“You good with this?” His answer surprised him though it wasn’t standard or even thought out.
“I don’t know, something feels wrong.”
“With the chick or the mission?”
Gathering up the papers that he would dispose of before he left the clubhouse, Crash headed to the door.
“I don’t know, brother, but it’s something.” Crash had already made it out in the hall when he heard Jinx.
“Go with your gut, man, even if your head is telling you different.”
Crash clipped, “Will do” in response but didn’t stop his stride. Going to his room, he looked around. There wasn’t much there—a bed, a dresser, a couple of nightstands, a bathroom off to the side, and a closet. He didn’t have keepsakes or pictures. He hadn’t needed or wanted any of those things for a very long time. But looking at it now, he wondered at thirty-two years old, shouldn’t he want or have more? Unlike most of the guys, he lived at the clubhouse; it was convenient in every way. There were always people around if he wanted to have a beer or shoot the shit. If he wanted to fuck, a puppet or a hang-around filled that need, and when he needed his space, this room provided that. All he had to do is shut the door, and no one would bother him.
He wondered what a person like Braya would think of his life. He had money in the bank—a lot of money in the bank. The missions the RBMC took paid well, and he had been doing them for a long-assed time, but he never felt the need to buy a house or even fill his room with things; they only created permanence. Looking at it now, he wondered if that had been a mistake. He’d never felt the need to leave once he joined the RBMC, but he always wanted that option open, just in case. What did that say about him?
Going to the closet, he grabbed his go bag and another empty one. He didn’t need to check to see if he needed anything else, he knew everything he would need was in there. It was habit. You went on a mission, you took your go bag, you came back, you restocked and placed it back for the next mission. Realizing he needed to get some stuff together for Braya, he grabbed an empty bag and went out in the parking lot. It wasn’t hard to find her vehicle. It was a fucking white Prius that stood out like nobody’s business in the parking lot filled with bikes, trucks, SUVs, and muscle cars.
She hadn’t even locked the damn door. Her purse was lying on the passenger side seat. Taking that first, he took out her license. Braya Collins, 116 N Faxon Road, Harlet, TN, Age - Twenty-six, Height - Five six, Weight - 145, Hair black, Eyes blue. It was the necessary information, what all licenses held. He even noted her picture wasn’t half bad, but none of it gave the woman justice. Her hair wasn’t just black, it was black with an almost deep blue highlight, and her eyes weren’t merely blue, closer to purple, and her height and weight didn’t even start to show how sexy her curvy body was or how fucking perfect her tits looked even in a damn sweatshirt. Not to mention how tight and firm her heart shaped ass was in a pair of yoga pants. No, it didn’t say any of that; that shit was all in Crash’s head.
Throwing the license in the empty bag he brought, he dug through her purse, looking for anything else she needed like medications or “girl stuff.” He didn’t find any, so he put her purse back on the seat, leaving her phone, wallet, and everything else in it. Spying a bag in the back seat, he pulled it forward and saw it contained some clothes, jeans, socks, underthings, crap like that and a small cosmetic bag. He bundled up the clothes and shoved them in his bag but dumped the cosmetic bag out on the seat. He determined all she needed was the travel-sized toothbrush and toothpaste, the rest of the shit could stay. She wasn’t wearing any makeup now, and as far as Crash was concerned, she didn’t need any. The one thing he didn’t find was a coat or jacket of any kind. He would need to work that shit out before they left. He did find a pair of sunglasses in the compartment next to the visor and put them in the bag as well.
Next, he went to his bike and did a few checks, making sure the tank was topped off and everything else was in working order. Checking his saddlebags, he made sure his tool kit was in there, and Brass hadn’t decided to add any other little presents for him. Stowing both bags, he took his gun out of the holster on his back and put it in the saddlebags too. Braya would be at his back, and he didn’t want her to feel it. He had another on his ankle, just in case he needed it quickly, but she wouldn’t feel that one.
