by Hazel Parker
She was a girl, like any other girl before. At this point, I’d slept with so many women, I’d lost count. She was pretty, prettier than most, sure, but looks weren’t everything. Feisty, hell yeah, and I liked that shit. It made for the hottest sex my walls had ever seen, but I’d had hot sex before. She was just a random lay, a girl a biker like me would pick up in a bar. Right? There was no reason to even be thinking of this woman. She’d done us both a favor by leaving before it got weird and awkward. She was bolder than most, and good for her. I know the world would be a better place if more women were like her, but that was it, wasn’t it? I didn’t think there were any more like her. What were the odds I could track her down?
I sat up, frowning at my internal dialogue. Where was my head at?
That would be entirely too invasive. Why the hell did I want to find her again anyway? That was a guaranteed way to make her clingy. I knew I shouldn’t take advantage of a good thing. The best thing to do was keep an eye out for her, and if I ever saw her again, I’d make my move. Otherwise, despite my desire for the tightest pussy I’d ever had, I was letting her go.
I climbed out of bed, afraid of where my brain would go next. I stumbled to my feet and staggered across the barely furnished room to take my morning piss. I passed a hamper full of clothes and made a mental note to wash them when I got back home. I wasn’t much of a housekeeper, and usually that didn’t matter. I didn’t spend much time here. My home was with my club. I was either running a job, collaborating with Gus for a job, working on my bike, or drinking with the boys. I saw this place as much as the furniture saw a duster. I saw the thin layer of dust on top of the toilet and sighed. I needed to make some time to clean before it got too nasty.
My cell rang, and I grabbed it without looking at the ID.
“Talk to me.”
“Warren!” I could tell by the voice that Jerry was in good spirits. Which was good, considering he’d been in a rare mood for months.
“Yeah, Jer?”
“You still coming to work on my bike?”
“Yeah, man. I said I was.”
“I know,” Jerry said, moving around. “I was just checking. I figured you’d be balls deep in that redhead right now.”
I could tell he was fishing for details, but I was never one to kiss and tell.
“Did you have to toss her out this morning because she was crazy in love?” Jerry was teasing, but my skin crawled hearing him making fun of her. It was true: he was known for his stories about kicking women out, but most of the brothers had their fair share of struggles, which was the only thing keeping me from snapping on him.
I let my silence be my response. The silence sat between us a beat too long, helping him to realize I wasn’t amused. I really didn’t like him bringing her up because knowing she left before I woke up really bothered me.
“I’ll be at work soon,” I said before hanging up.
I couldn’t figure out if it was because it’d never happened to me before or if I really liked her that much. Either way, she needed to get the hell out of my thoughts. My bike was the best way to distract me. I took the long way to the clubhouse before pulling up to my other home.
The nondescript brick building didn’t scream biker, though everyone knew exactly what it was. It was no secret where The Bandits made its headquarters. There was a high fence surrounding the large building and the obvious presence of security and a guy manning the font gate. It was an unwelcome greeting for folks who didn’t belong here. The club took security and protection seriously. The garage beside it, however, was much more civilian friendly and didn’t have as many red flags because it was one of the best legal businesses the club had.
I turned on the lights, knowing Gus was probably in the back somewhere working or sleeping. He rarely went home anymore. The front was dark and cool. I turned on the lights, working my way to the garage, and waved at Jerry. He was across the way already working on his bike. I doubled back to the office to make sure everything was secure and nodded at my president as I passed by. His head was down as he looked over papers on his desk.
“Pres.”
“VP.”
Gus was my best friend, but he was my president first. Thirteen years ago, I’d been on the cusp of thirty and he was only a couple years older, but even back then he’d been a force to be reckoned with. He wasn’t our president at the time. We’d both served under Mitch, Ethan and Evan’s dad, for years before the man was killed, but it had never been a question that Gus was next.
I stepped into the sunlight, not yet scalding for the day, and took the offered beer from Jerry. It popped open loudly before I took a sip. Hanging with Jerry was easy. He wasn’t a talker, one of his best traits as far as I’m concerned, but we never had a problem or disagreement, unlike some of the other club members. He was a good man, hardworking and worked hard for The Bandits. If you kept your head down and got shit done, you were always good in my book, which meant Jerry and I were good.
Jerry didn’t rush me as I drank my beer, and when he could tell I was at the bottom of the can, he got my attention.
“You ready?”
“Let’s go.”
I lost myself in the work and decided now would be a great time for a break.
“You want some water?” Jerry was the type to work nonstop on his bike if you didn’t make him take a break.
“Yeah. That would be great.”
I walked inside and dug around in the ice box until I could pull two bottles from the very back. Ice cold water was great on a day like this. I briefly wondered what I would eat for lunch since I’d skipped breakfast. A loud rumbling interrupted my thoughts. I could see an ancient Honda pulling up to the garage before slowing, more like sputtering, to a stop. Then, like a vision, Red stepped out of the driver’s side door.
