by Jenny Legend
Jesse pushed himself up off the hood of her cherry-red Shelby. He took a few steps toward her, his heavy boots thudding against the driveway, and then fell to his knees, arms spread wide as he stared up into her face.
“Please.”
Layla looked away, hoping to hide her smile. Other guys would have balked at her command in order to spare the blow to their manhood. But Jesse didn’t seem to care about any of that. He regarded her demands so flippantly, like he was above the alpha male behavior displayed by so many others. Who the fuck cares what you think about me? his expression read.
And to Layla, that was hot as hell.
“Whatever,” she sighed, stepping away before he could look up her Daisy Duke shorts. “Let me get a shirt on.”
“No need,” Jesse said, but Layla ignored him as she bounded up the walkway through her front door.
She mounted the stairs to her room, her heart racing as she ascended each step. Agreeing to a date with the head of a biker gang was impulsive, even for her.
But they were just kids. They couldn’t be into anything hardcore. Most likely, they were a bunch of rich boys rebelling against the wealth and status of their parents.
But what if they weren’t? She was eighteen now. If she got caught doing something illegal, it wouldn’t be just a slap on the wrist and a call to her parents. The stakes were much higher. She could get into real trouble.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, she thought to herself as she reached the landing. It’s one date, and in the middle of the day, no less. What do you think he’s gonna do—rob a bank?
She looked down over the railing. Jesse was standing in the foyer, looking around at all the nice things Layla’s parents owned. Heat rose in her cheeks. He probably thought she was some kind of rich bitch.
Well, aren’t I?
“I’ll be right down,” she told him and ducked into her room.
She stripped her wet bikini top from her damp flesh, tossing it into the hamper near her bed and flinging open the doors to her walk-in closet. She narrowed her eyes as she scanned the racks for her comfy gray tank top. No way was she dressing up for some biker guy.
She found it and slipped it on over her head, pulling it down over her flat belly as she looked at her own rack through the low neckline. Should she wear a bra?
Fuck that, she decided as she kicked off her flip-flops in favor of a pair of sneakers. If he doesn’t give a shit what I think, then I don’t care what he thinks, either.
She laced her shoes up tight, shoved a few twenties into her pocket, and then grabbed her fake ID—the one her parents didn’t know about—from the false bottom in the music box she’d bought for that exact purpose. She knew her parents would never suspect her of stashing contraband in something so innocent and precious.
Layla bit her lip. Maybe she should grab a joint or two while she was at it.
Are you crazy?! the voice inside her head raged. Do you want to get busted for possession?
Sighing, she closed the music box and pushed it back into place on her dresser. Then she hopped down the stairs and met Jesse at the bottom.
“Let’s go,” she said.
“Cool,” he replied with a wolfish grin. “I know just the place.”
If Layla had known how thrilling being on a motorcycle would be, she would’ve jumped onto the back of one long before now.
The hot air turned cool in the face of their speed, brushing the sweat and water from her body as they raced toward nowhere. That was how it felt to Layla, anyway. They’d been riding for longer than she’d anticipated, and they were so far past the town limits that she no longer recognized any of the scenery around them. The painted rocks all seemed to glow in the harsh light of the sun, and soon, even they gave way to nothing but flat stretches of dusty land and the occasional tumbleweed.
She pressed her cheek to the back of Jesse’s jacket as he navigated the winding dirt road. Every bump they hit sent tendrils of adrenaline through her body. It seemed like she could fall off at any moment.
But Jesse’s stayed strong and still in front of her, and that brought her comfort as they moved through the foreign landscape. She held onto him a little tighter, feeling the heat of his body radiating into her fingers from beneath his shirt. His abs were unyielding under her touch, and as they rose and fell with each of his steady breaths, she found herself having to actively resist the desire to slide her hands up under the hem and explore his body skin-to-skin.
You barely know the guy, she reminded herself as she stared at the rust-colored rock formations and sparse Joshua trees looming in the distance.
