Dizzy: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Prequel

by Cate C. Wells

  A strangled sob escapes my lips. “Now?”

  “Now,” he says, but his gaze darts over my shoulder.

  And then there’s a grunt, the knife falls from my throat, and there’s a weird gurgle. Dober staggers backwards, and Nickel’s there, catching him, slamming a hand over his mouth. They stand together for a long moment, Dober swaying, and then he crumples.

  Nickel takes his full weight, and with Wall’s help, they drag him to the lawn chair Rab was sitting in, and set him carefully in it.

  Dober’s eyes are open, unblinking. Unseeing.

  My stomach heaves.

  There’s a quiet snick, a flash of red and metal, and Nickel stalks off, wiping his hands on his black jeans. Wall looms in front of Dober’s body, obscuring it from view.

  Oh, shit. He’s dead.

  I shove my fist in my mouth to muffle a scream.

  It was so quick. So quiet.

  I gaze wildly around at the camps, the fires, the fights breaking out and petering off. No one noticed. How is that possible?

  “Baby.” Dizzy’s in front of me, filling my field of vision. My teeth are chattering. I’m freezing cold. “Baby, breathe.”

  I can’t.

  In the background, Heavy’s barking orders. “Cuts off now. Hand ‘em to the prospect. Charge, go borrow someone’s truck. Everyone, empty your pockets. Hand Charge all your cash now. Bullet, go find a tent we can use as a tarp.”

  The men burst into action, soldiers under orders.

  Dizzy grabs my hand and leads me to his bike. “Can you hold on to my waist, baby?”

  A hysterical sob slips from my lips.

  “Baby.” He grabs my chin, tilting my head until I meet his eyes. “You need to keep it together for a little while longer. You were so brave. You did a great job. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong. You’re safe now. I only need you to hold it together a few more minutes so I can get us out of here. Okay?”

  He brushes a soft kiss across my trembling lips.

  “He—he—” I can’t spit it out. All the terror bowls into me at once. I sag. Dizzy gathers me close, wraps me in his big, strong arms. “He almost killed me,” I mumble into his chest.

  “You’re okay. Be brave for me a little longer. You ain’t never gonna be afraid like that again, okay?” There’s a tremor in his voice.

  He was scared, too.

  For me.

  I could have died.

  I blink, and his face becomes clear. The creases in the corners of his darkened eyes. The snarled wildness of his hair.

  “You were afraid.” My fingers reach out to touch his bearded cheek.

  “Of course, I was fuckin’ was.”

  “You came for me.”

  “I always will. I told you I would, woman. Don’t know why you won’t listen.”

  “I want to go home.” It’s too much. There’s blood dried on my neck, and I saw a man’s throat slit, and I almost died, and I am so tired. Tears well in my eyes.

  “Okay. I got you.” He helps me onto his ride, guiding my feet to the pegs. “You sure you can hold on?”

  He mounts, drawing my arms around him.

  I rest my cheek against his back and inhale the leather. “For a little longer,” I whisper and wind my arms around his waist. “I got you, too.”

  We don’t get as far as Petty’s Mill. After about an hour, Dizzy pulls off at a motel near the Stonecut County line and gets us a room.

  It’s a dump. It reeks of air conditioner and stale cigarettes.

  Dizzy flips the dead bolt behind us.

  I’m so numb, the surge of panic almost doesn’t register.

  “Please unlock it.”

  “Shit. I forgot.” He slides it open. “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  And then we stand there, staring at each other.

  Dizzy’s stance is wide, his chest rising and falling as if he’s run a marathon, his eyes burning.

  I hug myself.

  The heating unit sputters a few times and the fan cycles off.

  It’s dead silent.

  He explodes.

  “What the fuck were you thinking, Fay-Lee?” he shouts, starting for me. I jerk away, and he growls, balling his fists and pacing the room. “You could’ve been killed! These guys aren’t jokes. They deal meth. Pills. Fuckin’ fentanyl. Women are dogs to them. Less than dogs. Jesus Christ! Did they touch you?”

  My nose burns.

  “Did they touch you?” His voice raises. “Did they make you do anything?”

  “No!”

