Alone on Earth

by Susan Fanetti

  “Something set him off?”

  Len shrugged, and the conversation died there. Nobody wanted to forecast what was going on with C.J. They should be, though. They couldn’t get caught flat-footed. Especially not with the Scorpions making an appearance next week. But he wasn’t going to push it in the Hall on a Saturday evening. He’d bring it up with Isaac.

  “B-man! Thought you were taking the little princess for another spin tonight! She kick you already?” Havoc, now that he was worried Bart was getting invested, was going to ride him hard. Bart had decided to take it in stride. At least as far as anyone knew.

  Len spun back around. “That’s right. You got some of that sweet California sunshine last night. It’s great, right? Like there’s something in the water or air out there that just makes it better. And the guys out there must be limp as shit, because the chicks are so grateful. Am I right?”

  Take it in stride. “I’ll meet you guys at Tuck’s.” He went back to his room.

  ~oOo~

  Bart came in about half an hour or so after the rest of the guys. As it was every Saturday, Tuck’s was loud and rowdy, packed with locals from Signal Bend and from Millview and Worden, the nearest towns. Even though things had gotten better, people were doing better, they still worked damn hard and didn’t have much. Saturday night and Sunday was the only time most of them took off or even backed off. Sunday was for remembering God and family. Saturday night was for forgetting. And they all partied hard in the few hours they had.

  Tuck’s—or, more officially, No Place, the town bar owned by Tuck and Rose Olsen—had live bands and dancing on Saturday nights, and that tended to stir people up extra hard. The place was regionally notorious for the regular brawling that broke out a few times a week, and always on Saturdays.

  The Horde maintained some profile at Tuck’s during after-dark hours. Even when there was a Friday party at the clubhouse, the guys rotated through in pairs, doing a couple hours’ time keeping the peace. But keeping the peace at Tuck’s meant only that they’d kept any lasting damage to a minimum. The Horde were always in the thick of the fighting. They looked forward to it.

  As did everybody else in town. The fights, for the most part, were friendly and recreational, a way to blow off some steam. When they started, usually over some petty, lighthearted disagreement but sometimes over a real beef, everybody would get up and move the breakables out of the way, then get down to business. Rarely did a brawl get out of hand. When they were over, men shook hands or clapped each other on the back.

  But over the past couple of years, as the town gained popularity as a weekend getaway spot, the bar’s clientele had started to include a trickle of unsuspecting strangers, and the Horde had tightened down on the fighting. Now, they dragged the brawlers out back and stayed out of it unless they were principally involved. The restraint chafed at most of them—they were all fighters and needed the same kind of release all these other guys did. But they were in charge. Like everybody else in town, Tuck paid the Horde to protect his business, to protect the town. Part of protecting the town was not chasing off the people who were spending money in it.

  Havoc probably had the most trouble with the new rules. He was constantly bitching about it, and it had been his carping that had started the club down the road of opening another bar in town, one that catered to the wine and cheese crowd. The kind of people who went antiquing and stayed in bed and breakfasts. Not the same kind of people, generally speaking, who enjoyed a good bar fight.

  As usual this early in the night, the Horde were lined up at the bar, and Bart stepped in between Havoc and Badger. Badge wasn’t much of a fighter, but he was still putting on muscle, not to mention experience. He was young—really young to have already earned his patch. But the Horde had empty seats around the table, and Badge had proven himself in the shit with Ellis. He might not look as imposing as his brothers yet, and he might get scared, but he stood firm. In some ways, Bart thought that made him tougher than the rest of them.

  Rose, Tuck’s wife and the bartender, came up and leaned on the bar in front of Bart, resting her ample cleavage on her arms. The rose tattoo over one breast was starting to get a little misshapen, but that didn’t deter her from putting her assets right out front.

  “Hiya, honey. Bud and a shot, like regular?”

  “Yeah, Rose. Thanks, beautiful.”

  She winked and gave his hand a pat before she turned to the booze at the back of the bar and grabbed the Jack Daniels.

