Rescued MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 13)

by Bella Knight

  “Sure,” she said. “I can set up a trust, or just an old-fashioned emergency fund. One for you, one for your brother. And I’ll check, but you should be able to set up an educational fund for your brother’s kids in most states, if not all.” He gave her his account information. “I’ll take care of everything, set up a plan for you, and take my fee out every month. Don’t worry, Wraith’s company pays part of it. It’s so the employees handle money wisely. Makes the company less vulnerable.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Jerry. That didn’t make sense to him, until he thought of some asshole gambling away the earnings, then said asshole would be easily blackmailed or suborned by people wishing a client harm. He shuddered. “Please,” he said. “Frank comes first. I’ll live on ramen noodles and rice and beans if it’s a choice.”

  “Understood,” said Lily. “Is it okay if my assistant handles it too? I need your permission. She handles things if I’m out of town.”

  “Sure,” said Jerry. He didn’t see how anyone would cheat Wraith. She’d remove someone’s face. And, he was Wraith’s now.

  “Gotta go,” said Lily. “See you at the next Nighthawks thing.”

  “Sure,” said Jerry. He said goodbye to an empty line, and fell back asleep.

  He ended up ferrying things to the Valkyries’ farm, too. Wraith was a Valkyrie, so that made sense to Jerry. He picked up parts they needed when the parts delivery people got behind, ferried things to the chrome painter and back, and learned more about the pick-a-part dead motorcycle section of the junkyard than he wanted to know. He became the guy anyone —Bonnie at the Nighthawks garage where the Evade training was, the Valkyries, the Iron Knights, and even the Gearheads called when they wanted to know if a part was at the junkyard. Hell, even Eli at the junkyard called him once or twice. He ended up having to keep a headset on, except in session work or at a club, to answer calls.

  The session work pleased him. Gregory hired him for that, too. His girls, some of them ladies, for his record label could sing up-tempo, downtempo, highs, and lows. He had several that liked jazz, soul, and smoky blues. So, he spent hours, even some days, recording albums. He would practice with his mute, so as not to scare the horses, or out on his walks with Robert, Damia, or Pomp.

  He noticed things. He noticed that the Valkyries Farm had jump-shy war buddies. One of them looked like a Holocaust victim. Said food tasted like ashes in her mouth. He liked her name, Fire. He told her food was fuel, and to eat to make her motor run. She laughed at him. Someone was always handing her a bar or a shake.

  Sometimes, he would help one or the other of them install or take out a part when the others were super-busy, and they were. They had two little girls that took lessons on tablets and fought with swords with the other women out in the yard. They went from three to four bikes being worked on at all times, to five, or even six. There was a rock/metal band in the loft of the barn playing all the damn time; the Kongo’s Come with Me Now was his favorite. They traded off members who built bikes, too. Everyone would dance, wail, or take turns fighting and working on bikes.

  He talked to them a little, got to know them. But, it was Fire that intrigued him. Her sticks for bones turned into actual limbs. He brought her a pair of special gloves with the knuckle protection. She slipped them on and smiled at him.

  “You didn’t hafta do that,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Henry told me, I’ve got holes in my head. Didn’t need any in my hands.”

  She laughed. “I guess not.” They walked to his bike. It was a day full of heat, the sun like a hammer. They both had their shades pulled down tight. He had no idea why she was following him across the yard to his bike, but he liked it.

  “You still get the nightmares?” she asked as he reached his bike.

  “Less and less,” he said. “Have no idea why it’s less. Robert says being busy’s something to do with it.”

  “We so busy, we outrace our shadows,” said Fire.

  Jerry laughed. “Me, too. I play trumpet, run parts, pick up clients for Wraith, do whatever on the farm, ‘specially when someone’s out of town.” They looked into each other’s eyes. Both tired, both having seen too much. Both needing… something more.

  “You wanna come back tonight?” asked Fire. “I’m not much of one for eating. But, you can eat dinner with us, and we can go out on our bikes somewhere.”

  Jerry thought about the club, but he wasn’t a regular, just a pickup. He played for the fun, sometimes made a few bucks, and drank all the Coke and cherry water he wanted, for free. He discarded the idea.

  “We can go wherever the hell you want,” he said.