The pleasant rumbling of the bike began to die down, and Layla peeked up over Jesse’s shoulder at the first building she’d seen in half an hour. It looked like some kind of warehouse. She squinted at the sign above the bay door: Mirage Auto Repair.
“A garage?” she asked over the stutter of Jesse’s bike. “Why here?”
“You’ll see,” he replied, and her heart skipped a beat as she realized he’d dragged her out to an old repair shop in the middle of nowhere. She probably couldn’t even get a cell phone signal.
Fuck.
As Jesse approached the metal door, someone on the other side began to lift it open for him. They passed under it and into the shop proper, where Layla could see at least four other guys were hanging out, drinking beer and playing card games.
Jesse revved the bike’s engine in greeting, and Layla gasped. The vibrations shot all the way through the leather seat and between her legs, teasing her slit between them. She squirmed before she could stop herself and Jesse turned his head slightly toward her. Had he noticed?
He parked the bike and swung off it, pocketing his keys in his jacket before grabbing Layla around the waist and lifting her from the seat. She stole a quick glance at it just before he put her down and sighed in relief when she saw she hadn’t left a wet patch on it.
“Hey, Jesse,” one of the guys said. He was thinner than Jesse was, with jet black hair and a goatee to match. He jutted his chin out toward Layla. “Who’s the girl?”
“I dunno,” Jesse admitted, turning toward her. “What’s your name, beauty queen?”
“Layla,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Layla Long. And stop calling me that.”
“Whatever you say, princess,” he replied, grinning at the other guy as he clapped his hand on his shoulder. “This is Camel. And this—” He gestured to the whole of the garage. “—is the Marauders MC clubhouse.”
“Nice to meet you, Layla,” Camel said, offering a lopsided smile as he reached out to shake her hand.
Layla returned the gesture, frowning as she looked into his honey-brown eyes. He didn’t look anything like a camel.
“Why do they call you that?” she asked, and he smiled a little wider under his mustache.
“It’s a long story,” he said. “Tell you what—if you decide to stick around, I’ll tell you about it someday.”
“Sure,” she said, releasing his hand as heavy footfalls turned her attention behind her.
An absolute beast of a man was approaching her. He looked like he was almost seven feet tall, and he cast long, inky shadows as he strode between a tire rack and a car up on a lift that she was sure he’d knock over with the span of his massive shoulders. His face was covered with wiry white whiskers that made him look like a giant Santa Claus. He was probably three-hundred-pounds of pure muscle, and when he got close to Jesse, he scowled deeply.
“What’d I tell you about gettin’ caught, boy?”
“Uh,” Jesse said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not to?”
The big man folded his arms across his barrel of a chest. It looked like he might split the seams of his wifebeater when he huffed, snorting like a bull about to charge.
“Yer damn right,” he thundered, then set his pale blue eyes on Layla. “Who’s yer friend?”
“Layla,” she said again, staring in awe at the man towering over her. “I met him in juvie.”
“Fu
nny,” he gruffed. “You don’t look the type.”
“She’s not,” Jesse intervened. “But we can talk about that another time. What’s for dinner?”
His brows furrowed beneath his red bandana, coming together like two fat, white caterpillars in the center of his forehead. “You been gone for months, and the first thing you wanna know is what’s for damn dinner?”
Layla froze, her gaze flicking between the two of them as the tension in the room mounted. The guy looked like he could tear Jesse in half. Why wasn’t he the president of their club?
But then he laughed thunderously, his belly heaving with the effort as he ruffled Jesse’s truffle-colored hair.
“Beef stew,” he said in between booming chuckles. “What else?” Then he turned to Layla. “You eat beef, doncha?”
“Yes,” she said warily. What the hell is going on?
“Good!” he said, then clapped Jesse so hard on the back that he doubled over. “I gotta finish peelin’ the potatoes. Should be ready in a couple’a hours.”
“Great,” Jesse wheezed as he retreated, stomping off into the back room.
