by Debra Kayn
Angered over the mistreatment the women received from the people in Federal, she sat up straighter. "You could've come to Rail Point Bar. Pop served everyone and never turned anyone away."
"Oh, we stayed away from that place." Jessie raised her shoulders and pretended to shiver.
"Shut it," Lola said on a hiss, and then quickly looked at Desiree. "Jeremy said it's Girls Night on Wednesdays. We'll stop by and check it out."
Desiree's stomach turned. Why would Jessie stay away from her bar and Lola try to hide that news from her?
She swiveled on the bench and looked at Katie. Oblivious to the conversation, Katie texted on her phone. Katie grew up with her and always came over to the bar to visit. Not once had Katie mentioned the other women were uncomfortable coming to Rail Point.
Lola stood and walked off the porch and toward the driveway. Not wanting to wonder all night about the comment Jessie made, Desiree followed Lola and stopped her at the side of her car.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" Desiree smiled through her trepidation. Maybe the women's excuse not to come to the bar was simply about not enjoying the atmosphere and she was overthinking the problem.
"Sure." Lola held up her hand, holding a joint. "But, it's too warm of a night to get serious. Want to join me?"
She shook her head. "Thanks, but no."
Lola lit the end of the joint, inhaled, and held the smoke in her lungs for a few seconds. When she was through, she sighed. "I apologize for Jessie's comment. She's half-looped already. Don't give what she says a second thought. Her mind is on the bikers and impatient for the meeting to get over. I wouldn't pay any attention to what comes out of her mouth on a night she's ready to party."
Lola lied to her. Something kept the women from enjoying the bar and Desiree wanted to find out the reason, so she could fix the problem. "Are you sure, because I'd love to hear about any changes I can do, so more women enjoy coming to the bar. I want to make Rail Point a place where everyone is comfortable."
"You're doing great." Lola waved the smoke out from between them. "Merk will make sure everything is good, and we'll visit. Hell, I'll even help you serve drinks if the place takes off after the grand opening."
Desiree glanced out at the fire, spotted Merk, and smiled. "I couldn't have done any of it without him."
"Merk will treat you right. Better than what you've had growing up with Jerry Carlyle for a dad." Lola's gaze stared at the joint in her hand. "God, this is good shit. Are you sure you don't want any?"
"No, thanks." Desiree's stomach rolled and she stayed in place while Lola walked back to the porch.
What had made Lola mention her dad? He'd been dead almost thirteen years. Lola was what? Thirty years old? Maybe, Thirty two? That'd make her around nineteen years old at the time of the murder. Lola wouldn't have been old enough to drink at a bar yet, unless Pop hired her to help serve.
She stared up onto the porch. No, she would've remembered Lola working there. She'd spent her whole life living at the bar.
"Hey." Merk's arms went around Desiree. "I called your name and you ignored me."
"Sorry." She bit her lip and sighed. "I didn’t hear you."
"What did Lola want?" Merk turned Desiree around and held on to her hips.
"It was nothing." She glanced back over to the porch. "Just girl talk."
Growing up her whole life in Federal, she'd dealt with rumors centered around her dad's murder and chose to ignore any talk. School was especially hard in high school. Girls stayed away from her and boys tried every trick to get her to sleep with them because she lived in a bar. Luckily, Katie stuck by her side and she never felt the need to add more friends to her life. Eventually, the questions stopped.
"Let's go home." He took her hand and led her to his Harley.
She leaned against his arm. "Don’t you want to stay and hang out with your club for a while?"
"No, I'm leaving on a run at midnight." He handed her the black helmet.
"Tonight?" She waited until he sat on the motorcycle. "Why so late?"
"I need to go to the prison and visit another Moroad member in the morning. It's an eight hour trip." He patted the seat behind him. "Hop on."
"Is it Katie's old boyfriend?" She slid in behind him. "Because I could go with and keep you company. I've gone with Katie a few times to help her drive the distance and talk her through the night, so she didn't fall asleep. It's such a boring trip with nothing to see."
