by Lux, Vivian
"Yeah and I don't mind just chilling here while you make out with your girl. Please go ahead and take all the time you want, there's nothing I like better than being this close to cops."
J. looked down at Emmy, who nuzzled into him. "I figured you'd want your back-up."
"Everyone?" he asked.
"They're all here," she nodded. "And I have to warn you...."
But J. didn't hear the rest of her words. As he stepped out into the parking lot, he saw for himself. The lights in the parking lot cast lurid shadows over the chasm in Teach's face. He gasped when he saw his mentor, and Emmy had to hold him steady.
"They fought for you," she whispered. "They fought hard. For you."
"I should have been there," he whispered.
She nodded in understanding. "I know. But then you wouldn't have been there for me."
He pulled her close, letting her take some of his weight and he descended the steps into the parking lot.
Teach was standing over MacDougal, who was tinkering with J.'s bike, injuries be damned. Doctor D. was deep in conversation with a police officer, his hands clasped stiffly behind his back as if he were trying to hide something. Crash was leaned up against a cop car, his stiff leg splayed in front of him as he put the moves on a heavily tattooed woman J. had never seen before. She was looking at Crash skeptically until she saw J. and Emmy emerge.
"Oh is that him?!" the woman called.
Emmy pulled him down the steps. "Sammie, this is J. J., this is Sammie."
J. shook her hand and looked at Emmy.
Emmy smiled at his confusion. "I bought my back-up, too."
Chapter 36
J.
Everyone was talking too much. Their voices were echoing off the high metal ceiling of the club house garage, making it sound like there were a hundred people behind him, instead of only seven. The caravan back to the city had been whirlwind of triumph, careening down the emptied out highways with Sammie's rattling station wagon carrying all their gear. They had tumbled into the darkened clubhouse, tripping over each other and laughing wildly.
Crash was crowing loudly about beating someone's ass, Teach was quoting some ancient philosopher and Case kept poking J. meaningfully in the ribs. Emmy clutched his arm and looked up at him, her eyes shining with exhaustion and relief.
It was all too much.
"Enough!" J. boomed. His voice reverberated through the empty garage and the rest of the club fell silent.
"I love all of y'all, and thank you for springing me, but all you fuckers need to get the hell out." He looked down at Emmy's ripe raspberry lips. "At least for an hour."
Crash mumbled profane encouragement. Emmy flushed bright red. Case poked him again. "Only an hour?"
J. stroked Emmy's back and smiled. "Get the fuck out, Case."
The sounds of their voices still echoed as they left, fading quieter and quieter until it was only the two of then standing alone in the darkness. Even the traffic noise had died down. J. wondered how late it was.
"Were you scared?"
At first J. couldn't imagine what she was talking about. She was here, how could he possibly be anything other than happy? Slowly it dawned on him that she was asking about the arrest.
"I knew I hadn't done anything wrong," he exhaled forcefully. "But I kept losing hope, you know?"
"Why?"
He took another deep breath. It was time to stop running and face up to the truth. Whether she stayed with him or not, he could no longer lie to her. "Because it felt like nothing changed. Like the past six years didn't matter, all the work I had done was for nothing. It felt like I belonged there, and I hated it."
"Why would you belong there?"
"Because I've been there before."
"Jail?"
"Prison." He waited for her cries of dismay.
"Thank you for telling me," she said evenly.
J. flicked on the bunkhouse light. Her pale face slowly flickered into view as the fluorescent lights overhead sputtered to life. She was looking at the floor, studying her feet, careful to avoid his eyes.
"I spent six years in prison, Emmy. Then another year on probation. The night you met me, we were out celebrating my release from parole."
"Your graduation."
He smiled hopefully. "It was a graduation of sorts. You know, in the moving on to the next step sense of the word."
She made a noise that could have been a laugh. And then suddenly she snapped her head upright and looked him in the eyes.
"I thought Robert told me that to hurt me. But when he was yelling all these awful things about you, I decided that even if they were true, I didn't care. You're a better man than he is. You've treated me better in these past few days than he ever did."
"Good thing I did too," J. mused. "You've saved my ass twice in a week. I think I need to keep you around.
She laughed, but his thoughts were a million miles away. "J.?" she prodded.
"I need you," he replied. "And I think I need you to save me again."
She threw up her fists. "Who do you need me to punch? I'm getting good at it."
He laughed. "No please don't punch my Mama."
She let her hand fall to her lap. "Your Mama?"
He sucked in his teeth. "Things are...bad. My sister. My mom. My...," he paused, tasting the words on his tongue before he spoke. "An old friend," he corrected. "I need to make them good again. But I don't think I'm gonna be able to do it without you." The old hurts pricked at him, but he was surprised at how little power they held. "I need to deal with my past before it completely fucks up my present."
She tossed her head. "I'll help with your past, J. I want to be part of your future."
Relief washed through him. She closed her small hand around his and they stood in silence for a moment, listening to the noises in the night. He ran his thumb over her bruised knuckles. He imagined the strength it must have taken herself so badly. She must have flattened that asshole. He pressed his lips to each knuckle in turn. Pride bloomed in his chest, and with it something else.