  The band was still in their first set. This was a regular gig for them, so they knew the right pacing to keep the crowd into it. Nobody ever danced the first set. People sat around drinking and talking. Things amped up the second set, and the dancing happened then. All the Horde danced. Most guys around these parts did. No shame in knowing how to two-step.

  Actually, it had taken Bart some time to come to terms with that. He’d been a geek in school—hell, he was still a geek—and he’d tried to cultivate some nominal cool by staying off the dance floor. But that was the city. Here, dancing was cool. And this kind of dancing, with actual steps, was something he could learn. So he had, even though he wasn’t really a fan of the country music that was a mainstay here.

  The third set, when everybody was drunk and riled up, was when things got interesting. But now it was early, and Bart tossed back his shot and then grabbed his beer and turned around, leaning back against the bar. Havoc was stuffing his face with a Reuben sandwich. That boy could eat, but it seemed to convert straight to muscle.

  Around a mouthful he said, “Guess you wised up about the little blonde.”

  Bart answered without turning. Riley hadn’t called or texted in the couple of hours since he’d walked away. “I guess. Don’t need the trouble.”

  “Fuck’s a fuck, brother.”

  “You know that’s bullshit, Hav. If it was true, we’d just jack off and not bother with women at all. A good fuck is worth something.”

  Havoc shrugged, making a face like he wasn’t sure he agreed but wasn’t going to argue the point. “Well, that little bitch musta really been something, way you’ve been all day.”

  Feeling pissed again, and knowing that acting pissed would only give Havoc more ammo, Bart put the bottle to his mouth and finished his beer. “I gotta drain the pipe.” He left the empty on the bar and went back to the john.

  He wasn’t in a big rush, but he didn’t linger long enough for it to be weird. Just long enough to get his head even again. When he came back out, the band was finishing its set, and Havoc was leaning against the wall at the end of the little narrow hallway, grinning like he was waiting for him. What the fuck?

  “What’s your damage, asshole?”

  “Just thought I’d get a good seat for the show, loverboy.”

  Whatever. Bart rolled his eyes and walked past, already looking to get Rose’s attention so he could get another beer. As he came around the end of the bar, not quite focused on where he was going, he almost knocked Riley on her ass.

  He grabbed her arms to catch her as she stumbled backwards. “Jesus! What the fuck!”

  Okay, he was still pissed off, apparently. Maybe he should have lingered another couple of seconds in the john, because yelling at her for almost running her over wasn’t exactly an effective pickup strategy.

  Then again, it kind of made them even.

  Not that she saw it that way. She knocked his hands away with a snarl and turned away. He grabbed her arm again. “Hey, sorry. You surprised me is all. What are you doing here?”

  She was still irritated, he could tell, but she answered him straight. “Omen brought us. I tried to text you but it wouldn’t go through.”

  “Us? Who us?”

  “Me and Pru. Tanner already went to bed, and Mark wanted to stay in and watch TV.”

  Bart looked around—there was an empty four-top in the corner near the kitchen. Fairly quiet spot, relatively. Omen and Pru were by the juke. He slid his hand down Riley’s arm and took her hand, leading
her over to the table. He pulled out a chair, and Riley sat. “Wait here a sec. I’ll be right back.”

  He stalked through the bar and grabbed Omen by the back of his Prospect kutte. “’Scuse me, hon. I need Omen for a minute.” Then he dragged Omen to the wall and threw him against it.

  “What the fuck are you thinking, Prospect, bringing those girls here on Saturday night?”

  Omen looked shocked and scared. “What? Bart, Riley was looking for you. She wanted me to take her to the clubhouse, but I knew you’d be here. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Say no! She’s a chick! You tell her no!”

  “But Isaac said I’m supposed to keep her happy!”

  Jesus Christ. “Jesus Christ! You’re not gonna keep her happy if you put her in the middle of a fucking bar fight, asshole. What do you think the boss will do to you then?”

  The kid went so white Bart thought he was really going to keel over. “Oh, shit.”