"No, you're going to stay at the bar. I'm having Jacko come over later to crash on the floor in the office. He'll stick around tomorrow while I'm gone. I should be back by nightfall."
"But, you said I was safe now." She tugged on his vest. "He doesn't need to stay."
"He's staying." Merk slipped on his gloves.
Disappointment soured her mood. She would've enjoyed a long trip on the back of his bike and getting a break away from the bar before the grand opening. She moved the helmet back on her head and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"Hey, do you know why Lola and the other women never came to Rail Point?" she asked.
His body hardened and he gazed in the side-view mirror. "What did Lola say?"
"Not much. It was Jessie who mentioned they never enjoyed Rail Point, and Lola seemed...I don't know, like she was hiding the reason from me." She shrugged. "She made an off comment about me having a rough time with who my dad was, and I don't remember Lola ever working at the bar when I was younger. I know rumors surrounded his murder, but I found it strange after all this time his name would come up, especially from Lola."
Merk's head whipped around. She cringed. Most of the time she disassociated Merk with killing her dad and thought nothing of mentioning him.
"Sorry," she whispered.
"Lola and Jessie don't know what they're talking about. Moroad women keep to themselves in town, because it's easier for them." He started the motorcycle and rode off.
She was probably imagining things. Lola was half stoned. She laid her cheek against Merk's shoulder. No one had knowledge of what she'd lived through growing up with an alcoholic for a dad who had a gambling problem. Even the sheriff when he investigated the murder had no idea gambling was the root of the problem. Pop made sure to protect the bar from any backlash.
She raised her head. She'd have to remember to ask Merk about playing pool again. She missed the games, and hoped he'd overlook her challenging the tourists occasionally. She wanted to keep up her skills and pay him back for all the money he'd loaned her to restore the bar.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Ring, minus all his piercings, sat handcuffed to the table in the secured visiting room at the Idaho State Penitentiary. On the other side of the stainless steel table bolted to the floor, Merk took in Ring's condition. The steady hands, the alert eyes, the rhythmic breathing pattern. All signs that his MC brother thrived locked up for his latest crime.
"I expected Prez to be sitting here waiting for me." Ring grinned. "It's good to see you're still alive, brother."
"Things worked out between me and Cam since you were arrested." Merk shrugged. "They always do."
"Yeah, you got that right." Ring clasped his hands together, keeping the chain links from rattling against the bare surface of the table. "If you're not dead, you're living."
"No truer words, man." Merk rotated his head left and right, stretching his neck. A universal sign meaning a guard paid too close of attention to the conversation.
"How's the weather in Federal?" Ring shifted his eyes to the side. "It's hotter than hell back in the cell."
"Not bad. Nights are still cool and helps beat down the heat of the day." Merk kept his gaze off the guard. He had twenty minutes to get the ball rolling, and needed every second to talk with Ring.
"Is someone looking after my bike?" asked Ring.
Merk nodded. "Stache runs it every week, along with all the other Moroad inmates' motorcycles."
"Good." Ring tapped his finger against the table. "Miss the rides so fu
cking much."
"Three years, man. You've got this. You'll be out of here before you get sick of it." Merk noticed the guard remove his phone from his belt. He leaned closer, taking the opening. "I need you to get a message to Reds."
"Name it," said Ring.
"Tarmerk is riding for Martin, coming from the prison. ETA, three hours." Merk noted the time on the clock above the guard's head. "I need Martin to receive the message through his contact in prison. Can you make that happen?"
Ring nodded. "Yeah. We're segregated in this rat hole, but I still have my ways to get messages through to the right people. Someone from Reds will still have phone privileges. Give me a half hour once our visit is over to make sure it's a done deal."
Three hours and thirty minutes. Merk's pulse accelerated. The moment he walked away from the table, he'd lose the ability to change his mind.
"I can't stress how important it is to come through for me." Merk's leg jumped under the table. "It's not about me."
