Breaker: Gravediggers MC

by Paula Cox

  As if he can read my mind, Breaker eases off. “Don’t worry, kid. Families are overrated. Where you’re going, families like that don’t exist.”

  I place the remaining picture back with the others and zip the rest of the pack up tight. There wasn’t much left of this hotel room to care about besides a few pieces of clothing and shoes. After taking one last look at all that I am about to leave behind again, I shut the door behind us.

  Breaker was right about that last part. Wherever the Gravediggers were going to take me was certainly no place my parents and sister would want to be.

  Chapter Four

  Breaker

  God, Aimee sucks at riding. I’ve taken plenty of chicks out on their first rides, but none of them was ever as terrible as she is. And I mean, it’s not like they have to do much work. Driving takes so much more out of a man than sitting in the bitch seat trying to hold on. Yet when she gets off the bike at one of the many pit stops I have to make, she looks as if she’s about to fall to pieces.

  I wait outside the bathroom. We’re only about seven hours in. We should be nine, but she’s slowing us down with demanding bathroom breaks and extra drinks of water. To my surprise, Biggs is just going along with it while the rest of the men wait outside rolling their eyes and blowing their smoke directly at me.

  “Real piece of work,” Henry says as he leans up against the metal pole next to me. “What the fuck was Biggs thinking taking on a princess like her? And why won’t he let her ride next to the other bitches in the ammo van?”

  I shrug and smirk at him. Biggs had squashed the rumors around camp about her being an expert thief.

  “Precious cargo, apparently,” I tell him, nodding. “You know I love being assigned babysitting duty.”

  “Yeah, that’s tough. You keep an eye out for that one. She’s going to cause trouble when you least expect it.” He points towards a group of our youngest, non-patch riders. They’re the rookies that haven’t yet proven themselves worthy of full Gravedigger status. Like me, they are mostly strays from the road—guys who could give everything up to join some wandering motorcycle club.

  “What do you mean? What are you hearing?”

  Henry was always one step ahead of the rest. He actually enjoys the rumors and intrigue—the side of the club I couldn’t give a shit about it. Though I will admit, it comes in handy when you’ve got a friend like him on the inside that could clue you in.

  “You see that guy, the one with the blonde hair and blue eyes. He looks like he’s out of some fairy boy band. Word has it that before we left last night, he found your chick in her room and propositioned her. She didn’t seem uninterested either.”

  “Aimee? The girl that’s been riding my bitch seat all day? No fucking way.” I couldn’t see it. First and foremost, that pretty boy couldn’t possibly be her type. She’d steamroll him in seconds. Secondly, I highly doubt that Aimee, with all her complaints and demands, would be down to screw with any of us, even the pussier men.

  “That’s what’s being talked about. I heard it from one of the boys I’m training. She apparently sat on his lap while the boys were drinking and were giving them all quite the show when she was lubed up.” He winks at me as he adds, “Pretty little thing like that, I’d love to see that in person.”

  “What’s the motherfucker’s name?” I ask, spitting on the ground. I can’t take my eyes off of the kid as he talks loudly to the riders in the circle around him. They laugh with him, howling at his jokes and gesturing him to go on. This wasn’t uncommon with rookies with inflated egos. It wouldn’t be long before someone like me knocked him down a peg or two.

  “Wesley. We got him back in Salt Lake. He’s the brother of an old patch member. But I wouldn’t worry about him too much. I mean, what harm could he do playing around with the cat toy?” Henry pauses, eyeing me carefully before walking away towards his bike.

  Aimee isn’t far behind him. She pulls her ponytail up tighter as she passes me, her white tank top wet from the sink, and her skirt hiked up mid-thigh. The whole time she sashays toward my bike like a tramp on a runway. It’s clear to me that she’s putting on a show for those nobodies, making them want what they can’t have.

  I’ve had it. I just can’t take any more of her. Before she can reach the concrete, I grab her by the arm, leading her back to the restrooms. She cries out.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Breaker? Let me go!”

  I press her up against the brick wall, just as I had yesterday. I lean into her, silencing her with the weight of my body, so much so that she’s engulfed by it and concealed from the rest of the group.

  “Don’t wrestle. You’re going to get yourself hurt.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing? I just went to the damn bathroom!”

  I have zero clue what I’m doing, but all I know is that something in me is screaming out to reclaim my dominance. I lean down, placing my face close to hers. I can smell a trace of strawberries and lilac; the same scent I detected when I staked out her hotel room. It’s a momentary lapse before I finally find the words I want.

  “Do you know what you’re doing out there? You know those boys are fucking starting shit—saying you’re acting like one of those little whores in the van. Is that what you are? Is that what you’re trying to do here?”

  Her green eyes dart back and forth wildly. “No, What? Why would you say that? You know I want nothing from those assholes. I wouldn’t touch one of you boys if you were the last men on Earth.”