Creed came up to him and asked, “You want me to change out your seat?”
Crash looked down. It was a dick move, but he wasn’t exactly feeling like a nice guy at the moment
“No time, she’ll deal.”
“Dude, that’s fucking cruel.”
“Not your business, man,” Crash said before turning around and walking away.
When he came back into the clubhouse, Rae was just walking toward the door. Sizing her up, he realized she and Braya were about the same size.
“Hey, Rae, do you have an extra jacket or anything here I can borrow?”
“Just this one,” Rae said, pulling the leather jacket away from her body. He was about to go and ask one of the other women when she said, “I don’t think it will fit you, but if you want it, it’s yours.”
Crash smiled. Rae had always been good people, nice to everyone and hardly ever gave him any shit, which he appreciated. What he appreciated more was the fact Rae also stayed the hell out of drama and gossip, unlike some of the other Ol’ Ladies.
“It’s kind of cold outside if you and Tank are going for a ride.” He left his statement at that. He would take the jacket if she was cool with it but not if she needed it, simple as that.
“Nah, Tank is already home. I just stopped in to pick up some paperwork, and I have the car.” She took off the jacket and held it out for him.
“Thanks, Rae, appreciate it.”
“Not a problem, safe travels.”
Now that’s how a woman should be, simple—no drama, comments, or scowling, just “Sure, here you go.” Seeing Braya standing by the bar, he realized pretty damn quick with the pinched look on her face, she would never be that type of woman.
“You ready?”
“I need to get my stuff. Santa wouldn’t let me leave the room,” Braya said, glaring at Blade. Crash almost smiled. All the women had taken to calling the man Santa. They really should just consider changing the old man's road name. But he didn’t smile. He was in mission mode now, and that meant business.
“Put this on,” he said, thrusting Rea’s jacket out to Braya. “I have your other shit already. Time to hit the road, princess.”
Braya struggled to get it over the thick sweatshirt she was wearing but finally managed. Crash had already turned away, not needing to see how tight the leather was over her boobs. He was already having a hard enough time keeping his mind on the mission and away from her without thinking about her tits. He had only taken a few steps when he heard her quick footsteps behind him.
“Wait! How did you get my stuff?”
“Took it out of your car, princess, right where you left it.”
“You went through my things?”
“Yep.” He knew she had stopped walking without even looking back.
“Let’s go, princess.”
Chapter Nine
Braya was in hell. The first half hour on Crash’s bike was exhilarating, she had loved the freedom of it. He went at a fast pace, and since they were driving at night, there weren’t very many cars around. She loved it—the wind in her hair, the feel of his hard body against hers as she held on—but after about the first hour, when her butt became numb and the millionth bug hit her face with stinging velocity, she was over it. The second hour, her hands were so cold, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. But did the asshole even slow down or ask if she was okay? Nope. Crash hadn’t said a word since the first moment he revved his engine and put the bike in gear.
She had always considered herself somewhat of an optimist, could find good in things and concentrate on that, but this ride, she was having a hell of a time finding
something good to focus on. Well, besides the fact they were heading out to figure out what was going on with her sister, possibly save her, but that was hours away and laced with a shit ton of what ifs. This ride, on the other hand, was front and center. Since they were riding at night, she couldn’t even look at the scenery to take her mind off the fact her back hurt, her knees felt like an arthritic eighty-year-old’s, and her yoga pants- wonderful for comfort and lounging- left something to be desired for warmth. Plus, all the other stuff. When Crash passed yet another exit that showed lights for gas stations, restaurants, and hotels she almost whimpered.
Another hour down and Braya was ready to beg for a break. Thankfully it didn’t come to that. Crash finally took one of the exits and pulled into a gas station, parking his bike. He jumped off the bike, like it was no big deal, going to the gas pump, but Braya was frozen in place. She moved her hands, trying to get some circulation back into them, several times stretching her fingers out and pulling them in. It wasn’t helping. She didn’t even want to consider getting off the bike, but she knew that damn tank was small and if she didn’t make a move soon, Crash would just get back on and start driving again, and she needed to get off the bike. She tested the muscles in her legs the best she could, still sitting and eventually, very ungracefully, got one up and over, but when she went to stand, had Crash not been so close, she would have face planted right there, in front of the gas pump.