  “Been there,” said Fire. “Hell. Don’t wanna go back.”

  “Me either,” said Jerry. “Wish I coulda reenlisted, to help my team, but I was done. Cooked. Crispy-fried.”

  Fire’s eyes watered. “That’s what happened to my friends.”

  Jerry wished he hadn’t inserted his steel-toed boot into his mouth. “Lot of mine, too.” He thought of what to say. “When’s dinner?”

  “Eighteen hundred, usually,” she said. “But you have to help, so come half an hour earlier.” She grinned. “Gonna make you set the table.” She gave him the apartment address.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He put on his helmet, and rode out. He watched her walk herself back, in her tight jeans. And something in him broke open.

  He finished his rounds, and worked on a screaming red Harley. Would have banged his knuckles if he wasn’t wearing his special gloves.

  “You need this,” said Triesta, her face wrinkled from her smile. He put down his tool, wiped his hands on a rag, and took the lemonade.

  “Thank y’kindly,” he said.

  “Woman?” she asked, gently.

  “Put my foot in my mouth,” he said. He sipped. “Going back for dinner.”

  “Huh?” she said. “Bring her a present.”

  “Like… flowers?” he asked.

  “No dead things,” said Triesta. “Something living.”

  He finished another hour of work, working it though his brain. Fire wasn’t a growing-type. So, no plants. He thought about it some more. What the fuck was alive that he could bring?

  He was on his way there, after a shower and fresh black jeans and a new blue shirt, and he saw the box by the side of the road. “Free puppies, to good home.” They were collies, eyes wide open, five of them. “I’ll take them all,” he said. He nearly hit himself on the side of the head for his stupidity. What the fuck do dogs need?

  The farm woman, a tall blonde with her hair in pigtails like a little girl’s, now looked at him in shock. “All five? Even the runt?”

  “They’re healthy, aren’t they?” asked Jerry.

  “Yes, sir. I got all five dog books here, with shot records.” She narrowed her eyes. “What are you going to do with them?”

  “Apartment to sleep, their days at a farm, down the road a long ways. Heard them talking that they wanted dogs to raise and train for therapy dogs.”

  “What’re those?” asked the woman.

  “Way they tell it, some kid gets scared, the dog lays on the kid’s foot or lap. Calms ‘em down.” He smiled at the woman. “Had a dog when I was little. Did the same thing for me.”

  “Good idea,” said the woman. “Can’t afford to feed ‘em, get ‘em fixed. This is Daisy’s third litter, barely enough to get her fixed. Them puppies, they’re gonna need things. Dog store’s two miles back.”

  Jerry went back through his mind. “The one with the red sign in front?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “Can I come back in a few minutes? Them dogs need food, collars…”

  “Harnesses and leashes, too,” said the woman. “And puppy pee pads.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Be right back.” He gave the woman ten dollars. “For the advice, and to hold the dogs.”

  “Thanks, mister,” said the woman. “Your name?”

  “Jerry, ma’am,” he said. “Be right back.”


  He rode back and filled up his saddlebags with puppy chow, bowls, harnesses and leads, dog blankets, and pee pads. He bought bungee cords and a proper dog carrier, and slid the beds with pee pads on them well inside. He bungeed the carrier to the back of his Harley, and rode back.

  The woman was delighted. “Looks like you got everything,” she said. They carefully put the dogs in the carrier. They licked Jerry’s hand.

  He said, “I’ll go real slow, ma’am. Thank you so much.”

  “Anytime,” she said.

  He did drive slow and called ahead to let them know he would be late. He drove very carefully to the front, and parked nearly directly in front of the apartment house.

  Fire ran out like… well, like she was on fire. “Is that…”

  Jerry opened the carrier, fished out the runt, and handed her over. “This one’s Peaches. At least that’s what her dog book says.” He handed it over. Half the rest of the house streamed out, their braids clacking in the breeze. Every damn one of them wore their hair like Valkyries. “This one’s Hammer, and this is Trey, and this one’s Dally, and here’s Princess.”

  He handed them out, handed over the books, and passed out dog beds, pee pads, the carrier, and the rest of the contents of his saddlebags. An argument broke out about in whose bedroom which dog would sleep, and then everything got distributed.

