Riding On Fumes_Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance

by Cassandra Bloom

  “And what the fuck did you have to talk to him about?” I demanded.

  Another shrug. “Same as you, I imagine,” he answered. “I wanted to know if he could help keep me safe from the Crew. Granted, I didn’t offer to suck his dick or let him ride me like a trick pony, but that’s the difference between you and me—I have class and you’re a cheap slut. What I’m offering him is information on the Crew, though, which is admittedly more valuable than anything you’ve got left to offer, which is, of course, why he doesn’t need you anymore.”

  My breath caught at that. “Doesn’t…” I tried to say it snidely, but the word lurched and got stuck in my throat.

  Mack laughed and nodded. “Of course. He was after T-Built, after all. The man did organize the attack on his home that got his pregnant wife killed. Jason had been on his heels for some time after that, gathering all sorts of information. Hell, Jason Presley was practically a stalker! Why the fuck else would he want to serenade a whore? Because she wasn’t just any whore; she was one of T-Built’s whores! A whore with all the makings to be a good little traitor to the cause, right? So he flashes a pretty grin, let’s you smear your jizz-soaked cunt all over his plush chopper’s seat, and buys you a few shiny-shinies, and…” he clapped his hands, “the door’s to his endgame pop open like a drugged-up Jack-in-the-Box! A bang-bang passes, a whore’s apartment burns to the ground, and all that’s left is to sweep up the ashes and move on with his life. So…” Mack grinned, let his eyes linger a moment on my now-heaving chest, and let himself fall into a casual lean against the wall behind him, “Did Jason Presley sweep you out his door then?”

  “He’s done nothing of the sort,” I said, using every brick at my disposal to build up a wall of defense and hold back the tears. No matter what—even if every word he said was true—I could not let him see that he’d gotten to me. “H-he’s just busy today.”

  Mack’s grin widened. “Oh, is ‘h-he’ now?” he asked, taunting me.

  “Fuck off, Mack,” I growled. “If I catch you watching me again, you will regret it.”

  “No,” he said, his eyes growing serious and cold with dark intent. “You’re going to be the one who regrets this, Mia. Now it’s just a question of how much you’re going to regret it. And, being the caring sibling that I am, I’m gonna give you a choice, and I suggest you think it over before you answer. If you come with me now, I can maybe—just maybe—talk Papa Raven into going easy on you. I’ll even vouch that none of this was your idea, that Jace orchestrated the whole thing—practically kidnapped you—so that he could get to T-Built. Given everything, I’d even say that’s not exactly a lie. You come with me, go along with that story—tell the big man how sorry you are for all the inconvenience you’ve caused him—and maybe we can both get through this without being dead by tomorrow!”

  “And if I don’t?” I challenged.

  “Then we’ll both almost certainly be dead by tomorrow. Or, if not then, then at least eventually. We’re really only gambling with our lives with every wasted moment,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Then good luck to you,” I said, turning away from him and calling back, “If I gotta die to know that you finally had to pay your own debts then at least I can die with a sense of justice to the universe.”

  It honestly took every shred of willpower I had within me not to buckle in that instant, but—god-fucking-damn!—I actually pulled it off!

  Please, I pleaded to that same universe I’d just referenced to my brother, Please don’t let any of what he said be true…

  Please!

  TEN

  ~JACE~

  As I headed towards the shop, I tried desperately not to think of Mia. This was to say that I tried desperately not to think of how badly I’d fucked up with Mia; that I tried desperately not to think about how unlikely it was that things could be made right. In short: I was trying desperately not to think about how I’d basically thrown away my only chance at a second chance.

  I leaned into a turn, probably taking it a bit more on the suicidal side than was totally necessary and cringed as a sharp pain stabbed into and worked its way up from my lower back. By the time I finally leveled out, my entire back felt like everything was twisted and yanked to the left. They might have been made for “eternal rest,” but cemetery floors were just about the last thing one should be spending their nights sleeping on.

  Rather than just ignoring the pain, I outright reveled in it, throwing myself into another turn—an extra one this time around—that would force me to take several others just to get back on route. I figured I was beyond the point of penance, but I wanted that hurt to follow me—wished I could dredge up more, in fact.

