Riding On Fumes_Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance

by Cassandra Bloom

  “Sounds like the kid had a real asshole for a dad,” I offered with a sympathetic sigh. “But it also sounds like he lucked out.”

  “Lucked out? How?” Mia asked, curious.

  I gave her a little smile. “That his loser father wound up buying you for him instead of somebody who likely wouldn’t have remembered him; somebody who likely wouldn’t have thought anything of all of that. Sure, it sounds like it was a real shitty situation for everyone involved—save for the dad, but who gives a fuck about him?—but it could’ve been a lot shittier, I suppose.”

  I saw Mia blush at that and she smiled, a rosy glow taking to her cheeks. “I did give him some of the money back when it was all over,” she confessed. “I told him that, all things considered, he’d been the best I’d had in a long time and then I snuck forty bucks into his pocket when his dad wasn’t looking; told him to show a girl he liked a good time.”

  I nearly stopped at that, but the pace we’d set and the pedestrian traffic around me wouldn’t allow it. Instead, I just stared at Mia for a long moment, astonished.

  “What?” she finally asked, beginning to look nervous. “Was that wrong? Should I not have—”

  “You’re amazing,” I told her. “You’re, like, the single greatest person I’ve ever known. I mean, do you realize what that must have meant to that kid? After all that crazy shit, to have a prostitute—someone who he likely believed thought nothing of him—say something like that and… shit, Mia, do you realize the sort of street-cred you probably gave him—the sort of confidence you probably instilled in him—by doing something like that?”

  She giggled and shook her head. “I wasn’t lying to him when I said it,” she explained.

  “All the better for him,” I said.

  She regarded me for a long moment, smirking in disbelief. “And none of that bothers you. Not even a twinge of jealous?”

  “Did you fall in love with the kid?” I asked.

  “And if I did?” she challenged.

  I smirked back at her. “Then I’d have to say that you were a pedophile and, as that’s the sort of thing the Crows work to keep off the streets, I’d have to use my connections to have you arrested.”

  “Then I guess it’s in my best interests to not admit to anything so self-incriminating,” she playfully recited, once more nuzzling against my arm.

  I marveled at how such a simple gesture seemed to take away all the ache from her previous punches. “Guess so,” I said.

  “All things considered,” she went on, staring out in the direction we were walking, “I think I’d be happier if I never had to do anything like that ever again.”

  “You mean being a prostitute?” I clarified.

  Mia nodded, suddenly clinging tighter to my arm as if I was a single life preserver in an endless sea; as if I was the only thing keeping her from having to go back to that life. With no small amount of disgust and a fresh wave of hatred for the dead-but-not-dead-enough T-Built, I realized that was likely exactly how she felt.

  Pulling her against me and planting a kiss atop her head, I whispered, “Then you never will. Not ever again.”

  She purred again at that, satisfied by my words, and gave my shoulder another nuzzle.

  “So…” she drawled, letting out a soft giggle after a lengthy silence. “Sweet titty-fucking Christ, huh?”

  ****

  I hadn’t been planning to break free from my disinfectant-scented prison. I didn’t have anything planned and, with not even an undershirt or a pair of socks to separate me from my mean, biker leather, I wasn’t exactly dressed to impress. That said, I had at least one immediate mission in mind—that of tracking down a suitable frame for Mia’s present—and enough crazy in the old skull-tank to turn that into something.

  And, fortunately for me, I still had my wallet, and money always spoke louder than anything else.

  With this in mind, I managed to slip free from Mia’s side while the photograph was being fitted inside it’s new, far nicer sterling silver frame—the clerk making a face at why we’d be so eager to put down good money on what likely only appeared to be a thrift store piece of stock photography—and made a private call. None the wiser, Mia smiled as I came back, our new and improved piece of wall-art repackaged in an equally new shopping bag, this one emblazoned with the custom framing shop’s insignia, and we went through the final stages of paying for the purchase. This process I stalled as best I could, making a clumsy show of not being able to find the right bank card—“Was it this one that had the… no, no! This is… wait, that’s not right, either. I know this one’s overdrawn… bastards. So that must mean…”—until I was satisfied I’d nearly eaten up the bulk of ten minutes. Then, with Mia blushing with confused embarrassment and the clerk looking like they were ready to call the cops on me, I finally produced the card I declared to be “THE RIGHT ONE!” and hurried things right along.

  My effort, clumsy and awkward as it was, had not been in vain.

  As we made our way out of the store, there was a bone-white stretch limo waiting for us. A good-looking young man in a spiffy suit stood, waiting, beside an already-open door with a freshly printed sign that beckoned “MIA & JACE.” Seeing this, Mia gasped and broke out into startled giggles, glancing back at me and realizing that I’d set all this up and finally throwing her arms around me and planting a kiss squarely on my lips.

  It occurred to me that a great deal of effort had been put forth by the limo company to get one of their nicest cars, driven by one of their nicest drivers, and stocked with a chilled bottle of the nicest champagne they could get on the road and in front of the store we were occupying in what was likely record time. All of that effort on their end, and all I’d done was read off a credit card number and promise an obscene amount of extra money if they could get there in no more than ten minutes. And here I was getting all the smooches for all of their trouble.

