RUNNING WITH THE DEVIL
PLANTAIN SERIES BOOK ONE
Amelia Oliver
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my hubby, and my two babes. You helped me realize my dream, and although you constantly interrupted me while I was typing and caused me to write our conversations, I still finished. I love you.
1
Let me start by saying, that running is my drug. I love it,I can’t get enough of it. Often I get out a map of the area around the town I live in, and plot out where I want to go. I run whenever I have the urge, day or night. I love pushing myself, just a little further, just a little more. The feeling of reaching a distance I thought I’d not be able to achieve, only fuels the drive and passion even more. I also have the option to not run if I don’t want to, but it’s my choice. I crave the freedom and tranquility it gives me, there’s a certain sense of gratification I feel when I’m done. That no matter what my day brings, I’ve at least done something for myself. I know it sounds like I’m obsessed and think way too much about it, but there’s a reason for that. Running is the only thing in my life that I have consistent control over. I’m sure that sounds overly dramatic but it’s true…it’sso true.
This morning in particular is a good one, I’m headed home after a four-mile run in the nature center park. The sun is still low on the horizon, but it’s already heating the air. I love the morning, it seems so clean, the sky free of smog and the air feels fresh and new. I normally run with my ear buds jammed in my ears, my music collection varies but I usually stick to classic rock since that’s what I grew up on. Aside from running, music’s also my escape. Always there for me and reminding me of good, and sometimes not so good times, but always a constant.
I’d shut my music off a mile back, as the day begins for most people and the cars begin to come more frequently. I don’t trust most people to see me and I need my senses in order to not get hit by a distracted motorist rushing to get to work, or take the kids to school. My dog, a husky wolf mix named Bagheera, runs a few feet in front of me. Even though he’s still technically a puppy, he doesn’t need to run on a leash. But just as I knew I needed to be on guard as we get closer to home, he also knows to take the spot beside me as we wind our way through the side streets. I live in the heart of town, in the neighborhood that surrounds downtown, this is considered the colonial area of Plantain. Plantain is a small town set in the desert, like an oasis surrounded by endless dry land. The town is something like out of a movie. The residential streets are lined with large trees, peppered with kids riding their bikes, or walking to the ice cream shop without any fear of the outside world. I often long for that naiveté of being a child again, to be far removed from the realities of my life.
I grew up here, but not in the house I currently reside in. Although after my mom left, I did spend a majority of my days and nights here. This house had been my grandparents’ and was left to me when my grandma died. It’s a white two-story Victorian farm house, with wrap around porches and huge lead pane windows. I still walk in expecting to see my grandma sitting at the kitchen table, snapping peas in preparation for dinner. Growing up, my grandmother always kept the grounds flourishing with flowers and plants, and I did my best to keep them up the way she had, although I’m still waiting for my green thumb to kick in. The property is large with a yard that continues all around the house, with large trees and bushes cocooning the property from the street and neighbors. Several of the neighbors are the same as when my grandparents lived here, mostly older widowed women. They’re nice to me, solely based on the fact they knew who my grandpa was and loved my grandma. They turn a blind eye to what they think I do, and who they know I associate with. On the rare occasion we did see each other, I can tell they don’t really trust me, so I make sure as shit to lay on the sweet and innocent routine. All-in-all the neighborhood’s fine and no one really bothers me here, it’s like my Shangri-La in the crazy fucked-up-ness that is my life.
After chugging damn near a gallon of water and Bagheera doing the same, I peel off my sweaty running clothes and jump in the shower. The inside of my house is very feminine, which if you don’t know me, you would think the decor doesn’t fit me. My outward appearance is edgy, and maybe a little trashy in the eyes of others. I haven’t changed the decor too much since my grandma, but I did update, redoing all the piping and putting in new stainless steel appliances, restoring most of the house to look fantastic but still keeping in tradition with the style. Every room has crisp white walls with hardwood floors running through the entire house. I make sure to always have fresh cut flowers in the windows and on the tables, flowers I grew, I might add. My home’s a mix of my grandma and me, and I love it.
