Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1)

by Morrow, Justin

  “Yeah, give me a few, okay?” I tossed the bag over my shoulder and split.

  A renewed sweat escaped the pores all over my body. Did I freak out with her in the bed last night? Shit, we slept twenty-four hours. When was the last time that happened? Is that what was up with the skepticism? No. I better not have elbowed her in the face or some shit. I couldn’t help but wonder what my dumbass did last night with that sweet girl laying on my chest. I tortured myself all the way through my real shower, getting dressed, and sitting at the bar. All the images running through my head of different scenarios of how last night went down was dizzying and I set my forehead down on the banister to make the room stop spinning. Today was going to be a migraine day for sure.

  “Are you gonna be all right?” that same sweet voice called.

  I lifted my head up to make eye contact, but the blood rushing in my ears made the room spin faster. I closed my eyes, but to no avail.

  “Yeah, I’m great. Why wouldn’t I be? Could you ask Veesa for my meds?”

  “You take meds?”

  “Yep, I know it’s hard to believe with the body of Hercules himself, but he’s allegedly half-human, too.”

  “Hmm, a biker who knows Greek mythology. That’s a good one,” she joked. That was a good sign. I searched her eyes for any weirdness, some tell that I had done something last night, but they were clear and so bright it hurt to look at them just then.

  I buried my head into my palms, trying to push my eyeballs back into my brain to alleviate the pain and spinning. Moments later, Grace returned with my tool box of meds.

  “How many different medications do you take?”

  “A few,” I grumbled as I popped the top for my migraine meds. “I don’t take them all, though. The Army sent me home with all that crap in there.”

  “Hmm.” She thought for a dozen heartbeats. I couldn’t read how she took that new information. “So what’s going on for homecoming plans?”

  “Homecoming?”

  “Yeah, your scary boss and the other guys are coming back tomorrow.”

  “Oh shit.” I grabbed two handfuls of food and ran for the back door. “Thanks for breakfast, babe! PS., you snore!” I tried to hold up the façade with a joke as I made for the back door. Cursing my awkwardness, I shoved comforting pancakes into my mouth.

  I barely got the last bits of food in my face as I took the final few steps to the clubhouse.

  “Tread, wait up.” It was Royal. He had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. At least I beat the VP to the clubhouse this morning.

  “Mwahhmm,” I replied.

  “Since when did you start to eat like an ape?” he said as he pointed to the syrup dripping down the corner of my mouth.

  I wiped it away and swallowed. “You know me too well, man.”

  “Smoke with me,” Royal ‘asked’ as he handed me an extra from inside his cut.

  “You know it.” I lit mine, he lit his; we both surveyed our surroundings. Classic Tread/Royal routine.

  “Alt’s got a guy in Deming,” Royal broke the silence. “This guy can find Kit.”

  I blew my smoke out in a series of coughs, “What? Who? How? When?”

  “Uh, hacker, Stevie-the-hacker, by hacking financial records, and as soon as we get over there. Let’s go see Alt. He’s inside.”

  We tossed our half-smoked cigarettes into the butt-can and walked inside. Alt was morning drinking Kilkennys and coffee. You can’t get any more Irish than Kilkennys beer. The news was on the overhead TV. Apparently some peaceful protest in Albuquerque went awry last night. It was over the executive order wrongfully labeled immigration reform.

  “Who’s Stevie-the-hacker, Alt?” I asked as I sat to his right. Royal took the stool to his left.

  Alt looked to Royal then to me. “He’s some guy I met online.”

  “What the fuck? I didn’t know you were on those dating websites,” Royal scolded with a smile.

  “Oh yeah, he’s into that techno romance scene,” I jested.

  “No, no, no, no. He’s just a guy I play Halo with online. You know, Xbox? That black box of entertainment I brought to Afghanistan?”

  “Mm hmm, sure, whatever. So what did you tell this dude? Are you throwing out family business to strangers on the internet, Alt?” I pressed, only half joking.