Camel caught the expression on Layla’s face after the man was gone. “That’s Bear,” he said. She was hardly shocked at the name. “He’s kinda like our den mother.”
“He’s an old-timer,” Jesse added, rotating his shoulder as if Bear might have dislocated it with his enthusiasm. “He used to own this place back when it was legit. I used to work for him, until the place got shut down.”
“Shut down?” Layla echoed. “Why?”
“He got sick,” Camel said, rubbing the back of his head and lowering his voice. “They had to replace his liver. It cost him the shop.”
“He’s fine now, though,” Jesse was quick to say as he saw Layla’s look of concern. “He just doesn’t ride anymore. He sticks around to give us a few tips, though. And he’s got some damn good connections at the sheriff’s office, which’ll come in handy soon enough, I imagine.”
“Especially since we ain’t gonna fuck around with no small time stuff anymore,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in from the shadows. “Ain’t that right, Jess?”
Layla turned, catching a flash of amber-colored eyes as a dark figure pushed off the far wall and began sauntering toward them. He was a little shorter than Jesse, but just as well-built, even if he didn’t quite have his bulk. His shoulder-length hair was the same honeyed tone as hers, and a grizzled mustache and beard covered most of his tanned face. He looked like a scruffier version of Thor, but somehow, that made him even sexier.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Jesse said dismissively. But his friend didn’t seem satisfied.
“When?” he asked, pulling a Marlboro from behind his ear. “We’ve been puttin’ it off all the while you were gone. Don’t you think we should—”
“I said later, Gunner,” Jesse said in a tone that quieted the rest of the room.
Gunner stared at him, his predatory eyes locked onto Jesse’s as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth. He lit it between his lips and crushed the filter as he slowly smiled.
“You got it,” he said, each word issuing a plume of smoke. “Boss.” Then he set his sights on Layla. “This your new bitch?”
“New bitch?” she snapped, looking him up and down. “Afraid somebody’s gonna take your spot?”
“Well, look at that,” Gunner said, running his tongue over his dry, cracked lips. “Kitty’s got claws.”
“Enough,” Jesse said, brushing Layla behind him with a sweep of his arm. She stumbled and grabbed onto his jacket to keep from being toppled over by the momentum. “She’s here as my guest. Whether she decides to stick around is up to her.” He stepped closer to Gunner until he was almost touching the bright orange cherry of his lit cigarette. “But I hear you callin’ her a bitch again, I’ll make you swallow that cigarette. And I won’t put it out first. We clear?”
“Crystal, birthday boy,” Gunner replied, blowing another puff of smoke into Jesse’s face before turning his back on him. He shot one more look at Layla, smirked, and stalked back into the shadows.
“Sorry,” Jesse said as he turned around to face her. “Looks like some things have gotten outta hand while I was gone.”
“Guess so,” Layla agreed, her eyes glued to Gunner’s retreating form. “What’d he mean about small time stuff?”
“That’s somethin’ you don’t have to worry about,” he answered grimly. “Not tonight, anyway. C’mon, lemme introduce you to the rest of the gang.”
Jesse made the rounds with Layla by his side. In addition to Camel, Gunner, and Bear, she also met Gordo, a portly Mexican who was responsible for acting as an emissary between the Marauders and the Hispanic clubs in the area, and Hollywood, who looked like he belonged on Malibu beach with a surf board in one hand and a joint in the other.
They were all nice enough to her, but Layla still felt out of place. She’d expected something different—a little less gritty. They were running a chop shop out of the Mirage in order to eke out an existence. Most of them didn’t have family to speak of, or if they did, it still wasn’t something they wanted to discuss. The Marauders weren’t just playing at rebellion, she realized. They were trying to survive.
“Culture shock?” Jesse asked after the meet-and-greet was over.
“A little,” Layla admitted, shifting uncomfortably as she leaned against the wall. “How’d you get mixed up in all this? I mean, some of this stuff has got to be a felony. You’re just a kid.”
Jesse chuckled softly and took off his shades, revealing his glittering eyes.
