Vicious: Steel Jockeys MC

by Claire St. Rose

  "Ruby," said Fox, "You were the one who realized that the filing system this dealership had been using since the Nixon era should have resigned with Watergate. And take it from me, Chace's sales have doubled now that he can actually find his keys. Of course it doesn't stop him from using a bottle of Jager for a paperweight, but we'll take it one step at a time."

  "But I should be thanking you guys," she insisted. "All of you, but especially Fox. For more than you know." His ice blue eyes flashed into hers, an unspoken communication.

  "I have a present for you, Ruby," said Fox. He opened up a desk drawer and pulled out a manila envelope.

  "Fox, I was afraid you would do this. You didn't need to get me anything. Really." She looked at her expectant coworkers, from Fox to Chace to Heather to Belen in her overalls. There was no way out of it. She sighed, tore into the paper and pulled out a thick booklet. She recognized the logo instantly; she'd been surfing the university's website for months, like a Facebook user stalking a crush: UC Berkeley. She wrinkled her brow.

  "I'm sending you to college," Fox said.

  Ruby blinked at him. "Oh, you mean like a night course. For fun."

  "No, full time. For four years, you'll be a student again. Not having you in the office will be a big adjustment. Well," he paused with a grin," with just me and Chace on the sales floor sniping at each other, let's face it, it'll be hell." The rest of them laughed. "But there are more important things to think about than answering phones. Your future is one of them. The only catch is..." he paused dramatically. "You have to promise to come back once you graduate. As an assistant manager of the dealership," he added.

  Ruby's mouth hung open. "But this is ridiculous Fox. I haven't even sent in my application yet."

  "Belen helped me take care of that. Besides, you already had your high school transcripts, essays and test scores sent to them; the rest was just a matter of assembling the other paperwork."

  She sank down into a desk chair, planted her ballet flats on the carpet, and started swiveling her herself back and forth, not daring to look further at the catalog in front of her. "Fox, I can't let you do this. This is more than..." Her father always talked about wanting her to go to college, back when his jewelry store was making a narrow profit. But even if he worked for forty years, he wouldn't have had enough money to pay her entire tuition. She'd expected to be paying back student loans until she retired, though she knew it would be worth it to make both him and Kyle proud.

  "I want to do this for you, Ruby." He looked almost hurt. "Kyle was like a little brother to me. And that asshole from the Steel Jockeys shot him because he couldn’t stand the fact that he was going to break away and make something of his life. If he was alive, Kyle and I would be partners right now. It would be him here making this announcement. I can’t think of a better way to honor your brother’s memory."

  Ruby looked down at her shoes. Her eyes suddenly felt hot and wet. "I know, but it's just too much. I don't..." She slid the papers back into the envelope and handed them back to him, not wanting to make a scene in front of her coworkers. "I need time to think this over."

  Belen, puzzled, looked from Fox to Ruby, and then opened her mouth. "But Ruby, you--"

  Fox put a hand on her shoulder to quiet her. "Belen, she's right. This is a big step for her. Nothing has to be decided right now, anyway. In the meantime," he reached for the bottle on the file cabinet, "who's ready for a refill?"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "The identity of a man hospitalized Wednesday in critical condition after a drug deal gone bad has been released. Anthony James Weston, 22, of Madelia, is reputed to be a member of the Steel Jockeys motorcycle gang. He remains under police guard tonight at the Contra Costa County Medical Center in serious condition with multiple stab wounds. The perpetrator of the stabbing remains at large and no drugs were found at the scene. Another reputed leader in the gang, Joseph Rhys Ryan, 23, of Madelia, received minor injuries. He was arrested at the scene, though the nature of his involvement is unclear, and he was released without charges,” said the radio report.

  “Sheriff Manuel Ortiz told reporters at a press conference Thursday that this incident marks the latest in a series of troubling encroachments into the Bay Area of the Steel Jockeys who, up till now, have been based largely in San Joaquin County. He says their gang strike force team will continue to investigate.

  “‘This gang is to be considered dangerous, and this department vows to do everything possible to eradicate them before they can gain a foothold here.’”

  A street light passed over Fox and on to Ruby, who was sitting in the passenger seat of his BMW. She watched as his lips tighten minimally, almost as if he were trying to conceal his reaction to the radio report. Ruby didn't blame him for being upset at the mention of his old gang, still up to their criminal tricks. She shivered every time she heard them mentioned.

  "Ruby, I want you to know if something's bothering you. And not just because you're my friend," said Fox as he paused in the driveway of Ruby's apartment complex, the deserted street lined with identical buildings and the door to the BMW ajar. He leaned against the hood of the car, and crossing her arms, she slid in beside him. With less than an inch of space between them, she scanned the horizon for the Big Dipper, though the cloud cover made it unlikely. Though Fox still owned a garage full of Harleys, he usually drove his BMW to work. Even though the place she rented--paid for, now, because Ruby had insisted--was three miles out of his way, he almost always drove her home. "It's also because you're my employee." That managed to coax a smile out of Ruby. "A cog in my well-oiled machine."

  "Nice metaphor, Fox."

