by Ryan Michele
Pops holds his hand out. “We have a deal. Not another word about your dust. You need us, call.”
Tommy reluctantly holds out his hand and shakes Pops’. “Not gonna fuck up a good thing with Ravage, Pops. Honorable man. Thanks for takin’ the time to come see me.”
Pops nods, releasing Tommy’s hand before standing. “We gotta roll.”
And that’s what we do. Roll the hell out of bumfuck nowhere and head to the booze, babes, and beaches.
Sunny Florida. The sunshine state, or some other bullshit like that. We’ve been here for three days. Pops has had meetings in his hotel room off and on, while me and some of the guys went to the beach for a bit. Nothing like seeing beautiful women in bikinis.
It’s been pretty low key, but everyone is starting to show up for Burnout Beach tomorrow.
“What the hell?” Ryker jumps back as water sloshes out of the washing machine and onto the floor in pools. The water doesn’t stop, either, even when the water from the wash is out. No, it keeps pouring and pouring like the damn Niagara Falls.
“Where’s the shutoff?” I ask, moving toward the machine and reaching behind it. I can’t see the damn shutoffs since they’re behind some fancy-ass board thing, proving to be no help at all. I pound hard on the wood and hear it crunch, but it doesn’t break.
“Here, let me try. You’ve got monster hands,” Green says as I step away, my pants and boots now soaked.
I look around for an attendant, but there is none. There is a number, though, so I pull out my phone and dial it.
It goes to voicemail.
I call it again. Same thing.
I call it again.
“Laundry Services,” a woman’s voice comes over the line in almost a purr. Not one like some of the girls at the club use to get us in bed. No, this woman has more of a natural purr that’s low, yet not a growl. It’s sexy as all hell.
“I’m at your laundromat, and there’s water everywhere. We’re trying to get to the shutoffs, but they’re covered.”
“Shit. I’m on my way.” That voice. Damn. She doesn’t even let me enjoy it before she hangs up.
I toss my phone on my bag sitting on the table; no need for it to get wet, too.
The water slows to a trickle as Green pops up from the back.
“Those fuckers have rust on them.” He wipes his hand on his jeans, leaving an orange mark behind. “Fuck, now I gotta wash these.”
“Look at me, dickhead.” Ryker holds his arms out, standing in a puddle of water, wet from pretty much the chest down. His clothes are scattered on the floor in a soppy mess. “My boots are gonna take forever to dry. Fuck!” he growls.
“Calm your shit.”
The other customers in the place are staring at us, but not one came over to help the situation. Figures.
“We don’t need a stir.” We never need the cops in our business, and Ryker screaming and carrying on will definitely get one called. I don’t feel like calling my dad or Pops and asking them to bail my ass out of jail for fucking water.
“Sonofabitch,” he growls low, picking up his clothes and tossing them into another machine. “This one had better fuckin’ work.” He jams the coins into it, and it begins its cycle. The water on the floor is steadily flowing into the drain, but it’s still wet as hell.
“I’m gonna change.” Ryker grabs his duffle and heads toward the bathroom. It’s funny seeing him razzed because it rarely happens. Ryker is always a joke a minute or a smooth line.
The simple joys in life we have to suck up.
I switch over my clothes and toss them into a dryer. Green does the same. Jacks said he didn’t need to come. No doubt he’s asleep. That man loves his sleep. Can’t blame him. I like mine, too … sometimes.
“What’s going on?” the purred voice says from the door.
I turn. Standing in the doorway is a woman in very well-worn jeans and a black T-shirt that stretches across her ample chest, the V showing just a touch of it. Her blonde hair is long, silky, yet wavy at the bottom. There’s no black roots, so that shit is real. Her light, crystal blue eyes come to me, pause on a stutter for a moment, and then her gaze goes to the floor, seeing the huge puddle of mess.
“Shit.” She pulls out her phone and makes a call. “Need you here ten minutes ago.” She pushes her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, sliding it down the curve of her ass.
