by Krane, Kasey
14
Jules
I woke up and stretched. I had the most amazing dream about Bishop. He’d been kissing and nibbling his way up my right leg when…the person in the room next door started thumping around, waking me up.
Dammit!
I headed to the bathroom to shower and get ready. As I did, I thought back, past my delicious dream, to yesterday. So far, I made almost no progress on either article. Unless Dan wanted an in-depth article on the joys of authentic Mexican food, I really was in trouble.
I’d been sent to New Mexico to do an article on Ghost, but he’d passed me off to Bishop. Bishop was certainly drool worthy and I knew Evan wouldn’t mind a photoshoot and article about him instead, but did I really want to focus on Bishop? Did I really want to offer Bishop up as fresh meat for all of the Blush readership to fantasize over? Focusing on a motorcycle club member and writing an article that made him seem delicious enough to eat was fine…right up until I wanted to eat him up myself.
Dammit!
I was not supposed to get attached to Bishop! I couldn’t feel possessive over him. He was the focus of an article, nothing more, nothing less. When he read my article in the Huffington Post, exposing the Dead Legion and their deal (if one really did exist) with the Sangre, he was never going to forgive me. I couldn’t let things get even more complicated between us.
And I sure as hell couldn’t allow him to nibble his way up my legs.
With that firmly etched in my mind, I dressed and styled my hair with 10 minutes to spare. Not too bad. But with nothing left to fuss over, I stood at the front window and stared out into the parking lot. Beige adobe-style buildings as far as the eye could see. It was boring and dull and it almost hurt my eyes to look at it. After the hustle and bustle of New York City - the smells, the lights, the energy on the streets, it was hard to believe that this was even the same country. Dusty, brown, dead, dull…
The only green I’d seen was on our ride up into the mountains. I longed for another ride, the wind rushing past, the storm clouds boiling in the distance, and no threatening looks from Ghost.
The honk from Bishop snapped me out of my reverie. He’d pulled up on his Harley in front of my room without me even noticing. As I grabbed my purse and slipped on my sandals, I quickly reviewed the game plan: Whether it was Bishop or Ghost or both who would answer questions, I had to start getting some information out of them, or I wouldn’t have a job when I got back. I had to stay focused, and I absolutely, positively, under no circumstances whatsoever, should fantasize over Bishop’s biceps.
Or stomach muscles.
This seemed rather straightforward when I was standing alone in my motel room, but as I swung my right leg over to mount the bike and wrapped my arms around Bishop’s waist, it suddenly became much more complicated. I placed my cheek against his back, snuggling in, breathing in leather and aftershave and a clean desert smell that was unique to Bishop. I closed my eyes.
I’d worry about keeping him at arm’s length later, when I didn’t have my arms wrapped around him.
We grabbed breakfast burritos at a local Mexican restaurant - another revelation that Mexican food could be a breakfast food also, and as we ate, I asked Bishop increasingly more specific questions.
“Do the Dead Legion have income streams other than the trucking business?”
“What do you think about having Ghost as the president - has this worried you?”
“How can the Dead Legion afford to have members sitting around in a club all day? Don’t you guys need them out driving something somewhere?” I waved my burrito around to emphasize my point when I asked this question, and then decided that I’d ignore the fact that I chucked potatoes and bacon around with my movement. If I pretended it didn’t happen, then it didn’t happen, right?
Bishop was killing me. His answers fell somewhere between evasion and downright refusal to answer. He didn’t answer the question of the club being able to afford to have members sitting around, but he did open up about their drivers.
“Actually, most members don’t drive for us,” he said, his eyes lighting up with the excitement that came with finally having something he could say. “When the Dead Legion first started, the idea had been to have the members all get their CDLs and have them drive for the trucking company as a job. After all, the Dead Legion were formed in order to give Vietnam vets a way of integrating back into society, right? And there are still members who do that.
“But when I took over the trucking part, I realized that so many members just didn’t want anything to do with it. They joined because they loved taking apart motorcycles and riding and Harleys. They didn’t join so they could be stuck behind the wheel of a semi for days at a time. So I removed that requirement and started hiring drivers who weren’t members, and allowing members to quit driving if they wanted.
“Like I told you before, this caused a big stir at the time - some of the older members were pissed off at me for a while - but eventually, things smoothed out and the trucking business has become much more profitable. And members have been given the ability to do what they want - ride a motorcycle.”
Bishop finished and then stared at me, a little wide-eyed. I could see it in his eyes - shock that he’d told me so much. Had he told me too much? Had he said something he shouldn’t have?
I snapped my notebook closed that I’d been taking notes in and smiled at him. Bishop would open up to me yet, if it killed him to do it.
“You ready to head to the clubhouse?” I asked brightly. He nodded without saying a word and we headed out the door. As we stepped out of the restaurant door and hit the wall of heat that had already built at 10:30 in the morning, I fanned my shirt.
It was going to be a long-ass morning.
15
Bishop
As we rode to the clubhouse, I cursed himself. With no other woman did I open up like that. What possessed me to shoot off my mouth and tell her about CDLs and members feeling forced into driving and the difficulties that had come with that change? She didn’t care. Females didn’t care about shit like that. I’d fucked a hundred hot women who were shared among all of the Dead Legion members.