  Maybe if I really put a suicidal lean into things…

  None of that.

  I ignored the voice of Logic, cranked the throttle, slammed the foot break, and leaned so far into a turn that I was certain I’d rip my ear off across the concrete.

  Is this what you want none of? I thought bitterly in at myself, ‘Cuz I think this is exactly what I need!

  My grip slipped on the clutch, lurched me about the road—earning curses and honks from rightfully irritated motorists—and I (barely) regained control before throwing myself into the next of the unnecessary (and unnecessarily suicidal) turns.

  I hooked the turn wide, nearly bringing myself right into the grill of a semi, fishtailed into another near head-on, yanked the bike upright beneath me, and finally got the bitch under control in time to run a red light and slip between a Toyota and a douchebag in a Miata who was too busy tailgating to see me coming. Miata-man came to a screeching halt, likely conjuring all manner of angry words for my rapidly vanishing rear-end, and Toyota-boy was likely thanking Jesus-or-whoever for the leather-clad guardian angel who’d gotten the d-bag off his butt.

  At the end of the day it was all about perspective, wasn’t it?

  A villain to one and a hero to the other. So what was I? What was Jason Presley in the eye of all that was and would be?

  “Well, Jace,” I muttered to myself, “since the only eyes you give a damn about are the blue ones you left in tears last night, maybe that’s all the answer you need.”

  Deciding I was right, I threw myself into another suicidal lean, this time actually crying out at the deliciously wicked spasm of pain that racked my entire body.

  Yup, I had thoroughly fucked up my back.

  Hope you crippled yourself, you vile shit-fuck, I condemned myself, replaying the last words I’d said to Mia. Now finish the job! Finish it! FINISH IT!

  “FINISH IT!” I roared aloud, throwing myself into the last turn and…

  Pulling out of it clean and pretty.

  “Motherfuck…” I whimpered, feeling like a hundred fishhooks were tearing at the meat of my back.

  ****

  During the last stretch before arriving to Danny’s shop, I went from going a respectable eighty miles-per-hour to over one-hundred-and-twenty.

  “This how you gonna do it, Jace?” I asked myself, hunkering down and watching the familiar building grow at a dizzying rate. “Just steer yourself towards the shop, close your eyes, and never, ever open them again? Nothing like making an appearance directly into a steel gate doing over a hundred to really make a last impression. This how you gonna do it, Jace?” I repeated, already beginning to slow down; actually going so far as to signal the turn. “This how you gonna do it?”

  In the end, it wasn’t how I did it.

  It never was.

  “Took ya long enough, dipshit,” Danny’s voice said from the open office door.

  “Yeah,” I said, numb. I wondered with no real concern just how much he’d seen. At that point I cared very little if he thought I was off my rocker. I still had a gun, after all—somewhere, at least. If he wanted to call the men in white to throw a “hug myself”-jacket on me I could just as easily ventilate my skull before they got there. “Fucked up my back, by the way, you got any Vicodin?”

  “Yer dumb ass knows we got
barrels of the stuff,” he spat, then clarified with, “the knock-off shit, at least.” Then, holding the door for me to slink past and then moving to follow me in, added, “An,’ no, ya can’t have any. Last thing ya fuckin’ deserve.”

  “And just what the fuck crept up your ass, Mercury?” I demanded, spinning on him. “Or should I ask ‘who?’”

  “Ya better watch yer fuckin’ mouth, ya little turd,” Danny spat, his cinderblock hands already curled into deadly-looking fists.

  I blinked, realizing I was legitimately about to talk myself into a thorough ass-whooping. I caught myself wondering if it wouldn’t be an interesting way to kill myself—“Death by big, gay redneck”—and decided that torture was never a decent commitment for a final act. “The fuck is your problem?” I finally asked, my voice coming out a whiny grumble.

  “Me? I got a slew o’ fuckin’ problems. Doctor says I’m a bit on the heavy side, fer one. Ya know how many times I been laid since ya nearly blew my ass up? Huh? Three times, Jace! Three! That’s a slow fuckin’ week fer me! Fuck, man, it’s sometimes a slow fuckin’ night fer me! Meanwhile, I seen more fuckin’ tits since that night than I have since back before my ass was still in the fuckin’ closet—an,’ yeah, that’s startin’ to irritate me. But mostly, my fuckin’ problem is a two-hundred pound pimple named Jace with a swollen white head that I’m just achin’ to fuckin’ pop!”

