LOW JOB: A Filthy Dogs MC Romance Novel

by Ora Wilde

“Because he’ll just think that I want the money for myself,” I replied with a tinge of loathing as I remembered how my father always thought of me as an irresponsible brat.

  “You don’t?” he actually had the audacity to ask. “Ouch!” he yelled as I pressed the brush hard against his open cut.

  “Of course not!” I vehemently said.

  “Then who’d get the dough?”

  “I dunno. I haven’t thought about that yet. Maybe I’ll give it to some charity or something. Or to a relative in need. God knows I’ve got lots of those.”

  “So, anyone can have the money except your pops?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you. It’s not his.”

  “You’re fighting for principles, huh?”

  “You can say that.”

  He was quickly becoming intrusive. I had to change the subject before he’d venture into a topic that I wasn’t comfortable discussing.

  “Wow! You’ve got nice cheek bones,” I commented as I coursed the brush to the wound above his left eyebrow. “Perfectly angled nose, too. And a solid jaw. My oh my. You’re quite a handsome man.”

  “Straight shooter, aren’t ya?” he remarked with a smug smile.

  “What?”

  “Most of the girls I meet, they like to play it coy. But you... you’re the type who’d rather skip the foreplay. I could tell. Which is good because.... ouch! Ouch! Ouch!”

  I pressed the brush deeper into his wound like it was a cigarette butt I wanted to extinguish. He has been such a gentleman before, and his sudden show of pruriency came totally unexpected. And that infuriated me.

  Miranda, who has been cleaning some mugs in front of us the whole time, couldn’t help but laugh even louder at the sight of what should be a tough biker screaming like a little girl.

  “Just so you know, you’re not my type,” I told him firmly.

  “That’s what they all say... initially,” he continued with his highly arrogant approach. He made me regret complimenting him.

  Thankfully, the doors of the chapel opened. The patches were finished with their church. They emerged from the room one after the other, their faces painted with grim seriousness. I couldn’t blame them. They were at war. Their lives were in danger. Every breath they took could be their last.

  As the patches crowded around the counter, Miranda began to serve them coffee. Lowlife had to fall silent as he was still in hot water.

  My father was the last to come out. That was my chance to confront him.

  I dropped the concealer brush on the counter and hurriedly grabbed my brown Givenchy satchel. I dashed towards the chapel and blocked his path before he could completely exit the room.

  “The answer is no,” he quickly answered before hearing me out.

  “Pardon?” I asked, confused by his sudden statement.

  “If this is about getting a hotel room in San Mateo, I can’t allow that.”

  “No,” I told him. “But, yeah... that’s part of the agenda. Anyway, we can discuss that later. I have something more important to ask from you.”

  He could’ve easily invited me inside the chapel for some privacy. Instead, he held my elbow and led me to the farthest end of the counter. He never allowed me inside their sacred chamber. That’s how much he was devoted to his club... and that’s how lowly I was in his life.

  I snatched a brown envelope from my bag and presented it to him.

  “What’s this?” he asked as his eyes squinted while inspecting the paper casing.

  “Waiver. For mom’s estate.”

  “I see,” he said as he nodded. “And you want me to sign it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Which means I won’t get my share from the properties she left behind?”

  “That’s what a waiver does,” I answered with a nervous smile.

  “So... who gets the money? You?” he wanted to know.

  “No! Of course not!” I denied. “I haven’t thought about it, really. Maybe I’ll give it to some charity. Or a needy relative. God knows we’ve got lots of those.” I basically repeated what I told the prospect.

  He rubbed his chin as he eyed the envelope. His gaze darted from the parchment to me and back again. He was silent for more than a minute. He was probably thinking. I should allow him that luxury.

  “Well...” he finally broke the quietness. “No.”

  “Wait... what? No? Why?” I was panicking.

  “You can fool other people, Sam. But you can’t fool me. You’re my daughter. I know you all too well.”

  “What’s that even supposed to mean?” I asked angrily. “This has nothing to do with me!”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  There was something about the way he delivered his question that was both queer and terrifying. It was like he could see through me, through the walls I have built around myself, through the inner workings of my heart and soul, through the truths that I, myself, continuously deny...

  He interrupted my rumination by pulling out a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his kutte.

  “I knew this would come in handy, today of all days,” he mentioned as he handed over the neatly folded sheet.

  I opened it up.

  My eyes almost popped out of their sockets when I read its contents.

  My father... that sneaky, scheming son of a bitch...