  "There's a reason I wanted to celebrate today," he went on. "Other than as an excuse to drink during work hours."

  "What, you mean your last receptionist didn't get champagne?" Ruby tried to joke tersely, hands tight in her lap, looking straight ahead.

  "My last receptionist didn't even know what champagne was," said Fox. "He was more of an orange MD guy."

  "Yecch."

  "I know this is going to sound cheesy, but," he continued, "I feel like something brought us together that night I took you home. Like it was meant to be." He looked up at a star that peeked out from behind a gray cloud, then shyly hid behind it again. She stiffened as Fox's hand brushed her thigh.

  She didn't move or scoot away, though her heart hitched. Why would she want to? He was hot. Belen had once spilled motor oil on him in the garage just so she could get him to take his shirt off. She remembered how Heather had gushed about the prospect of her and Fox as a couple, as if she pictured the two of them as a wedding-cake topper--the perfect plastic bride and groom. So perfect, she had assumed they were already together. Maybe it seemed inevitable to everybody--everybody, that is, except Ruby. She wondered if there was something wrong with her.

  "We're a great team, Fox," said Ruby with a deep breath, her gaze directed a little past his face. "In every way. We just work. I love working with you. I want to keep doing it. And the gift you gave me today? I can't even." She was choking up just thinking about it. "That someone would do something like that...for me?"

  Fox turned, almost looking offended. "Ruby, I can't tell you how much I hate it when I hear you talk like that. What will it take for you to realize that you have value? You matter. People care about you." He squeezed her knee. "And you deserve to be happy."

  "I think I'm cursed." She crossed her arms and huddled into herself.

  Fox laughed. "I know you don't believe in curses, Ruby. You told me you don't even believe in penguins."

  "I told you, I will when I see one any place other than on TV.” She directed her eyes from the sky to the concrete. “But...my dad, then my mom, and then Kyle. It’s too much. I've got nothing left to give. It's like someone up there is telling me, no. This isn't for you. You poison everybody you touch. And the Steel Jockeys...you heard that radio report. They're still around, Fox. I can't outrun them. They'll always be haunting me," she said, not ready to reve
al what she'd read that day, lest Fox become even more concerned for her. "It's not over, Fox. It's never over."

  Fox looked thoughtful. "Ruby, for the longest time growing up, I was angry. I hated everyone and everything. My dad was a powerful San Francisco real estate broker, but he walked out on me when I was a little kid, and I decided I was going to reject everything he stood for. I didn't want his money; I didn't even want his name. I thought the Steel Jockeys could give me what I'd been craving; the respect I could never earn from my father. But things took a turn for the worse. My friends were being hurt; arrested; even killed. I needed to get out. I knew I wanted to have a family someday, and that wasn't the life I wanted for them." He gently took her chin between his fingers; his hands soft as flower petals. How did he keep them so smooth? "I realized I needed to let someone in. And so do you."

  She closed her eyes, trying not to be hooked by the ice-blue ones in front of her. She had to put the brakes on, before she spun out of control, and into Fox's depths. "This is good, what we have right now," she said in a small voice. "I've been looking ahead and looking behind my entire life. I wish I could just..."

  "Be here?" he interjected.

  His hands curled over her hips, and she leaned into his touch as he gave her a chaste kiss. She tried to enjoy it. She was kissing one hell of a beautiful man. But she couldn't turn her mind off, and that was the one thing she knew needed to happen to really let go. And she couldn't let go. Not yet. She couldn't lose herself in Fox; if she did there, would be nothing left of her. Maybe she couldn't lose herself in anyone. If that was the case, she'd bear that cross. For Kyle and for herself.

  Fox seemed to sense her hesitance, and intuitively pulled back. He pulled her sweater around her shoulders tighter. Ruby slid off the hood of the BMW, feeling small as she watched him get in and start the engine. Standing in the drive, she waited until the low, Teutonic rumble of the BMW had faded into the mist. Its hum comfortable and so different from the epic roar of a Harley engine.

  She looked up and down the street. Nothing else moved; not a headlight approached. Something about the night felt familiar. She felt vulnerable and unguarded, as she always did when outdoors alone at night. Unwrapped and unshielded from the world's dangers she could never let herself forget which lurked beyond her front yard. She drew her jacket tighter around herself, eager to make it inside and lock the door.

  Suddenly, an aroma of diesel fuel hit her nose, and she bent down and sniffed at a wet puddle on the pavement. She threw her handbag down on the driveway, fumbling frantically for her cell phone. She flipped it open and shone its weak yellow light on the graffiti tag beneath her feet. A pair of eagle wings and the letters S.J. under her feet, tire tracks black as sin was revealed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "Oh, Fox, no," Ruby said the next Monday after work, when Fox stopped her outside the dealership and told her he had something for her. "Not again." Fox grinned and dug into the pockets of his tight black Nudie jeans. Two tickets to the Boys & Girls Club charity gala. She gaped at them. "But Fox, why? You could take anybody."

  "You know me. I like to make an entrance," he said, with only a slight turn-up of his lip. "And the best way to do that is on the arm of the most beautiful woman I know.”