"Fuck the future, I want you now," J. growled. He couldn't wait any longer. Grabbing her by the arms, he backed her towards his bunk until her knees buckled and they both landed on the cot. "I don't think I'm ever going to stop wanting you."
He smoothed her hair away from her neck and buried his face into the softly scented skin. A small sigh escaped her lips, urging him onward. He tore at her shirt and she wiggled underneath him invitingly.
"And more than that," he slid his hand down, her soft skin, trailing his fingers down her belly to sneak under the waistband of her jeans, "I need you Emmy." He found the moist heat of her center and moved his lips down. "I need you now. And always."
Epilogue
Emmy
Sammie leaned against the doorframe. Her corseted top was dark with sweat, and her wildly teased beehive had deflated in the heat, sagging dejectedly to the side. "Of course it's this fucking hot today," she wheezed.
"Here, I'll take that." I rushed to grab the box of dishes before it slipped out of her sweaty hands.
"There's not that much left in the van," she chirped sarcastically.
"You're kidding." I looked around our tiny apartment. "Where are we gonna put all this stuff?"
"Hey, maybe you can ask the boys. They have that huge garage."
"You want me to ask a bunch of bikers if we can use their garage as storage?"
"Hey watch it." She bustled past me towards the creaky sink and ran a glass under the tap. "They're not just 'a bunch of bikers.' It's the guys. Besides," she cocked a fiercely arched eyebrow at me over her glass of water. "I hear you've got an in with one of them."
I grabbed a piece of wadded up newspaper and chucked it at her in reply.
"More like an in and out!" she crowed, ducking nimbly. "I've barely seen you all summer!"
I blushed. "You've seen me plenty."
"Yeah, I've seen you," she crossed her arms appraisingly. "All love drunk and walking
funny. Do you ever stop having sex?"
I pretended to ponder. "We try to keep it down at his mom's house." She pulled a disgusted face and I laughed. "Yeah his mom would make the same face."
"How's that all going by the way?"
"It's...better." I thought back to last night's dinner, holding J.'s hand under the table to keep him calm. "He's trying, I have to give him that. And Randall's really gone above and beyond. Did you know he was over every week while J. was in prison doing house repairs for Mrs. Johnson?"
"Dang, no wonder Janelle fell for him. I love a man who's good with his hands."
"You just love men period," I clarified.
"Good point."
"It's just that it's bad memories. But every day is a little better. His mom keeps trying to guilt trip him into staying there, but he waves her off saying there's no room. Cause of me." I smiled at the memory of Mrs. Johnson clutching her side in a dramatic display of phantom pain. Since I'd convinced J. to see her again, all of her dire symptoms had cleared up overnight. "Luckily they all seem to like me."
"And the," Sammie made flapping motions with her hands, "...thing? That's not a problem?"
I squinted. "You mean the race thing?"
She sighed dramatically. "Yes, asshole. Make me say it why don't you."
I laughed again. "I will. No one else does. It's almost eerie how quick people are to avoid it. I mean come on, it's obviously right there in front of you. I mean, I'm practically translucent and he's got that..."
"That skin," she finished for me, trailing off and looking dreamy. "When's he coming to see the new place?" she asked pointedly.
"Very subtle. Actually he'll be coming by in a few minutes. He's taking me on my first mandatory ride!"
"The fuck is that?"
"Sorry, biker club shit. The club's going on a ride. All the way to Cape May."
She arched her eyebrows. "And you're going to have to hold on to J. the while way there?"
"Uh huh, poor me right?"
She huffed past me in a pretend pout. "I thought I was going to be renting with this meek little farm girl who stays in every night and wouldn't say boo to a ghost. Turns out she's actually a badass biker chick with a hot slab of meat for a boyfriend."
"Who're you calling a slab of meat?"
Sammie froze mid flounce, then burst out in open mouthed laughter to see J. at the door.
"Clearly you, Johnson. Jesus, don't you get tired of looking like a superhero in that leather outfit?"
"Never," he grinned. "It's got all my powers."
"Clearly," she drawled, poking her tongue into her cheek and letting her eyes wander down his frame.
"Okay, simmer down Samara June," I said, tugging her back from the door. "Hi J. Sorry about her."
"Used to it by now. Hey this place ain't bad." He ducked through the doorway and stepped into our tiny kitchen, looking extremely out of place.
"Not that she's going to be here at all," Sammie mumbled.
"I'll be here," I soothed. "Women aren't allowed to attend official club business. They kick me out."
"Sexist pigs."
"Ha!" J. scoffed. "Freakin' Emmy over here knows more about what's going on than I do. She's the one who reminded me of the ride this morning, I would have totally forgotten and got my ass beat for it." He turned to me. "Speaking of which, are you ready Em?"
I ran over to the corner where I had stashed my overnight bag. "I am, but we had a few more boxes...."
"Oh whatever, I meant it when I said there were only a few." Sammie sighed dramatically. "Far be it for me to stand in the way of 'official club business.'"
