Random & Rare

by Cat Porter

  Finally back home, I set on a course of bedroom redemption, armed with a combination of skill, flair, and unyielding determination.

  Some time later, Grace moaned, her face half-buried in the bedding, “Oh my God. That was…oh, just…oh…ah…geez.”

  An arm hung over the edge of the mattress. Her eyes were closed with her mouth slack, and her body still quivering as I settled beside her.

  Unable to let her be, I licked a trail across the salty damp nape of her neck as her breathy gasps quickly evolved into the long deep breaths of sleep. I sank back onto my pillow, my hand lingering on her ass. She had moaned for me, yelled out loud for me, but for the first time, she hadn’t cried out my name.

  Not once.

  “THAT WAS AN INTERESTING MEETING.”

  “He just doesn’t fucking get it,” I muttered.

  Boner shrugged. “Mick’s got his own way of doing things, Dig.”

  “It ain’t my way. He’s got Creeper for a lap dog now, too.” I slammed an open tool drawer shut. The repair shed was empty, except for us and Willie and Wreck.

  “Everyone in power needs one, I guess,” snorted Willie.

  “You got to keep your cool, man. Don’t think he hasn’t noticed your attitude,” said Boner.

  “Trying. Trying real hard.” I kicked at an old swivel desk chair, sending it flying across the room, the ripped vinyl of the seat shuddering. “Suddenly he’s all about working with the Demon Seeds full time? We had agreed we’d had enough of their bullshit. That was done. Now he’s doing a 180 on us? What the fuck? Mick keeps shifting shit, ever so little over time. Like we won’t notice? Just go along with it? The Seeds are after one thing. And one day, before you know it, we ain’t gonna be calling the shots on our own club any longer. And that is just fucking insane.”

  “Things ain’t what they used to be around here,” said Willie, a scowl on his face. Willie and Mick were the last remaining Vietnam vets of the Jacks. “And they’re only gonna get worse if you don’t stand up for what you believe in, for what’s right.”

  “Do something about it,” said Wreck, tearing off the bandana from his head before wiping his forehead with it. “That shit’s not what this club is about.”

  “You should be the one holding that gavel, and you know it,” I said.

  “Nah, I shouldn’t.” Wreck threw a can of beer at Willie and, cracking another open, took a swig. “I hate this political shit. Hate it to the bone. I like making decisions for the better, though. It’s a responsibility as a member of this club. The last major one I made was finding this property and settling our asses here after years of trashing through shacks and flophouse after flophouse. Dig, you don’t hate the political shit. You get off on it. ’Cause when you feel strongly enough about something, you want to deal with it. You come up with plans, strategies. That’s good. I respect that. I admire you for it.”

  Jump crossed his arms. “What? You don’t care enough?”

  I shot Jump a look. If there was anyone who cared too much about the club, it was Wreck.

  “Of course I fucking care.” Wreck tossed the bandana on his workbench, tilting his head at Jump. “But I don’t have the desire or the patience to hassle and haggle and posture. I don’t feel the need to compare my dick to the next guy’s. In the end, most of these assholes at the top are out for the spotlight.”

  His hands settled on his waist. “Yes, I’m a part of a club, a voting member, but I’m a part of this club to keep the passing lane clear for my brothers when they need it, keep our formation on the highway tight, make sure we can deal with our own mechanical problems ninety-nine percent of the time. I’m proud to ride a machine that I built myself, and I’m damn proud of having like-minded brothers all over the country who would welcome me in and go out of their way to make sure I have that good time. That’s my creed, and I would defend it with my life if it were threatened. And that’s all I gotta say on the matter.”

  “Amen!” Willie raised his beer can at Wreck.

  I grinned. “Comes time to vote, and it might be months from now, maybe longer, how you two gonna go? I need to hear it.”

  “Yeah, you can count on me,” Wreck muttered.

  “Yep.” Willie nodded.

  “We gotta be ready,” Jump said. “Mick’s been agreeing with you for a while now about keeping the Seeds at a safe distance, but obviously, he’s been playing nice with Cowboy lately. Real nice. He’s got himself a sweet in with ’em now.”