“I haven’t been a kid since I was five years old, beauty queen,” he said, but before Layla could ask him what he meant by that, she heard the peal of a dinner bell being struck.
“Food!” Bear howled from the back. “Get your asses over here!”
“Whaddya say, Layla?” Jesse asked, grinning wide as he opened the door. “Can I treat you to dinner?”
“Fine,” she agreed, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “But after that, I wanna go home, okay?”
Jesse’s face fell, but he compensated quickly by returning his shades to their place over his eyes.
“Sure, beauty queen. Whatever you say.”
It was surreal watching the gang sing “Happy Birthday” to Jesse over beef stew and ice cream cake.
Layla still wasn’t sure what to make of it all. She’d always considered herself something of a badass; a rebel whose cause was usually just getting her way. But she’d never struggled like these guys obviously had, and she sure as shit didn’t want to. She wasn’t saying that her parents were right, but maybe they weren’t wrong, either.
On the other hand, they were so nice. What little they had, they had to share, and they were more than happy to do so with her, even though she had much more than they ever would. Even though they were all from completely different worlds, they tried to ask her about her life and chime in with whatever commentary they could muster.
Except for Gunner.
He sat quietly at the table, staring at Layla in between spoonfuls of ice cream cake. She glanced at him as he licked his spoon, sensing some sort of invitation in the way his bright red tongue slid over its metal curves. She turned away quickly each time she caught him staring, only to look again to see if he still was. Something about the way he looked at her was both offensive and terrifyingly attractive all at the same time.
She leaned her chin on her hand and watched as Jesse opened up his gifts. They weren’t terribly impressive—a carton of cigarettes here; a baggie of weed there; a six pack of his favorite beer; and a book from Bear, Lord of the Flies. Layla clapped at the unveiling of each one anyway, watching as Jesse smiled wide and blushed whenever another gift was laid in front of him. Clearly, he wasn’t used to the attention.
She wondered what Christmas had been like for him growing up. Then another thought struck her: had he ever even had a Christmas?
“Ready to go?” he asked her, pullin
g her from her reverie.
“Yeah,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “But if you wanna stay a while and celebrate—”
“It’s okay,” he said, looking back at his brethren as they fought over the slice with the most icing on it. “I made you a promise. Thanks for keepin’ yours.”
Layla pressed her lips into what she hoped was a convincing smile. “You’re welcome,” she said as he opened the door to the chop shop for her.
Just as she was crossing over the threshold, she heard Gunner say: “Perfect. Now that Cinderella’s gone, maybe we can get back to business.”
“When I get back,” Jesse said, but Gunner wouldn’t let it go.
“What’d you bring her around here for, anyway?” he asked, dropping his spoon onto his paper plate. “Couldn’t get her tickets to the real circus, so you brought her to see the freak show?”
“I don’t think anyone here’s a freak,” Layla said before Jesse could stop her. “Except for you.”
“You have no idea, darlin’,” Gunner replied, leaning forward across the table. “I’d rip you up in ways you couldn’t even imagine.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jesse snarled. “She’s leavin’.”
“She shouldn’t have even been here in the first fuckin’ place!” Gunner replied. “This ain’t your fuckin’ love shack, Jess. The Marauders ain’t all about eatin’ cake and lightin’ candles and showin’ off your new bougie fuckin’ girlfriend to the guys. You’ve got a fuckin’ responsibility, here. And if you wanna be President—”
“If?” Jesse asked. His muscles bunched as he stared into Gunner’s eyes. “Who’s gonna fuckin’ take it away from me, Gunner. You?”
“Maybe no one’ll have to, if you can get your fuckin’ head out of her pussy and man the fuck up!”
“What do you want, Gunner?” Layla asked, stepping in front of Jesse before he lunged across the table and ripped his throat out.
“Shut the fuck up, beauty queen,” he growled. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Before Jesse could interrupt, Layla held up her hand.
“No, really. What’s got your panties in a bunch? Spit it out, or else pop a Midol and calm the fuck down.”