Out From Under

by Selene Chardou

  He was a full-time foreign student at MIT and although he had the look of a rocker with several strategically placed tats, they had all thought that the clean-cut looking Finnish guy would never fit in, after all, they’d grown up together and now they were bringing in an outsider.

  Kris won them over at the first audition and they’d been together ever since. Hell, Winter’s Regret had outlasted Linx’s marriage to Cassidy.

  A fellow Southie, she’d grown up on the border of South Boston and Dorchester and when he caught and captured her at the age of nineteen, he felt like the luckiest guy alive.

  Time and money played tricks on him though, and now he wished he’d never known the bitch. The only good that had come from them playing house at such a young age were their two sons, Brady—named after that asshole quarterback of the New England Patriots, because Cassidy came from a football fanatic-loving family—and Jimi—named after the master guitar legend himself.

  That was another great reason why he enjoyed being on the road and certainly a good thing about touring, he didn’t have to look at her miserable face when she begged him for money.

  Linx was no fool and Cassidy was still a beautiful woman of twenty-five. She played with her hair a lot, despite being a natural honey blonde. At the moment, she’d dyed it platinum with skanky black lowlights running throughout so she looked like some kind of rocker chick, though she had absolutely no talent and couldn’t dress for shit. He knew she spent most of her money on an extra nanny in addition to the one he paid for, daycare and clothes—she’d always been able to use men so the drugs, and most of her spending cash, she could hustle no problem.

  It was his own sorry fault.

  They’d both cheated during their marriage, the only difference was he happened to get caught which cost him not only custody of his kids, but both alimony and child support. The child support he didn’t mind because he’d grown up in a two-parent household and he wanted to take care of his children. The alimony bugged the shit out him because he gave Cassidy enough cash to get off her ass and find a job, but as long as the money was wired to her account, he knew she wouldn’t get married and she would continue to be a pain in his ass.

  Talia interrupted his concentration as he doodled on a notepad. He was thinking about the insane design he’d easily drawn being the next tattoo he decorated his body with. The tattoo sleeve on his right arm had been completely drawn and designed by him. He wanted to finish the sleeve he’d started on his left arm after they completed this tiresome fucking tour.

  “Great drawing. Is there anything you can’t do?” she asked, though her voice was husky and he knew she was just as tired as they all were.

  “Yeah, I can’t play lead guitar,” Linx replied in a deep, masculine voice which served as the perfect back-up vocals for Talia’s strong voice.

  “Well, we can’t have it all…we go on in about ten minutes. They are setting up the equipment right now.”

  He turned toward her and stared directly into her bright, pale-green eyes. His own were supposedly his best feature according to the ladies but he wouldn’t know. Both his parents had some variance of blue eyes, as did his four siblings, so they were pretty boring to him despite the vast majority of the world being dark-eyed.

  Linx had been named after another rock legend—John Lennon—and had grown up in a very average, though strict, Irish Catholic household. His father’s family was from Omagh while his mother’s was from Belfast. They still had cousins stuck in Northern Ireland and when they’d visited his grandparents all throughout his childhood, it always seemed like another world, where violence and drinking was a normal occurrence. It was like being in a European version of Beirut to him. Peace always seemed so close, yet out of reach, thanks to the Loyalists, Irish Protestants loyal to the Crown, while the Unionists wanted a united Ireland, away from the control of the English.

  “Where are we?” Linx wondered aloud, as he looked down at his drawing and decided it would be perfect on his forearm. Jimi and Brady’s names, along with their birthdays, were tattooed on the right and left shoulder blades on his back.

  “Dubai. We’re playing the New Year’s Eve concert, remember? It’s mega bucks, but I have already been warned that we might not be well received. You might have to take over on vocals half the time, because we aren’t in the most progressive part of the world. The United Arab Emirates isn’t Scandinavia,” Talia explained, before she cracked open a bottle of San Pellegrino water and drank from it.

  “Wait, I thought you said we were in Dubai?”