  “You did good, working shit out with the Seeds a while back, Dig.” Wreck’s eyes held mine. “But I’ve been around this track before with Mick. Once he’s got the in and he starts playing nice, he’ll slip in his own agenda and then present it to the club as a done deal.” Wreck crushed the beer can between his hands and tossed it in the huge trash can.

  “Wreck’s right.” Willie wiped the side of his mouth with his sleeve. “Watch for it. Only a matter of time.”

  “That can’t happen,” I said, lowering my voice. “Things are solid with the Broken Blades, and Flames of Hell threw me some business this morning.”

  “No shit,” muttered Jump.

  “Nothing big, but I’m gonna take it. First steps. But the minute Mick makes a move toward the Seeds, those bets are off. Flames of Hell does not work with just anybody, and they play straight up and do not forget wrongs. I figure this small business today is a test that we need to pass with flying colors. I’m gonna get the details and bring it to the table.”

  “You sure?” asked Jump.

  “Very. It’s got to be handled right. If they get a whiff that other shit is going on behind the scenes with the Demon Seeds, we can kiss this and any future deals, along with their backup in our region and beyond, good-bye.” I rubbed my eyes and let out a breath. “That just can’t happen.”

  My ass was on the line. I had set up this entire steel-cabled yet delicate network between us, our Colorado chapter, and Zed’s Blades in Nebraska. I was hoping on working in the Flames of Hell. No matter what, I was going to have to pay homage to them somehow. Flames of Hell was the outlaw elder club of the Great Plains; their reach was national. I wasn’t about to let my creative collaboration collapse into dust at the foot of Mick’s ambitions with the Demon Seeds.

  “I have no doubt.” Wreck frowned, his fingers trailing down the dented tank of a ’79 Lowrider he’d been working on. “I got work to do. Get the hell out of my shed.”

  “What do you want? I’ll give you anything you want,” my mother said. Her voice was high-pitched, panicked.

  “You bet your ass you will, lady. Move it.”

  “Please, you’re hurting me!”

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  My mouthful of cold pizza was stuck in my throat like bunched-up plastic. I swallowed the chunk down and darted to the kitchen door, hiding behind it. A tall man pulled Mom up by her hair, dragging her into the living room across the hall. My heart jammed in my chest, my lungs stalling. He threw her onto the floor where she collapsed on the beige carpet. A high-heeled shoe flew through the air, tumbling against my mother’s favorite antique Chinese urn at the corner of the fireplace.

  She wailed, and my throat closed at the horrible sound. Something queer spiraled in my chest and sent my heart hammering so hard it hurt. The huge beast of a man with shaggy dark hair and a stubbly face was wearing a dark blue workman’s uniform.

  Is he the plumber? An electrician?

  “Don’t move. Me and your little girl will be right back.”

  I moved barely an inch. He grabbed Eve by the arm and pulled on her. She was still wearing her cheerleader uniform from practice. She was as pale as porcelain and just as stiff, paralyzed, her eyes wide. He pulled on her, and for one moment, she faced me, her huge blue eyes locked on mine, her mouth hanging open. A blur of blonde hair flying, and she was gone, her shriek filling the space she’d once occupied. He tromped down the hallway, dragging her with him. Drawers and doors were flung open as he talked to himself, trudging through our house, p
olluting it with his presence.

  I bolted into the living room and landed on my knees at my mother’s side. “Mom?”

  Wet brown eyes held mine. “Jake,” she whispered hoarsely, barely moving a muscle.

  Oh God, did he hurt her?

  “Get out of the house, honey. He’ll be back any second. You go. Go and call nine-one-one. Go! Now!” Her blouse was ripped, her chest was scratched, blood staining her white skin.

  My head was fuzzy. My chest pressing on my lungs, I could no longer breathe right. I couldn’t control anything.

  I reached out to grab her arm. “Get up, and come with me. Please, Mommy!” My mouth was so dry that I could barely get the words out.