  My answer doesn’t calm him at all. “Why did you run? I told you. I wasn’t gonna let anything happen to you. Why didn’t you believe me?”

  Hot tears dribble down my frozen cheeks.

  I hate this. “Stop yelling at me,” I sob.

  “Fuck.” He stops, his back to me, and tries to run his hands through his hair. It’s all knotted from the ride, though, so he gives up and stares at the water-stained ceiling.

  I cry harder.

  Now I wish he would start hollerin’ again. The silence is worse. My stomach aches.

  “You wanna spank me?” I ask. “Would that make you less mad?”

  “That’s not—” He exhales, but he turns back around. “We ain’t gonna do that now. That’s for play. Not for when we got to figure shit out.”

  His face is bleak. What do we need to figure out? He came for me. He said he loves me. That means we’re together, right?

  “What do you mean?” There’s a lump in my throat.

  “I mean if you don’t trust me or believe me or whatever, what’s the fuckin’ point?”

  “You don’t believe me! I didn’t know about Chaos. I swear. I didn’t know that guy was callin’ me. I met him one time. At a bar. Jed was there. That was before I even came to the clubhouse or met any of you guys.”

  “Jed was there?” He doesn’t seem that surprised.

  “Yeah. They talked. I thought you knew. He’s in your club.” A chasm opens in my chest. If he’s gonna dump me, send me on my way, I wish he would. I’m tired. I can’t stop the tears, and my nose is stuffing up.

  “Baby, stop crying.”

  “If you don’t like it, you can fuck off.”

  “Don’t use that tone of voice with me.”

  “Don’t talk to me like you own me.” Now we’re both shouting, and I start pacing. “Don’t act like I’m the one to blame. I had nothing to do with any of this. You all made this my business.”

  “I do own you.” He crosses the room. I lunge for the bathroom, but I don’t have a chance. He throws me on the bed, face down, and pins me.

  I buck and flail, but I’ve got so little energy left. And I don’t want to fight with him.

  He easily pins my arms with one hand above my head. My jacket bunches up, exposing my bare sides to the air. His weight presses me into the mattress, his leg between my thighs.

  We’re both panting.

  His hair brushes my cheeks. He smells like woodsmoke and leather. I stop struggling and relax.

  “That’s right, baby. Calm down.” His voice is a rumble in my ear.

  I can feel his hard cock nestled against my ass. I work my hips, my pussy growing slick with cream. I love this. He’s covering me completely. Except grindin’ against him, I can’t move.

  I’m helpless. He can do whatever he wants. I moan.

  “Not yet,” he pants. He rises on his knees, flips me onto my back, but he keeps my wrists pinned to the mattress. “We’re gonna sort this out.”

  He’s not mad anymore. And that bleak, disappointed look is gone, too. I wriggle, but I can’t get any contact. I whimper.

  “I’ll give you what you want, baby. But first you’re gonna give me what I want.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If you’re gonna be my old lady, you gotta trust me. It don’t work otherwise. You got to know I love you. I’ll fuckin’ die for you, woman. Kill for you. But if you ain’t in this—” His hands tighten on my wrists and his lips t
urn down. “If you don’t want this, I understand. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Set you up. I’ll—Why you cryin’ now?”

  He lets go of my wrists to run his hands down my arms, as if he’s checking to see if I’m hurt.

  “You love me?”

  “Yeah.” His forehead’s creased in confusion. He has no idea why I’m sobbing.

  “You want me to be your old lady?”

  “I been sayin’ that.”

  “You said I was your woman.”

  “You are. Woman. Old lady. Wife. Same difference.”

  “There’s a difference.”

  “Why are you crying?” He smooths my hair back.

  “I’m happy.”

  The corner of his lip turns up, but his brow is still furrowed. “Strange way to show it.”

  “Okay.” I smile back. “I guess I’ll trust you then. In the future. I’ll be sure not to run for my life when your club comes accusin’ me of being a rat.”

  “I was handling it.”

  “I’m not a rat. I only met Rab that once, and I had no idea what Chaos was doin’. I would have split if I’d known. That’s the truth.”

  He smooths my hair. “I know.”

