Survivor: Steel Jockeys MC (19 page)

“Absolutely,” said Aaron. “She’s free to go or stay, as she pleases.”

Joe exhaled. "What about the Reapers?"

"Don’t worry about the Reapers,” Aaron replied. “They’re a joke. They've got nothing. No territory, no suppliers, no allies, nothing. They won't be bothering us anymore. With us working together, they won't dare." Joe wasn't sure he liked the way Aaron kept using the word "us." He preferred to keep the older man and his entire dirty operation at arm's length. His infrastructure was in place before Kyle, and then Joe, became president, and he’d never felt like Beeson had fully embraced the turnover.

"How do you explain this?" asked Joe, pushing back his hair and showing him the healing wound on the side of his face. “Seems kind of bold, don’t you think?”

“Right. From some pissant in the county jail calling himself a Reaper? Come on, Joey. Bet the only club that punk’s ever been in is his local 4-H.”

“He had the tat,” Joe muttered. “And he sure seemed to know a lot.”

“Well in that case, he’s not the only one who knows more than he should. Come on, now.” He stuck out his hand for Joe to shake, and the whole landscape seemed to turn to watercolors as Joe returned the gesture.

Back at the top of the hill, seeing the club president stalking toward him, face like a tornado, A.J. grabbed for his shoulder, practically salivating to be clued in. “What--”

“It’s over,” Joe growled, kicking his bike into gear. The only thing left was to ride home and pray something would be left when he got there.

***

"Welcome back. How was your day, hon?" The smirk on Lydia Beeson’s lips as she flipped her jet-black hair and turned around to face him, told him that her term of endearment was no accident.

Firmly ensconced at a table in the center of the Thunderbird, she crossed one of her black knee-high boots over the other leg, primly sipping what Joe instantly recognized as a Grey Goose and tonic, her sparkling antique diamond ring curled around the glass.

She was half-Mexican--her father's advantageous marriage had been part of why he'd been able to consolidate power so quickly-- and she had inherited her mother's huge, onyx-black eyes. But to Joe, she looked like a pit viper, lying in wait to bite, and then squeeze everything within reach that she perceived as weak.

He went immediately to the table and stood over her. "Where's Ruby?"

"Oh, I thought you knew,” she said, painted innocence on her face, her lips pursed like a duck’s. “On her way to Mexico. With Aaron."

Lydia Beeson seemed as if she was born to be Joseph Ryan's girl. As Ruby reached for the Grey Goose vodka the tall woman had ordered, she felt her gaze fall on her like a shadow over the sun. Dark and beautiful, Lydia’s eyebrows were effortlessly groomed, her wavy, waist-length black hair as thick as a curtain, touched with golden highlights. She wore a lacy blouse under her expensive leather jacket and pants and metal-studded, knee-high Frye boots. She looked like Vogue Magazine's idea of a biker chick; everything about her was carefully airbrushed and polished. Meanwhile, Ruby's hands were all raw and puckered from the citric acid in the lemons she’d been chopping. She also reeked of booze, having spilled half a glass of Canadian Club down the front of her shirt.

"Oh, you must be
Ruby,"
Lydia said. "I'm so sorry; I didn't recognize you. I was picturing a little
girl.
Kyle used to tell all of us so much about you, and I guess I just had an image in my head." She laughed. "Stupid, I know. Oh, sorry, I'm Lydia, Joe's fiancée. Joe told me all about what's happened lately; he was so adamant about making sure you were safe." She wiggled the fingers of her long, tanned hand, and the clear facets of the diamond ring seemed to shoot out and reflect the glasses hanging over the bar.

Ruby stuck out her hand absently to shake. Acid had gotten underneath some raw skin on her thumb, and it was agony.

"But then, Joe always was sentimental about stuff from the past. When he told me he wanted to propose, he asked if I could use my grandmother's ring, which was just sitting in a box. He didn't want it to be from some generic chain store. He wanted it have
meaning.
Isn't that just the cutest thing? Anyway, I wanted him to come back with me, but he said he had some other business to take care. But he wanted me to come back and make sure you know that it’s all over. The situation with the Reapers, everything." She raised her eyebrows, like some kind, benevolent princess, waiting to be thanked, as if it were all her doing. "Awesome, huh? I'm so proud of Joe. I told him he could handle this, and he did."

"I--" Ruby stammered, feeling idiotic, realizing that she'd been holding the button down on the tonic pump and the glass was overflowing. She dropped it and shoved the half-full glass across the counter to Lydia.

