Stripped: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Brook Wilder

  “Listen, Carla, if you want some sort of compensation for your part in this little shindig, our clubhouse is thirty miles down the road. I’ll be there.” That was all he said before he revved the engine of his bike to life, the black steel gleaming in the sunlight, and took off in the same direction as the truck. The whole ride back he was haunted by a pair of piercing, sapphire blue eyes.

  *

  Compensation. What the hell was that supposed to mean? she thought to herself. She’d tried to ask the question out loud, but the overpowering roar of the engine had drowned out her words, and her chance to find any more answers was lost in a cloud of gravel and dust as the motorcycle, and its enigmatic driver, rode way.

  What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Carla looked around the deserted road and wrapped her arms around herself as she stood there, still for some reason reluctant to move from the spot she’d sworn to stay.

  I’m being ridiculous, she scoffed silently, but it took more willpower than she cared to admit to get her feet moving, first one, and then the other.

  Resigned, she started walking back in the direction of the farm and prayed that some kind Samaritan would pass by, otherwise she had a hell of a long walk in front of her. Carla held her phone up, already dialing Elle’s number and held it to her ear. It rang, and rang, and rang some more and Carla cursed as the call went to voicemail.

  “Hi, Elle, it’s me, Carla. You’re not going to believe this, honestly I don’t really believe it, but I was driving a shipment from the farm and got robbed by this gang of…I don’t know, motorcycle riders. Anyways, I’m stuck on the side of route twenty, trying to get back to the farm and I didn’t know who else to call. I know you’re at work right now, but I could really use a ride, they stole the truck and everything in it.” She didn’t need to specify, Elle knew--and disapproved--of her job at the marijuana farm. “Listen, just…just call me when you get this, okay?”

  She hung up the phone and picked up her pace. It looked like she would be walking after all. Like she’d said to Elle in the message, she really didn’t have anyone else to call. All of her family was back in the Midwest and Elle was her closest friend here. She glanced at the phone still clutched in her hand and quickly scrolled through her contacts, woefully few, and immediately found the new number saved there. After the number was a single name: Joel.

  Joel, she thought to herself, picturing the too handsome man that was the obvious leader, at least on this job. Everyone had naturally deferred to him, even her. Especially her. Carla remembered the way he had commanded her so effortlessly, the way her body had responded instinctively to his.

  She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. She shouldn’t be thinking about him, she should be thinking about what the hell she was going to say to Maurice. He was going to be furious, and now she had no choice but to go back to the farm.

  The sound of wheels on the pavement made her look up just in time to see a small beige sedan approach and she stuck out her thumb with a prayer. A second later, an elderly woman slowed and pulled the car over next to her.

  “You all right, sweetie?” the woman asked kindly and Carla shook her head, overwhelmed suddenly by everything that had happened. She savagely fought the tears that pricked painfully at the corner of each eye.

  “I need a ride. My…car was stolen,” she said, barely catching herself before telling the truth.

  “Oh my. Get in, dear. Get in. Where are you going?”

  “Thank you so much!” Carla said in relief as she climbed into the passenger seat, “Just up the road. To Honey Bud Farms.”

  Chapter 4

  Carla waved goodbye to Agnes, the sweet old lady who had been kind enough to give her a ride, and had told her all about her cats on the way back to the farm. It had only been two hours since she left, but it felt like a lifetime as she watched the beige car pull away. She felt changed somehow even though she couldn’t explain it.

  As she walked up towards the greenhouse, she saw Maurice slam open the front door of the office and charge outside.

  “Carla? What the fuck? You should be halfway to Denver by now! Where’s the truck? Where’s the fucking weed?” by the last question, his voice had risen to a fevered pitch, his rage evident in the ruddy red of his cheeks and the way the skin that hung loose beneath his chin seemed to vibrate with the emotion.

  “Listen, Maurice, it was terrible. I was driving, everything was going fine, and then all the sudden I was surrounded by all these motorcycles. They ran me off the road–”

  “You were going in the wrong direction!” he spit out, and then instant regret passed over his flaccid features.

  “I, uh, I got turned around, that’s all. I was a little lost at first, but, how did you even know–”

  “Nevermind that. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you are going to get that shipment back.” Shock made Carla forget all about her previous question.

  “What? How the hell am I supposed to do that? It’s gone. It was stolen.”

  But I know where it is, she thought, secretly.

  “I don’t care, Carla. Get it back, and I’ll give you a major bonus. Don’t get it back, and, well…” he let the words trail off, and opened his pudgy hands in a shrug that left the ending up to her, and no possibility was good.

  “But, I need this job,” especially now that my plan failed, “I can’t lose it!”