I smiled as I pushed through the garage door into the sunlight.
Well, damn. Fate wasn’t done with me yet.
Chapter Five – Red
I looked around the empty hotel parking lot, checking my surrounding before climbing into my car, willing it to start without problems. It wasn’t safe to stay, and I knew I wasn’t staying in town much longer. I gripped the steering wheel, trying to calm down, but the blinking light on my dashboard made calm a hard mood to achieve. The engine sputtered loudly, making it clear I couldn’t ignore the obnoxious check-engine light any longer. I recalled the auto shop located down the street from the bar where Daniella and I had crashed and found my car drifting towards it as if it had a mind of its own. Sure, it was a risk driving that close to the scene of the crime. Well, not the scene of the crime, but the place where seeing him would be a definite risk. But the odds were slim considering he was drunk and passed out from our activities last night. I could feel my cheeks heating up as thoughts of Warren’s body thrusting into mine crept in.
I checked my rear mirror, making sure no one was following me, before I lost myself in my memories. Flashes of last night, his hands on my body, my moans, me screaming his name, and the way he made me come were almost too much, and my hands trembled on the wheel as I turned into the open lot. I wondered what Warren would think when he woke up. I imagined he was just now rolling over to find me gone. A lot had gone through my mind when I snuck out. I debated staying for a morning romp, but I knew saving face was more important. A one-night stand was already way past my comfort zone. I couldn’t have taken him looking me in the face and telling me to get out, as if I was nothing. I knew he didn’t care, and I didn’t blame him because I knew the score when I left the bar with him. Still, leaving on my own terms allowed me to leave with my head high instead of accidently bursting into tears. When I walked out of there, it wasn’t a walk of shame. I owned that moment and changed the view so it wasn’t a one-night stand. It had been a glorious adventure instead.
I swerved into the other lane as my phone rang. I clutched my chest, willing my heart to calm as I answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, boo!” Danie
lla was cheerful for someone who should have been extremely hung over. “What the hell happened to you last night?”
I relaxed a little, trying to be discreet in answering her questions. Even though I valued Daniella as a friend, we weren’t best friends. In fact, I’d only just met her a few months before. I made my way to the first coffee shop I saw, knowing that I didn’t have much time. I imagined the auto shop had appointments and a walk-in would guarantee me sitting there for hours. With coffee and a charged phone, it wouldn’t be too bad. I didn’t stay on the phone with Daniella long. She really only wanted to know how much of what she remembered what a dream. It was true that we had gone to a biker bar and I had left with one. The rest I wasn’t giving her the satisfaction of knowing as fact or not. She giggled.
“You naughty girl. I bet you did let him take you for a ride.”
“It was just a ride on the bike, Daniella. He did win the bet, after all.”
“Mhm,” she said unbelieving. “I bet it was just a ride on the back of his bike.”
I tried several times to change the subject before Daniella relented. “You were crazy drunk. How come you don’t sound like you’re struggling with light and loud things?”
“Because I visited Tapped before I started my day.”
Tapped was this weird place near the university that gave hungover kids an IV full of vitamins and stuff that claimed to help you get over hangovers. I guessed it worked.
“Well, it sure sounds like it did the trick.”
“Yup. That plus a green smoothie this morning cleared me right up.”
“Good.”
“Alyssa,” the barista called out loudly, indicating that my coffee was ready.
“You at the coffee shop?”
I laughed. “Yeah. I needed a caffeine shot before running errands.”
“I get that. I’m about to do the same thing, actually, so we’ll have to chat tomorrow. Love ya, Ally.”
“You too.”
“Bye.”
Talking to Daniella always cheered me up. She was like a constant ball of sunshine and fresh air. Sinking into the comfortable cushions of the chair inside the coffee shop, I made sure my location settings were off before logging into Facebook. There were several messages from people claiming to be worried and wondering where I was. There were several from him, but I knew what they really were. They could be read as sweet and caring, a truly worried husband. But I knew better. They were threats and warnings that I was treading water the longer I stayed away.
Facebook disappeared as the warning symbol I picked as his contact photo showed on my screen. I reminded myself to breathe when I saw he wasn’t calling: it was only a text message.
Come home, now.
What if he knew where I was? I threw my coffee away before running to my car. I needed to fix my car immediately. My brain disobeyed, thinking of all the things he’d done to me. The mental torment, when he made me think I was too fat, too skinny, and never enough. The psychological abuse causing me to turn on all my friends, and even my family, thinking they were out to get me and didn’t have my best interests at heart. The way he acted like he owned me. It wasn’t a possessiveness that stemmed from love, either. He wouldn’t let me do anything – not hang out with friends, wear what I wanted to wear, go out and do anything that wasn’t with him. But that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst was the physical abuse I made sure to hide. He made people think I was crazy when I tried to report him. I had to beg for a restraining order to be issued, and even then it was nothing but a piece of paper. Even then, the beatings hadn’t stopped, and no one would let me move on. Even after I got my own apartment and a dog, he killed Killer. Killer was the sweetest and most protective dog in the world, and Bryant killed him. For no other reason than the satisfaction of knowing it would hurt me and to send the message that nothing could stop him. His friends in high places were sure to mark the killing as a casualty of a robbery. Which is why his text was so chilling. With friends like that, he could find me. His text sent me into a spiral of anxiety and worry, a warning to get moving.
