Kayla smiled sweetly at the bikers, Kief, Riggs and Dutch, and passed each of them their meal, before sweeping away towards the next table.
Kayla rubbed her eyes with her right hand while she supported her tray with her left arm. She was exhausted, only having slept a few hours the night before. It was no one’s fault but her own, though. Well, her own, and Jagger Kent. Jagger had called Kayla late last night. It hadn’t taken much to entice her to leave baby Jayna with her mother, while she sowed some wild oats. He had pulled up outside her parents’ house at half past one in the morning with the engine of his Harley roaring. Much to her mother, Cindy, the Sunday School teacher’s dismay, Jagger didn’t return with Kayla until quarter to seven in the morning with her makeup worn and rips in her sheer black stockings. Kayla, however, did not appear to have any qualms about her activities last night. A tired smirk broke onto her face. A night out with Jagger, in her opinion, was always a good time.
Kayla Jordan has made some mistakes. As the daughter of the town Deputy and a Sunday school teacher, Kayla was raised on a pedestal with a silver spoon in her pretty mouth. As an adult, though, the princess treatment she had received under her parents’ care has fallen flat. Many have said that her first mistake was getting involved with Rebel Reed. Her second mistake was assuming him to be a fool. Her third mistake was crossing Rebel and bedding his father when Rebel wouldn’t let her get her way. Her biggest mistake, though? Thinking that Rebel would be able to forgive her for all her misdeeds. Now, with a baby in the equation, Kayla is about to understand the full weight of her decisions. When love and war clash, is there any hope for forgiveness? For a future?
Well, a girl can dream, right?
The kitchen bell rang three more times.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Jake cast a hostile gaze out the service window at Kayla. Reeling from the animosity in his stare, Kayla swallowed down air just before pursing her lips at Jake.
“Order up! C’mon, Kay! What’s the hold up?!” Jake demanded to know. Rubbing his hand against his white t-shirt, Jake looked absolutely fit to be tied. “Fuck…” Jake muttered. “Get your ass in gear.”
Kayla was becoming flustered, and it was apparent on her face. Her cheeks burned red with embarrassment as patrons looked her way. As Mrs. Nielsen, a house wife notorious for being a gossip hound, peered her way and let out a little chuckle, Kayla snapped.
“See something funny?!” Kayla spat Mrs. Nielsen’s way. “Mind yourselves!”
Mrs. Nielsen’s eyes went wide with shock as Kayla swept by in a huff. “Old heifer,” she muttered under her breath.
Mrs. Nielsen leaned in closer to her friend Mrs. Pratt, keeping her eyes locked on the back of Kayla’s head. “The nerve of that girl!”
Mrs. Pratt smirked as she watched Kayla walk away, her blonde ponytail swaying behind her. “She can say whatever she wants. Daddy will protect her…”
Examining her fingernails, Mrs. Nielsen smiled slyly, “Or Cedro…”
“Shirley! You dare call him by his first name?!” Mrs. Pratt asked, looking shocked.
Mrs. Nielsen shrugged. “Oh, come on, Nancy… He’s not here… and besides, is he really going to waste his time on me?”
Mrs. Pratt motioned towards the bikers who were sitting a few tables over. “He’s not, but his goons are…”
Mrs. Nielsen chuckled a little. “Not the brightest bulbs in the box, they are… I could offend them to their face and they wouldn’t even know it. Besides, I heard Cedro has bigger fish to fry.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Pratt asked as her eyes began to dazzle with excitement. There was nothing she loved more than some fresh gossip. “Do tell.”
“My god, Nancy, don’t you read the papers?”
“Well, yeah, Shirley! It’s all about that Tug Hanson murder. Everything surrounding that seems awful suspicious.”
“It is… You know who his best friend was, right?” Mrs. Nielsen asked.
“How could I forget? I remember seeing Tug and Rebel everywhere together as kids,” Mrs. Pratt said. “Do you think he’ll show?”
Mrs. Nielsen’s smile broadened as memories of Rebel Reed played in her mind. “Oh, I’m countin’ on it.”
“Does he know about little Miss Sassy Pant’s getting’ knocked up?”