  I blinked at him, stunned by the outburst.

  “When you last talk to Mia?” he demanded.

  “M-Mia?” I repeated the name, flinching and looking away.

  “Fuckin’ knew it!” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Candy called me earlier, y’know; said she’d consider it a sizable favor if I kicked ya squarely in the balls. Wouldn’t say why, mind ya, but, since this is Candy we’re talkin’ ‘bout, I can only think of one fuckin’ thing it could be about. Now what in the ball-licking valley of queefing fag-fucks did ya do or say t’ that poor girl?”

  “None of your business,” I said, quickly. Too quickly.

  “Oh no, motherfucker,” Danny said, cracking his knuckles. “That’s where ye’re dead fuckin’ wrong. See, ye’re my fuckin’ business! This, all this,” he motioned around the shop, “is my fuckin’ business! An’ the day ya decided to fall fer a Carrion Crew whore an’ whisk her off the streets an’ into yer bed? On that day ye went an’ made her my business, too. Now I will break skulls into a fine fucking powder, stir it into a frothy almond milk, and drink a faggy li’l Frappuccino while I sit my fat ass on the carcasses of every motherfucker who so much as looks at that girl the wrong way, an’ if ya think that yer ass is an exception than I suggest ya get on yer fuckin’ knees an’ see how quick it takes me to fuck it into Nesquik, ya self-centered nutsack!” He took a step towards me that was dangerously close to enough to make me void my bladder all over myself, then he said, “Now what… did… ya… do?

  I stared back, not wanting to answer.

  Fuck.

  He only returned the stare.

  Fuck!

  We continued like that for what felt like a small eternity.

  Aw, FUCK!

  I finally broke down.

  This time, I did tell him everything. I told him about Mack, about what he’d said. I told him how it had grated at me, seemed to make so much sense at the time, twisted around until it was all I could think about. I told him how every time I tried to convince myself of one thing another of his so-called “points” would slip through the cracks and have me second-guessing everything all over again. I told him how it rotted and festered in my mind until I couldn’t believe anything else, and then I told him about how it all came to a raging boil when I’d gotten back and discovered her gone; about how the call to him and finding out about how she’d been gone—unaccounted for—for hours had me thinking she was back to her old tricks—this time with a new trick—and how I was just so certain I’d wake up the next morning with the Feds at my door and her in somebody else’s bed.

  I told him all of that, and then I told him how I’d just lost it and said…

  “… such awful fucking shit, Merc. I couldn’t even believe that garbage was coming out of my mouth,” I finished telling him.

  “An’ Mia?” he asked. “What’d she do?”

  “What she should’ve done,” I said. “She hit me right in the mouth; knocked me on my ass.”

  “Good,” he said with a nod of approval. “Saves me the trouble. Ya know what I’m gonna say next, right?”

  I groaned and nodded. “That this was exactly what Mack wanted all along?” I asked.

  He grinned and nodded. “I did tell Mia ya was the thinkin’ sort. Glad ye’re not makin’ a liar of me.”

  I frowned and looked up at him. “But, I mean…” I began, sighing, “You don’t think there could be some truth in what he said? Doesn’t it seem… I don’t know, doesn’t it seem possible?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Danny said with a shrug.

  I felt my heart start to sink at that.

  “TO A DUMB-FUCK, SHIT-FER-BRAINS, KNOW-NOTHIN’ WHO’S TOO BUSY LICKIN’ HIS FUCKIN’ WOUNDS AFTER ALL THESE YEARS!” he roared at me.

  I flinched and looked away, ashamed.

  Fuck.

  Fuck!

  “FUCK!”

  “Yer damn right ‘fuck!’ As in ‘the fuck’s wrong with ya, boy?’ As in ‘that girl’s in love with ya, ya dumb-fuck!’ Head-over-fuckin’-heels. She was there the entire time ya was laid out in that hospital bed. The entire time! I practically had to drag ‘er out an’ back t’ my place just so’s she could get some decent sleep, an’ even after that the first thing she wanted the next day was to go see yer unconscious ass! An’ when she caught wind of how much shit the Carrion Crew’s stirrin’ up, she refused to steer clear of us—of you—even though it was the safer option.”