  Talia glared at him with that all-knowing, I finished university and you never bothered to go to one look before she said, “Dubai is a city in the United Arab Emirates. It’s not its own fucking country. While we’re able to play here because they want to appear like every other wealthy city and the money is good, they have absolutely zero respect for women here. Yes, there are a lot of Westerners here, but a lot of the crowd will be rich locals and they won’t want to see a female lead singer.”

  “Well, you know we’re here to back you all the way. It is a plus having three of the hottest and sexiest men on the planet in your band.”

  “Now that I won’t argue with.” She smiled in a sheepish manner before she put on her game face. “Come on, let’s go wow the fuck out of this crowd and check off another fucking concert before we can go home.”

  That was the best news he’d heard all evening, and for the first time, he could admit that having Talia as their lead singer wasn’t all bad. At least she didn’t use drugs, rarely drank and only smoked occasionally. She was perfect actually, and so different from Seth.

  Linx missed Seth like mad, but at the end of the day, the important issue to him was cohesion of the band and stability; Talia provided both and for that, he couldn’t have been happier.

  Yeah, there were parts of his life that sucked but the good definitely outweighed the bad and at the end of the day, it was all about the music.

  Chapter Three

  “HEY, SIS, WHAT are you doing here?”

  It was a stupid question as far as I was concerned but I still smiled at Trey and tried to play it off as best as I could. Where else would I be for this festive occasion other than the clubhouse? My brother walked into the kitchen while I helped Brandy, the Vice President’s old lady, prepare a feast of different dips and various kinds of potato and tortilla chips in addition to fried chicken, potato salad and coleslaw for the boys.

  “What are you doing in the kitchen?” I snapped back in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “This is a woman’s domain, right?”

  “Not in the clubhouse, it isn’t.”

  I turned toward Trey and silenced him with a look from my eyes. He was a sucker for blue eyes, even mine.

  How could I describe my brother without it sounding inappropriate and almost downright incestuous? He was a sexy, drop dead gorgeous man with ink on both arms, with the apt title of “Sergeant at Arms” displayed prominently on his right arm and a sleeve on his left.

  He was quite young, at the tender age of twenty-six, to be given such a prestigious position. He’d been a club member since the age of eighteen—sponsored by Evan Hughes, Vice President and son of Jonesy Hughes, the President of the Club—and had proven himself a loyal member to a fault, and at the detriment of his real family.

  Our mother still kept in touch but our father had disowned him because he couldn’t believe his son passed up the California Institute of Technology—Caltech—to be a hacker and live the thug life with the MC. He was also extremely intelligent, along with being young and good looking.

  Dark brown hair combined with creamy skin that could tan, a five o’clock shadow, hazel-green eyes, a straight nose, that hadn’t been broken, and pretty boy looks never left him short of female company. He was still young and had no intention of hooking up with an old lady, not yet at least, but I knew it would be happening soon, and hoped to God it wouldn’t be with Keri, his latest squeeze.

  Keri was gorgeous
enough, with her natural flaxen-blonde hair and ice-blue eyes, killer body and lightly tanned skin. She also happened to be a porn star that specialized in girl-on-girl action. It didn’t seem to bother Trey, but I thought her occupation was disgusting. She was around tonight, wearing a pair of skinny white jeans splattered with silver paint, a matching silver halter top that barely covered her small boobs, and a pair of those clear hooker heels that were six-inches high with an added platform. Her whole torso was out on display because her jeans were so low cut, and when she sat down, everyone got a glimpse of her black lace thong.

  I poured myself a Southern Comfort and Coke, not that Trey minded in the least. He was too busy being half in the bag with his bottle of Jack Daniels, and joint etched firmly between his closed lips.

  “So, when are you going to get rid of Miz Skank over there and get yourself a proper woman?” I wondered, before I sipped from my SoCo and Coke. “Doesn’t it bother you the least bit that she eats pussy for a living?”

