FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (38 page)

Emmy

Sammie leaned against the doorframe. Her corseted top was dark with sweat, and her wildly teased beehive had deflated in the heat, sagging dejectedly to the side. "Of course it's this fucking hot today," she wheezed.

"Here, I'll take that." I rushed to grab the box of dishes before it slipped out of her sweaty hands.

"There's not
that
much left in the van," she chirped sarcastically.

"You're kidding." I looked around our tiny apartment. "Where are we gonna put all this stuff?"

"Hey, maybe you can ask the boys. They have that huge garage."

"You want me to ask a bunch of bikers if we can use their garage as storage?"

"Hey watch it." She bustled past me towards the creaky sink and ran a glass under the tap. "They're not just 'a bunch of bikers.' It's the guys. Besides," she cocked a fiercely arched eyebrow at me over her glass of water. "I hear you've got an in with one of them."

I grabbed a piece of wadded up newspaper and chucked it at her in reply.

"More like an in and out!" she crowed, ducking nimbly. "I've barely seen you all summer!"

I blushed. "You've seen me plenty."

"Yeah, I've seen you," she crossed her arms appraisingly. "All love drunk and walking funny. Do you ever stop having sex?"

I pretended to ponder. "We try to keep it down at his mom's house." She pulled a disgusted face and I laughed. "Yeah his mom would make the same face."

"How's that all going by the way?"

"It's...better." I thought back to last night's dinner, holding J.'s hand under the table to keep him calm. "He's trying, I have to give him that. And Randall's really gone above and beyond. Did you know he was over every week while J. was in prison doing house repairs for Mrs. Johnson?"

"Dang, no wonder Janelle fell for him. I love a man who's good with his hands."

"You just love men period," I clarified.

"Good point."

"It's just that it's bad memories. But every day is a little better. His mom keeps trying to guilt trip him into staying there, but he waves her off saying there's no room.  Cause of me."  I smiled at the memory of Mrs. Johnson clutching her side in a dramatic display of phantom pain.  Since I'd convinced J. to see her again, all of her dire symptoms had cleared up overnight.  "Luckily they all seem to like me."

"And the," Sammie made flapping motions with her hands, "...thing? That's not a problem?"

I squinted. "You mean the race thing?"

She sighed dramatically. "Yes, asshole. Make me say it why don't you."

I laughed again. "I will. No one else does. It's almost eerie how quick people are to avoid it. I mean come on, it's obviously right there in front of you. I mean, I'm practically translucent and he's got that..."

"That skin," she finished for me, trailing off and looking dreamy. "When's he coming to see the new place?" she asked pointedly.

"Very subtle. Actually he'll be coming by in a few minutes. He's taking me on my first mandatory ride!"

"The fuck is that?"

"Sorry, biker club shit. The club's going on a ride. All the way to Cape May."

She arched her eyebrows. "And you're going to have to hold on to J. the while way there?"

"Uh huh, poor me right?"

She huffed past me in a pretend pout. "I thought I was going to be renting with this meek little farm girl who stays in every night and wouldn't say boo to a ghost. Turns out she's actually a badass biker chick with a hot slab of meat for a boyfriend."

"Who're you calling a slab of meat?"

Sammie froze mid flounce, then burst out in open mouthed laughter to see J. at the door.

"Clearly you, Johnson. Jesus, don't you get tired of looking like a superhero in that leather outfit?"

"Never," he grinned. "It's got all my powers."

"Clearly," she drawled, poking her tongue into her cheek and letting her eyes wander down his frame.

"Okay, simmer down Samara June," I said, tugging her back from the door. "Hi J. Sorry about her."

"Used to it by now. Hey this place ain't bad." He ducked through the doorway and stepped into our tiny kitchen, looking extremely out of place.

"Not that she's going to be here at all," Sammie mumbled.

"I'll be here," I soothed. "Women aren't allowed to attend official club business. They kick me out."

"Sexist pigs."