  I looked up that, stunned. “She… she said that?”

  He nodded. “I believe her exact words were: ‘if it means leavin’ Jace then I won’t do it; not fer the world.’”

  I groaned and looked down, dropping my face into my palms. “God, I’m an idiot.”

  “Well, at least ya see that,” Danny said, nodding in agreement.

  “I hurt her bad,” I said, feeling the tears begin to grow.

  “You did,” Danny agreed. “But, I think ya can still fix it.”

  “How?” I blinked away the tears, glancing up.

  “Ya really can be such a fuckin’ idiot, ya know that?” Danny said, rolling his eyes.

  “What the fuck, Danny?” I frowned, feeling unsure of his response, unsure what I was supposed to do.

  “Ya go to that girl and you fuckin’ apologize, fer starters!” Danny said, shaking his head at how obvious it all seemed. “An’ maybe consider not putting more trust in some dipshit fuckin’ stranger than yer own woman!”

  I frowned, looking down at my clenched hands. Damn. I really was being stupid. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to get a grip. Danny was right. If there was any chance at fixing things with Mia, it started with me going to her. It started with an apology and the truth. She deserved that much and I certainly wasn’t getting anywhere just sitting here feeling sorry for myself. I stood up, stepping around the desk as I went towards the couch to get my leather jacket that I had tossed there earlier.

  I sighed and nodded, giving him an appreciative—albeit forced—smile. “Thanks, Merc,” I said. “I’ll take care of that ASAP.”

  “See that ya do,” he responded, but the calmness in his voice was enough to let me know he had faith we were at least over that hurdle.

  “So… what was all that about Carrion business?” I pressed, figuring this had been the subject that he’d been calling me in for in the first place.

  “Yeah… those fucks,” Danny said with an exhausted groan. “They are up to somethin,’ Jace. My sources can’t exactly tell what exactly, but they’s getting’ bold—some, myself included, would go so far as to say ‘stupid’—an’ they’s gettin’ messy.”

 
; “Isn’t that good for us?” I asked, folding my arms. “If it’s that bad then just let them burn out, right? Best approach seems to be zero approach.”

  “Ya ever seen a dog after it gets hit by a car, kid?” Danny asked suddenly, shaking his head. “Things get crazed. They’re bold—some might say ‘stupid’—an’ they get messy. Turn yer back on that, an’ ya’d best expect some teeth to come clampin’ down on yer kiester. There’s a chance they’ll jus’ up-an’-die on their own, sure, but there’s also a chance they’ll come back from it, meaner and worse off for the trouble. They don’t come out of it sane, and they don’t come out of it safe. An’ if we’re to say that they’re self-destructive, Jace, then it’s fair to say they’re aimin’ to take us out with them on their way out. Remember: they ain’t dealin’ in drugs an’ sex no more, but, despite that, they’ve nearly quadrupled their incoming product. Docks have reported multiple shipments coming in daily for them. And these shipments, they ain’t good, Jace. They got some bad shit comin’ in. We’re thinkin’ guns—big, bad ones—an’ who-knows-what-else.”

  “Oh fuck, Merc. How do we fight that?” I asked, running my hand through my hair.

  “That all depends on whether or not ye’re willing to fight fire with fire or if ye’re gonna stick to yer grits an’ honor yer old man’s rules.”

  I bit my lip at that, knowing that my dad wouldn’t want to see the Crows dealing in weapons and machines of war. That wasn’t what we were about. Sighing, I shook my head and said, “I’m not gonna rape my dad’s legacy by turning us into them.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Danny said with an appreciative nod. “Shows that yer head’s still in the right place… fer the most part, at least. An,’ fer what it’s worth, I agree. We ain’t gonna get anywhere that way. The whole city’d burn ‘fore anything came of it. Playin’ ‘my dick’s bigger’ has, historically speakin,’ never worked out well. Just ask this faggy German with a fruity ‘stache named Hitler—li’l butt-monkey likely had an acorn cock.”