GHOST (Lords of Carnage MC)

by Loveling, Daphne

  Sarge’s bark of laughter as one of the brothers tells a joke brings me out of my reverie. With a start, I glance over at Jenna’s booth to see that she’s paid her bill and is standing up. She holds out her hand, and the little boy takes it. Together, the two of them walk out the door. My throat constricts a little as I watch them leave. I’m not sure why.

  I should have said hello, I think. Well, fuck it. I’ll wait for the right time, whenever that might be.

  * * *

  Back at the clubhouse, I can't stop thinking about Jenna. I’m hanging out at one of the low top tables with Angel, playing Texas Hold’em and drinking beer. Jewel’s still out with her fucked up hand, so one of the prospects is behind the bar, looking kind of harried.

  “The board gives me a straight flush,” I announce, laying my cards out on the table.

  “Goddamn,” Angel swears, throwing his hand down in disgust. “That’s the third hand in a row you’ve won.”

  “You sure you don’t wanna play with one of the prospects?” I kid him. “Up your chances?”

  “Fuck off,” Angel tosses back. He moves to grab up the deck when Rock’s voice explodes toward us from over near the bar.

  “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Rock yells. “How hard can it be to make a Red Rooster? It’s just fucking beer and tomato juice!” He flings the glass he’s drinking from toward the floor, emptying its contents with a splash, then slams the mug back down on the bar so loud the prospect jumps a mile high.

  Angel snorts. “I don’t know how he can drink that shit,” he mutters.

  “Just give me a goddamn beer!” Rock bites out. The shaking prospects reaches for the empty glass, and Rock explodes again. “Give me a fucking clean glass!”

  “Holy hell,” I chuckle. “That prospect must be pissing himself.” I’m guessing some of this is just for show, to test the prospect’s mettle. But Rock is definitely particular about his drinks.

  And then, as Angel and I are chuckling at the show in front of us, the germ of an idea takes hold in my brain.

  “Hey,” I say, leaning over. “Didn’t you say your sister was a bartender in the city?"

  “Yeah,” Angel replies absently, and then his face transforms into a frown. “Wait. Are you seriously suggesting my sister should be a club girl?” His fist tightens around his beer bottle.

  “Fuck, brother, not a club girl,” I laugh, spreading my hands. “A bartender. Hey, you said she needs a job. And she's your sister. Nobody here will touch her."

  11

  Jenna

  Three days and endless applications later, I still have no job and I’m feeling more desperate than I ever have in my life.

  It’s time to do something I hoped I’d never have to do.

  Sam’s Pawn Shop is about half a mile away from downtown in an aging strip mall, between a nail place and a sad little coffee shop that never has any customers. It’s the only place in town I can think of to do this. I hate the thought of coming here, because I know Sam from when I was a kid. Back then, he used to own an appliance repair place, and my dad swore he’d never buy his appliances from anywhere else. Of course, when the big box stores started moving into Tanner Springs, little places like Sam’s shop couldn’t compete, and he had to close down. So now, he does this instead.

  I take Noah with me to the pawn shop. Partly it’s because I don’t have anyone to leave him with. But partly it’s because I’m hoping Noah will distract Sam from asking too many prying questions.

  I pull into the parking lot of the strip mall, and easily find a spot right in front of Sam’s shop. After helping Noah out of his car seat, I square my shoulders and put on a bright, carefree smile. Then I push open the door and say a quick prayer.

  Sam is sitting at the counter clipping his fingernails when I walk in. He looks up, startled, like he’s not all that used to having people walk into the shop. It’s clear he doesn’t recognize me, though he’s eyeing me like he’s trying to figure out if he knows me. Granted, he hasn’t seen me in many years. Plus, my hair is a different color now. My heart jumps a little: maybe I can get through this whole thing without him realizing who I am. Then I realize that I probably have to give him my name and my ID if I want to be able to get my pawned item back, and my heart sinks a little again.