"Now that the coast is clear, I bet you can't
wait
to get out of this place.” Lydia rolled her eyes as if she were in some conspiracy. "I mean, I feel right at home because I grew up with this stuff. Ask anyone. I'm just like one of the boys," she laughed, catching the eye of a guy across the room and giving a little wave. "But for someone who's not used it, it can be a little hard to take. So where do you think you'll go? Back to Oakland?"

"I--don't know." Her body, brain, and mouth were paralyzed. It reminded her of when she was ten and had been stung by a hornet, leaving the stinger in her skin. She'd been utterly helpless, unable to claw it out as it drove itself deeper, injecting more venom with every squeeze.

"Hopefully not too far away. We're thinking next April for the wedding. Save the date. You're like family now, after all. Ruby?" Lydia blinked her big eyes, eyelashes going up and down like a baby doll. "Hey, where are you going?"

She ran into Regan at the door of the Curtis' house, back from her visit to her mother. The younger woman held a stack of mail in one hand and in the other, a manila folder full of papers, trying to brace the door open with her knee. She wasn't well-rested herself, dark circles gathering under her eyes. But as Ruby explained her encounter with Lydia, Regan's face went pale, almost greenish. She dropped the folder in the front hall, and papers scattered all over the floor like autumn leaves.

"There's got to be another explanation," she said hollowly, staring at the mess.

"The explanation was the half-ton rock on Lydia's hand," Ruby snapped. "And Joe
told
me they were involved."

"But--but they broke it off!" Regan insisted.

"That's what he said, too. When he was trying to get me into bed, coincidently."

Regan's face changed at that, a question poised on her lips.
Did he succeed?
But blessedly, she didn't voice it. "Where is he now?" demanded Regan, going to the door, looking sideways as if she could spot him coming.

"He's not back yet. And I'll be gone by the time he gets here," said Ruby with steel in her voice. "I'll leave the pants in the hamper."

"Wait!" Regan cried, grabbing her shoulder. "You're leaving?"

"What else am I supposed to do? He clearly sent Lydia hoping I’d get the point and leave. I won’t give him the satisfaction of begging him for an explanation.”

"But--but you and Joe--”

"Me and Joe?" Ruby let out a bitter laugh. "That's a joke, Regan. There was never a “me and Joe.” I can't be with a guy who treats me like that. And he'll only treat me worse if I keep giving him chances to do it. These are his true colors; I should be glad he showed them to me sooner rather than later. You and your family have been great, and I love you for it. But we all know I don't belong here," she said flatly. "And I never did."

"You have every right to leave, Ruby. Hell, I'd rip his nuts off myself if a guy did that to me." Ruby turned. "But please--just wait. Wait for him to come back and explain. Then, if you decide it's not enough--" She looked toward the horizon, eyes narrowed as if she could spot Joe coming and squash him like a bug if she squinted hard enough.

Ruby just stared, and Regan piped down. She recognized the glinty resolve in her eyes; people usually did, eventually. Kyle himself knew she’d flatten him like a steamroller if he tried to get in her way.

"Okay. Wait." Regan dashed up to her bedroom and returned with a wad of cash. "Your tips from the bar. You earned them,” she added. “And keep the pants."

"But--" Ruby looked down at the pants she'd been wearing for a day and half, shocked at how comfortable she'd gotten in an article of clothing that wasn't her own.

"I told you, they look better on you," Regan said. She grabbed onto Ruby's wrists and came closer, close enough to smell her perfume – some bright, citrusy celebrity scent – very innocent and young. Ruby forced herself to look past her at the highway, so the sisterly concern in Regan's humongous chocolate-brown eyes wouldn't cripple her. "And I want you to remember this: you do have people here who care about you. Joe or no Joe."

"I was taking care of myself long before this," replied Ruby with a short gulp, hugging Regan despite her inclination to start separating herself now before she could be fooled again into thinking this could be her home. "It's time I reminded myself how."

***

"So it isn't enough to come back and ruin my life, you've got to ruin hers, too?" Joe demanded, hands paused on the strap of his helmet, too paralyzed to get his fingers to work right. His heart seemed to knock dizzyingly, sickly, against his organs. His vision was clouded, blinking at the slender outline of a woman he had hoped never to see again, like a bad movie stuck in rewind.