Jules wasn’t a one of those girls though. Jules cared about CDLs and members being pissed and the headaches that came with managing a trucking business. Jules was interested and inquisitive and her eyes glowed with fascination. She wasn’t politely listening and she was truly curious.
Which was 95% of the problem, of course. I wasn’t supposed to be telling a journalist anything. Ghost had barely given us permission to give her the name of the club, and I was sure that only happened because it was stitched into our cuts.
But Ghost had been crystal clear on the topic - no sharing of any information, no matter how big or small, with Jules. We couldn’t let anything slip that might lead her to the realization that the club was dealing in guns and weapons. She couldn’t find out that we had this deal going down next week with the Sangre, the biggest deal the Dead Legion had ever put together.
The stonewalling though…instead of throwing her off the trail, it just seemed to encourage her questions. I didn’t know how much longer I could hide shit from her.
As we wound our way through the streets, Jules hanging on tight, pressing her amazing tits against my back, I got uncomfortably hard. At a stop sign, I shifted on the seat, trying to adjust myself without actually looking like I was adjusting myself. I took her the long way to the clubhouse because, well, because her tits felt amazing. With her arms wrapped around me, I felt like I could accomplish anything. With her arms wrapped around me, I felt free. Free in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Finally, we pulled up to the clubhouse and I turned off my Harley. The rumble of the engine gone, I felt a certain loss. The feeling of freedom and fuck it and the high that I got from Jules’s body pressed against mine was just gone.
She swung her leg off and unbuckled her helmet, then pulled her purse out of my saddlebag. I stared at her, unsmi
ling, as I unbuckled my helmet. She was too goddamn beautiful for her own good. Last night in the shower, I’d forgotten how delicious her legs were by half. And how much I wanted to shove my hands into her hair and hold her as I fucked her.
Goddamn motherfucking son-of-a-bitch.
There was no way I could get off the bike sporting a boner. I had to send her in ahead of me until I could get my cock to calm the fuck down. Maybe I’d take a ride that afternoon to let off some steam. Without her. And her arms and her tits and her legs pressed against mine.
“Go on inside - I’ll be there in a moment,” I said, my voice gruff. She pulled back, startled by my manner but I didn’t care. I had to get rid of her before I made an ass out of myself.
“Go on in. You know where to go.”
She gave me a hurt, befuddled look, and then walked away without a word of protest. I watched her ass as she walked away, and then closed my eyes and groaned. Watching her sweet ass was not helping the situation.
I thought of my mother and the logistics of transporting freight across country borders and how Ghost was making me act like an ass to Jules, until I felt my cock subside. There, that was better. I parked my bike under the sliver of shade available and then headed into the clubhouse.
There, my blood ran cold. Ghost was leaning over Jules, focusing his smile and attention on her. She was smiling back up at him. “Yeah, I’d love to do a photoshoot of you today,” he heard her say cheerfully. They headed outside, Ghost with his hand on the small of her back, winking at me as they passed. Jules didn’t meet my eyes; her back was straight, eyes forward. Oh yeah, she was pissed.
Ghost considered her to be fair game. He figured she’d be like the other women who were willing to fuck any man in the club, all for the privilege of being able to claim that she’d slept with a Dead Legion member.
But I knew she wouldn’t. Jules was not like that. Jules was not willing to be passed around from member to member.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I turned on my heel and went back outside. I had to watch the photoshoot. I had to make sure that Jules was okay.
As I walked though, I began to question my motives. I’d never felt protective of any other hot chick who’d come to the club. I had never felt like I had to protect any of the other woman from Ghost. Why was I so protective of Jules? I came around the corner and saw Ghost on the bike, posing, Jules with a camera in hand. She must’ve been carrying it in that giant bag she called a purse.
“Okay, turn your right arm a little,” she said, and then moved Ghost’s arm down a little. “Tilt your head…there, that’s perfect.” The shutter was going wild on the camera, and I wondered how many photos she was taking per minute. Did she really need that many photos of Ghost?
I tried to tamp down my jealousy, but I found it ridiculously difficult. “Smile a little more,” Jules called out. “There, our readers are going to love that.” Click click click. “I’d like to have some close-ups of your biceps and tats on your arms with your hand gripping the handlebar. Here, like that. Perfect!” Click click click.
I gritted my teeth. She didn’t have to seem so…happy with it all. Didn’t she know Ghost was a bastard who beat the women he slept with? What if he talked her into his bed and she woke up in the morning with bruises all over her body? There was no way she’d leave that out of the article she wrote.
What would happen to the club?
And what would happen to her?
And goddammit, why was I more worried about her than I was my club?
“That’s probably good,” Jules said, smiling up at Ghost. “Thanks for being such a good sport and so willing to work with me on this. Did you have anything you wanted me to include in the article?” She whipped out a recorder out of her purse and hit record as Ghost rattled on about how much the club meant to him and brotherhood and all of the other shit that I didn’t even know if Ghost believed. Apparently, having Jules’s full attention on him and her camera taking every goddamn photo from every goddamn angle possible had completely wiped all worry about her from his mind. Here was someone who was fawning over him, and Ghost loved every moment of it.
