Vicious: Steel Jockeys MC

by Claire St. Rose

  "I was?" Eagerly lapping up one of the compliments she knew that from her were too rare, he crawled under the table to sit beside her, but she jumped up and slid into one of the kitchen chairs and broke off another large spike from the plant.

  "Yes. But that little stunt put you back at zero. So you'd better do a kick-ass job at this." She handed him the spike and thrust out her bare foot, wiggling her toes. "You can start again down here."

  "Just what I was going to suggest," he responded from under the table. She couldn't see him properly anymore from where she was, but a little bolt in her stomach as he bent to gently kiss her big toe told her had promptly obeyed. He continued smearing the aloe vera gel between every crack in her toes, over the rough spots on the bottoms of her feet where her skin had been pummeled walking; the blisters from her strappy sandals. Her feet couldn't have been in worse shape, but Joe's touch was miraculous, better than a pedicure, his slightly rough palms giving precisely the right texture to slough the skin. From there with both hands, he worked the gel up over her ankles and calves. His fingers, when they reached the skin of her inner thighs, grew languorous, deep, stroking down in little circles right below where her sex began, and she felt herself sink down, her body turning to jelly in the chair.

  "I wasn't naked when I was in the desert you know," she said when his hands innocently slipped up higher, making her exhale almost automatically and her pelvis hitch and stiffen. "The sun didn't reach down there."

  "Can I check just to make sure?" She smiled and croaked out a yes because whatever he was about to do had her vaginal walls pulsating, tendrils of pleasure already snaking out. Soon, his mouth was muffled in the crotch of her panties. "I don't see anything," he said. "I think I'm going to have to examine the situation a little more closely," he said, his voice all mock-serious as he grabbed the fabric between his teeth and gently pulled it down to where her panties could soundlessly drop down her legs to the floor. Kicking them away without thinking, she couldn't disguise the little "ooh" her mouth made when his tongue flicked across her outer labia, the temperature in his mouth slightly cooler than her core. She had to have more, had to have it harder. She thrust a little toward him to get in a better position, her hands slipping down along the bottom rungs of the kitchen chair, fingering the small beads of wood.

  "Don't be so gentle anymore," she said, her hands automatically flinging up to grab two handfuls of his thick blond hair, her knees bending to make more room for him. His hands were on both her knees, urging them apart, and she noticed how his palms were as purple as the streaks on her legs. His tongue made rings around her nubbin of flesh, coating it, caressing it with warmth and strength. She felt him inhale a little, as if the taste of her milk were too much to take in all at once.

  "A little higher, I think," she said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. For almost a week, since Mexico, her body had been wasted, hot, dry, and parched, and her orgasm, the cool, fresh scent of the aloe all over her body, and the blessed weight of Joe's face between her legs, came crashing over her like a tropical storm, wetting her inside and out, vivifying her, bathing her in freshness and life.

  "How many points did that get me?" he whispered when he at last raised his head to look at her, as she sat out of breath and panting in the chair. She gathered his head in his lap, stroking his hair, and he turned his eyes up toward her. His scalp was only a little damp, his breathing only a little faster, she noticed, watching the rise and fall of his chest beneath his collarbone. His ivory skin was flushed, his lips rosy and bitten. He was cool, but she was exhausted, and she dropped her shoulders, bent her head, and leaned over to embrace him her curly hair brushing his face.

  "Let's just say you're out of the hole."

  A second later, they both popped their heads up at a sudden loud pounding noise at the front door. She looked to Joe for answers, but he seemed as surprised as she was at the intrusion. “Were you expecting anybody?” she asked.

  “Were you?” Ruby watched, heart rate having picked up, as Joe reluctantly extricated himself from her hold on him, her hands sliding down his bare shoulders. He craned his neck to see who was standing on the porch. As soon as he got a good look, his eyes narrowed as he turned back to her. “Upstairs,” he commanded. She turned, but he grabbed her hand and pulling her in for a brief, deep kiss, though all the relaxation, all the peace from before, had left his face. Ruby didn’t even think to argue as she disappeared into her room, while a hateful voice hissed at her that if she had indeed gone insane enough to consider life with an outlaw, she had better get used to this.