  “I was only with that Raider ‘cause I needed a ride. I wasn’t workin’ with them.”

  “I know,” he says again.

  “How?” I wipe my eyes. “I mean, I know I’m telling the truth. How do you?”

  “’Cause I know you. You’re honest as shit.”

  That kind of stops me in my tracks, but the tears still flow. The hurt’s still there.

  “In the driveway, Jed said the club was gonna convince you to kill me.”

  “Never would have happened. Babe, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You, Carson, and Parker. You guys are the reason. For everything.”

  “You mean that?”

  He nips at my neck, and my pussy clenches. “You got to believe me when I speak.”

  “Okay. I believe you.”

  “You just tellin’ me what I want to hear?” he asks. I feel his lips curve into a smile against the crook of my shoulder.

  “If you’re gonna be my old man, you gotta believe what I say,” I imitate his gruff voice. “It don’t work otherwise.”

  “I guess it don’t.” He pushes up and takes my lips, kissing me so thoroughly my toes point. “Push your pants down, baby. I can’t wait no longer.”

  I do as he says while we kiss each other desperately, hair catching in each other’s mouths, fumbling with buttons. I use my feet to shove down his jeans and tug my bra to my neck. He suckles my tit, drawing the nipple in his mouth, lapping with his raspy tongue as I guide his cock between my legs.

  “You ready enough, baby?”

  “Yeah. Do it now.” I lift my hips, and he slides home. My eyes roll back in my head. It feels so good to be filled by him, surrounded by him, caught in his arms.

  “Don’t think you ain’t gettin’ paddled for this shit when we get home,” he grunts in my ear as he strokes into me harder, working my clit with a calloused thumb. My orgasm’s coiling, making my mind mush.

  “You gonna punish me?” I bite my bottom lip and let my knees fall open. He bucks more vigorously, nailing a spot that has me clawing his shoulders. “I’ll never do it again. I’ll be good,” I gasp. “I promise.”

  It’s a bold-faced lie.

  He knows it, too.

  He grabs my hips, thrusts hard and fast. “Cum for me, naughty girl. Do it now.”

  I explode, my ears ringing, and then his hot seed splatters my bare belly, and he shouts his release.

  Next door, a pissed off guest bangs on the wall.

  “Get a room!” he shouts. The walls are seriously paper-thin.

  We both dissolve in sticky laughter, tangled together. He’s still wearing his white socks. He looks ridiculous and hot and all mine.

  He tucks me under his chin and kisses my forehead. “Sleep now. I’ll get food when you wake up.”

  “Dizzy?” I yawn and scrub my eyes.

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  He holds me tight and throws a leg over my hip. “You ain’t never gonna have cause to regret it.”

  “I ran,” I mumble, drifting off to the buzz of the overhead light.

  “I caught you.”

  I fall asleep with a smile on my face, in Dizzy’s arms, a whole new world waiting for me when I wake up.

  Epilogue

  DIZZY, FOUR YEARS LATER

  “Those brats?” Charge asks.

  “Yup. Brats. Keilbasa.” I adjust the meat with my tongs. You don’t want to overcook sausage. “This here is some Cajun shit. It’s spicy.”

  Charge pops a squat on the cooler next to the grill. He has the weary look of a hunted man. Or a dude who’s got some explainin’ to do to a woman.

  A few minutes ago, Fay-Lee pecked me on the cheek and went to rescue his new girl Kayla from an onslaught of sweetbutts lookin’ to lay prior claim on their favorite pretty boy. Kayla’s got a six-year-old, but she’s sheltered. Naïve almost. She don’t know what to do when a bitch steps to her. Fay-Lee will fix her up.

  When we got together, Fay-Lee had the females in line tout suite. Someone—Danielle, I think it was—sat on my lap one night when Fay-Lee was in the bathroom. Fay-Lee dragged her off me by the hair.

  She would’ve lost the ensuing fight, and I’d have had to step in—no matter how much I feed the girl, she still don’t have much weight to her, except that ass—but Story Jenkins leapt in to back her up. Ended up with Bullet takin’ bets. My girl won.

  Story and Fay-Lee have been thick as thieves ever since. I bet they’re in the clubhouse now, recruiting Kayla into their shenanigans. Story strips at The White Van, but my woman’s the bad influence. It’s commonly known.