  He washed up, set the table, and listened to the women work out shifts of who stayed home with the puppies and who went to work. “So fucking glad we watched all those training videos Pavel and Keiran sent,” she said, Hammer in her arms. Her all-black ensemble, black tee and cargo shorts, already showed black and brown dog hair.

  “Forgot the dog brush, and nail clippers,” said Jerry.

  “Put that on the list, Queenie,” said Chick.

  “On it,” said Queenie. “Thanks for the stuff you brought, Jerry.”

  “Just for that, the man gets some of my grasshopper pie,” said Champ. “Or the Mississippi mud pie.”

  “Man deserves both,” said Trace.

  “We need one more,” said Desert. “Don’t need another collie.”

  “How late is the shelter open?” asked Rayne. “Dumb question, I’ll look it up myself.” She pulled out her phone and typed in the shelter’s name. “They’ve got a six-month-old spaniel, named Rudi. She’s been fixed.” Rayne looked at the time on her phone. “I’ll eat and run.”

  “I’ll get more dog stuff,” said Queenie. “Got the list right here. We can get it on the way back, bring the van.”

  “Good,” said Rayne. “Let’s eat.”

  “Dogs first,” said Champ. “Got these water bowls… You help me, Queenie?”

  “Absolutely,” said Queenie. She stood up. They put the bowls down with water, and the dogs drank. “Mat,” said Queenie, pulled out her phone, and added it to the list. The dogs then got puppy chow, and the humans sat down to a dinner of baked rosemary chicken, biscuits, and salad. Queenie prayed to God and Chick to Odin, and they ate.

  Queenie and Rayne decided to eat their pie when they got back, and were on the road while the others were getting seconds. After coffee and pie, and the cleanup, Rayne and Queenie got back with the little spaniel, in a chocolate brown and white. She loved the other dogs, and sniffed and kissed them.

  Fire looked over at Jerry. “I want to go out riding in the desert with you, but…” She held little Peaches in her arms.

  “Go out with the man,” said Champ. “One hour, ride out, come right back.” So, Fire handed Peaches over to Champ, nearly tearfully, and they went out into the hot desert night. They rode to Fire’s favorite lookout. The city spread out below them.

  “I come out here when I want to think,” she said.

  “So, what do you think?” asked Jerry, and stood next to her, her hand resting in his. She had bird bone hands, so he was even more careful with that hand as he’d been with the puppies.

  “Now that I’m a dog mama, I think I’ve gotta eat more. Show them how it’s done.”

  “I’m a courier, you know. I can bring you whatever you want, whenever you want.”

  She smiled up at him. “You already did. Puppies! How did you know?”

  “I heard you all talking about it, especially that day about a week ago when you said you all invited me for lunch. You even talked about dog breeds, and I saw free puppies on a sign at the side of the road, and the box, and they were collies, and so I took them all.”

  She kissed his cheek. Her lips were like dry paper, but to him, they burned. “I am so glad I met you,” she said.

  “I’m glad I met you,” he said.

  “I know what I look like. Like the lines of refugees we used to see, with the pinched faces. I’m like them. It’s just… ashes. Everything tastes like ashes. Even ice cream, and pulled pork, and grasshopper pie, supposed to be minty chocolate. Tastes like… I just can’t eat much.”

  “You’ll get better,” said Jerry. “I did. Nearly ate a bullet in front of my own damn brother. Now, I wonder what the hell I was thinking. Got Harleys, and a trumpet, and session work with damn fine artists. And a little girl who pats my door in the morning when I don’t have session work. And I have three jobs, with the building Harleys, and courier work and picking people up from the damn airport.”

  “And puppies, and hot desert nights, and a million stars,” said Fire. “And women who would die for me, kill anyone for me. If I said, that one hurt me, that person would die.”

  “Won’t hurt you,” said Jerry. “Besides, them’s some scary women you work with.”

  “Can’t decide if we’re Valkyries or Nighthawks,” said Fire. “Love ‘em both.” She stroked the back of his jacket.

  “Well, no reason you can’t go to both the things,” said Jerry.