“Who called?” she questions, looking around to each one of us.
I step up. “Me.”
Her eyes travel my body, and then she clears her throat. “Sorry about this. Sometimes the seals come loose. I’ve been after my plumber to redo the shutoffs so they’re easier to get to.” She reaches in her front pocket and pulls out two twenties. “Here, these washes and dries are on me with our apologies.”
Ryker takes that moment to come up and pluck the money out of my hand. “Thank you spanky much,” he says on a chuckle.
The woman bustles past everyone, ignoring Ryker, and heads to a door in the back, inserting a key then stepping inside. When she comes out, she has a mop bucket and a mop. She’s put her hair back in one of those messy bun things on her head that my sister wears all the time. With it out of her face, she’s even more striking, wiping any comparison to my sister out of the park.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Green chuckles. “See somethin’ you like?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
He laughs harder.
“I know I do,” Ryker says, taking a few steps toward her. “Hey, honey, I’m Ryker. And you are …?”
“Busy,” she replies, pulling the mop out and beginning to clean up the mess.
“Burn!” Green calls out, and Ryker laughs.
“Let me help you. Then we can get to know each other,” Ryker tells her.
I feel my blood begin to boil. I’m not sure why. There’s no reason for its cause, but it’s happening.
The woman looks down at Ryker, and then bursts out laughing. It’s like her voice, a purr-ish laugh that has my dick turning to granite.
I follow her gaze and a laugh escapes me, too. On Ryker’s feet are Snoopy Christmas socks.
“What the fuck, brother?” I ask, not bothering to hide my amusement.
“My sister got them for me. Shut the hell up.”
“And you decided to wear them to Florida? Nice, Ryker,” Green chides.
“Normally no one sees the damn things,” he grumbles.
The woman sucks in a breath, smiles, and swishes the mop back and forth.
“Next time, I’d leave those at home,” Green says as Ryker sits next to him on the hard, plastic chairs along the wall where the windows line it.
“What can I say? This dog’s got tricks.”
“Better find new ones,” Green responds.
“Sorry about that,” I tell her, not a hundred percent why. Am I really sorry, or is it just an excuse to talk to her? The answer is unclear.
Her eyes meet mine, and I swear I can see myself in them for the briefest moment, before she shrugs and goes back to cleaning. “I’m used to it. No big deal.”
“Used to getting hit on?”
“That’s not what I meant.” She stops like she’s thinking about something, then continues, “I have older brothers who give me shit all the time. I get it.”
“I’m Cooper,” I say, not asking for her name. A small part of me wonders if she’ll tell me.
“Bristyl. Now, can you step back so I can clean this shit up? My plumber is going to be here soon, and I don’t need anyone falling and breaking a hip.” She looks around at the older lady using the dryer at the end. Her quirky sense of humor gets to me.
I take a step backward.
“Thanks.”
“Brother?” Green calls from the table.
I close my eyes and shake myself, wanting to ignore him, but then I turn toward my brothers.
“You alright?”
“Fine. Let’s get this shit done.”
Women are like flo
wers; there are so many and so many varieties out there to choose from. This woman is just one of many. I have to remember that.
So what if her voice is sin, along with her body? So what if she has a wicked tongue? None of that matters.
Chapter Seven
Holy hells bells.
I’m not sure if I should be pissed that my brothers and father left me to deal with this mess or thank them for the gorgeous eye candy. Not that I would, because they’d have a fit either way, but damn. Maybe it’s my mom smiling down on me, giving me a ray of sunshine through this mess.
All three of the guys are hot in their own way. By the cuts on their backs, they belong to the Ravage Motorcycle Club. Here for the rally, of course, and will be gone in a flash. That’s how it is. What the hell, I’ll enjoy the view while I can.
I sop up the water and wring out the mop head, then repeat … again and again.
Ryker, who boldly introduced himself, is a player. Yep, seen hundreds of them in my day growing up in the club. Tattoos, sexy vibe … I bet he doesn’t even have to ask women, just crooks his finger.