She was surprised he didn’t mock her or call her princess like he did before. Instead, he held her until her legs started to work again, and asked, “You good?” She wanted to bark, ‘Hell no, I’m not good, I’m cold, sore, and tired,’ but instead, nodded and said, “Bathroom,” pointing toward the gas station. He nodded, and she wobbled like a bowlegged dork as she walked toward the door, only to find out from the not so friendly attendant that the bathrooms weren’t inside the building but outside in the back, handing her a key that was attached to a two by four to get in.
Holding her unique key chain, she went back outside and around the building where, surprise, surprise, there weren’t any lights, nope, not a single one. Finding the door for the women's restroom, it took her several minutes to maneuver the key into the door the right way with the lovely two by four before she finally got it open. The smell hit her like a ton of bricks. Wonderful!! Didn’t this just make the rest of the night worth it? Doing her business quickly, while half-standing in an awkward position. Holding her two by four keychain under her arm and pulling her pants down with one hand, she somehow managed to actually pee in the toilet and not all over the place, like apparently the other customers had. When she got her pants back up and debated on the most sanitary way to flush the toilet, she decided maybe the two by four wasn’t so bad. It worked as an awesome toilet flusher, and bonus, she didn’t have to touch the handle that had seen better days and not a scrub brush or cleaning product for what she guessed was weeks if not months.
The sink was just as bad, but her handy keychain didn’t work for that. Nope, she had to use the scratchy, paper-thin paper towels that weren’t even in the dispenser, just sitting on top of it—classy. Braya washed her hands, then looked in the dingy, cracked mirror and gasped. She looked like hell warmed over. Her hair was a rat’s nest of snarls, sticking up in weird ways. She had dark circles under her eyes and several bright pink welts on her face. Braya just stared. She didn’t have a brush, and even if she did, she doubted it would do any good, at this point. She needed hair conditioner and a hot shower to fix the mess that was staring right back at her, and more than a few hours of sleep.
She was running on empty. When she got the letters and instructions from Kayla, she had grabbed her shit and hit the road. The drive wasn’t overly long, just over four and a half hours, but she hadn’t slept the night before or very well, for that matter, the entire week because she had been worried about Kayla. Now it was all catching up to her. Reaching into the pocket of the jacket she was wearing, she found a hair band and did her best to make herself or at least her hair look somewhat less crazed bag lady-ish.
When she’d done all she could, Braya left the bathroom or at least tried to. She managed to open the door, only to have three very scary ladies push her back in. Braya blurted out the first thing she could think of, “I don’t have any money.”
One of the women laughed and addressed her very tall friend, “Jewell, can you believe women these days?”
“Yeah, pretty pathetic,” the Jewell person said, shaking her head “but cut her some slack, Callie, her man has been riding her hard all night. You wouldn’t be at your best either.”
The women were talking to themselves about Braya, but she wanted to let them continue the conversation while she was out of that bathroom. When she leaned her body toward the left, to possibly do just that, the other woman blocked her path, arms crossed, shaking her head.
“Sweets, you never tell anyone you don’t have something they might want because that makes you expendable. Bad move.”
Braya could feel herself starting to breathe fast. What the hell was going on? Were these women going to hurt her, rob her when she didn’t have anything? She could feel the blood leaving her face. The woman in front of her—who was actually more pretty than scary but still kind of badass in her leather jacket with chains attached—put her hand out to touch her, and Braya totally flinched back. She just smiled and grabbed Braya’s shoulder.
“Chill, sweets, we’re the good guys... or girls. We need you to give your man a message, and this seemed like the easiest without letting anyone else see us talking, understand?”