Ring's brow lifted. "Sounds like a story for the outside."
"Right." Merk grinned. "Beats jacking off."
"You're settling?"
Merk nodded. "That's the plan if I survive my latest problem."
"Happy for you, man." Ring's gaze intensified. "Take care of yourself, so I can hear the story when I get out."
Every day brought risks. Risks that fell on him by surprise. Risks that he voluntarily sought. Risks where the outcome would destroy everything.
Merk stood from the table. "I'll do my best."
The guard came to attention and moved forward. Merk lifted his chin a little higher, for a little longer, and then walked away from Ring. He hoped like hell both of them survived the three years until he had a chance to introduce Ring to Desi.
Pretaro, a prison guard who worked for Moroad with a little incentive on the side met him outside the visitor's room. Merk followed him down the hall, forcing himself to take a normal stride. Once he left the building, he couldn’t afford to think about what he'd done during his meeting with Ring.
The last door in the hallway automatically opened at their approach. Pretaro stood back. Merk slowed.
"Your payment is in the drop-off spot." Merk continued walking. He only stopped at the checkout desk to pick up his wallet with his fake identification.
Outside the prison, he peered around the parking lot on his way to the Cyclone-fenced gate. He slipped through the opening before the gate came to a stop and jogged over to where Cam sat on his Harley waiting for him.
Cam handed him a lit smoke. Merk inhaled deeply. His heartbeat matched the countdown ticking off inside his head.
"How'd it go?" Cam leaned forward and braced his forearms on the handlebars.
"I finished what I came here to do." Merk looked Cam in the eyes. "It'll go down between now and three hours into our trip home."
Cam nodded. "Good call."
Merk finished his cigarette, stubbed it out with his boot, and pocketed the butt. He never asked for Cam's approval, or discussed his choices. Last night, he'd planned to ride alone for the job.
Then Cam showed up at the bar at five minutes before midnight. Merk hooked his fingers in his pockets. The second he rode off prison property, he'd have a target on his back and because Cam rode with him, the bull's eye got bigger.
"Why'd you come?" Merk kept his voice even, showing no judgment.
Cam spit on the ground. "Knock the shit. I wasn't going to let you go alone. At one time, you were the closest thing I had to trusting someone in the club."
"Then I shot you," said Merk.
Cam stroked his beard. "I would've killed you myself if the Feds hadn't shown up and rushed my shot. I'm sure you figured out what I'd planned."
Merk straddled his bike. Time had a way of changing things. Sometimes for the good, and sometimes for the bad. He'd wasted a lifetime in prison, and he hated living on the outside pitted against Cam for reasons that no longer concerned him.
In the end, Cam had removed the evidence against him and squared the court to get him out of prison for the false murder charges on Judge Cranley. In return, Merk followed Cam's advice to let the club believe he'd fallen in love with Christina and regretted his bad choices.
"We good then?" he asked.
Cam lifted his chin. "Yeah, but you still don't get your V.P. patch back."
He wouldn't wear the patch if Cam offered, and he had a feeling Cam understood why.
"Not asking." Merk grinned and quickly sobered. "I relapsed over a month ago."
"Any problems with the bottle since?'
Merk shook his head. "It's always there tempting me. I'm working around it all the time, but having Desi near me helps."
"Yeah." Cam stared at the prison. "Stay strong, brother. I need you on the outside."
"That's the plan." Merk started the Harley.
Two miles away from the prison, Cam put a padded envelope in the pre-arranged mailbox for Pretaro to pick up later and removed the pistols they'd stashed while Merk visited the prison. He cocked the three-eighty, putting a bullet in the chamber, and repeated the procedure with the nine millimeter before tucking it away in his boot.
Cam handed him a knife. He ran the pad of this thumb over the blade, skimming the steel over his skin.
"Martin lives three hours away, not quite halfway to Federal. He'll either wait for me to show up or he'll take the aggressive move and stop us on the way there." Merk slipped his knife under his belt and tugged his vest down. "He won't come alone."