  “Hi,” I say. I decide not to give him any hints yet. “I have something I’d like to pawn.” Duh. Of course I do. What a dumb way to start. I smile, too wide, to compensate for sounding like an idiot. “It’s this ring.”

  Reaching into my pocket, I take out the small box where I’ve put my mother’s engagement ring. It almost broke my heart to take it off the chain around my neck. I was afraid I’d start crying in the pawn shop if I did it here, so I left the chain at home and brought the ring like this instead.

  Sam is still peering at me curiously, his head cocked, when he takes the ring from me. He breaks my gaze and looks at it, holding it up to the light. “Nice,” he remarks. “Wedding ring?”

  “Engagement,” I correct him. “Not mine.” He looks at me sharply. “I mean, it was my mother’s,” I stammer. “The ring belongs to me, though.”

  A flicker of something crosses his features. Recognition? If it is, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, he says nothing. Then: “Hold on just a second. I’ll be right back.”

  He leaves the ring on the counter in front of me and disappears into the back of the store. I wait for two minutes, three minutes, trying to be patient. Noah gets tired of waiting by my side and wanders off to stare at the rows of chain saws, guitars, amplifiers, and electronics.

  Sam comes back out. “Stay put,” he tells me. “I’m having an appraiser come to look at the ring.”

  I frown at him. That seems odd. The ring is a fairly nice one, but not so nice that I’d think he’d need to have someone else take a look at it. Then again, what do I know? I’ve actually never pawned anything before. And maybe this means the ring is worth more than I thought.

  I put the ring back into the box for safekeeping, and slide it back into my pocket. Wandering over to Noah, I tell him in a low voice to stop putting his hands on the glass case in front of him. I try to figure out some sort of small talk that I can make with Sam, but when I glance back in his direction, I see he’s gone back to clipping his nails.

  Five more minutes pass. I’m getting kind of antsy, and Noah’s asking when we’re going to leave. I start to ask Sam how long it will be before the appraiser gets here, but as I do, the low sound of a motorcycle approaching stops me.

  Before I know what’s happening, I see that Angel is outside the shop, parking his bike in the spot next to my car. Open-mouthed, I look over at Sam accusingly, but he refuses to meet my gaze.

  My heart sinks as Angel storms into the shop. “What the fuck, Jenna?” he explodes at me. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Well, I guess now I know Sam recognizes me, I think bitterly. Shooting him an angry look, I hiss at Angel, “Can we please not do this here?”

  “Fine. Come on.” He takes me by the arm and starts to lead me out, but I shake him off. Picking Noah up into my arms, I nod stonily toward the front entrance and follow Angel out of the pawn shop, shooting daggers at Sam’s bald head as I do.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you needed money this bad?” Angel barks at me when we’re out on the sidewalk. “Sam said you were trying to pawn Mom’s engagement ring?”

  I don’t know if he’s mad about the ring, or just mad that his sister went to a pawn shop instead of to the family, or both. “Angel, I…” I begin, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t want Noah to hear any of this. Not that he’d understand, exactly. I know he’s too young. But I don’t want him to hear that we need money. I don’t want my little boy to worry.

  “Look, can you just let me put Noah in the car first?” I ask. I open the back door and set him down, and Noah climbs obediently into his car seat. I grab two of his toys, a plastic dune buggy and his stuffed monkey, and hand them to him. Leaving the door open so he
won’t get too hot, I come back to Angel on the sidewalk.

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Angel repeats as soon as I’m back. “Shit, Dad would have given you money. All you would have needed to do was ask. I still don’t get why you didn’t just move in with him.”

  “You know what he’s like, Angel. I can’t.” I shake my head in frustration. “I just can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that once again, his daughter is a failure who can’t stand on her own two feet.” All the frustration and worry of the past few days wells up inside me, and for a second I think I’m going to cry. “It’s bad enough I had to come back here at all. Bad enough that I had to have him put a down the security deposit on the apartment. I just want to make it on my own,” I say, closing my eyes against the swell of emotions. “I just want to pay my own way.”