  “Oh shit is right.” He thought for a minute. “You tapping the assistant? Pru?”

  Overlaid on that ghostly white sheen of fear came a bright red blush. He didn’t need to answer any other way.

  “Isaac know?” And the blood drained away. The kid was going to have an aneurysm at this rate.

  “I’ll talk to him tomorrow. And I’ll take Riley over tonight. You get Pru out of here. Keep her happy.” He let go of Omen’s kutte. “And next time, call somebody and fucking ask.”

  “I tried. Calls aren’t getting through tonight.”

  Fuck. It happened sometimes. Cell service around most of the area could get finicky. A few places, Horde places—the clubhouse, the B&B, Isaac’s house—were stable, but otherwise they’d hit a dead patch for a few hours a couple times a week. Worse in bad weather.

  “Okay. You tried. That’s something. Be nice to the girl.”

  “Yeah, man. Of course. I like her.”

  “Careful with that, kid. She’s just visiting.” Advice he should probably take himself. He sent Omen back to Pru and began to wend his way back to Riley.

  Havoc was sitting at the table with her, leaning in close. Riley was smiling at him. That cheeky son of a bitch. He strode up behind him and dropped his hand hard on his shoulder. He was bigger than Bart, and Bart had yet to take him down in the ring, but he thought he might be ready to give it another try.

  “Thanks for saving my seat, brother. Now fuck off.”

  Havoc turned in the seat and looked up at him, grinning the biggest bullshit grin. “Sorry, brother. Didn’t mean to cut in.” He got up and gave Bart an affectionate slap on the back of the head as he went back to the bar.

  Bart sat down. “Sorry about all that.”

  Riley nodded toward the door. “What’s going on? Where are Omen and Pru going?”

  “They wanted some time alone. I told him I’d take you where you want to go. If that’s alright with you.”

  She stared at the door for a couple of seconds, then met his eyes and stared at him for a couple more. “I’m sorry I yelled at you before. You’re right. Tough day, but not your fault.”

  “Understood. You said you texted me? Looking for some fun?”

  She smiled. He finally really saw her, and he realized at last that she must have showered and changed, dolled herself up a little for him. Her hair was loose and full, and she had more makeup on than earlier, her eyes rimmed with black. She looked sexy as hell, in dark, body-hugging jeans and a snug black top with long sleeves and a deep neckline. She was wearing tall boots with a fairly low heel—good, because he had an idea.

  “This place isn’t that much fun. Wanna go for a ride?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Ride where?” It wasn’t that late, but it was dark, they were out in the boonies, and Riley was totally out of her element. All the smart money said that going for a nighttime ride with an outlaw biker was a classically awful idea. A Roger Corman, John Carpenter, Wes Craven kind of classic. No matter how nice he’d been to her so far.

  “Just out in the country a little ways. I know a pretty place. Quiet.”

  A quiet place out in the country. Where no one could hear her scream. Maybe a George Romero kind of classic. Or Sam Raimi.

  “Um…”

  He grinned crookedly at her. “You chicken, princess?”

  “Don’t call me that. And no, I’m not chicken. I’m smart.”

  He leaned on the table, crossing his arms as if he was ready to really debate that point. “Okay, smartypants. Let’s think about this. Your ride just left—but I’m sure Havoc will give you a ride. He thinks you’re hot. There’s no bitch seat on his bike, though. I have seen him ride with a girl on his lap before, and I’m sure if you asked nice, he’d do that for you. ‘Bout ten miles to the B&B. Oh—and he’s a spanker. Just so you know—for reference. Len doesn’t have a bitch, either. Vic does, but he’s…ooh.” Bart whistled. “More than you can handle. He likes it really rough.”

  “Jesus! Stop!”

  “Just telling you your options. Those guys’ll want payment for the service. Only fair.”

  He’d never stopped with that snarky grin. Like he knew she didn’t have a choice. “And you don’t want payment?”