  “Fine,” I shoot back, “then I’m going to set some ground rules. You break them, and I send you to Biggs to beg for your life after that stunt you pulled yesterday. Rule number one: You stay with me at all times. Unless I release you, I want you in my sight no matter what. Rule number two: You’re my territory and mine only. You don’t ride anyone’s bike, you don’t sit on anyone’s lap—”

  “Whoa. Is that what this is about? I wasn’t doing anything with Wesley—”

  I cut her off, a long finger pressed to her freshly painted lips. “Rule number three: You listen to everything I tell you. You follow all of my orders. Jump when I say jump. If you stick to the rules, you might get yourself out of here alive. You understand me, Aimee?”

  She bites her lip; the annoying habit I’ve caught her doing several times now when she’s angry.

  “Yes. I get you, boss,” she then quips, and crosses her arms over her chest before forcing them into me, “Now, can you let me the hell out of here? I’d like to get on the road again.”

  Truer words couldn’t have been spoken.

  The rest of the day’s ride is one of complete silence. She doesn’t even look at another rider when they pass or complain when we pass a pit stop without a break. It’s a one-eighty from the spoiled little dame who nearly fell off the seat several times during the first half of the trip.

  Still, when we hitch for the day at a local motel, she looks just as beat and worn as I feel. I hand her the key to her room, sandwiched between Henry’s and mine, but as she slips inside the door, she turns and asks with a defeated tone, “I could really use a drink. Is that allowed?”

  I can’t argue with that. The girl had nothing to repent for. I nod my head, pointing towards the bar where the rest of the club is heading for a nightcap. “I’ll join you in a bit. Going to wash the road off of me first.”

  She gives a slight smile before throwing her backpack into the motel room and then turning back towards the small courtyard. I watch her through the windows as she walks like a zombie towards the back gate and through the small field to the bar packed with motorcycles.

  I take an hour in the shower. I’m not one of those guys to get all frou-froued up with good smelling soaps and shit, but if there’s one thing I love after a long ride, it’s a long, cold shower. My skin craves it, and the water drowns out the sound of the highway replaying over in my mind like the ocean in a shell.

  When I finally force myself to step out, I hear the faint sounds of music. I brush it
off as someone’s TV blasting too loud, but then there’s screaming and hollering. Men shout at something or someone over the beats that rattle the old school TV perched on the wooden dresser.

  Peeking out the window, I see Gravediggers congregating in the courtyard. They’ve taken over the lawn chairs and benches, with a fire blasting in the pit, as men lift their glasses towards something standing high above them.

  Not bothering to find my shirt, I grab a pair of clean jeans and my boots and head out towards the crowd.

  “What the fuck is going on out here?” I scream over the music to Henry who is sipping back what is probably his fifth or sixth beer.

  “Your girl,” he says as he points to the figure standing on one of the benches. “I told you to keep an eye out for her. They’re like wolves.” He pats my chest before walking back towards the motel room.

  I gawk at Aimee with her feet pounding on the bench. She’s straddling a guy as she sways her hips back and forth in his face. The boy gazes up at her, his hands on her bare thighs and traveling up.

  One of the men near me howls towards her, “Take it off, girly!”

  She turns around and winks, not even bothering to scan for me. Her hands float up towards the fabric of her top, but something stops her as she gets to her bra. Instead, she squats down wide legged towards the man, pushing him close to her. She whispers into his ear as he nods.

  “The tequila!” he calls out with his arm raised towards the rest of the crowd. As someone passes the clear bottle, I finally get a good glance at him. It’s Wesley. I should have fucking known.

  Aimee giggles, her cheeks red and shiny as she lies down before him on the open bench and unbuttons the top zipper of her black skirt. The fabric slides down her hips so that I can see the bone pop up at her waist. He places a lime on the lowest part of her skirt and then pours the tequila all over her tiny stomach. She laughs again, the liquid already rolling off of her.

  Someone screams, “Go!” and he’s off, leaning down on top of her, lapping off the liquid like a dog. Aimee rests her hands behind her head, her eyes closed as the boys around her cheer Wesley on. He goes for the lime, and her hips rise in excitement, leading his mouth to her skin again. Damn if I don’t hate how turned on I am by her and the way she sways for him as the boys pour more and more alcohol on her smooth, tanned skin.

  This is a do-or-die moment for me. She’s out of line. She’s broken my rules. I got to shut this down before it goes any further.

  I race towards them, my fists already in the air. One smacks into Wesley’s face, knocking him to the ground. Aimee shouts something at me as she pulls her shirt back down around her hips. But I keep wailing on him, landing hit after hit.

  No one bothers to stop us. The music keeps playing, but there’s not a soul talking. They know not to mess with me. They have all heard what I am capable of—what I am best at doing—and Wesley’s getting the full show. He places his hands in front of his face, protecting his body from the rest of my blows.

  Someone shouts, “That’s enough, man.” But I’m not done.

  I stand and kick him as I move off of him. He rolls away like a wounded animal.

  Aimee follows me as I storm off to the side while Wesley’s boys come to his aid. Her hands are cool on my skin, breaking the blood boiling in my veins.

  “What the hell was that?” she asks, her voice earnest. “I know I broke your damn rules, but I was just blowing off steam. I’m sorry!”