I hated every moment of it. I felt my hands ball into fists. I didn’t know how much more torture I could take.
16
Jules
As the recorder ran, I smiled and nodded. I was giving off every sign that I was ready to throw Ghost to the ground and fuck him, and I knew it. After Bishop ordered me into the clubhouse like a master orders his dog around, I sorta lost it. I was pissed and irrational.
A part of me told me that after all, this was why I was here. Evan would’ve been happy with a story about Bishop, but Ghost was really the reason I was sent to this hellhole. So, flirting and getting him to open up was all part of the job description. When he’d come over and started pestering me about doing a photoshoot, I jumped on the opportunity. Finally, here was a chance to do the reporting I was sent there to do.
Bishop was pissed - I could see it instantly. He didn’t like me taking pictures of Ghost, asking him questions. Which just made me lay on the charm more. If I was going to act like a jackass and then expect me to roll over and play dead, he obviously hadn’t met Jules Parker. I’d show him what he was missing.
Finally, Ghost seemed to have run out of self-aggrandizing statements to make, and I jumped in before I could think of something else to say. “Bishop,” I called out. “Would you mind taking me back to the motel? I forgot my notebook there.” I shut off the recorder and turned to Ghost. “Thank you so much for your kindness in letting me bother you to do this interview,” I said sweetly. He puffed up with pride. I was obviously hitting the right tone with him. Placate his outrageous ego and everything would be fine.
“Let’s go,” Bishop said at my elbow. His voice told me all that I needed to know - he was pissed at me. Jealous. I smiled brightly at him. “Sounds good!” I said cheerfully. I wanted to slap him.
We walked over to Bishop’s bike and climbed on. Once I had my bag stowed away and my helmet in place, we roared back to The Hideaway.
“Hey, I’m gonna use your bathroom real quick,” Bishop tossed out as he headed towards it. Perfect! I waited until the door closed behind him and then quickly shot out of the front door, pulling it closed behind me quietly.
I was so pissed at him, I relished the thought of the look he’d have on his face when he came back out of the bathroom to find the motel room empty. Too bad I couldn’t be there to enjoy it.
The library was only a block away and I sped-walked as quickly as I could in the heat. The heat waves were dancing off the street, distorting the view everywhere I looked. It gave the town the peculiar look of being part of a fun house, minus any clowns. Which was good, because they’d probably be creepy It-style clowns if Ghost had anything to do with it.
Finally, I pulled open the front door of the library and stepped into the cool interior. I sucked in a deep breath of relief. It felt heavenly in there, and I wanted to just sit and enjoy the coolness, but I knew I didn’t have long. Bishop had most likely already come out of the bathroom and would start hunting for me any place within walking distance. The library was a logical choice. I had to hurry.
I walked up to the counter, tense, nervous, awkward.
I make one godawful spy.
“Hi!” I said, way too cheerfully to the two men behind the counter. One of them nodded in return, so I decided to focus my attention on him.
“Do you have the Deming News on microfilm that I can look at? I did some research online but they only post their top stories there without a subscription.”
“What are you looking for in particular?” the man asked. His eyes seemed abnormally large behind his thick glasses.
“Anything to do with the Dead Legion,” I said. “Do you have any stats on the death rate in Deming, specifically of deaths caused by the Dead Legion?” The other librarian, who had yet to say a word, walked off with books in his hands.
What an unfriendly libr
ary.
I knew I was treading on thin ice, asking such blunt questions, but I only had four and a half days left in this trip. I didn’t have time to play patty-cake. I needed answers, preferably yesterday.
“Oh, well…” the librarian trailed off. “I do have microfilm of Deming News but I don’t know how to locate specific topics like that. Microfilm is better suited for looking up by dates, not by topic. You can’t exactly Google search a microfilm canister.”
I nodded impatiently. “I understand that, so maybe could you pull out the last year of articles? I can scan through from there.”
“Or not,” Bishop’s voice hissed in my ear. The second librarian reappeared and the two of them watched quietly as I was hauled none-too-gently back out the door. The second librarian gave an apologetic smile as the doors closed behind us.
Traitor.
17
Bishop
“Goddamn you!!” I hissed in Jules’s ear as I pulled her along, back to the motel. “If Ghost had any idea what you did in there today, there’d be hell to pay! You better be damn happy that those guys know me better than Ghost and chose to call me instead of him. You can’t just waltz into a snake pit and think you’re gonna come out the other side unscathed!”
“If the Dead Legion is just a motorcycle club, as everyone is so innocently claiming, then why the hell is it such a problem to ask questions?!” Jules demanded obstinately. She was pulling against my grip, trying to escape, but I didn’t give a flying fuck what she wanted.
When I walked out of the bathroom and found her gone, the first thought that popped into my head was that she’d been kidnapped. I’d been goddamned terrified. I finally decided to start walking up and down the streets to check in on the businesses as I went, to see if they’d seen anything, when my cell phone went off. Dave, the librarian and an old friend of mine, called me and said that there was some girl down at the library, asking all sorts of questions about the Dead Legion.