The other man, who I’m not sure his name, looks a little lighter in a way, but I’m not sure how to describe it.
Cooper, though. My heavens. Talk about charismatic, and I got that just from the few words he spoke to me. Hell, I get it just from being in the same room with him. It’s like he oozes it out of his pores, releasing it out in the world for women to fall at his feet and beg. Then there’s the hair. I can’t call it light, and it’s definitely not dark. It’s a unique combination of the two; light browns intertwined with a few darker browns, giving his hair a shade I haven’t seen before. Like a caramel color with an edge, and long. So much so that he has a hair tie wrapped around his wrist. No doubt he puts it up regularly. I’d put money on it only amping up his sexiness.
When our eyes connected for that brief moment, the blue popped out in his. I also noticed some navy around the edges. That combination of hair and eyes … Be still my deprived heart.
The way his pants ride low on his hips makes me want to give up all kinds of things to get him to raise his arms above his head so his black T-shirt rises up and I can see what’s underneath.
He has tattoos running all up his left arm, disappearing under his shirt. I can see some black poking through the top at his neck, too. It piques my curiosity, wanting to find out what he’s hiding.
I shake my head and squeeze out the mop. It’s been way too long since … Never mind.
The front door opens and in strolls Mr. Draker. The guy is older; late sixties, early seventies. He’s been our plumber for years, and a man my father trusts to take care of problems.
“What’d ya got here?” he asks, strolling in with his bag in hand.
I look at the floor then up at him. “What do you think? I had everyone take a piss all over the floor?”
Chuckles come from the corner where the three hot bikers sit and wait for their clothes to dry.
“I told you we needed new shutoffs for each machine. That was on your list four months ago, and now it’s been moved to priority, as in—do it now.” He jumps a bit at my tone, but doesn’t balk.
This is the part of the businesses I don’t like—when you hire someone to do a job, and they don’t follow through. It’s happening more and more. I try to handle it all because if my father or brothers did, hell hath no fury. It just makes everything so much worse.
“I was just comin’ to do that today, Ms. Bristyl.”
Stopping short of rolling my eyes, I say, “Yeah, and the pigs are due to shoot out of my ass at any minute. This needs to be done now. I called my cleaner on the way here. Most of it is sopped up, but you’ll have to work around the customers until the place is cleared out. I don’t care how you do it; just make it happen.”
A loose strand of hair falls into my eyes, and I blow it up out of my way. This is business, and if he doesn’t want to do his job, then I’ll find someone who can. Then I’ll have to explain it to my father, and he’ll be pissed I didn’t come to him first. One step at a time.
“I can shut off these and do the pipes, then the others. There should be no need to shut the place down.”
“Timeline. When’s it going to be done?” My tone is sharp. I’m seriously frustrated with this man.
“Give me a week to get it all switched over.”
“If it’s not done by then, I’m finding someone who can do it.”
“I understand.”
He better understand. Sinister Sons is huge in this town, and he knows who owns this place. One word, and that will be it.
I like handling everything on my own, though. It’s an independence thing. I don’t have it in my life as much as I want, but this I can control.
When clapping comes from the corner, I narrow my eyes. That is, until I see the smirk on Cooper’s face. Then I turn and put the damn mop bucket away, needing to get out of here and breathe. For some reason, he has a power to suck the oxygen out of me.
Coming out of the room, Cooper and his guys are pulling clothes out of the dryers and a washer, then beginning to fold. I can’t help looking. I mean, come on, my eyes just travel there on instinct.
His black briefs are sexy as all hell. I need a cold shower.
“Sorry again for the trouble,” I say on a wave.
Some words are returned as I exit quickly, getting the hell out of Dodge.
“Don’t be pissed at me.” Whenever anyone starts a conversation off with those words, you know you’re going to be pissed at the end. It’s a red flag with a bull running toward it. It’s a lit match about to be thrown into a fire pit doused in gasoline.