  “You make a fool out of me, and all you’ve got to say is you’re sorry? What kind of bullshit is that, Aimee? I give you fucking rules, and I expect you to obey me. You know what shit I have on you. I could get you killed in a matter of seconds.”

  Aimee doesn’t bother answering; she keeps her head bowed as she takes my verbal tirade. It’s only when I feel someone looming behind me that she bothers to look up—this time with wide, terrified eyes.

  “What the fuck was that!” Biggs’ voice booms like a giant over the noise of the music and the men trying to get their shit back together. “Did you just beat the crap out of some rookie, Breaker?”

  “I was keeping him in line. He was messing with Aimee,” I mutter through gritted teeth. I spin around to glare at him. He’s holding the same tequila bottle in his hand, but he’s sloshing it around. Even Biggs seems to be burning off some road steam from the long ride.

  “You fucking send him to the hospital and what the hell are we supposed to do?” We don’t have a doctor in this podunk town and no friendly cops either. You’re putting us all at risk.”

  “So what. We leave him. He’s nothing but baggage. Acts like he owns the place. Someone had to put him in his place, boss.”

  He points a finger at me, waving it in my face as if I’m some puppy he’s training up. “I make that call, Breaker! Not you. Whatever shit is between the two of you, leave it behind. We need all the men we can get where we’re going.”

  Biggs stares down Aimee one last time, clearly admiring her. He hands her the bottle before he heads back to the boys. Someone tosses him a beer, and he takes a seat near his room on the other side of the courtyard, just out of site of the rest of the group.

  “Why didn’t you turn me in?” Aimee asks. She brushes away a long strand of golden brown hair that was stuck to her face.

  “I have no fucking clue. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing here anymore.” I throw my arms up in frustration before turning to head back towards my room, but she reaches out and grabs me by the ends of her fingertips.

  “Don’t go.” She cracks a wide smile. “Just dance.”

  I move closer to her, unable to fight against her magnetic pull. She passes me the bottle, and I take a long swig of the burning liquid. It trails down my throat and into my stomach like warm honey sticking to my insides. It’s the relief I’ve been waiting for since I stepped out of that shower. We alternate drinking straight from the bottle.

  A few more drinks and my body is up against hers, swaying to the music under one of the courtyard trees. She places her back against my chest and legs, grinding her body up and down to the rhythm of the music. An arm floats up around my neck, hooking herself to me. I lean down again, resting my chin upon the soft, fleshy part of her shoulder while my hands travel the lean lines of her body from the front of her hips to the round mounds of her breasts.

  Lilac, again, fills my nostrils as she leans her head back. I hear the smacking of her lips against my ear. We float together, turning towards the noise that only grows louder the more drinks we have. It all blends together, rushing in a wave towards me. I press my fingers against the long V-neck of her blouse, going in for a feel of those perfectly round…

  Aimee screams out, pulling me down onto my knees. I open my eyes with just enough time to see him barreling at us, bat in hand.

  “Wesley! Back off!” some brothers scream, but it’s too late.

  His bat lands hard, making a sickening, cracking thud against my back. Then, nothing but darkness.

  Chapter Five

  Aimee

  Very briefly, just out of the corner of my eye, I see it coming—the swift motion of a bat gearing up for a big hit. I know the motion well. My dad was a baseball fanatic. He kept a wooden bat signed by Johnny Bench, his all-time favorite player, on the mantle in our living room. As a kid, he tried his hardest to impart his love of the game on me, enrolling me in league games and batting clinics, even though I showed zero aptitude for it. Point is, I knew what it looked like to take a big swing.

  And in the brief moment, I know what’s on its way with the force of several tons of pressure.

  I close my eyes, holding tight onto Breaker’s arm as I pull him down towards the ground. He was in that blind spot, unable to see the man coming straight towards us from the patio area of the hotel. Breaker doesn’t go down easily, and it’s too late to get the message. Still, I scream, hoping he’ll understand.

  My mind shuts down for a moment. Everything goes blank. There’s no noise, just a despera
te ringing in my ears, a sound that has followed me around my entire life—even off the island.

  When I open my eyes, I am surprised that I am not bleeding or looking for a pretty white light to follow. What I do feel is the cold ground under me, the brush of the fresh cut grass on my arms, and the sounds of men shouting at one another.

  “Get him off Breaker! Pull him down! The kid’s insane!”

  Two men hover over me, with one pointing at the chaotic mass of two men fighting one another. Breaker obviously has an advantage. He towers over Wesley by at least half a foot, and their sheer masses cannot be compared. It’s like David and Goliath, only without the slingshot.

  The fire from the small pit glows against Breaker’s back as he leans down to strike Wesley on the face again. He opens the still fresh wounds from earlier. Blood and plasma fly through the air with the motion of his arms. The kid underneath him has barely enough time to breathe through the visibly broken nose and the jaw that seems to hang awkwardly around his mouth now, but he stays on his feet, clawing at Breaker with everything that he’s got.