  Ah well, I’d try to remember to hate myself later. Maybe while I was burying my face between Mia’s thighs and enjoying a meal that was outright divine compared to the hospital food I’d otherwise be having.

  Did I mention that I was horny?

  Nearly burning to death had a way of getting a guy hot, I guessed.

  But first…

  “And where are we going on this fine evening, sir?” the driver asked, offering a slight bow and motioning for us to climb aboard the proverbial chariot he had waiting for us.

  “Not a clue,” I admitted, smiling at him as I let Mia slide into the back seat and discover the refreshments I had waiting. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any suggestions?”

  “That all depends on what you fancy, sir,” the driver said, trying (and failing) not to follow Mia with his eyes as she climbed in.

  I couldn’t help but grin at that. In his shoes, I’d have stolen a glance, as well. “Right now, I fancy showing that girl the night of her life.”

  “Well…” he drawled, seeming to genuinely ponder the question. “I know that the theater’s doing a show tonight. Been seeing posters all around the city for it. I think they’re showing ‘Phantom of the Opera’ this month.”

  Smirking at the suggestion, I leaned my head through the open door, peeking in at Mia as she continued to fan her head to-and-fro, awestruck by the limo’s interior. “How’s ‘Phantom of the Opera’ sound? Then maybe a surf-and-turf dinner?”

  Her face was answer enough.

  “Looks like we got a winner there, buddy,” I said to the driver, straightening long enough to retrieve a few hefty bills from my wallet and tuck them into his breast pocket. “And thanks again.”

  The driver regarded his “tip” with a slack jaw and a pair of gaping eyes before offering me a beaming smile and a vigorous nod that had me feeling dizzy for him. “No, sir. Thank you!”

  Then, waiting until I’d taken my place in the backseat with Mia before closing the door, the newly ecstatic young man circled the limo—double-time—took his place behind the wheel, and escorted us off onto our first n
ight together since we’d nearly burned to death in her old apartment.

  FIVE

  ~Mia~

  I still couldn’t believe how perfect everything had been since Jace’s recovery. In only a few short hours he’d brought back that sensation that anything was possible with him—that magic—and dashed away all the worries and fears that had started to take root while he’d been “out,” as he’d called it.

  “Did I miss anything good while I was out?”

  “Have any startling revelations while I was out?”

  “Did Danny take over the Crows and change our gang’s colors to a rainbow while I was out?”

  In that short interval—between us sitting in a fancy auditorium that neither of us were dressed for and him being “out”—things had turned around so completely that I had a hard time not believing it was all some vivid dream that would turn my life sour the moment I awoke to realize it was all a lie. But I didn’t wake. Instead, things just kept getting better and better. That Jace was awake would have been enough for me, but then he was taking me out—Already breaking the rules—and we were together. Then we were splurging. And then he was surprising me. All in that short interval. I thought back on it, on that divide, and remembered the inverse—that imaginary line I’d drawn back in the hospital’s waiting room that divided him from us—and felt an overwhelming sense that everything had been inverted for the better. Fear turned to hope; hate to love; and terrible imaginary barriers between life and death becoming lines of impossible enchantment that Jace leapt over with careless abandon, my hand clasped in his every step along the way.

  It was the sort of thing that fairy tales were built on.

  But wasn’t that just the story of us in a nutshell already?

  The fanciful yarn of an imprisoned whore and an outlaw prince and how they’d come to save one another from one awful drug-peddling ogre pimp.

  Certainly sounds like something the Grimms would have spun, I thought reflectively as the lights in the auditorium dimmed and the scarlet curtain dividing the audience from the actors—dividing us from them—began to part and rise. There was applause, and a whimsical, convoluted logic told me it was for us. This, of course, was foolish, but I accepted the praise all the same as I cozied up beside Jace all the same.

  In just a few short hours Jace had gone from being “out” to taking me on a surprise ride in a stretch limo to see The Phantom of the Opera. In just a few short hours he’d not only fixed all that was broken but set a new level of enchantment. In just a few short hours…

  It had all felt so surreal even then. And now, two days later, that sensation had only been amplified. The events of that evening divided the events that came before it with such an aggressive and definitive line that it felt in retrospect no different in memory than the difference between sleeping and waking. As such, it felt like everything before had been some sort of twisted nightmare. It seemed so easy to think of my brother’s sudden appearance and just as rapid disappearance as nothing more than some walking night terror that I’d played out that afternoon.

  Could it have been my imagination?

  Morbid visions of a Christmas Carol—of me as some modern Ebenezer Scrooge and Mack playing the part of the ghost of Christmas past—came to mind. I replayed the memory and imagined myself reciting modified excerpts:

  “You’re nothing more a wisp of whore’s guilt: a John I cheated out of twenty extra dollars, a faked orgasm, a little white lie to a big black man. There’s more of ‘his story’ than history to you, Mack!”

  “Bah!” I whispered to myself with a smirk, “Humbug!”

  All a dream. All just a very bad dream.

  And all of it behind me now.

  I really wanted to believe that.

  And so I did.