  “Not my problem,” he leaned forward, pointing a finger at her, it was soft and pudgy in direct opposition to the long, callused fingers that had held her hand a little earlier that day. “Get it back, Carla!” with that, he turned around and stomped back into the office to leave Carla alone with her tumultuous thoughts. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

  She fled to the greenhouse, her own haven of peace, but even the sweet smell of earth and growing things--solid and real--couldn’t calm her down. Carla took a deep breath and before she could let herself second guess, she drew her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, searched through the contacts, and hit dial.

  The other line rang once and she immediately regretted her decision, moving to hang up when the now familiar, deep voice answered.

  “Hello,” it was a quick word, tersely spoken and Carla froze for a moment, unsure what to say.

  “Who the fuck is this?” he said after she was silent for too long and it shocked her out of her nerves.

  “It’s…it’s Carla. From earlier, from the–.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said simply, his voice melted from sharp and harsh to something softer, hotter, but no less intense. He waited patiently now for her to go on and she needed the extra moment to try and get her tumbling thoughts in line.

  “I, uh, I want to meet,” she was finally able to force out and she hoped he couldn’t hear the nerves in her voice.

  “Oh, really. And why is that?” he asked softly, torturing her from the other end of the line.

  “Because, I,” she paused, drawing on her courage, needing the extra strength to continue, “I need to see you again.”

  He was quiet for so long she thought he might have disconnected the call, but finally he spoke again, his voice somehow even deeper, rumbling across her as he gave her the address of the clubhouse.

  “Come tonight. Come alone.”

  “What time?” she asked, but it was too late for an answer. He’d already hung up.

  *

  Carla poked her head out of the closet, pulled the tank top over her head and went to stand in front of the mirror, looking with a critical eye. She tilted her head to one side, assessing. After hours of changing from outfit to outfit she had finally settled on a simple black mini skirt, plain, but just short enough to ride the middle of her pale thighs, and a top set with soft silver fabric that gleamed bright one minute, and dark the next. It had reminded her of Joel’s eyes, and the color made her own eyes look enormous in her pale face.

  She’d never been one to spend a lot of time on hair or makeup and, after struggling, she decided on a
simple high ponytail tied with a small black ribbon, the light brown waves falling down to tickle her mid back, and a swipe of mascara across her eyelashes. It was all she felt comfortable doing and, even still, it made her blue eyes pop. A pair of low heeled black leather ankle booties completed the look. She’d also never been able to wear high heels, just another one of her feminine failings.

  She shook her head at the thought. She was twenty-three, almost twenty-four, and still she couldn’t get her mother’s disapproving voice out of her head sometimes. But the truth was, she was happy with who she was, comfortable in her own skin, and as she looked in the mirror one more time, gave herself a nod of approval. She knew she looked hot in a quiet, non-flashy sort of way.

  But why do I even give a shit? she thought suddenly, knowing that it wasn’t normally like her to care what other people thought of her. She knew the answer. Joel, of course. There was something about the commanding black-haired, tattooed stranger that called to her deep inside, in a place that no one before had ever reached. Not even Trevor, her only notable relationship that had lasted all of two years in college.

  Joel was different, he was strong in a way that most men she met just…weren’t. Like Trevor, who had ended up following her around like a lost puppy, unable or unwilling to be the man she needed, or Maurice, who thought he could use his strength to bully and threaten women. Joel was neither of those. She wouldn’t go so far as to call him nice, but he had been kind to her, making sure she staying unharmed during the robbery.

  But he’s still a thief, she thought to herself, and a member of a motorcycle gang. He had to mean bad news, didn’t he? He probably ran through women like wine, never caring who he hurt along the way.

  She’d never let anyone walk on her or put her down. What about Maurice? an insidious voice whispered, and she shuddered, hating that she had to put up with him, and hating that her one chance at escaping it had been wrecked.

  If her situation was any less desperate she would leave instantly, but there was a pressure that kept her there, made her feel like she had no choice. Carla took a deep breath, knowing she’d been over and over this, arguing with herself, and never finding the answer that she needed. A part of her wondered just what the ‘compensation’ that Joel had spoken of earlier had referred to and, before she could let herself doubt any more, she turned away from the mirror and walked purposefully from the room.

  *

  An hour and a half later, after getting lost twice on the winding, twisting, mountainous roads, she found the building she’d been searching for. The darkness had almost obscured it but she saw the turn off at the last minute, and took it down yet another winding road, full of switchbacks that obscured whatever was coming next, until it finally opened up into a big parking lot completely full of motorcycles. There were no marked lines designating parking spaces, it was just a free for all and Carla eventually found a spot along the very perimeter and parked the truck.

  There were a few other vehicles there, mostly pickup trucks--like hers--and a few unmarked vans. The seventeen-foot truck with the Honey Bud logo plastered on the side was nowhere in sight and she wondered briefly where they had taken it.