  "They're dead. They're all dead!" Aaron howled. Outside, two large, dangerous-looking Mexicans stood, dressed in expensive-looking black suits. One was slightly shorter, but other than that, they could have passed for twins. Joe looked from A.J. to Colt, who had rendezvoused with Aaron over at the Thunderbird and followed him over to find Joe. If Colt found anything untoward at Joe’s state of undress, the older man kept it to himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d caught him that way. "They kidnapped her! The bastards kidnapped her!"

  Joe exchanged a look with A.J. "Who?"

  "Brenda." Joe felt his stomach lurch. There wasn't much love lost between Tony and his mother; Tony, like the rest of the Jockeys, seemed to realize that she was more of a liability than anything. Not that it mattered. The Jockeys took care of their own with blood, if it came to that. Joe looked at Aaron. Out of breath and red-faced, Aaron's eyes were filled with a black, animalistic rage. He'd even spit out his gum. In any case, it didn't seem to be an act.

  "I thought you said you'd take care of them,” Joe growled.

  "Look, I meant what I said when I told you these assholes were a joke; that they had nothing, no contacts, no resources. But something changed. Don't ask me what. They're everywhere. They're in Mexico. They grabbed her right off the street."

  "Off the street?" Joe demanded. "What the hell happened to your fortified compound?"

  "Jesus, Joe, can I help it that Brenda likes to shop? She goes into town every damn day. That's where they got her. Stuck a gun in her ribs. The store owner saw everything."

  With every word Aaron spoke, Joe felt his heart sink lower. "Where are they?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain calm. "How much do they want?"

  "The Harborview Motel. Half a mil."

  "You have it, right?" spoke up A.J. They all knew the Jockeys didn't have that kind of cash. If they had any chance of getting Brenda back, it would be with firepower.

  "What I have doesn't matter," said Aaron. "I want them dead. All of them. I don't want any Reaper walking out of that motel room alive."

  "He's right. Nobody kidnaps the mother of a Jockey and lives," said A.J. "These guys have been fucking with us for way too long. It ends now. We tell them we have the money, go in, and do it ourselves."

  "They're going to ask to see the cash," said Joe.

  "I can take care of that," said Aaron. He nodded to the Mexican guy standing just outside the door, who was holding a briefcase. They all gathered on the porch as he set it on the armrest of the patio chair and opened it with a brisk click.

  A.J grabbed a wad of bills out and sniffed it as he flipped through. "Smells real. "

  Joe turned to Aaron. "Is it?"

  "Real enough to buy us some time."

  "We get 'em as they're walking away," said A.J., practically smacking his lips. "I like it."

  Joe hesitated. He didn't like anything about this. He didn't trust Aaron and never had; A.J. was unpredictable and prone to violence, and Brenda Weston was, of all the Jockeys' family members, the most despised and distrusted. Even Tony would admit that. Perhaps the only upside was that if they were careful and played their cards right, they could unmask, and perhaps even dismantle, the Reapers. They could make their world a little safer. If they came out alive at all.

  Joe turned to Colt, who sat ensconced in a patio chair looking as wizened and dangerous as Odin in the early fall light. The older man nodded, the loo
k in his dark brown eyes meant only for Joe to read. He took a deep breath, thinking only of the woman upstairs, whom no doubt was crouched at her bedroom door listening to every word. "Then we ride at three.”

  ***

  "This is all my fault," said Tony, sitting glumly at the bar in front of a half-empty bottle of Jack, the multicolored lights Mark had strung up making his face look luridly cheery. "If I hadn't ended up in the hospital, my mom wouldn't have been with Aaron in the first place. And now I have to sit back here useless while you go after them."

