Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1)

by Morrow, Justin

  “You don’t think she found a man?” Alt asked. Playing with fire, that one.

  “No. I fucking don’t,” Royal ground out between his teeth. “See if we can’t find who gave Kit a job and a place to stay. When we find her, though, I’m going to approach her. If I can’t talk her back home, then we’re going to have to figure out a way to keep someone on her . . . protect her.”

  Royal trailed off and it was noted around the table. Time to come up with something to break the lull.

  “Sounds simple enough,” I agreed to clear the dead air. “We wouldn’t be turning our back on the MC or Kit. It would mean all hands on deck, though. No fucking around. We have to keep a tight ship until we have results. That means no outpouring in whoever’s bed, and no getting high and chatty. Alt, do you still know that girl at the social security office in Tuscan?”

  “Ha ha . . . No, no I don’t.” Alt’s face reddened.

  “All right, Rico Suave.” I turned away from the clear shot at chipping away Alt’s ego. “What about Con?”

  “Con’s in fuckin’ Afghanistan. Let him concentrate on his job, and not our shit,” Royal commanded, making a good point. EOD was serious business.

  “I know a guy, works for the state tax department in El Paso. If Kit gets a job, I can get the where and when from him if Stevie doesn’t pull through,” Mac was visibly reluctant to offer.

  “What’s with the hesitant look, bro?” Hendrix asked.

  “Well, you remember that finance guy from FOB Shank?”

  He was referring to this redneck we used to get casual pay from at Forward Operating Base Shank in Logar Providence, Afghanistan. The dude was all right, but never shut the fuck up about Texas. Ever.

  “Yeah, I remember the graced son of the Lone Star State.”

  “Exactly, so if we go through him, we’re gonna have to appease the guy.”

  “How?” Royal asked, with an eyebrow raised and a fake homophobic look on his face. “Y’all don’t look like the donut smiley type.” He laughed, his first in a while.

  “Ha, no.” Mac shot a glare towards Royal. “It’ll be one of three things: we have to go hunting with him, we have to ride with him, or we might need to help his dad with the harvest.”

  “Who’s we?” Royal asked again.

  “Whoever I bring and this guy.” He pointed two thumbs towards himself with a falsely motivated smile.

  “Sounds good,” Royal stated. “You good with a trip down Logar’s memory lane, bro?” He nodded towards me and I shot a fake ass smile with a nod in return.

  “All right, that’s that. Final order of business before some shots: what can we give the Prez as an honest attempt of a mission to brief tomorrow?” Royal emphasized honest and mission.

  The voices of my brothers were drowned out by the ringing in my ears, which took me back. Back to that day. I felt myself shaking as my conscience floated away. Ever closer to the approaching mortar explosions and RPK fire. Images appeared, dark soil puffed up here and there, and muzzle flashes materialized from the shadows underneath a fig orchard near the wadi. A firm hand slapped me on the back of the shoulder. I jumped out of my skin, terrified.

  “Come back to us Tread. It’s shot time.” Mac’s face appeared before my eyes with a smile. I had no clue what had just triggered my flashback, but I couldn’t agree with Mac more.

  “Let’s get it.”

  PLACING A CUP OF COFFEE down on the bar for the hundredth time that morning, I cleared my throat nervously.

  Tread, looking a little bit more with it and less hungover, raised an eyebrow. “Something up, babe?”

  I ignored how my heart pounded a little harder at the endearment, and licked my lips. “I really need to go see the vet today. I don’t want to run out of meds for Bella.”

  “Yeah, sure.” I watched as he pulled out his hair band, letting down a cascade of black wavy hair, before immediately putting it all back into a bun. “I’ll have a prospect take you today.” He turned and shouted, “Pollick, take Grace to the vet today.” Tread turned around, job done, and went back to mainlining his coffee.

  I moved down the bar, guessing the discussion was closed. After seeing to a few more guys, I found myself in front of Tread again. “So what did you guys need my room for last night?”

  Royal slapped his cup down on the wood with a crack that made me jump. “It’s Kit’s room.”