  Trey dragged off the joint and handed it over to Brandy, who took it greedily in between two slender fingers decorated with black cherry painted talon-length nails. “When are you going to stop embarrassing me by fucking Clooney behind my back? I told you, Trista, I don’t want you messin’ with my brothers. It’s bad for the club and you’ll never be anyone’s old lady, especially a prospect like Clooney. He isn’t worthy enough to eat your pussy, let alone do anything for you.”

  I stepped back from my brother, my eyes wide by his use of such vulgar language toward me. “He thinks he’s in love with me,” I whispered to Trey. “I promise I am going to break it off with him when I get to Stanford.”

  “You have to break it off with him, because there is no way is my sister is gonna be part of a fucking MC. You’re better than this, Trista—”

  “So are you, Trey.” I interrupted in a cold voice. “You could have graduated from Caltech by now and be making mad money in Silicon Valley or Seattle, but instead, you chose this life. Dad fought his way out of crime life, do you know how hurt he is to see his son fall right back in it?”

  “Listen, I don’t want to talk about this—I just wanna get fucked up and party like it’s 2014—”

  “It will be in less than six hours,” I murmured, before I brought out another tray full of snacks.

  Cater-corner to the bar was a table set up with all the various food, along with paper plates and plastic silverware. We had picked up the good shit at Costco, but as soon as I delivered a tray, the food seemed to disappear as fast as the booze, which was not a good sign.

  These parties were all the same.

  Soon the open sex with the sweet butts would start, or as they were known in the Demon’s Bastards MC, “Demon scrubbers”, because that’s exactly what they were. They were throwaway women with low self-esteem, who would allow themselves to be degraded in any way possible, just to have a place to stay. Some were in love with club members who already had old ladies; others just wanted to have bragging rights for having fucked a real, red-blooded, American biker.

  Then, the vomiting would begin, and I’d be ready to call it a night. No way was I cleaning anyone’s vomit, whether it belonged to a member of the MC or a scrubber. I was doing my brother a favor by being here…although to be honest, I could have spent New Year’s Eve with my best friend, Laura, and her fraternity boyfriend at their frat house at the University of Nevada in Reno. However, what good would that do when everyone knew I wouldn’t be returning for the spring semester?

  My thoughts were interrupted the moment a bunch of club members I knew burst through the doors along with Tristan and his girlfriend, Taryn. A pretty young woman with alabaster skin that was lightly freckled, strawberry-blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, she and my brother were a striking couple. Ironically, they’d met up again at UNLV, and had been going out for a few years. I had a feeling Tristan thought she was the one and, although it was always nice to see people in love, I wasn’t exactly sure how well their situation would work out.

  I liked her well enough, but it never seemed like a good idea to me that she was Dizzy’s niece, nor that she had ties to the Lucifer’s Saints, a rival MC to the Bastards. There was a genuine dislike between the two MCs, although there was no hatred between them. The Bastards and the Saints were cordial, but they shared a bond of loathing and disgust for the White Knights MC, a neo-Nazi biker gang that controlled the meth trade from Northern California clear through southern Washington and Idaho.

  While the Bastards made most of their money through offshore banking, along with an exclusive gun running deal with the Russians, the Saints made most—if not all—their money through illegal gun running, cocaine and heroin. They had an exclusive deal with the Aztecas Infierno, a Mexican Motorcycle gang and the mob who still controlled many of the casinos in Nevada, though the state tried to cover up their involvement and claimed most were now owned by corporations.

  The problem between the Bastards and the Saints mostly came from the protection the Bastards provided Raymond Jackson, a drug lord who controlled his own gang while he remained behind the scenes and inconspicuous. Northern Nevada only had a small black population, and it was best for all that he presented himself as a legitimate businessman who owned a small chain of casinos in Reno and Lake Tahoe. Meanwhile, he had a lucrative drug trade run by the high class call girls who worked exclusively in his hotels and brothels.