  “All I’m looking for is your time. Anything more than that, it’ll be what you want.” He leaned in close. She could smell the leather of his vest—he’d called it something else, but she couldn’t remember—and the liquor on his breath. “What would you rather do tonight? Sit here in this dank old saloon, watch the natives get restless? Or take a ride out on this great night and watch the sky? Country sky on a clear night is something to see. I promise.”

  His grey eyes glinted at her. He was cocky as hell, thinking he had her. But he did, and they both knew it. Because he’d sent her ride away. She should be mad, but she wasn’t. The cocky was coming off as playful, and he was just so damn cute.

  “Okay. I just hope the next tabloid headline isn’t ‘Riley Chase found headless in ditch in obvious suicide.’” Wow. She just made a joke about all that. Not a good joke, but still.

  A weird look went through his eyes first, but then it was gone and he laughed, indulging her weak attempt at humor, and stood. “Good girl. Come on.”

  She took his hand, and he pulled her close, hooking his arm around her. She fit under his arm, close to his body. She felt safe. Ironic, but true.

  ~oOo~

  They rode for nearly half an hour, and they’d passed nothing but trees for the last ten minutes or more. He hadn’t been joking about going out a ways. He’d had a thick fleece hoodie in his saddlebag, and he’d given it and his helmet to her. His helmet was a lot too big for her, but he helped her adjust the strap, just as he’d done when he’d brought her back to the hotel that morning—wow. It had only been that morning. She’d only been in Signal Bend a few hours more than a day. A lot had happened.

  Most of it had happened in L.A. and still felt unreal. She’d talked to her mother, and Stan, and Denise—who’d put her on the line with Heidi, the publicist who worked with Denise’s clients. They were all more or less in agreement that the idea that she was in ‘seclusion’ was more helpful than harmful, and she should stay where she was and go on as planned, while they kept a full lid on Riley news until the situation changed, or it was time to return home.

  Eleanor had also used the opportunity to indulge in a harangue about how she’d always loathed Devon, had known he was no good and said as much, but would Riley listen to her? Of course not. In truth, her mother had hated Devon. But not from the beginning. At first, she’d thought it was a great match. A high profile match. It wasn’t until that profile tarnished that Eleanor began to protest. By then, Riley was deeply in love. Her first real rebellion from her mother had been to ignore her ranting about Dev.

  That had become a habit, one she had not broken. She’d ended the call while Eleanor was fully engaged. Then she’d turned her phone off. She’d sat on the bed and stared at the thing, thinking about the night before—how Bart had made her forget co
mpletely about Devon, at least for awhile. How his body had been so different, bigger and broader and firmer. How he’d focused so much on her pleasure. How he’d filled her. How he’d smiled and laughed.

  Sex with Devon had been serious business, all about two souls melding, finding transcendence. She’d found that poignant and sexy, but it did tend to mean his mind was a bit elsewhere. Sex with Bart had been fun. Also mind-blowing. Talk about transcendence.

  She’d realized she’d been a bitch earlier, lashing out at him simply for having access to the internet, basically. At first, she worried that maybe she’d fucked up something that could have been a nice distraction, but then she remembered that he’d sent her a text. She’d checked. He’d sent: 4 a good time call.

  She’d texted him back: This is me calling. But the send had failed. Three times. She’d thrown her phone on the bed in a snit and then gone to take a shower. By the time she was out, she’d decided that she would not be thwarted, and she’d gone hunting for Omen.

  Now she was on the back of Bart’s bike, leaning her head against his back to shield herself from the chill of the fall night, and he was slowing up and pulling off a paved road onto an overgrown lane that wasn’t much more than a path.

  The roar of the bike eased as the engine slowed. The lane was canopied by trees, cutting them off from the sky. God, it was so dark. No lights but the headlamp. Riley laughed a little as she imagined her mother’s paroxysm of horror if she could see her now.

  Then they cleared the natural tunnel and were in a wide, even field sloping gently to one side, and around and above them an infinite blue-black dome of night. No longer pitch black, the world glittered with stars and a glowing white half moon.