Combing out my waist length dark brown hair as I walk into my bedroom, I glance out the huge bay windows beside my bed to see Bagheera rolling around in the grass down below. Opening my dresser drawers, I pull out a pair of tight, low rise jeans, faded just enough to give it some edge, along with a tight black V-neck shirt. The hem goes down to the top of my jeans, but the V is low enough to show a lot of cleavage. After getting dressed, I apply some brown eyeshadow, which compliments my honey colored eyes, and mascara. I grab my bike keys and watch as Bagheera, who’s now back inside, tilt his head and whine.
“Wanna come to work today?” I ask.
His tail wags with excitement, acting like his butt is on fire. Barely able to remain in his sitting position, and I take that as a ‘yes.’ I switch my keys and we head out to the garage, firing up my 1968 black Mustang. The engine roars to life as I slip on my mirrored aviators and pull out to the street, flipping on the radio to Van Halen’s- “Hot for Teacher.’’
The large gate is open, as I pull into the long parking lot that leads to the garage. The property has several buildings, an automotive repair shop, which is where I work, along with two other outbuildings. Bikes and cars line either side of the parking lot only open to club members, and even though it’s early and the shop’s still closed, the garage doors are open and men are milling around near them and by their bikes. Pulling into my usual spot, I take in a deep breath and reach over to pet Bagheera, before gliding out of the car as he jumps down behind me, following as we walk towards the building.
“Morning V,” Rocket smiles.
“Lookin’ good as always babe,” Chain adds.
My name is Maven, but everyone calls me V for the most part. Rocket and Chain are the old guys, in their sixties I guess, but they’ve always seemed to be that old even when I was a kid, so I’m not exactly sure their actual age. The two are drinking coffee and looking down at a bike, discussing some new modifications Chain’s done on it. These two usually always beat me to work in the morning, but since they have apartments in the clubhouse, they should.
“Mornin’ boys.”
A huge fan blows my hair away from my face as I enter the garage and slip my sunglasses on top of my head. The Steve Miller Band blares from the speakers. Even though the morning’s just beginning, it’s already hot as balls inside the confined area, the smell of gasoline fumes and motor oil thick in the air. I like to think the strong stench contributes to the dumb ass mentality that seems to be an epidemic around here.
“Goddamn, how is it we’ve never fucked, I mean...damn.”
My point exactly. Drag-strip or Drag as everyone calls him, bites his lower lip and eye the length of my body, I internally groan and grab my ID from the cubby along the wall, pressing it up to the time clock and punching in for work. Drags around my age, and he hasn’t been in the club more than three years and I don’t know him that well. However, I do know he’s hot, and a total pig. He
makes me laugh so that makes him tolerable. But sometimes I just look at him, and wonder how someone so attractive can be so revolting towards women. I know he’s harmless, in that he seems to be all talk. He’s never actually tried anything on me which is smart, but I still don’t want to give him a reason to either. He’s got longish dark brown hair he usually wears pulled back in a man-bun, and he always has the perfect amount of stubble on his chiseled jaw that never gets too long. He’s built and solid, and to top it off, he’s got the most uniquely stunning shade of green eyes I’ve ever seen. Skye totally has a thing for him. Which I understand, I also understand why she admires from afar since he’s a creep.
“Because she has taste,” Smokey replies.
Smokey, now there’s my guy. Smokey’s forty or so, but he’d been a nomad for the club for several years, which has caused him to age quicker. He did work for the club all around the west coast, before finally settling six or seven years back when his wife had their first daughter. I like Smokey, he keeps it real and keeps his dick in his pants, he’s a family man and I trust him more than most. Hard to tell he’s such a softy with his rough exterior, tattoos covering his exposed flesh, and a thick black handlebar mustache curling around his mouth. Along with a voice that sounds like he eats nails; hence the name Smokey, even if he doesn’t smoke. I look over just in time to see Drag’s long Gene Simmons-like tongue waggling, as he thrusts his hips in my direction. I roll my eyes and grab the mail sitting in front of the cubbies.