  “Go, Jake. Go across the street to Mrs. Gordon and call the police. Now, Jake. Now!” The whites of her eyes exploded.

  I jerked up to my feet. Heavy footsteps dragged down the stairs, scornful laughter bouncing off the walls. There was another voice joining his. I froze. Someone else was here, too.

  My mother’s perfectly manicured fingernails dug into my arm. “Jake, go!”

  But there was no time to make it to the front door or even back to the kitchen. They would see me. I darted to the closet in the hallway and crammed myself in between winter coats, old sneakers, rain boots, umbrellas, and a vacuum cleaner, leaving the door ajar several inches.

  I’m safe. My mother and sister will be safe.

  They have to be.

  “Nice house, huh? Knew it when I spotted them.”

  “You know how to pick ’em, man.”

  My head sank against the wall, the stifling darkness pressing in on me, but my mother’s desperate short breaths, even Eve’s silence, seemed louder in here. The gummy flavor of mozzarella cheese festered in my mouth, the sour taste of tomato sauce and the bitterness of the oregano lingering.

  I flexed my gloved fingers over my handlebars and released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding on to. I blinked, my eyes stinging, but there was nothing in my eyes. It was all in my brain, spewing on endless replay. My eyes strained to focus through my goggles on the winding dark ribbon of road ahead of me, snaking through the Black Hills. I sucked in a breath and listened to the hum of my engine.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  Those twisted memories still crawled in front of my eyes at the most ridiculous times. Even though I had built my barriers years ago, those demons still scaled my walls, still threatening, still demanding my surrender. But I refused.

  Keep breathing.

  Under my gloves, my swollen fingers clenched the handlebars, throbbing against the hard silver of my rings. I welcomed that discomfort. It was a constant reminder I had tagged myself with years ago.

  I relaxed my grip and concentrated on the dense thickets of towering evergreens blanketing the rolling peaks, the jagged granite formations, as we whipped past heaven-sent pockets of blue lakes.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  I sucked the quiet ease of the Hills into my lungs, into every pore. A weight adjusted at my back, pressing into me. My Wildflower.

  My left hand stretched back, landed on her knee, and rested there. I let out another exhale, expelling any trace of those fucking voices in my head, forcing out that icy-cold dread that enjoyed shearing my veins. Grace’s legs squeezed my sides, and that ease and warmth dipped through me.

  I’d never really noticed the intensity of the tension before. It had been my status quo for as long as I could remember. With Grace, however, had come the difference—quality sleep, moments of deep relaxation. My inner brooding had become less ferocious. The inevitable migraine and that burning acidic sensation in my belly still came but not as often. My back straightened as I slid my hand down her jean-clad leg and then brought it back to the handlebar, a grin stealing across my lips. I knew how fucking lucky I was. Down to my bones, I knew.

  Traffic up ahead made me cut my speed, my brothers gliding ahead of me, beside me, behind me. Butler raised a fist in the air at the road sign that Crazy Horse Memorial was just a few more miles away. Grace’s hands squeezed my middle.

  Every year, we would make it a point to have a run to a nighttime blast on that immense granite monument dedicated to the Lakota Sioux warrior chief, and I was looking forward to it tonight before we would go to the campsite outside of Mount Rushmore for a music festival. Grace had made sure that we all brought plenty of canned food, which was the price of admission to the monument complex, as a donation for a local food drive.

  As a transplanted Dakotan, I was damn proud of the fact that from its beginning, this largest in-progress sculpture in the world—along with the Native American Cultural and Education Center at its base—had never been funded by the government but by private donations only. God only knew if the sculpture of the great warrior chief and his horse would ever be finished, but hell, it was still an extraordinary, improbable thing worthy of our admiration.

  Luckily, we got there in time for Grace to see the Native American dancers doing their thing. We’d been here several times together, but each time, Grace would go to a show.

  Jump, Clip, and Creeper only laughed.

  “This is born and bred South Dakota and about as ethnic as we’re going to get around these parts. What’s not to love?”