"The more the merrier." Cam closed the mailbox. "Let's get this shit settled, so we can go home."
Merk slipped on his sunglasses, gave a tug to his leather gloves, and rode toward Federal. Rode toward Desi. Rode toward making Desi's world safe.
The consequences of his plan floated in the air between him and Cam. They could both walk away, or they could end up dead on the side of the road. Desi had no idea why he made the trip to the prison or what he'd set up for afterward and she never would. Whatever the outcome of today's plan, Moroad would protect her.
He wanted to make it back to Federal alive and settle down with Desi. His initial belief that twelve years spent with her would make up for the twelve years locked away no longer satisfied him. He wanted a lifetime, however long that would be.
His obsessive need to make sure she lay in his bed each night wasn't enough. He wanted in her thoughts, to share every moment, and enter her dreams. He wanted to experience her relief at seeing him ride back to her after a run. He wanted to watch her strut through a bar full of customers wearing a smile on her face. He wanted her excitement over winning a pool game directed at him. He wanted her to look up from a busy day and put her trust in him that tomorrow would be even better.
He'd lost the trust she gave him when she'd discovered who he was and why he'd returned. He gained it back when she realized he was still the same person.
He gazed ahead on the interstate, behind him in the mirror, and diligently rode aware of his surroundings, getting closer to home.
He rode and waited. And, waited.
The closer to the three hour mark, the more he hoped Martin would make his move.
Time slowed, and still there was no sign of Reds.
Cam accelerated and rode beside him, patting his head with his left hand, and straightening his right leg before falling back and off center of Merk. Merk read the signals.
He studied the area ahead and found the state trooper Cam warned him about cruising in the right lane. Merk eased off the throttle and changed lanes, leaving the fast flow of traffic. He needed to ditch the law enforcement. Martin would never risk an approach with a cop in view.
In the rearview mirror, Cam gave the signal to take the next exit. Merk held out his fisted hand to the side. He wouldn't veer from course. One wrong move and he'd miss Martin or spook him.
Cam shrugged and stayed in position, letting Merk know it was his call. He continued to ride and kept law enforcement in view.
E
ight miles later, the State Trooper took the exit. Merk held up a finger and swiped it forward, letting Cam know to forge ahead on all alert.
The heat of the midday sun warmed Merk's shoulders. His continual watchfulness for any sign of Reds took its toll. An hour later, he motioned for Cam to follow him onto the next exit. He'd stop, let Cam stretch his leg, and get back on the interstate. If Reds rode by, he'd still be able to see them.
A blinker and a stop sign later, Merk pulled off onto a bare gravel spot next to the on-ramp going North. He cut the engine and got off his bike.
Cam rolled to a stop and shut off his Harley. "Problem?"
"No. I'm letting the bike cool down. It's fucking hot out." He walked a few yards, lit a cigarette, and pulled out his phone.
He'd left the prison two hours ago. He figured Martin would meet him halfway by now. Unless the message he'd given Ring never went through.
"That son of a bitch is going to make us ride up to his house." Merk scanned the interstate.
"With Reds sense of family, you'll ride into a reunion of male members ready to blow your fuckin' head off if you plan on following through today." Cam bent over and squeezed his bad knee.
Merk glanced down. "Are you holding up?"
"Yeah." Cam walked a few paces, wearing off his limp. "It's not too late to change your mind. We can put extra security on Desi, the bar, and—"
"Fuck." He assumed Martin would advance toward him, try to take him out, and retreat. What if he'd assumed wrong?
He motioned for Cam to get back on his bike. "He's gone after Desi."
"No, think this through. Martin would know if you were at the prison, you'd have Moroad watching your woman." Cam tugged on his earlobe. "He wouldn't risk his members in prison for going against the extortion agreement and harming one of us. It's you he'll go after."
"Something doesn't feel right. I'm going to check in with Jacko." Merk pushed his contact button on his cell phone.