  I leaned back against the couch, listening to the sound of Jace’s voice as he finished up a phone call with Danny. From what I could hear, it sounded like business was doing well. The Crow’s routine had picked up and, according to Jace, was as it should be. From the sounds of things, everything was once more as it had been. With a few decidedly golden differences, of course. Things were going so well, in fact, that I caught myself wondering if the Carrion Crew would just back off entirely; fade into darkness and then, maybe, fade away into history. I chewed my lip, knowing that it never would be that simple. Hell, I already knew that it wasn’t that simple. Jace’s laid-back demeanor was proof enough that he was still unaware of some details, and I wondered why Danny had chosen not to bring up what his intel had found about the Crew and their activities.

  Not that it would take a genius to come to the same conclusion. I mean, hell, we’d have to be idiots not to know that they’d be sore about losing T-Built and two of their biggest cashflows overnight. Sex and drugs had basically been the wings keeping the Carrion Crew aloft, and Jace and I had clipped both in one fell swoop. I was sure that Jace knew that they’d be up to something after that. But he didn’t speak a word of it to me and, from the looks of things, Danny wasn’t speaking a word of it to him.

  Was it that there just wasn’t enough information to go on? That everything at this point was speculation and theory and he wanted something more substantial before going to their gang’s leader?

  Or maybe Danny was just letting things get back on track—letting a pleasant moment come to pass—before letting reality come back into play to muck it all up again.

  I could appreciate both of those scenarios, especially since it gave me more time to appreciate the fairy tale I was living in. Moreover, it wasn’t my place to ask. I certainly wasn’t ready to rush back into business.

  Not when everything was going so perfect.

  Besides, the doctors—who hadn’t been thrilled with Jace’s “vanishing act” but were, all the same, glad to hear that he was feeling better—did say to keep stress to a minimum. Danny probably had the right idea in keeping the news of the Carrions to himself due to that fact alone. I couldn’t imagine what kind of stress telling him that my brother was out of jail would put him through. I remembered the look in his eyes when I’d told him how I was working to pay off my brother’s debts. Even then—even before everything that had happened since—he’d made his feelings clear about how he had felt towards Mack. If I told him about my encounter there were two strong possible outcomes:

  One—he’d relapse, wind up in the hospital again, and I’d be plunged back into that nightmare.

  Or, two—he’d take to the streets with a vendetta, try to track down a man who very well had kept to his word and skipped town, and wind up stirring up more trouble for himself than Mack was worth.

  With those two very real possibilities hanging over my head, I felt I was justified in choosing not to tell him.

  And, for all I knew, Danny was making the same sort of decision on his end.

  But it still meant I was keeping secrets from Jace—in essence lying to him—and there was a heavy, cold lump in my gut from that.

  If I hadn’t hated my brother for everything before that moment, that he had me lying to the man I loved now was enough to carry me past that point. There was no denying it now: I hated Mack. Like a black cancer throbbing and writhing in my brain, even knowing I shared blood with that man—and I used that word lightly in my own head—was enough to make me hate myself a little more than I already had.

  And then there was that infernal argument he’d dredged up…

  While, yes, I had met Jace because of my “work,” there was no retribution to be found for him there. He had ruined my life. Maybe he was blameless in the direct sense. Maybe it had all just been a big, ugly circumstantial mess. Maybe our being siblings was enough and the Carrion Crew were the sole architects of the hell I’d been plunged into. Or maybe not. Either Mack shared some of the blame for what had happened to me or he had none. Either way, I’d give him no credit for me finding Jace. I’d been working to make something of myself, was working for a career and all of that got thrown away one single night. The night T-Built
and his lackeys had shown up at my door and threw the ultimate ultimatum at me:

  Work for them and save my deadbeat loser of a brother or die.

  Not much of a choice, was it?

  I’d blamed my brother to a degree for letting his debt get out of control to such a heinous degree, but a part of me had held back. Like a mentally feeble person wandering into traffic and causing a pileup or an unknowing child manhandling a loaded gun and shooting his friend in the face, there was only so much blame one could lay down in such a circumstance. After all, the mentally feeble person didn’t know to look, the child didn’t know not to play, and Mack hadn’t known that his sister would have to sell herself to save him.

  That’s what I’d thought, at least…

  But the Mack who’d caught me off guard the other day had been so cold, so dark, so…

  I remembered those eyes—our eyes—as they all-but caressed my body and I felt a shiver rocket across the divide of time and creep up my spine like an icy spider trailing stabbing legs along my back.

  There’d been no sorrow in him—in those eyes—and there’d been no remorse. Just barbed words and a razorblade “warning.” And what had all those words and the warning amounted to? Go back? Get back on the corner; get back to selling your pussy if you know what’s good for you?

  Mack had always been an awful person, I could admit at least that much, but how had I gone so long not seeing that level of darkness living just across the hall? And, just like it didn’t take a genius to know the Carrion Crew must be up to something after everything Jace and I had taken from them, it didn’t take a powerful mind to wonder if such an awful person might be capable of something more.

  Was it possible that Mack had had more involvement in my abduction? Was there more than just our being siblings to blame for me being forced onto that street corner?

  And, if so, what was I prepared to do about it?