No, Braya thought, she didn’t understand, but then she remembered Tuck and Crash talking about Vampires or no Valkyries.
“Are you part of the Valkyries?” she asked, thinking, ‘What the hell at this point.’ The woman smiled bigger. The other two were over at the mirror, putting on lipstick and fluffing their hair. That was when she saw the back of their jackets, the name Valkyrie was right there, surrounded by a picture of a woman with embroidered kick ass wings, and at the bottom it said, Nashville.
The woman at the sink turned around and leaned up against it.
“Name’s Callie, as you heard, this,”—she pointed to the woman next to her—“is Jewell, and that lovely little creature standing in front of you is Rave. We’re, as you said, part of the Valkyrie and your escort to Texas.” The woman named Rave held out a bottle of water and opened her hand, which held two white pills.
“Ah, thanks, but I don’t take drugs.”
“Sweets, this is Tylenol, nothing more. Like Jewell said, your man is riding you hard, and you have to be sore. Hell, I’m used to it, and I’m sore. The bastard could have at least put a sissy bar and a bigger seat on his ride when he knew the two of you would be driving long haul. Not cool in my book.”
Braya had done a few stupid things in her life, but this was going to be one for the record books. She not only took the bottle of water, she also took the mysterious pills and swallowed them right down. If these women wanted to drug her, she was all for it. Maybe for a little while, she wouldn’t feel so fucking crappy. Later, she would think about that, but right now, she was just done.
“Damn, sweets, you don’t have many self-preservation skills do ya?”
Braya wanted to laugh at that because she actually did, but apparently, just not at that moment. Rave also handed her a pair of gloves and a couple of packets of those hand warmer things, then a tube of cream. That Braya didn’t get.
“Sweets, it’s for your face. If they had scarves in the gas station, I would have gotten one for you. The wind is going to chap that pretty face of yours pretty damn fast with the way your man’s pushing the throttle down.”
Braya went over to the sink to put some of the cream on her face. The other two women moved away, but not far. Maybe it would help the welts from the insects that had already hit her, but with her luck, it would just make their carcasses stick to her face.
The woman waited for her to put the
cream on. When she was done, she went to hand it back to Rave, but the woman just shook her head.
“Keep it, sweets, you’re going to need it.”
Callie, Braya thought, said “You need to tell your man that you have three hostiles on your tail and two friendlies. We were able to persuade one batch of hostiles to leave the fight, but the other two are right up your asses. The Soldiers are waiting them out, hoping to distract them when you two pull out.”
“He isn’t my man,” Braya blurted out.
“Hon,” Callie said, “for the next forty-eight hours, you better start thinking he is your man. Do what it takes to get your ass to your destination and back in one piece. If that means you have to suck his dick or spread your legs, do it. The hostiles I’m talking about don’t mess around, and if they decided to stop following and start taking, you’re going to wish that man out there was your man, and you were safe in his arms. Get my meaning?”
“Do you know who they are, the hostiles?” Braya questioned.
“One group is cartel, for sure, seen those boys around a time or two. The other group is unknown at this time, but they’re good. Wouldn’t have noticed them at all if my girl here hadn’t noticed the license plate. It’s a game for her,” Callie said, looking proud of the other woman. Now, Rave, she smiled so big and wide at Callie, it was almost like she and Jewell needed to leave the two women alone for a little while to finish their private moment.
“Can’t we call the cops or someone to find out who it is if Rave has the number?”
“Already done, sweets, came back stolen,” Rave said, shrugging her shoulders like none of this was a big deal at all.
“Can you describe them?” Braya didn’t know how much good it would do, but she remembered several of her mother’s people and had seen more than a few of Duncan’s.
“They’re bikers, I’d say hardcore, but they aren’t wearing any colors. Big dudes but not as pretty as the ones you're associated with.”
Crash: Ruthless Bastards (RBMC Book 9) Page 7