"Ha!" J. scoffed. "Freakin' Emmy over here knows more about what's going on than I do. She's the one who reminded me of the ride this morning, I would have totally forgotten and got my ass beat for it."  He turned to me.  "Speaking of which, are you ready Em?"

I ran over to the corner where I had stashed my overnight bag. "I am, but we had a few more boxes...."

"Oh whatever, I meant it when I said there were only a few." Sammie sighed dramatically. "Far be it for me to stand in the way of 'official club business.'"

J. strode over to where she stood and looked her in the eye with mock seriousness. "Thank you Samara. I owe you. How can I ever repay you?"

"Kiss," she tapped her cheek. "Right here."

He bent obligingly and she fell back into a mock swoon. I sighed and grabbed my bag. Then I ran to hug her goodbye.

"You'll be back tomorrow?" she asked as she recovered her footing and patted my back.

"Late afternoon," I promised. "We'll have the night together."

"Last night of freedom before it's back to the salt mines."

"I'm glad I was able to get into at least one class with you. It'll be weird to be in the studios on my own."

Sammie hugged me close. "You're gonna be great Em. I'm so glad you registered. That took guts."

"She's definitely got those." J. was looking at me so fondly that I stopped in my tracks. I looked from him to Sammie, from Sammie back to him.  We were a strange little family, and I loved being part of it.  Unconditional love was still hard to accept, but I was getting better.

I blew a kiss over my shoulder as we stepped out onto the street.  J. had parked in front of our building.  Heat radiated from the pavement as I settled behind J. in my customary position, arms flung around his waist, body pressed close into his back. My overnight back was strapped down into the saddlebags, along with the tent and J.'s ever present toolkit.  I tapped his side to let him know I was ready, and we surged into the street with a throaty roar.

We caught up with the rest of the Sons of Steel at the ramp onto the Ben Franklin Bridge. They fell into formation immediately, with Teach riding at the head. J. brought up the rear, keeping a watchful eye out for any problems his brothers might have. I watched them move with militaristic precision, and my heart filled with pride to see how well J. kept the club together. There was strength in their unity.

We took back roads as much as we could, riding two abreast through the Pine Barrens. Occasionally we would draw a crowd as we passed through the small towns that dotted the landscape. I would always wave.

The Atlantic Ocean was a dark, murky blue and the sky was dappled with dark gray clouds when we finally reached our chosen end point. The light was iffy. Looking back to the west, I saw it was only going to get worse and knew I needed to hurry.

"Okay, how about against that wall?"

Teach leaned against the retaining wall and crossed his arms. "How's this?" The sea breeze played with his long dreadlocks and the sun peeked through a cloud, highlighting the sparkle in his wise old eyes

I backed up and checked the light on my meter.

"Hang on, I want your bike in the shot." I stepped carefully around his chopper. The gleam of chrome lit his face from underneath, giving his craggy, scarred face a heroic glow. "That's perfect."

One by one the Sons of Steel posed for my camera.  I could feel J.'s eyes in me as I snapped the portraits of his brothers. "My girl's an artist," he declared.

I searched my heart and spoke my truth. "I found my inspiration."

The End

STEEL

ME AWAY

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(C) 2015 by Vivian Lux and Velvetfire Press

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J.

Six on six.

Those were the terms.  And though they had sounded fair at the time, now that J. was standing in the dusty parking lot of the abandoned strip mall, he wasn't so sure.  He and his brothers numbered six all together.  Their opponents numbered four times that amount.

"If shit goes down, we're dead," he muttered to Case.

The Sergeant-At-Arms nodded, all trace of his usual good humor erased from his bearded face.  J. could see worry lines creasing his best friend's forehead, and the stiff way he still held himself.  Two cracked ribs was the official diagnosis from Doctor D. but Case had refused to go to the hospital after the fight with the Storm Riders.  They would have asked him how it happened. 