“Don’t you have work to do?” I ask.
“I always have time to work on you,” he quips.
Bagheera begins barking as Drag walks closer to me, even growling a little.
“Whoa, okay,” Drag says, halting his movements while putting his hands up.
I smile down at Bagheera and pile the mail and packages into my arms, struggling a little with the awkward bundle. Smokey whistles and two seconds later, Spiney, a prospect, is taking the overflowing parcels and heads into my office. Spiney is barely twenty-one and about six months into patching into the club. He’s sort of gangly looking, with long limbs and grown out curly blonde hair. Skye pops up from her seat at the front desk, handing me more papers accompanied with her huge smile. Skye works at the front of the shop, working the desk for customers and she’s also my secretary. She’s been working here for a few years, and from what little I know of her, I really like her. She has zero involvement with the club, never asking questions or seeming interested in anything she hears or sees. She’s very easygoing and although we only spend a limited amount of time together, I’d like to get to know her better in the future. But it’s hard to have relationships with civilians, so I know that for her and I to really be close, I’ll have to change my life. Skye’s gorgeous, with long blonde wavy hair highlighted from the sun. Her style’s boho chic, always wearing chunky jewelry and flowing skirts. Although shorter than me, she looks long and willowy with a yoga body, and I swear she could model professionally if she really wanted to. Regardless she’s always happy, with a huge megawatt grin that no matter what my temperament is during work, causes me to smile right back at her. The papers she hands me are new drop offs from overnight, I shuffle through them quickly and then smile slightly in thanks.
“Dornan and Joey were in to see you.”
“Oh, okay,” I nod. “Did they need something?”
“Said they’d be back around in a little bit,” she shrugs.
Continuing to my office, Spiney’s attempting to neatly set everything down on my perfectly organized desk. It’s rather cute, but instead of telling him that, I decide to watch him struggle. Tossing my purse onto the metal chair beside my desk, I set my cellphone next to the computer before opening the only two windows and turning on the small floor fan. My office is original to the building and looks just as old as everything else on the property. Wood paneling lines the four walls, with huge metal filing cabinets against one wall. My massive metal desk positioned in the center on the worn out green carpeted floor takes up most of the room. I step in front of my chair and flip on the desk radio, Golden Earring’s- “Radar Love,” filters through the air out of the crackling speaker. Finally, Spiney gets everything settled and exits without a word. Taking a seat, I begin rifling through the mail. Just as I slide the letter opener through the third envelope, Spiney returns with my coffee, setting it down before speaking.
“Anything else?”
“No, thanks Spiney -Oh, wait,” I begin as he turns back. “If you see Dornan and Joey, can you tell them I’m here?”
“Yep,” he replies with a curt nod before leaving my office.
I know I’m supposed to be a bitch to the prospects, but the fact that they make my coffee and often get me food, causes me to treat them well. Bagheera stands up from the side of my desk, alerting me to someone coming even before I hear the deep rumbles of men. Two men, and my two oldest friends.
“I’ll head up there next week,” Dornan says as he enters my office first, nodding towards Bagheera and causing him to relax and sit back down.
“Alright brother, just let me know, gotta tell Katie in advance,” Joey replies.
Dornan leans up against one of the filing cabinets and looks down at me, while Joey opts for the seat on the other side of the desk, lifting his heavy boots and propping them up on the corner of my desk. I grew up with these two, our dads being in the club, this place was our babysitter. Joey’s beautiful, classically handsome, tall and built. He has that hair where it’s longer on top, and shaved in the back and sides. Often he runs his hand through the long top to get it out of his face, and of course it looks movie star perfect afterward. He looks like he’d been locked up for years and only ever worked out. But in reality, he’s just out of the military, returning six months ago from a three-year deployment. Joey’s married to my good friend Katie, high school sweethearts and all that. I don’t know how she did it, not only did she have to be a single mom the entire time he’d been gone, but then she had to deal with him being back in club life. Lord knows I could never be with, let alone marry, a man in the club.