“Damned if I know, but he’s about to find out.”
“Which one do you reckon is the Daddy?”
“Lord, better line up the paternity testing. Either way… It’s a Reed. Poor kid. Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation!”
“I betcha she don’t even know who the Daddy is… running ‘round like she does.”
Kayla was fuming. She shook her head as she tried to tune out the gossip. She dropped off a bill at table fourteen, refreshed the drinks at table nineteen, and scurried off to the kitchen while securing her long blonde hair into a tight ponytail. As she stepped into the kitchen, her soft blue eyes met Jake’s agitated brown irises. Locking their gazes upon each other, attitude flooded the room.
“You don’t have to be so rude, Jake!” Kayla spat as she stamped her left foot against the greasy linoleum floor. “I was coming!”
“Not quick enough, hun! This is a business, not the beach. Gotta pick up the pace!”
“I was checking in on the patrons, Jake!” Kayla continued to yell.
“I’m paying you to serve, not flirt. Pick up the pace, buttercup!”
“I wasn’t flirtin’!”
“No, not today you weren’t. But I did overhear you going snaptacular on Mrs. Nielsen.”
Snaptacular. One of Jake’s made up words. Charming, Kayla thought.
“She was staring at me, and talking shit.”
“Barbie doll, I don’t know where the hell you think you are, but they can stare and they can talk all they want. You can’t talk to them like that…” Jake said sharply.
Kayla was getting flustered again. “Them?! You can’t talk to me that way!”
“I hate to break it to you, darlin’, but I’m your boss. I can.”
“I won’t stand for this. I’ll… I’ll….”
“You’ll what? Get your Daddy?”
“No! I’ll tell Cedro!”
Jake didn’t look impressed. Furrowing his brow, he leaned in a little closer to Kayla, bending down to be closer at her level.
“Let me tell you something, Miss Jordan,” Jake said, enunciating her name clearly and slowly. “I ain’t afraid of your Daddy, and I sure as shit ain’t afraid of your sugar daddy… Throwin’ Cedro Reed’s name in my face! I have it on good authority that Cedro’s days in Clayton are numbered. Now you better get to handling these orders before you find yourself out of a job.”
“Have you talked to Rebel?” Kayla asked, giving Jake a speculative glare. It appeared that Kayla was attempting to change the subject.
“Depends on who’s askin’…” Jake said dryly.
“I’m asking,” Kayla said as a smirk began to grow on her face.
“Well in that case…” Jake said with a laugh. “Haven’t heard from him.”
Kayla’s jaw dropped. Who does he think he is?! Kayla thought as anger ripped through her. Cedro Reed is nothing short of a God around here. Just who does he think he is talking to me like that?! And what did he mean Cedro’s days are numbered. Was that a threat?! And what’s with his response on whether or not he talked to Rebel?!
“C’mon! Hop to it!” Jake barked as he slammed his hand down on the bell again. “Order up!”
With a huff, Kayla turned on her heels, grabbed two more trays off of the counter, and exited the kitchen.
***
Rebel Reed cut down Lincoln Avenue with his stomach in knots. The gears were grinding in his head. He had been gone a full year. How old was the baby? How could he be sure that the baby was really his? Obviously, there were tests for these types of things. Rebel doubted that a father and son ever had to sit side by side for paternity testing though. Not that they would sit side by side. The waiting room would turn
into a crime scene. Rebel was sure of it. Their first meeting would be sure to be tense. It was not just the painful sleight of his father and his ex-girlfriend betraying him. There was the matter of Tug to be addressed, along with a long-standing feud between father and son.
Whatever happens, Rebel thought. You need to keep your cool. Don’t get distracted by the kid. If the kid is your’s, you’ll handle your business. If it’s not, then keep it moving. That is not why you’re in town. This is about Tug. Stay focused.