  “You visit Nordstrom every other day,” he spoke with mechanical detachment. “Harrods every weekend. Neiman Marcus twice a month. You dine at the Ritz once every two weeks and twice the day of New Year’s eve. You have records for every store at Rodeo Drive. And how about your online purchases? I counted around six hundred items before I stopped out of sheer exhaustion. Should I go on?”

  I shook my head. I completely spaced out. I was holding my credit card record for the last three years. There was no way I could deny what he was alleging.

  “H-How... How did you get this?” I asked defeatedly. My voice was shaking.

  “I have friends in the right places,” he casually replied. “I called in some favors.”

  “You... You have no right... this is an invasion of my privacy!” I tried to argue, an attempt that I knew was futile.

  “Sam... you’re neck-deep in debts,” he spoke the words I was afraid to hear. “With your current FICO score, you’d have a hard time finding a good job. Are you even employed anywhere, presently?”

  I bowed my head, too ashamed to answer.

  “Did you even finish your degree?” he continued.

  “Why don’t you ask your friends in the right places?” I responded shrewdly. “I’m sure they know the answer.”

  “I don’t need them for that,” he shot back. “I called CSU. They said that you stopped enrolling since the second trimester three years ago. That’s around the time when your mother died, right?”

  “As if you care about that,” I countered, angered once more as I was reminded of how he treated me and my mom.

  “I should,” he said. “I paid - and I still pay - for your tuition. You were supposed to finish up your schooling last year but I heard nothing from you. So I kept sending the checks.”

  I didn’t know what to say. He was a step ahead of me. I felt like a total idiot for failing to remember that. He has always been a step ahead of me... and a step ahead of many other people. It was his job. He was the president of a motorcycle club.

  We spent a few more minutes in silence. I focused my eyes on the envelope I brought with me which was lying on the counter, just to avoid his gaze. He has been staring at me the whole time, waiting, perhaps, for me to explain myself. How could I do that? He had me cornered. There was no escape.

  “Can I... Can I at least get a hotel room,” I finally spoke, hoping to put an end to the discussion that has awkwardly spiraled into absolute ignominy.

  “No,” was his resounding answer.

  “Why not?” I grumbled.

  “You know what happened yesterday. War was declared, and we’re
up against some really terrible people. They know who you are. They know you’re here. They will be waiting for you, wherever you will go, until they find the opportunity they need.”

  “Opportunity for what?”

  “The opportunity to win the war before it can even start. They may abduct you and demand our surrender for your freedom. They may torture you until I give them what they want. They may kill you if they lose their patience. Regardless of what they’ll do to you, one thing is certain - it won’t be good.”

  “So what then?” I began to complain. “I’ll just stay here, in this stinking donut shop, until your stupid war’s over?”

  “No. You’re too valuable a leverage. No place in this city will be safe for you, even if we’ll guard you the whole time.”

  “Okay. Good. That means I can just go back to LA,” I remarked, savoring a refreshing dose of deliverance.

  “No,” he surprisingly answered.

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because if they have the tiniest capacity to think - which they do - then they have already prepared for that. The Godless has a chapter in Los Angeles, and with that kind of presence comes a network of contacts. It will be easy for them to track you down.”

  “No shit?!” I responded with exasperation. “What am I supposed to do, then? Dig up my mother’s grave and replace her body with mine? I’m sure it’ll be safe there. No one would know, right?” My irreverence was deliberate. I was fuming mad. I always hated feeling helpless.

  “Do not disrespect your mother’s memory,” he admonished me.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot. Disrespecting her is your job, not mine,” I caustically answered back.

  I was expecting him to get angry, to lose his cool, to scream at me with so much fury that he’d lose his composure. None of that happened. Instead, he turned his revolving stool until he was facing the patches who were scattered all over the store.

  “See them?” he asked. “They’re good men. Excellent soldiers. And they trusted me to lead them. Now, we’re at war. They know that their lives are forfeit, that they have pledged themselves to die for the club. But they have families, loved ones they care deeply for. I have the responsibility to keep the dearest people in their lives safe. Tonight, I’m going to order a lockdown. Every member of their families will be here where they will be protected round the clock.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I commented irately. “What’s that gotta do with me?”

  “The Godless... they’ll be expecting you to be here.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “That’s good. Because you won’t.”

  “I won’t?”

  “This will be our chance to get you out of San Mateo.”

  “And where am I supposed to go?”

  “Down south, to Essex.”

  “Essex! Why Essex?!” I asked in shock. Essex is a virtual wasteland. It’s like a post-apocalyptic town in the modern world. Why would my father want me to go there?

  “We have a chapter there,” he said, unperturbed by my agitation. “They will keep you safe.”