  “Nah, just that we’re looking for someone. Someone in the . . . family. But I didn’t tell him who. I just said that they ran away and they’re missing. He asked if they had a credit card or debit card on them. I said yes and he said he’d find them for four thousand dollars. Simple as that.” Alt made his case. He hadn’t throw names out there so I had nothing to harass him about OpSec, or operational security. No geek online needed to know that Kit was missing specifically.

  “All right, when did you set up the meet?” Royal chimed in.

  “Tomorrow, 1400. Denny’s in Deming.”

  “Why at Denny’s?” I asked.

  “I promised him pancakes and the details,” Alt replied.

  “You sure that’s all you promised him?” Royal raised his eyebrows, looking at Alt. He shifted to me and back again.

  “Yeah Alty, you didn’t promise this guy a look at your banana hammock, too, right? Not on the first date.”

  “Man, fuck you guys. I love pussy.”

  “One problem, genius,” Royal said after a moment of laughter. “First gen returns at 1400. We all gotta be here. Way to fuck it up.” The smile faded from Royal’s face.

  “We can work it out, can’t we, Alty?” I slapped him on the back of the shoulder as he was sipping his beer. Beer foam covered his mustache and nose.

  “Sure can, asshole!” He was glaring at me as beer dripped down his beard. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  The door of the clubhouse swung open as Hendrix, Benny, and Mac came in, laughing their asses off about something. Remy was in tow, and he looked like a smashed bag of dicks. Obviously hung over, I could see he was the ass of the other guys’ joke.

  “Mornin brothers,” Mac greeted, In an abnormally good mood.

  “Now the only way to kill that hangover, Remy, is to have a couple shots,” Benny said from behind the bar.

  Benny was pouring Remy a double shot of Irish cream before tossing it into a coffee and sliding it to Remy, who was just now making it to the edge of the bar like every step hurt.

  “Keep us in the loop.” I patted Alt on the back.

  “Party planning time, gents. I think Remy’s tryin’ to beat us to it, though,” Royal joked as he got up and walked towards the other room.

  We piled inside with our coffee and sat, a box of stale donuts on the table. The drunker of us dared to have some. The sober ones decided on cigarettes instead.

  “The boys roll in today around 1330. Polly Pocket gets out of the hospital today, too. Make sure he has the eye of a lovely Dove. Tread, that’s on you,” Royal announced to set the tone of the meet. “I need someone to work the food, the grill, the beer, and the music.”

  “Grill! Dibs.” Benny shot a hand up. No one was going to challenge his grill prowess, anyway.

  “I’ll cover beer,” Alt said, raising his glass in salute.

  Voices became background noise as I put my mind to task. Polly, the prospect, got shot watching Grace. My responsibility. The blood he spilt was on my hands. I had to make it worth his while. Poor bastard, he didn’t know that was far as curses went. I had the one that made my brothers bleed.

  “What about entertainment?” Hendrix’s voice slowly brought me back to the conversation. “We could organize a fight or something. Maybe some Doves mud wrestling?”

  “Nah, Harvey likes real fights, although raunchy Lonny wouldn’t mind a couple older gals wrestling in a rink,” I recalled.

  There was truth in my words, but I mainly wanted to show presence. I tried to come up with a better solution immediately, but a good one escaped me. It was unlike me to come up with a problem without immediately following it up with a solution. Even for something as stupid
and pointless as a sideshow distraction at a party to make it feel more ‘authentic.’ Suddenly, it occurred to me that eyes were on me, waiting for a solution. First thing that comes to mind was: “We let the girls dance? They like that shit, anyway.” I immediately regretted it, as I was sure it would be shot down.

  “Fuck it, why not?” Royal put it bluntly and my eyes got a little wider.

  I shrugged it off. “Fuck it.” I voted.

  In unison, the boys agreed. Looks like I’d be pulling triple duty tonight. Taking care of Polly Pocket, looking after Grace, and of course, my sister. Time to line shit up.

  “Ready break?” I asked, ready to end the meeting and get to work.

  “It’s about that time.” Royal tapped the gavel and everyone shot up and headed for the door.

  “I didn’t think you’d go for that, VP.” I studied Royal’s facial expression as I stepped towards the door.

  “Mostly because Kit’s MIA. Plus, I don’t have a sister that’ll be shaking her ass. Can’t believe you were the one to suggest it in the first place.” He smirked and looked towards the floor.