He brought his bike to a halt at a stop light. While he waited for the light to change from red to green, his stomach growled angrily. Peering around at his surroundings, Rebel looked for the closest eating establishment. The town, he noticed, looked relatively the same. A few of the shop names had changed, but the main staples were all still there. Revving his bike down the avenue, Rebel made a sharp right and turned into the parking lot of May’s Café. Parking his bike in the gravel lot, Rebel slid off his helmet and dismounted his bike. Casting a look of animosity up towards the diner, he cut across the parking lot keeping a close watch of his surroundings. Feeling as if he had swallowed a bowling ball, Rebel swallowed down his anxiety. He knew eyes would be on him. He was stepping into dangerous territory – shark infested waters, and all the players would be out for blood. Rebel was alert, but he was not scared. He held one hand on his waistband where he could feel the outline of his gun. He was no boy scout, and if provoked, Rebel would defend himself, no matter the cost. His eyes scanned the street, and once he determined that the coast was clear, he climbed the steps of the diner. The bell over the door announced his arrival. As he stepped into May’s Café for the first time in over a year, Rebel was reminded of just how drastically things could change in one year. As forty-two pairs of eyes stared up at him, Rebel pretended not to recognize a single person.
Renegade Hall
901 Lincoln Avenue
Clayton, WV
The sun beat down, hot and fierce, upon the fenced yard that was situated behind the Renegade Hall – home of the Renegade Riders motorcycle club. Trey Larson, affectionately known as Hack around the club, wore a black leather cut with the Renegade’s patch emblazoned on the back. Just over top of the Renegade mark, stitched in white thread was the word, “Prospect.” Larson leaned over the hood of a beautiful black vintage 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z28. The car was beautiful. Sexy. Smoking. Literally.
Cough cough, Trey hacked as steam rose from the engine. He waved the cloud of smoke away with a swipe of his hand as beads of sweat dripped down his face.
“God damn it!” Larson growled as he slammed his monkey wrench against the bumper of the car.
“Aye!” Viper, the club’s Sergeant At Arms shouted. Viper was a big son of a bitch. Standing at six feet, four inches tall, broad shouldered and barrel-chested, Viper was the last person on earth next to Cedro that you would want to find yourself in a bar room fight with. His long dark hair, scraggily beard and dark, piercing eyes only added to his menacing appearance.
Immediately, Larson looked up, swallowing down a mouthful of hot air. Straightening his gait, he peered at Viper with a set of nervous eyes.
“Careful with the boss’ car!” Viper demanded. “Fuck!”
“Yes, boss. I mean, Viper. Sir. Mister Viper. Sorry…” Larson stammered.
Viper glared at the Prospect for a few more tense seconds. “That’s better,” Viper growled in a deep twang. As he turned to walk back to his post next to the door, a couple of hangarounds, bar flies that linger around the club, giggled and pointed at Larson in a mocking manner. Larson narrowed his eyes as he glowered at Brenda, Tina and Jennie. They were dressed scantily, wearing nothing more than daisy dukes and black Renegade’s tank tops. Their makeup was heavily applied, and their hair was as big as their personalities. Their sole purpose at the club? Flirt, chat with, and entertain the Renegades.
“Shut up, stupid hens!” Larson spat at the women. Even as prospect, he ranked higher in the pecking order than the hang-arounds. “Cluck cluck cluck… That’s all the fuck I hear!”
“Excuse me?!” Viper barked as his black combat boots twisted on the hot asphalt. The Sergeant At Arms started beating a path towards the Prospect.
Oh shit, Larson thought as he took in Viper’s angry expression.
“No, no! Not you! Them! I meant them, Mr. Viper! Sir!” Larson explained, stumbling over his own words, and sounding out of breath.
Viper stopped dead in his tracks, his muscles tensed with aggression as he stared hostilely at Larson. “Mmmhmmm.”
“No, honest! They were disrespectin’ me! I would never tell Mr. Viper to shut up. Ever.”
Viper’s brow furrowed but he stayed silent as he watched Larson squirm under the heat of his gaze. Then, after a few very intense seconds, Viper snapped his gaze from Larson and glowered at the women.
“Don’t you have something better to do?!” Viper snapped at the women. “Let him work!” Viper said as he pried open the back door of the club. “Go on, git! Ain’t sittin’ out here babysittin’ your asses!”