"Pretty much," Case nodded.  He furrowed his brow and squinted his pale blue eyes towards the east, his expression grim.  Case had scouted this location for the negotiations yesterday and declared it safe.  Neutral ground, good visibility and miles away from any interested law enforcement.  The lonely highway shot straight through the Pine Barrens, vanishing to a pinpoint on the horizon.  There was no way the Storm Riders could surprise them.  They had the advantage that way.

Our only advantage
, J. thought, digging the toe of his boot into a weedy crack in the pavement.  He and Case were the only real fighters in the club, and Case was already injured. 

Crash was always ready for a scrap but his bad leg slowed him down, and his brain injury sometimes affected his reaction time.  And then there were the three older men.  J. pursed his lips as he watched them mill about on the baking asphalt.  Doctor D. was a heavy drinker with the proud beer gut to show for it.  MacDougal was a demon fighter back in his day, but no one could claim he was still in his prime. His taste for blood had dissipated with age.  Now he was like an old, sleepy dog that seldom left the shade of his favorite tree.  Only waking long enough to snarl at you before nodding off again. 

But most worrisome of all was Teach.  J. swallowed when he caught a glimpse of the ruin of his mentor's face.  The club president had taken a shattered glass bottle to the cheek in their last encounter with the Storm Riders.  It had opened a lurid purple wound under his eye that was still shining and raw in the late morning light. 

J. hadn't been there to protect him.

His guilt weighed heavier than his fear.  And guilt fed his anger.  He clenched his fists, priming his rage, feeling the rush of adrenaline hone his senses.  He couldn't control anything else in his life, but he could control his fists.  His brothers weren't in good fighting shape, but he was.  He was ready to fight for the greater good of the club. He was ready to defend each of them, to fight for their honor the way they had for him. 

Everything else was in tatters.  Honor was all he had left to hold on to.

He was almost ready to die if need be.

Almost.

But not quite.

Because when he surveyed the knot of men, the people closest to him in this world, there was someone missing.  He had all the backup he wanted, except one person.

He had fallen in love with her quick and driven her away even quicker.

"If I get out of this," J. spoke into the wind, "I'm getting Emmy back."

But the hot breeze tore his words from his lips before anyone could hear them spoken.

It started as a rumble so low he could have imagined it, but the dots on the horizon confirmed.  Six riders from the east.

"Head's up!" Case called to the rest.  Even though the riders were a long ways off, he still moved to the front of the cluster, his instincts to protect the club honed to a pinpoint.

They were a long way off, but moving fast.  Streaks of heavy metal thunder barreled closer.

"No one moves unless provoked," Teach called over the roar.  "I don't have to remind you they may have reinforcements out of sight."

He didn't have to remind them.

"Fuckers," Crash growled and spat on the ground in contempt.

"Stop that shit," Teach barked hoarsely.  "We're not here to fight them."  The older man looked exhausted.  "We need peace."

"Fuck peace, this is the next battle in a war," Crash protested.  "Fucking bring it."

Not before I find Emmy
, J. breathed in. 
Let me get out of this so I can see Emmy again.

The riders made the wide left turn, swooping into the parking lot like a flock of birds of prey.  J. recognized Desmond, the president of the Storm Riders.  And behind him was a face that sent his blood racing and his fists clenching.

Wayne, the Storm Rider who had started this whole mess.  The racist piece of shit who had tried to get between him and Emmy. 

J. stepped forward without realizing, his fists balled at the ready.  Here was the reason his brothers were hurting right now.  The fury flowed fast and strong through his veins.  J. could already see his fist smashing into Wayne's sallow, sneering face.

"Get back," Case growled, pushing J. behind him. 

"I want first hit on that fucker if it comes to it."

"Ain't gonna come to it," Teach rumbled.  "Get back."

The red rage was coming, clouding the edge of his sight.  And there was nothing he could do to stop it.  No one had the power to calm him when it took over.  Except one person.

Emmy.

And she was gone.