  I open my eyes again, and heave a deep sigh.

  “I don’t even know why I’m here, Angel,” I say helplessly. “I don’t know how things got so… hard.”

  For a few moments, Angel doesn’t say anything. We’re not exactly close, and it’s not my habit to confide in him about my problems. He seems to be struggling for the right words to say. Finally, he breaks the silence.

  “Jenna,” he begins slowly, “If you need money this bad, then come pour drinks at the club bar. We’ve got an opening, and the prospect that’s been doing it is shit.” He cracks a small grin then. “You’d be doing us a favor, frankly. And the pay’s not bad.”

  My eyes widen. “Are you seriously suggesting that I take a job slinging drinks for an outlaw motorcycle club right now?”

  He shrugs. “You need a job. We need a bartender. Why not?”

  “No,” I blurt out. “No, no, no. I don’t want anything to do with the Lords of Carnage, Angel.” My temper’s rising, but I know part of the reason is that deep down inside of me, there’s a tiny little voice inside me saying It’s a lifeline, Jenna. Take it. I take a deep breath and push the voice away. No.

  Angel rolls his eyes and tries again. “Jenna. Look. Just please come by. At least check it out before you blow me off.” I open my mouth and he cuts me off. “C’mon, don’t be like that. Come to the club. Just see it for yourself. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that bad.”

  I snort.

  Angel smirks. “You know, some of the brothers have old ladies and children. We even do charity stuff.”

  “Yeah, right,” I sigh. “I’m sure it’s a regular Rotary Club over there.”

  His laughter is easy. “You’ll never know unless you come check it out for yourself. Come on, let’s go.”

  “What, now?” My eyes grow wide. “Are you forgetting that I’ve got Noah with me?”

  “He’ll be fine. Trust me. You think I’d bring my sister and my nephew there if you wouldn’t be safe?” Angel glances toward my son, who’s making his stuffed monkey, Chip-Chip, do back flips. “You can nail my balls to the wall later if anything bad happens,” he promises.

  Against my better judgment, and muttering to myself about what an idiot I am the whole time, I end up agreeing to follow Angel back to the club. The whole way there, Noah is chattering to himself in the back seat and making monkey sounds, and I wonder to myself if I’m making a huge mistake.

  12

  Jenna

  The clubhouse is a nondescript building set back from the main road, with a large, fenced in area to the side and a parking lot in front. Rows of bikes line the portion of the lot next to the fence.

  Angel parks his Harley at the end of one of the rows, and walks over to me just as I’m unbuckling Noah from his car seat. I hand my son to his uncle, who awkwardly gets him into a piggyback position, and together we enter the club through a heavy, windowless front door.

  What the hell am I doing? I ask myself as Angel swings the door open. I open my mouth to tell him I’ve changed my mind. But by the time I get my voice to work, he’s already through the door and inside the clubhouse with Noah.

  It takes a couple of seconds for my eyes to adjust to the light difference, but when I do I see we’ve entered a large, open room. There are about a dozen large, tattooed men of various shapes and ages, all wearing leather cuts emblazoned with the Lords of Carnage rockers. The men are scattered around the room, standing or sitting, laughing or playing pool. A few women are there, too, which surprises me even though Angel told me there might be. Most of them are dressed in clothes so tight I wonder how they can even breathe, and some of them are wearing makeup more dramatic than I would ever wear even to go out to a club. If I went to clubs, that is.

  “Hey, y’all, this is my sister, Jenna,” Angel yells. “And her kid, Noah. You treat them with respect.”

  It occurs to me to wonder what kind of welcome I’d be getting if I wasn’t the VP’s sister. But before I can go too far down that rabbit hole, an enormous — like unbelievably enormous — man with a large beard comes up and claps Angel on the shoulder.

  “So this is your family, brother,” he rumbles, in a voice just as deep as I would have expected. Then he raises his huge, tattooed arm and extends his hand toward Noah.

  “Hey there, little man,” he says. “I’m Tank.”