As the women scampered in, rushing past Viper and disappearing in the dark of the club, Viper gave one final glare back at Larson before slamming the door behind him. With his heart racing, Larson turned back to the car, and he let out a heavy breath.
“Jesus, that fucker’s scary,” Larson muttered under his breath.
Clasping his wrench, Larson decided to give the engine one last go, but when his knuckles scraped against the scorching hot metal of the engine, he let out a tremendous yelp and dropped the wrench to the ground with a loud clang.
“Fuck! Son of a monkey fucker, fire breathing bitch from hell!!!!” Larson yelled.
A laugh chuckled from behind him. “That was creative,” Aldo quipped. Aldo, a short and stocky man with a bald head as shiny and round as a bowling ball, took a drag of his cigarette as a smile grew from the corners of his mouth. He wore the Treasurer’s badge on his cut.
“That hurt like a motha!” Larson yelled as he inspected his hand.
“I’m not even sure what that means… but, I do have a suggestion,” Aldo added.
“Your last suggestion got me in hot water!” Trey complained.
“Well, Prospect,” Aldo said as he took another drag of his cigarette. “Seeing as how you’re already burnt, a little hot water might not be so bad.”
Larson gave Aldo a look of distrust as he nursed his burnt knuckles.
“Hear me out,” Aldo said, flashing Larson a genial smile.
Larson was still glowering at Aldo. Then, after a moment, he shrugged his shoulders, and growled, “Yeah… Go on. What’s this grand plan you have?”
“Oh, no kid. There’s nothing grand about it. You’re gonna grovel.”
“Grovel.”
“Yeah. Grovel.”
“And why would I do that?” Trey asked as he wiped grease across the front of his t-shirt.
Aldo laughed, “Because you have no clue what the fuck you’re doing, and if you fuck up Cedro’s car worse, he’s gonna have your head mounted on his wall.”
Trey let out a deep sigh as he looked down at his feet. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Aldo had him pegged. “So grovel?”
“Yeah… Tell him the motor’s shot. He’ll tell you to take it to the shop for a replacement. Bingo Bango Bungo! You’re off the hook.”
“And he’ll think I’m a chump.”
Aldo chuckled as he eyeballed Larson up and down, from his head to his toes and over again. “And he’d be right.”
Larson had a few choice words on his tongue for Aldo, but because of his rank, he wouldn’t dare let them slip off of his tongue.
“Where’s he at?” Larson asked, as he glared at the club house, blocking out the blinding sun with his right hand.
“Last I heard, by the bar. Better go handle that now… Time’s a wasting, kid.”
“Yeah, I’m going,” Larson said as he let his wrench drop to the ground once more.
He cut across t
he yard at a slow but steady pace. As he went, Aldo watched Trey’s skinny silhouette shrink until it had disappeared behind the clubhouse door. As he took another puff of his cigarette, Aldo laughed, and quipped, “What an idiot.” Dropping his cigarette to the ground, he stamped out the end with his boot, before making his way towards the door to watch the shit show play out.
Larson cut down the long hallway, bypassing decades of club memorabilia on the walls that were recovered from the fire. Mug shots and patches, photos and vintage cuts lined the walls, showcased in wooden frames and shadow boxes. Making a sharp right, Larson cut into the bar, which for a Tuesday afternoon, was remarkably packed. Scanning the crowd, Larson looked for Cedro, but he didn’t see him. Strolling up to the bar, Larson smiled at an older woman named Bambi.
“What’ll it be, babe?” Bambi spoke with a rough voice that was destroyed by emphysema.
“Nothing for me… You seen the boss lately?”
“Think he’s in the back, babe,” Bambi said coyly giving Larson a look of warning. He didn’t pick up on the non-verbal cues that Bambi was laying down.
“Thanks Bamb,” Larson said as she knocked on the wood of the bar three times.
“Hun, I don’t think-“ Bambi began, but after she got a stern look from Aldo, she stopped. A sly smile creased his face and a single finger rose to his lips.
“Ssshhh…” Aldo said just loud enough for Bambi to hear.
She shook her head as she wiped the bar down with a greasy rag. “You guys are so bad.”
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