  Geez! If he wanted me safe, he could’ve just sent me to the Bahamas, or to Bali, or to Bora Bora. But I couldn’t suggest that, not after he enumerated all the expenses I incurred the past three years.

  So I just sighed with frustration and consoled myself with the thought that whatever war they’re waging, it would be over soon. I wouldn’t have to be in that godforsaken place forever.

  “Okay, I’ll just visit some old haunts and some friends and I’ll be ready to drive to Essex by tomorrow,” I informed him, hoping that he had a spare car parked somewhere which I could use. It’d be hellish to drive one of their vans more than halfway across California.

  “No. Not tomorrow,” he said as he shook his head. “You still don’t realize the gravity of the situation, Sam. You will have to leave today.”

  “T-Today?!” I uttered rather loudly, appalled by his declaration. “What time?”

  “Right now.”

  “Right now?! Oh, you gotta be kidding me...”

  “I’m not, and you won’t be driving anything.”

  “I won’t? So how am I supposed to get there? By grabbing a cab? The bus? Or, wait... lemme guess... you’ll use that Uber crap on your phone, huh?”

  “No. One of the boys will be bringing you to Essex.”

  Oh no. Not another bodyguard! Has he forgotten what happened yesterday when he tried to put me on a leash by assigning the prospect to watch over me?

  I noticed him staring to his left, towards a man who was sitting alone in one of the tables.

  Bang Bang.

  I tried to hide the smile that was quickly forming on my face. This bodyguard thing, maybe it wasn’t that bad an idea. I’ve been dreaming about exciting adventures with that hunk of a specimen since I was old enough to appreciate boys, after all.

  But then, Bang Bang stood up, leaving the table empty and revealing a stool that was previously behind him... a stool with someone sitting on it.

  My eyes widened in horror. I looked at my father. He was still glaring at the same direction, observing the guy who was left in that corner of the store. It seemed like a joke, but his demeanor expressed otherwise. He was dead serious. His mind was set. My fate was sealed. And I began to dread the ten hour drive that I was cursed to spend with his chosen one.

  5

  LOWLIFE

  We were halfway across Los Banos and she hasn’t said a single word.

  She just sat there, strangely silent, looking out the window, blankly staring at the sights outside as we left San Francisco. Not even a two hour traffic jam at Livermore was enough to solicit a single bit of emotion from her. I cursed and smacked the steering wheel countless times in frustration because we were stuck there for so long when time wasn’t really on our side. She, on the other hand, was like a ghost who was content on being sad and alone.

  The quietness allowed me to think about things, though.

  One last chance, Lenny, Prez told me before we left San Mateo. Don’t dare screw this up again.

  I was beyond surprised that he chose me to bring his daughter to Essex, what with yesterday’s fiasco and all. But then again, the club was running short on manpower. With only nine active members and one who’s more or less relegated to being a mere consultant, they’d need all the bodies they could find just to ward off all threats that would surely come to San Mateo. The club would be playing a defensive war, until help from the other charters arrived, at least.

  Essex was the closest chapter to San Mateo, but Prez didn’t ask them to lend some men. He wanted them at full force in their own town so that they could protect his daughter.

  That left the brothers at Topeka, Springfield and Cheyenne as the only charters who could render help, but they’d take a day or two before they could arrive. In the meantime, San Mateo was on its own, and Prez was aware that he had to play it smart to get through the Godless’ initial assault.

  The journey to Essex would be dangerous. The Godless has a lot of members, and many of them may be stationed along the roads from the clubhouse all the way south. Prez specifically instructed that I should avoid Highway 5, a long stretch that runs straight through the middle of California connecting Sacramento and Los Angeles. Tulare lied along that highway, and that’s where a large contingent of the Godless was expected to congregate. Tulare was their most stable chapter in California, after all. It was logical to assume that they’d make it their base of operations throughout the duration of this war.

  So we deviated from the shortest route that would have led us to Essex in nine or ten hours tops. Instead, we had to make a really long detour to the other side of the state just to avoid the highway that divided it. This course would add six or seven more hours to the trip, and that’s not counting the two hours we lost at Livermore.

  So that would be seventeen hours minimum and twenty-one hours max. Just thinking about it made me feel weak and tired already.

  We could afford one stop
to rest up and recharge our bodies. Well, my body anyway. I was the one doing all the driving and all she has been busy with was mope.

  The best place for that would be Cartago, which was a good five or six hour drive away. Cartago is known as a trucker’s paradise. It’s one of the favorite pitstops for cross country transporters. There would be dozens of tractors there - from six-wheelers to eighteen-wheelers. They’d provide good cover for the van while it’s parked.