  She looked down at her scuffed velvet ballet flats, suddenly feeling plain. "I don't have anything to wear."

  Fox dug into his other pocket and pulled out an envelope--a Saks gift card. For five thousand dollars. She held it like a leaf in her hand that might blow away. "When you get there, ask for Mona, my personal shopper. She'll take care of you." He pressed the card further into her hand, closing her limp fingers around it. Ruby already felt like a rag doll, a toy to dress up. This was too much. "I have some business to attend to tonight, and I won't be able to drive you home. So I also wanted to give you this," said Fox. He took a small key off the ring from his skinny jeans pocket, opened a locked cabinet in his desk, and took out a nine-millimeter Beretta. He set it on the desk in front of him.

  She took a step away, the mere sight of the cold black surface of the gun making her feel physically ill. She’d told Fox about the graffiti and the tire tracks in front of her apartment as soon as she’d seen him. Of course, she’d weighed keeping it to herself, but she knew that in the end, Fox was her best defense against the Steel Jockeys. He had all the resources, all the knowledge. She’d be selfish and foolish not to let him help her.

  Fox came closer, placing the gun in her hand and gently raising her arms so that she was aiming it toward the trunk of a massive oak tree growing in the lot next door. "Listen to me, Ruby. There's something happening. I don't know precisely what, but I'm going to try to find out. The same guys who killed your brother may try to find you. These are dangerous men, Ruby. I can't be there to protect you all the time, although god knows I wish I could. Take it," he said. "For Kyle's sake, if not for mine."

  "You don't understand." She'd been terrified of guns her whole life. That was how her father had died--shot and bled out before the vandals set fire to his store, and later, Kyle had met his fate the same way. There was no other use for a gun than killing another human being with a single flick of the finger.

  He curled his hand around the handle.

  "I’ll help you. Spread your legs a bit more. You need balance. Keep your eyes on the side of the trunk." Trembling, she raised her arms and stared over the barrel. She felt the gun cock, and her stomach twisted. This might have been the last sound Kyle heard before his life began oozing away on the sidewalk.

  "I can't," she dropped the weapon, where it rolled innocently on the grass beneath their feet. She collapsed into his arms, happy to have any respite from the terrifying prospect she had been presented with. "I can't, Fox."

  "You can," he said. He kissed her forehead. "Now let's try this again."

  CHAPTER NINE

  The doorbell rang. Upstairs, Ruby had just slipped into jeans and an oversized fisherman's sweater that had once belonged to her father. She couldn’t relax, so she’d been thinking of heading down to the neighborhood Starbucks to surf the Internet; maybe do some more research on the Berkeley sociology department.

  Nervously, she glanced at the time display on her bedside alarm clock, which read 7:30 p.m. in bright red numbers. She was sure she was being paranoid, if not downright ridiculous. She stopped dead in the doorway between the kitchen and the front hall. Yes the doorbell had rung. So why did she hear a noise behind her?

  A cool, smooth hand curled expertly around her face and over her mouth. "Don't fight me, and whatever you do, don’t open the door,” softly said a mysterious speaker from behind her. "There’s a guy out there who probably wants to kill you."

  Ruby tried to scream, to bite his hand, but she lay helpless against the taut, wiry torso of the man who held her.

  He wore a t-shirt under a leather jacket. The scent of him, as her head pressed against the crook of his neck, wasn't unpleasant. Like well-worn leather and a bit of the outdoors in it--tree bark, salt water. His voice sounded strangely young, not at all gruff, but the strong expertise of his grip told her this was a guy who knew how to get physical, and had done so many times. She felt pools of sweat break out under her arms. He must have been able to hear the neck breaking pace of her heart, pumping blood throughout her body. She finally understood what her 10th-grade biology teacher meant when he had explained adrenaline: fight or flight. So which would it be?

  The Beretta was in her purse on the kitchen counter, but even if she could reach it, she couldn't, in a million years, imagine herself brave enough to use it. She'd laughed at Fox for being overprotective, but she'd never thought this moment would actually come. Instead, she stood frozen, cursing her cowardice. She of all people should have been able to defend herself. Her only other option, she supposed now, was to outsmart him.

  “Who are you?” she tried to ask through his palm, muffled through layers of skin and bone.

  He seemed to understand, though. He paused for a second, as if de
bating whether to tell her. He took a deep breath. "Joseph Ryan. I'm a friend of Kyle's."

  She jerked again. "I know what Kyle's friends did to him." She was aggressive enough that he loosened his hand a little, her words almost intelligible.

  "So do I. I can explain everything, but if you don't do what I say, neither of us will live long enough for me to do that, so here's what's going to happen. We're going to go out the back door and get on my bike, and then I'm going to take you somewhere safe."

  "No freaking way.” What made this nut think she was going anywhere with him, let alone on a motorcycle? She tensed her shoulder again and made another effort to jerk away. He held her fast.

  "You think this guy is here to deliver a pizza?" he growled, clearly frustrated at her refusal to cooperate instantly. In his world, maybe that was what women did--go along with whatever their men told them to do. But she wasn’t part of his world. Not yet, anyway. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “He's here to hurt you. At best.”