older woman pushing a maid’s cart whistles at me and says, “Damn boy. Drop the towel.”
I only chuckle and throw her a wink as I step back in my room.
Dressed in a clean change of clothes, I kick back on the lumpy bed and pull my phone out, searching for directions to that bar, Off the Hinges.
Doesn’t come up on the map. Which means it’s definitely my kinda fuckin’ place.
Before I head out, I stop back by the motel office to get directions.
The slimy fucker flicks a set of matches at me.
Off the Hinges is worded in orange over a skull with flames shooting out of its mouth.
The drive is short and the parking lot is lined with Harleys of all makes and models.
The bar itself looks like a rundown warehouse. Rusty steel adorns the outside and steel bars line the windows.
Getting off my bike, I pull my cigarettes from my vest. A nasty habit I’ve picked up during my travels, but I like the burn as it pulls through my lungs.
I approach the door after lighting one up. Taking a hard drag, I step through the large, metal black door. I take three more puffs before putting it out on the ground.
A fat greasy bastard stands in the entryway collecting the entry fee.
“No colors,” his gruff voice tickles my nose as he attempts to intimidate me with his stare.
“Ain’t wearing no fucking colors.” I turn to the side, exposing the back of my leather vest, showing its bare. My old man got it for me for Christmas last year.
“Weekend riders aren’t welcome here, boy.”
“That’s not what you sister said last night.” I smirk.
“The fuck you just say to me.”
“I said, your sister was telling me how much better of a lay I was than you were.”
“Motherfucker.” He goes to hit me, and I duck, barreling into his stomach with my head and pushing him against the wall. I’ve already taken my switchblade out and stuck the fat bastard in the side with it. I aimed low to avoid anything important.
The man howls in shock and pain.
I step back as he slumps to the floor holding the small wound.
So much for laying low. I kick him in the ribs for good measure.
“Fuck you.” I spit at him.
A couple of guys give me a chin lift before carrying him to the back.
Blood Of A Rebel (Black Rebel Riders' MC Book 9) Page 2