  I shrugged. “But she gave it to me.”

  His icy blue eyes glared. “It’s still her shit.”

  My blood pressure began to rise. “She gave it to me. When she left.”

  Royal stood, towering over me.

  “We just had a little talk. Nobody touched your stuff, Grace,” Tread cut in. Royal slowly sank back into his stool and I escaped to place food in front of the guys who ordered, half of the time getting them wrong. As much as the place was a saloon—a bar, really—they all eat there from what I’d seen.

  I didn’t know where they lived, but no one seemed to use their kitchens. They weren’t stingy with the tips, either. The money I was making was exponentially better than my waitressing job up north. Even though the setup was weird, there was no question I needed money and have nowhere to go.

  After the breakfast crowd cleared out, it was almost lunchtime. The saloon was closed from eleven to five, though there seemed to always be someone moving around. My presence wasn’t needed.

  I grabbed Bella and her health records then looked around for the young man assigned to take me to the vet’s office. When I called the day before, they’d said they accepted walk-ins until one. When I spotted the young kid in a patchless, leather vest, I stuck out my hand.

  “Hi, I’m Grace.”

  His face broke out into a friendly smile. “Hi, Grace. I’m Deathstroke.”

  His voice was unusually high for a grown man, and I burst out laughing, until his smile fell. “Oh my gosh, you were serious!” I put my hand on his forearm as he held the door open for me. “I thought you were joking. I’m not laughing at you, I swear.”

  “Nah, it’s fine.” He rolled his slight shoulders like it was nothing. “I’m just trying out some different handles.” I looked at him blankly. “You know, for when I patch into the club.”

  “Right. Of course,” I said quickly, picking up Bella and shoving her awkwardly into his pickup truck. “So what are your other choices?”

  “Well, since you just shot Deathstroke down, I guess that’s out.” He laughed dryly, and I smiled over at him while scratching Bella’s neck.

  “Why do you need a handle?”

  “Historically, it was a way for people to radio each other without the po-po knowing who was involved. With Ronin, though, the first generation gave their kid’s handles as first names. Kind of initiating them from the womb. With non-family members, they get given their handles by the MC. I thought if everyone was calling me something different before the vote, I would have some say. I don’t want to get stuck with Minnie Mouse or something like that.” He looked over at me as he braked at a stoplight. “You know, cause I’m so—”

  “Young? Were you in the military?”

  His shoulder’s squared as he sat up a little bit straighter. “Two tours in Afghanistan. It’s a requirement for joining. All of the guys have to have served.”

  “Thank you for serving. What’s your first name?”

  “Patrick.”

  “Patrick’s a strong name. Thank you for escorting me today.”

  He smiled over at me, looking more boy than man. “It’s my pleasure, Grace.”

  We pulled into a parking lot that was only about four blocks from the saloon. I looked over in surprise. “We couldn’t have walked here?”

  Patrick met me in front of the truck. “Not in this heat. No one walks in this town.”

  I guessed I could see the point in that. The midday sun beat down relentlessly, my skin always seeming damp no matter the time of day. We walked into the office, hearing dogs bark from somewhere within. Patrick moved to the fron
t desk and immediately started flirting with the receptionist. I smiled and took a seat, Bella panting like we really had walked there. Her drool caught on a plastic chair next to me and I scrunched my nose at her.

  “Fill this out. They should get to you in a sec.” Patrick handed me a clipboard and I filled out endless questions, having to ask him the address and zip code of the saloon for my address.

  “Bella,” a woman called out from an open door, and we all stood up as I finished the last question then signed my name.

  “All right, let’s get Bella’s weight and temp before we go back. Do you have her records?” she asked. I handed over the green folder and she scribbled on a chart before opening it. “Looks like she’s on some pretty heavy stuff. Highly allergic?”

  “To everything,” I answered.

  “How are you managing?”

  “When she’s not sneaking bits of bacon, she’s on her regular meds. Benadryl when we need it. The prescription food I have is working really well, though.”