  “It’s totally primal,” Boner muttered at her side. “You shits just don’t get it. Let’s go, Sister.”

  I winked at her as Boner took her hand in his, and they tore off through the thick crowd toward the deck where the dancing was going on. The striking feather headdresses and costumes were visible from here, their bold colors shuffling in the wind. Heavy steps stomped out that harsh ancient rhythm and suspended over us in the crisp air.

  “I’m gonna hit the john. You guys go on,” I said as I walked off.

  Butler nodded at me and joined the rest of the bros walking toward the café. I headed for the restroom and waited. I checked my watch again.

  “Hey.”

  My head jerked up at the carved and scarred grim face of Finger, the VP of the Flames of Hell. He was here. He’d come. My spine straightened as I reached out my arm. He grabbed it, and we shook. Both his middle fingers were missing from his large hands. I held his piercing gaze. We headed back outside behind the building.

  “Good to see you, man.”

  “Talk to me.” His voice was low, throaty, barely audible over the scratchiness.

  “I want the One-Eyed Jacks to work with the Flames on a few special projects. I have a new deal in the works with—”

  He leaned against the tile wall, his arms crossed. “You need our protection.”

  Straight to the point. My kind of negotiation.

  “That and your kind of cooperation. What I don’t like is the Demon Seeds variety pushing everything out west, making me the little guy in the equation. I’m not a bug to be squashed.”

  A slight grin cracked Finger’s mouth.

  “I’m not into razzle-dazzle and big-name glory either, like some. That’s not who the One-Eyed Jacks are. What I’m into is good business. Business that grows, has a future, and isn’t at the mercy of the egos of a select few. The Jacks and the Flames could hammer out a deal within our region. Our Colorado chapter is doing well, and so are things here. I’m looking to beef up activity in North Dakota. There’s a huge influx of people now with the oil-drilling going in full swing. I’d like to think we can do it on our own, but with the Demon Seeds and all sorts of other idiots hovering, it’s not very likely.”

  “And what will you do for the Flames?”

  “Bring the Broken Blades in on the deal. The three of us form a velvet network in our region through our territories. A network no outsider is going to want to fuck with and never will.”

  Finger took in a slow long breath through his nostrils. “We don’t work with other clubs long-term, Dig. You know that.”

  “We like our independence, too, and want to keep it that way. Our clubs been coexisting peacefully for years, respecting each other from afar. Why can’t our organization
s work together if it’s mutually beneficial? We could keep it simple. Offer you a specific service at a discount, of course. I’ve noticed a few glitches here and there between you and the Blades. I could help.”

  “I’ll bring this to my prez.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate the meet, Finger.”

  His eyes narrowed at me.

  Was he amused at my good manners? “See you at the campsite later on. Should be a good time.”

  We tagged fists.

  “Should be.” Finger gave me a curt nod and stalked off into the crowd.

  I leaned my head back and took in a breath. Finger had shown up and had listened without cutting me off or refusing out of the gate. God only knew what that meant, but it was a start.

  The Flames were notoriously unfriendly to outsiders. If they wanted something, they would take it. No deals, no compromises. Finger and I had bumped into each other a few times over the years, and I always took care with each instance. Jump hadn’t wanted to know, hadn’t wanted to have anything to do with the Flames. But my gut had told me that if the One-Eyed Jacks wanted a strong path, we were going to have to lay the tracks of alliances sooner or later. I preferred to do it with like-minded brothers who had a fearsome reputation, not with a club like the Seeds who had leaders like Vig at the helm, willing to work with lunatics. Oh, I knew it was all relative, the level of lunacy, but with the Flames, the playing field would be more level than with Russians and Mexicans and fame-whores like Vig deejaying the party and making the rest of us dance to their eccentric playlists at gunpoint.

  The grinding tension in my upper back finally eased as I stepped outside into the orange glow of the setting sun. I caught up with the guys. Grace and Boner met up with us later, and we strolled through the museum. The women poked around in the gift shop, and we had a few beers.