Dornan’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, even as a kid he was handsome. In his mid-twenties now, he only gets better with age. His face’s defined with a strong jaw, small scars marring his otherwise perfectly chiseled features. He looks intense and often brooding until he smiles and can get anyone to do just about anything for him. He’s definitely a charmer, which comes in handy with the business, and is why he’s the main negotiator in our deals. But he also doesn’t mess around, he’s fierce and strong and everyone knows not to fuck with him. The three of us are thicker than blood, they’re more than my brothers. I can’t explain it really, but I know I’d die for them as they would die for me. I know people say that, but it’s true with us, I’ve witnessed the lengths these two have gone numerous times to cover my back.
“Hey,” Dornan nods to me.
His voice deep and intimate, his eyes locking with mine. I can’t help but get a little charge inside whenever he speaks to me, or looks directly at me. I don’t know why since it’s clear we’re only friends, but ever since becoming a woman, I notice the attraction I have to him as a man.
“Hey,” I reply.
“So you know the job up in Briscoe? Happening a lot sooner than we intended, you available tomorrow night?” Dornan asks.
“Yeah, that’s fine. What happened?” I ask.
“Not sure, we’re going to gathering within the hour so we’ll know more then,” Joey says.
“Tomorrow’s fine,” I reply, getting back to the billing I’m doing on the computer. Joey stands at the same moment Dornan pushes away from the filing cabinet, heading towards the door.
“Need a prospect to grab you some breakfast?” Dornan asks looking back at me.
“Nah, I’m gonna finish this and I’ll meet you in gathering.”
“You know you should really have them doing more for you,” Joey states.
“Not fucking with my food is all I
need them to do for me.”
“Have them go mow that football field you live on.”
Dornan smiles and as our eyes lock, I feel my heart begin to beat a little faster.
I let out a ‘pfft.’
“Please, the fewer of you who know where I live, the better.”
“Alright girl see ya in a few,” Dornan smiles again before following Joey out.
I finish my work a little while later and grab a Coke from the mini fridge, Bagheera following as we exit out to the shop. The radios still blasting, this time Gregg Allman’s – “Midnight Rider.” It’s almost painfully loud inside the garage, on top of the music, drills whirl and wrenches crank. The sun’s hot as it hits my shoulders and I take in a deep breath of fresh, slightly gas scented air, and head towards the clubhouse. The sound of the flags waving in the wind, draws my eyes up the flag poles just beside one of the supply buildings. As always, the three flags have never changed, the flag of Norway, the American flag, and the POW/MIA flag. I remember as a child, my dad explaining the importance of each of these flags, what they meant and how they needed to be respected. I loved listening to him and my grandpa take pride in where we’re from, where we are, and what we’ve been through. My heart pinches a little at this memory, as it does with every memory that includes my dad. Halfway across the lot, Missy’s champagne colored Hummer pulls up into the driveway and I hang back, taking a large gulp of my drink while waiting for her to park in front of me.
“Hey V,” she smiles while exiting her vehicle.
Missy’s Sven’s old lady, and Dornan’s mom. She’s practically my mom too. When I was four my mom split and I don’t remember her, not a thing. All the ‘mommish’ moments I’ve ever had, have been with Missy and Gwen, Joey’s mom. They’re the ones I went to when I got my first period, who I asked questions about sex, and hugged me through my first and, mind you, only heartbreak. Missy’s classy and elegant, with shoulder length pale blonde hair that’s always perfectly styled. She appears like an everyday citizen and unless you know her, you’d have no idea what kind of family she’s part of. She’s caring and generous, with the temperament of a rattle snake and the mouth of a sailor. Missy greets me with a huge hug, before stepping back and holding out my arms, looking me over.
Running with the Devil: Plantain Series Book One Page 1