  Joe grabbed the bottle and took a swig; anything to calm his nerves. "Bullshit,” he said, hoping he could reassure him. “The Reapers have had a target on our forehead for months. If not Brenda, it would have been someone else. I was an idiot to think that Aaron could take care of this for us. I was so obsessed with making sure Ruby would be safe with me that I agreed to something I shouldn't have. Now we're paying the price."

  "Do you think Lydia knows anything?" Tony asked.

  "Much as I hate to believe it, no. I don't think she's involved." If Lydia were behind this, it would all be so much easier. He knew how to handle her. Instead, they were about to walk into a bear's den with their eyes closed.

  "Hey," said Tony. "That reminds me. Do you know anything about a break-in in Walnut Creek?"

  Joe froze. "Why?"

  “When I was in the hospital, some asshole cop from the Walnut Creek department came in and demanded they let him see me. He was asking all these questions about some break-in at an apartment up there. He saw my colors, knew I was with the Jockeys, and for some reason he was dead sure it was one of us. Something about graffiti?"

  "Walnut Creek?" Walnut Creek was some upscale suburb with houses he couldn't even afford to look at, ones he'd had absolutely nothing to do with until he found out Ruby lived there. "Yeah. Isn't that where Ruby--?"

  "Did he say if they took anything?"

  "No; you know how these things work. He was hoping I would trip up and tell him. But it sure sounded like nothing was actually missing. I think they just ransacked the place. Like they were looking for something."

  "So what did you tell him?" he asked, knowing Tony, afraid to hear the answer.

  "What do you think? I told him we'd never be that sloppy. If we were to break into somebody's place, we'd do it right."

  "Thanks for upholding our reputation," remarked Joe darkly. The whole story nagged at him, but he didn't have time to think about it just then. Aaron and his men had already left to get a head start, and A.J., Colt, and the rest of the charter had amassed outside, assembling their weapons. If he hesitated for a second in joining them, his dedication would be in question. This was the biggest operation they'd done since he became president; not only Brenda's life, but their alliance with Aaron Beeson was at stake. And if he lost Aaron’s trust, everything, including Kyle’s death and Joe’s actions leading up to it, would implode like a condemned house. Which brought his thoughts back, inevitably, to the woman down the street. He turned to the man beside him.

  "Tony, listen. This is important. You're the only who can stay behind and look after Ruby."

  Tony swallowed and nodded. He hopped off the stool. "You can count on me. I know how much she means to you, man." Joe clapped his friend on the back in a fierce hug. "See you when get back."

  ***

  Ruby stood trembling in the parking lot of the Thunderbird, the high afternoon sun struggling through a haze. Colt handed Joe a heavy black bulletproof vest, which matched the ones the others were already wearing. He slung it over his neck and strapped it closed, and then replaced his black hoodie and jacket over it. His face was impassive, determined. Nearby, the rest of the Jockeys were assembled next to their bikes in their helmets and gloves. It was a massive, gleaming row of Dyna and Super Glides lined up like ranks of soldiers, their silver pipes glittering like jewels.

  Joe hadn’t looked at her; she wondered if she should even be here, if she were inserting herself into a scene where she didn’t belong. After all, there were Holly and Morgan standing in the parking lot, Holly stroking Colt's grizzled red-gray beard, nestled in the crook of his gigantic arm. Morgan stood nearby, arms crossed, looking lost, her expression of petulance hiding utter despair. A.J's tottering uncle Billy, an honorary Jockey who owned the majority share of the bar, was there with his nephew. Rex's mother and his fiancée with their one-year-old son, just barely starting to walk. Wings, nineteen, patched only last year, was off in the corner with his high school sweetheart, his hand up under her shirt, tongue down her throat, getting while the getting was good.