  “Okay. We’ll get you set up. I want to run another blood draw before we give any more meds to make sure her body is processing everything all right.”

  “That sounds great. Can I come with her when you do it, though? Stress makes her break out in hives. It may help.”

  “Of course. Right this way.”

  We moved down a hall and towards a swinging door. She pushed through and we walk into controlled chaos. Patrick and I immediately moved into a corner as vet techs and doctors moved around with dogs and cats in cages. There were two dogs and a cat on separate tables in various forms of unconsciousness, one upside down getting a dental procedure.

  “We’ve got a blood draw,” the tech told the other staff, and everyone went back to what they were doing, while a man and woman separated to help. They put Bella on a table as one reached for a tourniquet. I walked over to give Bella a scratch and hug as the man talked to her softly while shaving off a patch of fur in preparation for the needle.

  Having had my degree, I recognized what they were doing, but knew I could never do it to my own pet. They took two vials as I held her securely and whispered in her ear.

  “Someone knows what they’re doing.” The guy smiled at me. I shrugged and blushed. They put purple vet wrap around the puncture site and pressed it firmly as the door slammed open.

  I jumped at the sound, fumbling Bella as I put her to the floor as a loud sound burst through the room. The man next to me fell to the ground as I looked at him in confusion before Patrick shoved me behind him then through a door. The dogs were barking madly, but I could still hear the shouting.

  “Dame todos los medicamentos y nadie sé hace daño!”

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  I jumped, my heart pounding out of my chest. Something fell against the door and I backed up, pulling Bella with me. The door opened and Patrick fell in, holding a gun in his hand. He fell to the floor, putting his back against the door as people screamed. My eyes, already wide, felt like they popped out of their sockets when I saw the blood on his leg. He pulled out his cell phone with gritted teeth and a bloodied hand.

  “Shit,” he ground out. The phone was slippery in his hand, but he didn’t let go of the gun. I watched him drop the phone as they started to shake. He swallowed and rolled his head on the door with closed eyes.

  I finally scurried to him, putting pressure on his wound. He choked back a groan and opened his eyes. I felt his blood pumping underneath my fingers. Looking around, I didn’t see anything to help stop the bleeding. There were only sterile cages.

  “Call the MC. Use my phone.”

  The shouting continued on in the other room. I picked up the phone with trembling hands, instantly covering it with more blood. “The police—”

  “There’s four cops in this town. At least ten Ronin that are carrying. Call the garage. Two perps, armed. I hit another one. Don’t know if he’s down for good.”

  I looked back at the phone and wiped the blood feebly from the keys, just smearing it. After pressing send, I put my phone between my cheek and shoulder then pressed both hands to his leg. It rang. And rang. “You’ve reached Ronin Auto. We’re either working on your car or closed. If you need a tow, call—”

  “I got the machine. I’ll call again.” I hung up then pressed send again. As it rang, the handle started to turn above Patrick’s head, and I froze in horror as the automated message picked up again.

  “Patrick,” I whispered, barely making a sound. He groaned and rolled his eyes, trying to open them. Oh my GOD, was this happening?

  I dove for the push lock and looked behind me. There was another door. I felt the phone slide from my shoulder as I lunged for the other door. It opened. Moving back to Patrick, I slapped his cheeks but he was out cold, growing paler. I gritted my teeth and reached for his boots, dragging him through the other door. I gave thanks for his small size, knowing if it was anyone bigger I wouldn’t have been able to budge him.

  Avoiding the red streak and puddle of blood left behind, I closed the door with shaking hands and sank down to Patrick again.

  “Patrick, wake up. Patrick,” I whispered, putting fingers to his neck. He still had a pulse. I looked around, seeing dog runs that were bigger than the other room’s kennels. Dogs jumped and barked behind their gates. A leash caught my attention and I felt stupid for not grabbing Bella’s from the beginning. It took more than a few tries to get the carabiner from the wire fence it was hung on with my bloody, unsteady hands. “Come. On,” I sobbed.