J. strode over to where she stood and looked her in the eye with mock seriousness. "Thank you Samara. I owe you. How can I ever repay you?"
"Kiss," she tapped her cheek. "Right here."
He bent obligingly and she fell back into a mock swoon. I sighed and grabbed my bag. Then I ran to hug her goodbye.
"You'll be back tomorrow?" she asked as she recovered her footing and patted my back.
"Late afternoon," I promised. "We'll have the night together."
"Last night of freedom before it's back to the salt mines."
"I'm glad I was able to get into at least one class with you. It'll be weird to be in the studios on my own."
Sammie hugged me close. "You're gonna be great Em. I'm so glad you registered. That took guts."
"She's definitely got those." J. was looking at me so fondly that I stopped in my tracks. I looked from him to Sammie, from Sammie back to him. We were a strange little family, and I loved being part of it. Unconditional love was still hard to accept, but I was getting better.
I blew a kiss over my shoulder as we stepped out onto the street. J. had parked in front of our building. Heat radiated from the pavement as I settled behind J. in my customary position, arms flung around his waist, body pressed close into his back. My overnight back was strapped down into the saddlebags, along with the tent and J.'s ever present toolkit. I tapped his side to let him know I was ready, and we surged into the street with a throaty roar.
We caught up with the rest of the Sons of Steel at the ramp onto the Ben Franklin Bridge. They fell into formation immediately, with Teach riding at the head. J. brought up the rear, keeping a watchful eye out for any problems his brothers might have. I watched them move with militaristic precision, and my heart filled with pride to see how well J. kept the club together. There was strength in their unity.
We took back roads as much as we could, riding two abreast through the Pine Barrens. Occasionally we would draw a crowd as we passed through the small towns that dotted the landscape. I would always wave.
The Atlantic Ocean was a dark, murky blue and the sky was dappled with dark gray clouds when we finally reached our chosen end point. The light was iffy. Looking back to the west, I saw it was only going to get worse and knew I needed to hurry.
"Okay, how about against that wall?"
Teach leaned against the retaining wall and crossed his arms. "How's this?" The sea breeze played with his long dreadlocks and the sun peeked through a cloud, highlighting the sparkle in his wise old eyes
I backed up and checked the light on my meter.
"Hang on, I want your bike in the shot." I stepped carefully around his chopper. The gleam of chrome lit his face from underneath, giving his craggy, scarred face a heroic glow. "That's perfect."
One by one the Sons of Steel posed for my camera. I could feel J.'s eyes in me as I snapped the portraits of his brothers. "My girl's an artist," he declared.
I searched my heart and spoke my truth. "I found my inspiration."
The End
STEEL
Me Away
Sons of Steel Motorcycle Club
Deluxe Second Edition
Vivian Lux
1st edition Copyright 2014
2nd edition Copyright 2015
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
This book contains adult themes, explicit language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature audiences.
All your wildest fantasies, all your secret desires. Vivian Lux writes it all. Please visit my Amazon author page to see my entire steamy, sexy catalogue.
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Prologue
J.
Six on six.
Those were the terms. And though they had sounded fair at the time, now that J. was standing in the dusty parking lot of the abandoned strip mall, he wasn't so sure. He and his brothers numbered six all together. Their opponents numbered four times that amount.
"If shit goes down, we
're dead," he muttered to Case.
The Sergeant-At-Arms nodded, all trace of his usual good humor erased from his bearded face. J. could see worry lines creasing his best friend's forehead, and the stiff way he still held himself. Two cracked ribs was the official diagnosis from Doctor D. but Case had refused to go to the hospital after the fight with the Storm Riders. They would have asked him how it happened.
"Pretty much," Case nodded. He furrowed his brow and squinted his pale blue eyes towards the east, his expression grim. Case had scouted this location for the negotiations yesterday and declared it safe. Neutral ground, good visibility and miles away from any interested law enforcement. The lonely highway shot straight through the Pine Barrens, vanishing to a pinpoint on the horizon. There was no way the Storm Riders could surprise them. They had the advantage that way.
Our only advantage, J. thought, digging the toe of his boot into a weedy crack in the pavement. He and Case were the only real fighters in the club, and Case was already injured.
Crash was always ready for a scrap but his bad leg slowed him down, and his brain injury sometimes affected his reaction time. And then there were the three older men. J. pursed his lips as he watched them mill about on the baking asphalt. Doctor D. was a heavy drinker with the proud beer gut to show for it. MacDougal was a demon fighter back in his day, but no one could claim he was still in his prime. His taste for blood had dissipated with age. Now he was like an old, sleepy dog that seldom left the shade of his favorite tree. Only waking long enough to snarl at you before nodding off again.
But most worrisome of all was Teach. J. swallowed when he caught a glimpse of the ruin of his mentor's face. The club president had taken a shattered glass bottle to the cheek in their last encounter with the Storm Riders. It had opened a lurid purple wound under his eye that was still shining and raw in the late morning light.
J. hadn't been there to protect him.