  I grin. Can’t help it. She’s somethin’ else. Never a dull moment.

  “What you smilin’ about?” Charge grumps, cracking a beer.

  “A juicy brat’s a beautiful thing.” It’s the truth. Nothin’ like a spring day, grilling out, kids runnin’ and hollering. Parker and Carson have taken Kayla’s little one under their wings, showin’ him all the trouble he can get into around the clubhouse. Life is good. “What crawled up your ass?”

  “Every fuckin’ sweetbutt in this place.”

  “Must be hard. You need a stick to beat ‘em off with?” I’m raggin’ on him, but I sympathize. He’s a goner for his woman. She’s gonna tear him up when they get home.

  “She’s got to get used to it.” Charge glares at the back door the women disappeared through. “If they see they can rattle her, they’ll keep doin’ it. And if I handle it for her, she’ll lose respect.”

  “Ah.” I nod my head. “You’re letting other pussy crawl all over you so your woman can earn her own respect. Solid plan, my man.”

  Charge flips me the bird. “You got better advice?”

  “Every man must chart his own course in life.” I turn the sausages. Perfect char. I’m the master.

  Carson and Kayla’s boy Jimmy comes flying over, careening to a halt a foot from the grill. They make quite a pair.

  Jimmy’s got a mean mug, and Carson’s twice his size and all smiles. Since Carson’s growth spurts, he’s almost got a grown man’s size, but he’s still got a little kid’s heart. Steve don’t say shit to Carson about his weight anymore. Not since Carson got big enough to bench press him if he wanted.

  “Dad,” Carson pants. “Can we take Jimmy ridin’ out in the woods? He ain’t never been on a dirt bike before.”

  “No!” Charge and I answer at the same time.

  “Can we get a brat then?”

  “Ain’t done yet. Go get a hot dog from Ernestine.”

  “Okay.” They tear off for the picnic table buffet the old ladies have laid out, but they get distracted mid-way and head off toward Parker who’s sittin’ under Shirlene and Twitch’s tree, playing games on his phone.

  That boy’s face is stuck to a scree
n way too much. Maybe dirt bikes ain’t enough of a challenge anymore. Maybe he’s ready to restore his first motorcycle. Big George has a basket case he took off a divorced lady cleaning out her garage. I’ll ask Fay-Lee to look into it.

  She likes to act as if she don’t care—and she hates it if anyone calls her a stepmom—but she loves doin’ things for the kids. She’s always goin’ on about how she ain’t old enough to be their mother, so they best pick their own shit up and close the damn door—we ain’t air conditionin’ the neighborhood.

  Gets real pissed when I point out she sounds just like my mother.

  We been gettin’ into it ourselves a bit—Fay-Lee and I. I’d like another kid. I want her waddling around the house, front heavy and about to tip. She’s an amazing mom already. In her folding chair, cheerin’ for Parker and Carson at every game. Sneakin’ them cash whenever they ask. Pickin’ them back up when life throws ‘em disappointments.

  When Sharon’s “opportunity” out of town turned into a fulltime job in Pyle, she suggested the boys stay with us most of the time—to keep their schooling consistent, she said. Fay-Lee didn’t bat an eye. She was up at the next PTA meeting. Got disinvited, too, ‘cause she motherfucked a mom who made a remark about her age.

  Anyway, I know she’d love havin’ a baby of her own, but she don’t wanna lose her freedom. She don’t want to be a drudge, doin’ for other people all day. Unappreciated.

  What with managing the office at Big George’s, fixin’ up the new house I bought her last year, and fussin’ over the boys, she does do for other people all day. I don’t think she’d be happy to hear it, though, so I keep it to myself.

  I brought up havin’ a kid one time, a few months back. She said no. I dropped it. She brings it up at least once a week. Almost daily now. Tells me all the reasons she don’t want to be a mom.

  She don’t like coffee dates with other women and book clubs and paint nights. She thinks organic food is a scam. She likes cussin’ too much.

  I don’t see what that’s got to do with havin’ a baby, but I’m a man. I’m sure she’s got her logic.