  “We do,” said Fire. “Queenie wants the Nighthawks, and Chick wants the Valkyries. The rest of us just are happy being here. No more little towns, whispers, stares. People say the nastiest stuff, while you’re right there. Called me Skeleton.” She dashed tears from her eyes. “Not here. Nobody stares at me. You do, but you don’t have no pity in your eyes. Just kind of watching, waiting.”

  “Be doin’ things the way you wanna,” said Jerry. “You do what you want, I follow you.” He grimaced. “We both been half-destroyed. Hoping the rocks in your head fill the holes in mine.”

  She laughed, squeezed his hand, and kissed his cheek again. “Me too.” They stood, and watched the stars wheel by.

  “I’m thirsty,” said Fire, surprised.

  “Sonic,” said Jerry. “Bein’ dog mama’s is hard work. Bet the others want some shakes, too.”

  “Radium likes peanut butter. Champ likes Oreo.” She listed the shakes as they put on their helmets, got back on their bikes, and went to make a Sonic run.

  They got back, passed out the shakes, and Fire took the sleeping Peaches onto her lap and sipped her peanut butter chocolate shake. Everyone smiled little smiles at her and Jerry. Jerry finished his caramel shake, stood, and kissed first the dog’s head, then gently kissed Fire on the lips with a featherlight touch.

  “You ladies have work tomorrow, and I have a jam session to attend.”

  Everyone hugged him, even the standoffish Radium. To his shock, Radium walked him out. “Jerry, man, you brought dogs, and got that girl to drink a shake without half pouring it down her throat.” She tilted her scarred face at Jerry. “I’ve never seen that girl happy, really happy. She lit up like her name when she saw that fucking dog.” She poked his chest. “You also don’t look at her, at me, like we’re fucking freaks.”

  “You’re not,” said Jerry. “Just soldiers wounded in battle.” He sighed. “I’d cut off my own arm and give it to any of the ones I seen blown off, if it worked that way.”

  “Her scars are on the inside,” said Radium. “Mine’s on the outside, but you can still see hers, ‘cause they’re in her mouth. Mental. She’s been to see psychiatrists, been on a bunch of different meds, even weed. But, tonight, a fucking puppy did it for her.�
�� She grinned ferociously at him. “You have to fight for a Valkyrie, dumbass. Keep fighting for her. Give her whatever the fuck she wants, whatever makes her smile like that. Or we’ll all kill you.”

  “I promise,” said Jerry. “Dog mom.”

  Radium grinned. “I am, aren’t I? Dog’s asleep on a towel on the foot of my bed. Gotta go sleep with her. Let her know I’m her mama.” She punched his shoulder. “Love you, dammit.”

  “Love you too, dog mama,” he said. He got on his Harley, felt it roar under him, and rode out to the club.

  He found himself playing notes he’d never thought about playing, flowing into the music. One of Gregory’s girls was there, a chanteuse named CrystalLyne. She sang with a breathy quality, but hit notes he hadn’t realized she could hit. They riffed off each other, playing a little game. She played with the pianist and the guitarist, too. She never let up, just let her voice rise and fall.

  CrystalLyne had two bodyguards, Shiva and Mike, on her like bookends. Mike contracted to work on Shiva’s shifts from time to time, but only to guard Gregory’s young ladies. Shiva was Henry’s, but contracted out to Gregory for courier and bodyguard work, the Valkyries and Iron Nights to pick up or drop off Harleys, and Wraith spoke in her ear, too. They danced once, on a break, while Jerry watched over CrystalLyne as she sat quietly in a booth, listening to the pianist chase his own hands all over the keys.

  “Why they got you with me?” asked the young woman with blue-black skin, flashing eyes, and hair in wide braids caught in the back with a golden clip. She wore a golden over-the-shoulder dress that shimmered in the light. They sucked down Cokes.

  “Those two like to dance,” he said. It was more like Shiva stalked Mike, captured him, released him, and stalked him again. They were basically doing the tango.

  “She looks… dangerous,” said CrystalLyne.

  “She is,” said Jerry. “I only know two people more dangerous than her.”

  “Who?” asked CrystalLine.

  “Our boss,” he said.

  “Gregory?” asked the young woman, and snorted.

  “No, Wraith, the one that whispers into everyone’s ears, except for Thandie [double check], who whispers at night.”