  Noah’s eyes are so big I can’t tell if he’s terrified or just fascinated. “Hi,” he says in a small voice, putting his tiny paw in Tank’s larger one. They shake solemnly, and damned if it isn’t somehow about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

  It’s surreal. I think this place is already starting to mess with my head.

  “Ma’am,” Tank then says respectfully, turning to me and nodding his head once.

  “Uh, pleased to meet you… Tank,” I stammer.

  I have to resist a sudden urge to burst into hysterical laughter. I’m exchanging polite pleasantries with a tattooed, leather-clad human mountain who could break me in half with two fingers.

  Yup. Seriously starting to mess with my head.

  Then, from over to one side, one of the women squeals and comes over to us, tottering in thigh-length boots.

  “Oh, my gosh, he is just the cutest little thing!” she croons. “I just love kids, and he is just adorable. A real future lady-killer.” She winks at Noah and then turns to me. “Hi, I’m Jewel,” she says. She starts to lift up a hand for me to shake, but then lowers it quickly. I look down and see it’s covered in a thick bandage. “Sorry, I keep forgetting about this thing,” she pouts ruefully.

  Angel speaks up. “Jewel’s the bartender I told you about. She’s out of commission for at least a few weeks.”

  She’s pretty, with wheat-colored hair and a wide, toothy smile. Her revealing clothes notwithstanding, there’s kind of an innocence about her attitude and demeanor that feels a little strange in an MC clubhouse — well, like I know what an MC clubhouse should even feel like. But she’s not exactly the “rode hard and put away wet” woman I would have imagined.

  “What’s your name, kiddo?” she’s asking Noah now. Normally, it overwhelms him when lots of adults start paying attention to him, and I expect him to shrink back from her. Instead, he gives her a shy smile.

  “Noah,” he tells her.

  “That’s such a good name for a handsome boy like you,” she grins at him. “How old are you?”

  “I’m four,” he tells her proudly, holding up his hand to show her how many. “Almost five. I can read already!”

  “Wow. That’s great. You must be really smart, then.”

  Noah nods. “I am.” We all laugh.

  “Your little boy reminds me of my little brother, back in Indiana.” Jewel says, looking at me. “He’s ten. Going on about thirty.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, Noah gives me a run for my money.”

  “Hey, Jewel,” Angel says. “You wanna take Noah for a few minutes? We’ve got some business to discuss.”

  “Sure thing!” she says enthusiastically. “Come on, Noah. You want me to teach you a card trick?”

  Noah bobs his head up and down, and slides off Angel’s back. Jewel immediately offers him her non-bandag
ed hand and leads him over to one of the couches to play with him.

  Angel leads me over to the bar. “And that fucker there, pardon my French, is the reason we need to get you behind the bar,” he says, pointing. A handsome but nervous-looking young guy behind the bar gives me a slight wave.

  Prospect,” he calls to him. “You think you can pour my sister a decent drink without killing her?”

  I almost say no to the drink, but the fact is, my nerves are kind of jangled at the moment. I ask for a beer, which is cold and soothing and ends up settling me down a bit. A few more of the MC members come over to see what’s going on, and I start to realize I know quite a few of them. Angel makes more introductions, and I let myself relax a little bit. The men aren’t nearly as intimidating as I expected them to be, although I’m guessing that’s because Angel’s my brother. They are, almost to a man, freaking massive, though. The smallest of them has almost a foot on me. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a room with such a sea of testosterone before.

  It’s… freaky, I admit. I mean, most of these guys are objectively hot. But thankfully, they seem to be dialing it back with me, and I’m thankful for that. Far from feeling in danger, I actually start to have fun bantering with the men.

  About half an hour later, I take a deep breath and turn to Angel.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” I tell him, “but I accept your offer. Just until I can get on my feet, and Jewel can start tending again,” I add hastily.

  Angel grins at me. “Good deal. Now, get behind the bar and mix me your fanciest drink.”

  I snort. “Will do. Where do you keep the paper umbrellas?”