I tried to reason with the logical part of my mind that said he probably didn’t know where I was. I was thousands of miles from where I used to be and nowhere near where he would guess I’d be. But I could feel the panic attack spreading through my body. All I needed to do was to get my car fixed and then get the hell out of here. There was nothing for me here. There was nothing for me anywhere, since I was running.
Rows of motorcycles gleamed out front, all resting on kicks stands in uniform lines like toy soldiers just waiting for command. I didn’t know shit about brands or engine type, but I could tell by the variety of color, height, and design that these men put time and money into the bikes. Each bike had personality, and climbing out of the car, I could tell each bike had a different make as well.
I don’t know what I was expecting as I walked towards the open garage where various men sat in states ranging from smoking to working on bikes, but I wasn’t there five minutes before Warren stepped out the front door.
“Red.”
I smiled. Clearly, I had some explaining to do, but he was glad to see my face.
“I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Well, it’s your lucky day. I need to get my car fixed.”
He chuckled darkly. “Okay. Let’s get you inside. I think we can do something about that.”
“Dead Shot! Drag that thing into the carport.”
“Hey!” I knew Betsy was old, but I was sensitive about others picking on her. She was my baby. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Sorry, Red. I didn’t realize the car meant so much to you.”
That car was the only thing that got me far from the worst situation of my life. Without Betsy, I would be dead, and I knew that was a fact, but I couldn’t tell him that. I tried to appear casual as I said, “She means a lot to me.”
He nodded and moved ahead to hold the door open for me. My face must have shown just how shocked I was and he laughed. “What, you think because I’m a biker, I don’t have no damn manners?”
“Well,” I said half shrugging.
“I’m a biker, Red. Not an ingrate with no manners. My momma may not like how I turned out, but she taught me something.”
He nodded at a biker with gray streaks in his hair as we passed. The tattoos on his arm had long since been faded by the sun. For an older guy, it was clear he was very fit. The patch on the front of his vest said, “President.”
“Sit here,” he said, pointing to three very uncomfortable-looking chairs. “Jer can take a look at Betsy and let you know the extent of the repairs.”
Chapter Six – Warren
When I walked into The Bandits clubhouse and flipped on the lights, I wasn’t expecting to see Red that day, despite wanting to. The Bandits were not a mega club. Although by the respect they had in the community and with the police, one would think they had charters all over the world, but really they only had about fifty men in Willow Springs. There was only one chapter, and that was it. None of the brothers drew their sole income from the club, so it wasn’t surprising that the clubhouse was empty in the middle of the day. The brothers were either at work or home with their family, though I knew work for some was in the garage. It was mostly a mix of older brothers who had long retired or younger brothers who had enough money to last them until their next job that stood around, smoking or working on their bikes. Only a hand full of them were hired full time at the garage as mechanics.
I fell into a mixture of the two categories. I was a full-time Bandit, making my wage between gigs, some illegal, some not, and helping out around the garage. I would have gladly spent my day helping Jerry with his bike, but with Red on the scene, I cleared my schedule. She looked different in the light of day. More worried and more anxious. I noticed how she kept looking around like she was expecting someone to jump out at her. Despite that, she was still sassy, making me regret not having her in my bed this morning.
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We made quick banter, building on the chemistry from last night. I had no plans to bring it up, at least not around my brothers, but if I got her alone, I wanted an explanation. I talked her into my bed once and I was hoping to pull off the same magic. Whatever she was doing was working, because unlike the rest of the women I’d bedded, I needed seconds. Once just wasn’t enough.
She followed me into the office and wrinkled her nose. I tried to smell it how she smelled it. My brain sought the answer to her nose tingling and I breathed it from her perspective. The inside of the garage smelled like a combination of sweat, testosterone, and cheap beer. The stank of cigarettes hung in the air on top of it, mixed with the greasy pungency of oil, and I smiled because to me it smelled like it always did before I took the time to notice.
“Fill this out,” I said, handing her a clipboard, which gathered her information. I may or may not have been more excited to learn her real name than actually doing my job.
She handed it back in minutes and I smiled at the name. Alyssa Monroe. So Ally was a nickname.
“Miss Alyssa Monroe,” I said, noticing how she blushed. I liked it. She looked even sexier when her skin was flushed.
“I think I like Red better,” she said pulling on her shirt.
“Oh, I do too, Red. I was just trying it out for size.”
“Well. Yes?”
“I think we can fix your car.”
“Really?” Her eyebrows raised with hope.
“You’re surprised?”
“Well, I just figured a biker wouldn’t work on anything but motorcycles.”