“What am I going to be pissed about?”
Leah just walked in the door. Her navy shirt is cut short, exposing her midriff, and her shorts are tight, but she’s covered. One thing I love about her is she’s not over the top. Some of the women at the rally dress in bikinis or fishnet with only a small piece of tape covering their nipples. I wouldn’t want to get caught for indecent exposure or anything. My big hiccup is some men take the lack of clothes as a welcoming invitation, which no man should do.
Me, I’m super simple. Jean shorts that totally cover my ass, coming down an inch or two. They’re not loose, but I don’t have a damn camel toe or any of that crap. I went with my favorite Demon’s Wings tank with a sports bra underneath it. It is Florida, after all. And if I’m going to be dancing, I need air. Tossing on my flip flops, I’m ready to go.
“Your makeup is pretty,” she says to me as we exit the house and I lock it up.
I shrug. “I just went for a little bit of a smoky eye. Tell me what I’m pissed about?” We move to my Dodge Challenger SRT, get in, and I turn her over, making her purr like a kitten in heat. If Leah thinks she’s going to detour me, she’s sadly mistaken.
“A guy I met on that site is going to meet me there.”
The urge to slam on my brakes hits me hard, along with slapping her upside her damn head. “You’re just shitting me, right?” I try with a small bit of hope, knowing in my gut it’s worthless. I’m pissed.
“No, his name is Nick, and he’s really nice. We’ve been chatting on the dating site, and he said he’s coming to the rally this weekend. I told him I’d text him and we could meet up.”
If my grip got any tighter on the steering wheel, my strength would snap the damn thing off Hulk style.
“Is he with a club?” There have been a couple of times in my life where our family was at dinner and another club showed up wanting to talk to my father. The situation got heated when my father refused, and my brothers rose from their seats. No, my family wouldn’t like it if this guy were in another club, but why else would he be at a bike rally.
She clicks her tongue, in thought. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask him.”
“Leah, that should have been the first question. Hello, he’s coming to a rally. Yes, we have non-clubbers here, but what if …?” I let my words trail off.
Wh
at if what? I know what my father and brothers do isn’t legal, but I don’t know any details, which keeps me clean. What if this guy is an enemy or something? One of the ones that my brothers are always keeping me safe from? Maybe I’m just being a stick in the mud and need to live a little, but uneasiness prickles my skin.
“Relax. If it doesn’t work out, we go dance. It gives me an out.”
“You’re nuts,” I tell her.
“You love me.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Finding a place to park is a pain in the ass, and after hiking the mile up the hill, we finally make it to the rally.
Music from three stages blares as men and women run around, beers and cocktails in their hands. A huge sign hangs above the road, welcoming all bikers. The atmosphere is electric and pulsing with an energy you only get when coming to a testosterone-filled place like this.
Venders line up their tents with barely clothed women trying to push the latest power drink or tire brand. If you wanted to take the time to visit them all, it would take an entire day. Each one yells out at us, trying to grab our attention, but we keep on moving. No prize they have is on my list of must haves in the world.
A burly man with leather chaps stops in front of me. He’s handsome in his rode-hard biker way. His beard is long, and he has a red, white, and blue bandana over his forehead with a long braid going down his back.
“How you ladies doin’?” he asks in a smooth tenor.
Another man steps around and puts his hand on bandana man’s shoulder. This guy makes me want to take a step backward. He’s mean-looking, hair cut to his scalp, and tattoos covering scars. He screams danger and has a don’t-mess-with-me vibe I’m pretty sure I could feel from another planet.
“Mearna, brother,” he says in a low voice.
“I’m talkin’.”
“Yeah, and you fuckin’ told me to say somethin’ when you get like this. I’m sayin’ it and steppin’ back.” The scary man does just that, hands raised as he takes a few steps backward.
Bandana man rubs his hand over his face. “Fuckin’ hell. My ol’ lady’ll cut my dick off. As you were, ladies,” he grumbles, moving out of our path.