  “Don’t be emo, bro. Stevie-the-hacker is on it. If he can’t do it, we’ll break his legs, no sweat.” I tried to reassure him, but wasn’t willing to stay to ensure his head was on straight. I had things to do, guilt to weigh myself down with, and news to break to the girls. I stepped into the bar to find Marley talking with Grace. I bellied up next to them and put my left hand down on the counter.

  “Java me, babe. Please.”

  I pulled out my phone and got to work. I had to go through profiles on some of the Doves I was familiar with on their social media sites. I wanted to be Mr. Matchmaker tonight. As I was scrolling through, I noticed plenty of lookers. I was just having issue with finding one that would fit ol’ Polly. Not any chick would do, not tonight, and I was filtering for gals that might be open to going steady with him. A semi-permanent arrangement if I could swing it. Grace handed me a steaming coffee mug and I started to multitask.

  “So I need y’all to dance tomorrow night, Marley.”

  Grace’s eyes got wide.

  “What for? For who?” Marley asked, already hostile.

  “The boys’ welcome home party. We needed entertainment and it was between ya’ll dancing or Lonny getting cougars to mud wrestle out back. I figured you would thank me for not seeing saggy titties tonight.” I genuinely thought they would prefer to dance than watch older gals wrestle while Lonny pitched a tent.

  “Yeah, you got a point there. You do realize Tatum is going to be up there, right? She’s been . . . restless lately.” Marley gave a little wink.

  “Thanks for the fucking reminder. Whatever, she’s a grown woman with grown woman needs. What am I gonna do? Beat the shit out of her boyfriends until she’s well into her thirties?”

  “Ha ha, only time will tell, love. Just don’t beat any of the brothers for looking when you’re pretty much serving her up.” Marley snickered.

  Grace was still frozen like a deer in the headlights.

  “What’s the matter, killer!” I jested, but she was clearly not in a jesting mood.

  “I have to go change for class, I guess.” She tossed her towel on the counter and stormed off upstairs.

  “What’s got into her?” I asked Marley

  “Not you, apparently.” She eyed my crotch.

  “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” I stumbled back from my stool. Not sure why that caught me so off guard.

  “Oh nothing, just maybe Tatum isn’t the only one with a little tension, is all. I’m going to get changed, too.” The master-of-puppets got off her stool and strolled upstairs after Grace.

  I was taken aback by that. I wasn’t sure where to go, but I wasn’t going to stay there. I stomped off with my coffee out back and lit a cigarette. What did Grace tell her? Did she know about the junkyard? Ah shit, did Grace know about the lookout tower?! Fuck. Me. Running.

  “Shit,” I forced my gaze back to my phone and continued being the woo-meister for ol’ Polly Pocket. I didn’t know his taste, redheads, brunettes, blondes. Maybe he was into that new shit, with highlights of all colors and crap. I called it Crayola hair, but I doubted I could Google hot chicks with Crayola hair and find a suitable floozy in the southern New Mexico desert by tomorrow. I stayed the course and continued scrolling Dove profiles. Near the bottom of suggested names, a new chick popped up. Her profile said that she lived here and hung around the bar a lot. I clicked it.

  The girl, Susan Murray, had big green eyes and soft features. She was a dark brunette with a bit of blonde half way down her hair that quickly turned into a bluish-purple at the ends. She was shorter than Polly—a feat in itself, and a plus. Her skin was pale, but not in a vampire, photophobic way. She was cute, and she wasn’t a usual. I’d be the one to know, I guessed. I clicked send message.

  Tread: Hey, are you coming to the bar tomorrow?

  I tossed my smoke and put the phone back in my pocket only for it to buzz.

  Susan: Yeah, who’s this?

  Tread: You can’t see my profile?

  Susan: I see your profile, but who the hell are you?

  Who the hell am I? Who am I? I was the guy that knew every single person in this damn town. Or, at least, I thought I did.

  Tread: Tread Marino. You haven’t heard of me?

  Susan: I’m pretty new in town. Yeah I’ve heard about you at the bar. Why do you ask?