  And yet there was nobody who came just for Joe; not even Lydia. Only Ruby. Just that morning, she and Joe had been relaxing in bed in a shaft of sunlight, her head resting on the Celtic cross inked over his heart, the memorial to her brother who had died for this kind of life. She had to have been crazy. But there was no escape anymore. She was in, and nothing she could do, no superstition or compartmentalizing, could change that. She couldn't run, and she couldn't save him if death had his number, just as she couldn't save Kyle. That was the only difference between Ruby and every other woman here: they had accepted that from the start, and she had always refused to.

  And now the men were mounting their bikes, starting the engines, a sound like thunder that seemed to rumble in her bones. She turned away, but at that second, Joe looked up, and she shrank to meet his eyes, feeling presumptuous as if she should slink away. He bowed his head and touched the back of his neck, and he at last met her eyes, his lip quirked up in the ghost of a smile. "I guess I'm not used to anybody caring that I'm leaving."

  Overwhelmed with need, she cupped his chin and pulled it down to her, greeting his lips with enthusiasm, urging him to open his mouth to her. He embraced the challenge, dropping the helmet in his hand and crouching down, lifting her off her feet and crushing her into him, clutching her waist till she let out a sharp inhale, her crotch pressed into his hip, his other hand clawing desperately at her back. Finally, he gently set her down, his breathing labored, amber-gold eyes set on her as if she were the sun after a twenty-year night, as if it hurt him physically to look away.

  She unhooked the clasp from around her neck, took his gloved hand, and pressed the necklace into it. "Get used to it," she whispered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  Riding down Highway 99, flanked by his Steel Jockey brothers, it was hard not to feel invincible, like kings, like gods, especially when they turned the corner and the panorama of the San Joaquin Valley spread out beneath them. It was everything a kid who had grown up with nothing could ever want. But that innocence, Joe had come to realize, was a mirage, an illusion. It was for young guys like Wings, the prospects, and the newly patched. Joe had watched his best friend bleed out. He knew it was just as easy to ride into death as it was to ride into glory. Now, though, the various facts of the matter swirled like a storm in his head: Aaron's story, Brenda's involvement, and what Tony had told him. The so-called Reaper who had shivved him riding off in Fox Keene's BMW. A break-in Walnut Creek, Tony had said. They just ransacked the place. He reached up and clutched the ruby hanging around his neck, his gloved hands curling around it like a vise. Ruby.

  Methodically, as if he were on autopilot, he scanned the road for a place to pull over, and then put on the brakes and skidded to a stop on the narrow shoulder. He stood in shadow, his back up against a sheer rock cliff where the highway curved upward. Up ahead, just before the point where his view disappeared, he saw A.J and Rex slow down, too. A.J. signaled Rex, then U-turned back, but Joe ignored him. Hand trembling, he reached up to undo the clasp of the necklace. The gem looked dark and nebulous against his black leather glove. He held it up to his ear and shook it, greeted by a distinctive clicking noise. Quickly, he yanked off his gloves and used his fingernail to pry up the three claws of the gold backing. He tipped it upside down, and a tiny metal key slipped into his hand. As he stood there staring at it, a lot of things became clear.

  He grab
bed the handlebars and wheeled his bike around in the other direction before vaulting back on and kicking it into gear.

  "Where the hell are you going?" he heard A.J. shouting at him.

  "Back to Colt's."

  "Are you fucking kidding me, Ryan? We've got a job to do here."

  "So do it," he shouted back, though he had sped off so quickly he was certain A.J. couldn't hear him anymore. "And I'll do mine."

  ***

  If there was one thing Ruby knew about herself, it was that to stay sane, she had to keep busy. She needed a task, the more repetitive and mind-numbing the better. Joe had instructed her to stay away from the bar, but back at Holly’s, she could vacuum the stairs, wash the breakfast dishes, strip all the sheets from all the beds, wash and dry them, and put them back on. Normally Holly would have laughed and told her to relax, but today, she said nothing, just nodded and pointed to whatever chore could use doing.