  You’re stalling, she told herself, and forced her feet to move as she climbed down from the driver’s seat, closed the door behind her and braced herself against the night’s chill. She had thrown a light denim jacket over her outfit, the fabric, worn to softness, comforted her but not nearly enough to stop the cold wind that blew down from the snow-topped mountains.

  Carla threw her shoulders back, determined to stand her ground this time, determined to get what she needed and go. Maybe they would be willing to split the shipment with her and she could bring at least part of it back. She could really use the bonus.

  She fought apprehension, but under that there was an edge of excitement that she couldn’t deny. As she walked up to the nondescript building, just plain wooden siding and a single light flickering above the heavy steel door, she heard the ruckus from inside and wondered if she was making the right decision to go in there.

  I don’t have a choice, she reminded herself, and with one last deep breath, she opened the door and walked inside.

  Chapter 5

  As soon as Carla pushed open the door, a hush fell over the rowdy crowd, and that was saying something because the decibel level had just been enough to shatter an eardrum. She stood, frozen, as eyes drew over her questioning--curious--but after a moment she realized, non-threatening.

  “Hey there, sweetheart. What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” the question was accompanied by a southern twang thick enough to cut through and Carla looked gratefully at the woman who approached her as everyone went back to what they were doing. She was tall--taller than Carla anyways--with shoulder length wavy blonde hair bleached so light it was almost white, and pale green eyes that sparked with humor and a love for life that was infectious. Carla felt like she could breathe again now that all those eyes weren’t fastened on her and she turned as the woman spoke again.

  “Seriously, darlin’, you look like a kitten that just got dropped into a tiger’s cage. Let me get you a drink.”

  Carla followed the woman as she grabbed her hand and tugged her through the crowd, ignoring the cat calls and answering some of the more vulgar suggestions with ones of her own. It was obvious the woman could hold her own against any of the bikers there and Carla relaxed a little more.

  “Hey, Honey, can I get my usual, and a…” she looked at Carla questioningly, letting her words trail off and Carla answered quickly.

  “Whiskey, please. Neat.” Both the woman and the bartender gave her a surprised look and she shrugged, “I can’t handle anything sweet, gives me a terrible hangover.”

  “Hey, it’s fine by me, you just don’t strike be as a whiskey type of girl,” the bartender, Honey, said. His voice was deep despite his quiet demeanor and Carla had to wonder how he got the nickname. As if reading her mind, the woman next to her spoke up.

  “We call him honey ‘cause he’s so sweet,” she said, her voice all saccharine and he gave her a grimace but then she continued in a lower voice, as if to impart a secret but was loud enough for him to hear, “Actually, we call him that because he attracts women, and trouble, like bees to–.”

  “Honey. Yeah, I get it,” Carla said with a small smile as the bartender rolled his eyes.

  “And they both usually go hand in hand,” he finished, with an honest smile this time that set his warm, chocolate brown eyes to melting and two dimples flashing in his cheeks. Suddenly, Carla had no problem seeing why women would flock to him. Those dimples were dangerous.

  “So, you must be Carla, right?” the woman asked as Honey handed them both their drinks, and left her with a wink as he turned to another rough looking man at the bar, totally covered in tattoos.

  “How…how did you know?” Carla asked, confused and her nerves fired again.

  “Oh, relax. Casanova told me to keep an eye out for a girl about your height with brown hair and big, innocent blue eyes.”

  “Casanova?” Carla repeated, her confusion doubling before the other woman spoke again.

  “Yeah, Joel. His nickname is Casanova because, well, that one’s pretty obvious, actually. The man’s like a revolving door. But he hates it, so nobody calls him that to his face.”

  “Oh,” Carla said, taking a big gulp of her whiskey because she didn’t know what to say. A part of her had already known that, but having it confirmed chipped away at a part of her excitement, and she wasn’t sure why. She was nothing to him, and he was nothing to her. They didn’t even know each other. She was there strictly on business, nothing more.

  “Now, tell me the truth, Carla. What are you doing here?” she said and lifted what looked like a sex on the beach to her painted red lips, took a gulp that nearly drained the glass, and then focused her pale green gaze on hers.

  “Well, there was this shipment…” Carla started with a shrug, but the blonde waved he
r words away like flies buzzing around her head.

  “Oh, I know all about that. And that may be the excuse you told yourself to get here, but I want the truth. Why would a girl like you show up to a rough place like this? The real reason?” Her eyes, like two pieces of polished jade, bored into her, demanding the truth, and Carla finally gave in with a sigh.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Ain’t it always, darlin’,” she interrupted with a nod, and Honey nodded right along with her. Carla hadn’t realized until then that he’d been listening to their conversation but she wasn’t bothered by his presence. In fact, having their unbiased attention seemed to set something free inside her.

  “Well, I graduated from college just about a year ago–”

  “Ooh, an educated girl,” the other woman broke in, but Honey shushed her.