  Tread: I got a buddy I would like you to meet. Are you interested?

  Susan: That depends.

  Tread: Depends on what?

  Susan: Depends on the guy. If he’s a sleaze ball then hell no, and I don’t work johns neither. I’m not that kind of girl.

  Tread: Whoa, no, no. Friend of mine is getting out of the hospital tomorrow. I just wanted to have you say hello, maybe rub his shoulders or something.

  Susan: Well it still depends on what he looks like.

  Tread: Fair enough.

  I shoved the phone in my pocket. That was good enough. I could work on her more in person. Wait a minute . . . Did I have a reputation as someone’s pimp? I’d have to question some Doves about that later. With my mission accomplished, I went to see how the set up was coming along.

  “NO, IT’S FINE. IT DOESN’T MATTER.”

  “That’s bullshit, Grace. You saw what he was looking at on his phone. I saw it, too. Listen, here’s the thing about the brothers: They can get pussy anytime they want just for the cuts on their shoulders. Old, young, fat, small, they all can get women that look like playboy bunnies to suck their cocks because of the MC, then pass her along. You don’t want to be that woman.”

  “I don’t,” I agreed with my arms crossed. I couldn’t explain the shift between the other night at Tatum’s house and today, but my feelings had changed. Maybe it had something to do with being in Tread’s arms for so long while he slept. While he dreamed. Tread was not a light sleeper, but he had nightmares often. Every time he moaned or yelled out, I found myself holding him tight around his middle, shushing him, rocking back and forth, trying to comfort him. It seemed to work, until the next one took hold, all the while he held me tight against him. It was the safest I’d felt in a long time. I tried to stay with him as long as possible, until my bladder was full to bursting and had to leave.

  “No, you want to be the old lady. The MC’s form of a wife, eventually. That means that the brother has to want to give up the bunnies for your ass full time. It’s something that hasn’t been done yet with this generation, so frankly it’s going to be Mission Impossible. How you do this is going to set the precedence for every woman to follow in your wake.”

  “Wait a minute. I don’t even know Tread. I’m not trying to be some kind of wife. I just don’t want to share, and if he’s getting me off in the afternoon, then screwing other girls, he won’t be getting anything from me. I like keeping things label free. I just don’t want to be Miss Two O’clock.” Seeing girls’ faces on his phone, with him as casual as looking
at a dinner menu brought out a feeling I’d never experienced before. I knew what it was, and didn’t like it one bit.

  Marley put on her blinker at a light. “You’re right. So for you to get the chance to know him, you have to keep his attention. This dance is going to be a huge catastrophe the guys don’t see coming yet. But you have the opportunity to slap a leash on that boy.”

  I swallowed and shifted in the passenger seat, intrigued despite how contrived all of this seemed. “No leashes.”

  “Whatever. If you can learn this dance today, then let us have free rein with getting you ready. Every man in that bar will want a piece.”

  “And that’s good?”

  “Yes, because Tread will think that’s bad.”

  We piled out of the car and unlocked the room Marley held class in. She threw her red curls up in a quick bun and set up the music. I took the side opposite Tatum. Bella was turning into a bar hound, preferring to stay where the food dropped and wouldn’t get in the car with me this morning. I couldn’t say I didn’t feel a little bit betrayed.

  “All right, let’s do some yoga to get us loosened up then we need to hammer out this routine.”

  “I’m just going to say it right now. If I puke on that stage tomorrow, I’m killing both of you.”

  Tatum gasped and covered her mouth sarcastically. “But, Grace! That would be a sin.”

  “I’m not in Utah anymore, Tater Tot.”

  Tatum tried to lunge, but Marley held her back, laughing her butt off.

  “HEY, SUSAN, WELCOME TO THE party. I’m Tread.”

  I shook the pretty girl’s hand and grasped it. I led her over to where Polly Pocket was sitting in a nice booth by the wall. He was sitting where he could enjoy the stage for tonight’s show.

  “Hey there, Polly. I got someone I want you to meet. Susan, this is Polly, Polly, Susan.”

  I sat her down across from him and pulled up a chair to sit on the end.

  “How are you feelin’, Cherry?”