  Unfortunately, despite his respectability, his German-born wife, Ingrid, and two college educated children, the man was still on the Fed’s radar and they watched him like a hawk. Gisela, his daughter, co-owned a law firm with the Bastards’ Prez’s daughter, Kyra Hughes, therefore he had in-family protection since she was a criminal attorney. Drake, Raymond’s son, was his personal accountant; he’d also committed a major faux pas when he knocked up Maeve “Misty” Cox, Desmond “Dizzy” Cox’s daughter and the President of the Saints’ MC.

  Drake and his new bride had fled the country while Gisela tried to keep the peace by representing Cillian “Killer” Cox, the V.P. of the Saints, who was charged with murdering an ATF agent.

  The motorcycle clubs, and the violence they brought with them, was the major reason why I wanted to leave this place. I couldn’t take the biker gangs and the casinos, the whores and the drug trade any longer. I was sick of it and how our whole lives were affected by it. My parents owned their own accounting firm, but it was mostly a front to do the books for the Lucifer’s Saints MC and every illegitimate businessman come tax time.

  Like most men, my father was a contradiction. He didn’t want his children to be involved in a life of crime though he and my mother were neck deep in it. I suppose it made me feel slightly better they’d been bullied into their position as accountants mainly for a biker gang but they also had to take some of the blame. We could have moved to another town, another state but perhaps they were just as greed-driven as the average adult and could only see working for the MC as an end game toward early retirement.

  We lived comfortably but I couldn’t disguise my quiet disgust at how our lifestyle came at the cost of lives lost, ruined and destroyed. They dealt with unsavory people and washing dirty money clean didn’t make me feel any better, no matter how comfortable my life was as a result of my parents’ profession.

  Of course, I was a walking cliché myself. I had secretly been the girlfriend of an MC prospect for over a year, Tristan dated a woman with direct ties to a rival MC and Trey was in the MC. I needed to get away because I didn’t want this kind of life. I certainly didn’t want to bring children into this kind of environment, no matter how charming Pine Bluff and its proximity to Lake Tahoe were. Underneath the town lurked a rot and filth that marred our beautiful surroundings and vaguely reminded me of the show, Twin Peaks. Like that idyllic town, nothing was as it seemed and it was the same for the nearby towns of Birch Tree, where the Saints ruled, and Black Oak, the town where the Knights had placed their claim.

  “Earth to Trista, how are you and what are
you doing here?”

  I turned towards Tristan’s voice before I smiled and walked over to embrace him and Taryn.

  “I’m great, although to be honest, I can’t wait to get out of this po-dunk town,” I said, before I sipped from my drink.

  Tristan glared at me with harsh sky-blue eyes. “What’s that? Coke? You better not be drinkin’. Mom and Dad would have my ass if they found out their perfect daughter was caught at a Bastards’ party with this many drunk and fucked up people running around. What they hell is wrong with you? If anyone can understand how out of control these events can become, it’s you.”

  “Well,” I said as I placed my hands on my hips. “If you have any ideas on how I am supposed to spend my New Year’s Eve, especially in our little hole in the wall town, I’m all ears,” I replied in a sarcastic voice.

  “Maybe you should spend some time at home for a change. Take Clooney with you—he’ll make sure you get home safe and sound.”

  I laughed out loud. “That can’t happen. Trey would go postal if he knew I was alone with Clooney. He told me I had to leave with you two when you decide to go home or he would have another prospect drop me off. He’s demanded I cut any and all ties to the MC before I leave for Stanford.”

  “He’s right, you know,” Taryn replied in her soft, barely-there Northern Irish accent. “You’ve been surrounded by this whole sordid scene since you were a wee child and it’s not healthy. I was so happy to get the hell out of Belfast, I didn’t know what to do. Of course, I miss me Ma but do you know what it’s like to attend high school and university in a normal environment? No bombs exploding and not having to worry about being a Catholic?”

  She paused and wrapped her arms around Tristan’s waist. “That’s why I love your brother so much. He loves me for me and it doesn’t hurt that he’s one of the most fit men I have ever met.”