  Finally, it gave way, and I fell back to Patrick, wrapping it around his leg as tight as I could, making him cry out.

  “Shhhh,” I tried to quiet him.

  “Grace. Run,” he said, his voice weak, his eyes never opening.

  “I can’t leave you. We’ll be okay. You’ll protect me.”

  “Run. Now.” He fell unconscious again as I heard more gun shots. Sobbing out a breath, I turned and ran.

  There was another door at the end of the dog runs, and I burst through it into the bright sun that contradicted everything inside. I stumbled, catching myself with hands that scraped the ground.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  I spun around just as the doors shut, muffling all other sounds. I looked around, disoriented, and ran for the truck. Only after I opened the door did I realize I didn’t have the keys. I lunged back out, running down the street, crossing minimal traffic, wanting to scream at every passing car to help me, but I knew where the help had to come from. No police sirens filled the air.

  There was no foot traffic at all. The streets seem deserted, and by the time I made it the four blocks to the saloon, I was gasping for breath. I burst through the doors, yelling “HELP!” The words echoed off the high ceiling and back at me. Not seeing anyone, I ran through the kitchen and back to the garage where I knew Tread had to be.

  The doors were open, music blaring while men worked under hoods laughing. “Tread!” I yelled, putting a hand on the pillar dividing one garage door from the next. I scanned the men as they came to attention, someone running for the speakers as a familiar shiny-haired head popped up from under a car.

  “Grace? Is that blood? What the fuck?”

  I panted, gasped and held up my hands. The blood, some dried, some still shiny made me want to vomit. I choked it back, knowing there was no time.

  “Grace,” Tread said as he gripped my shoulders, bringing my eyes back to him. “Where’s Pollick?”

  “Shot,” I gasped, sweat rolling down my neck. “Men with guns, they said something in Spanish . . . Polli . . . Polli . . . shot. Told me to run.”

  Tread snapped to attention with a look so cold I shivered despite my overheated body. He pulled a gun from behind his back, making me take an involuntary step back. All the men rushed past me and seconds later the deafening roar of their motorcycles shook the doors above my head.

  “Grace! Let’s go!”

  My shoulders curled in, the thought of going back to that place making me shrink where I stood
. I held out my hands. “Oh, please, no. I can’t go back there.” I knew he couldn’t possibly hear me, so I shook my head. Adamantly.

  “You’re a witness and wasting fucking time. Get on the back. Now.” His voice traveled over the sound of the engines with no problem. I placed one hand tentatively on his shoulder and swung my leg around. Tread’s big hand grabbing that ankle before it could touch the bike made me lose my balance and jostled the heavy machine.

  He didn’t say anything, just manually put my foot on the peg and pushed my knee out so that it didn’t touch the chrome pipes. The second I lifted my other foot off the ground, the bike was in motion. My nails dug into Tread’s bare shoulders reflexively. He seemed not to notice.

  The group of men took the turn at an alarming speed, making me squeak and close my eyes. We weren’t even wearing helmets!

  After coming to a bone jolting stop, Tread was off of the motorcycle and taking me with him, since I hadn’t released my grip on his shoulders. I stumbled, once again catching myself on the same driveway with my marred hands. When I tried to stand, a hand pushed me back down.

  “Stay behind my bike and call the police,” Tread said, tossing a phone, which I fumbled. I watched the men split up, some going to the back door. Tread disappeared through the front.

  “Hi, yes. There’s been a shooting at the vet’s office on Saint Michael’s Street. We need an ambulance. Please hurry.”

  Men started coming out of the building as soon as the sirens could be heard. I watched them eye me as they put several guns into the saddlebags of their bikes. I said nothing.

  As the first cruiser skidded into the parking lot, the MC members raised their hands in the air without prompting. The sheriff got out with his gun drawn, aiming at them.

  “Sheriff, we have a man down. He isn’t going to make it if we don’t get medical attention. Place is clear of perps. Looks like they cleaned house and left,” Royal said, stepping to the front with his chest out, as if making the officer’s target bigger on purpose.