"Who said anything was ruined? You flatter yourself," Lydia said, placing her drink down resolutely and stepping over to him, reaching up with nimble fingers to undo the strap and toss the helmet on the table. "Trust me; she got the better end of this deal," Lydia continued, stepping back critically with her hands on her hips. "She gets some R&R at a villa in Mexico; I'm left...here," she looked around with a dismissive sniff. "Oh well, it's nothing some new curtains can't fix. At least until we get our own place. There's a new gated community being built up in Walnut Creek. I toured the model home last month: six bedrooms, granite countertops, a pool; it's to die for."

"Are you crazy?" exploded Joe. "I'm not moving in with you."

"What, you
want
to stay here?" She laughed. "Now who's crazy?"

"I'll ride down to Cabo if I have to. But I'm bringing her back."

"For Christ’s sake, Joe," she said, rolling her eyes at him as if he were a child who'd just called the sky purple. "When are you going to grow up, stop thinking with your dick, and start using that big, sexy brain I know is in there?" she said, cupping his chin and murmuring low into his ear, her glossy lips brushing his skin. He felt himself tense, and she touched his wrist, tracing the flexed nerve underneath the tattoo on his arm. "You'll bring her back here, seriously? To do what? Sleep on the futon and look pretty on the back of your bike? She's a nice girl. You know she doesn't want that kind of life."

"And you do?"

She smiled serenely. "I was born to it. And so were you--well, adopted, at least. I belong here. I know this life."

"Ruby's tougher than you think."

"Maybe. But think about it. Has her presence been anything more than liability to you? You want to keep her safe, but the fact is, you’d be putting her in danger every time some new gang of thugs puts a target on your back. You think she wants that after what happened to her brother? Besides, she was dying to get out of here; you should have seen how fast she turned tail when I told her it was safe to leave." Joe swallowed and stared at the floor. That's exactly what he'd been afraid of – that Ruby thought there was nothing here worth staying for. Honestly, he should have been ashamed to think that he, or this mess of a life he led, had ever had any appeal for her.

Lydia hooked her arm around his, ushering him out of view of the main room and into the storeroom where he and Ruby had been just that morning. The memory of that moment made his whole body stiffen, as well as his cock, and against his better judgment, he allowed her to push him down on top of a waist-high stack of boxes. "If you really care about the poor girl, you'll leave her alone and let her sort out her life in peace. You know that's what she wants, anyway. Joe, this is the way things should be. You. Here. With me. We just...fit."

She slung one long leg over him like saddling a horse in reverse, scooting herself forward with a punchy little movement. He clenched his jaw against her caress of his thigh, and the twitch in his jeans that was so aggravating, more of a robotic response than anything, was the one Lydia was counting on. She'd told him to use his brain, but at the same time she was counting on his cock cowing him into submission, as it had so many times before. Her lined eyes twinkled, her skin in its made-up retouched perfection, her perfume like vetiver and gasoline, she was this airbrushed biker girl out of some photographer's portfolio. He had wanted it, before. He’d thought, as the charter president, that it was his right, his prize. But that was before he knew it was all an illusion; that he’d been poised to marry a plastic doll, a paper centerfold.

The worst part was, Lydia was absolutely right. Ruby's independent streak was the fiercest – and most aggravating – part of her personality. She had hated being beholden to him, to Fox, to anyone, and she hated that her life circumstances kept putting her in that position. If Aaron Beeson could help her get on her feet again, Joe would be an asshole for trying to interfere, for trying to pull her back down to his level, back in the muck of poverty and petty thuggery. She deserved better than that; she wanted better than that. The only reason she'd been with Joe to begin with was out of desperation; she had no one else. She deserved peace now to begin her real life. By sorting out the circumstances of Kyle's death and ensuring she'd be safe to live her life, he'd done his part in giving that to her. Now the best he could do for her was  backing off.

So why did he feel this all over ache, as if he'd been battered in a boxing ring? It would be so easy to submit, he thought as he sighed and settled into Lydia's grip, feeling himself harden automatically as she slid her hand expertly beneath the waistband of his jeans, curling downward like the smooth, dry scales of a serpent. He closed his eyes. He was going to let this happen, he realized, proving that he was no better than what he'd been told he was as a child: worthless. He was a slave to his basest impulses, willing to surrender his morals in exchange for a little temporary pleasure. That wasn't what a leader did. That wasn't what a man should do. Nobody had taught him that, but Ruby had seen it in him. She believed it. And she hadn't been wrong.

He grabbed Lydia's wrist.

***

“So what, you just let her walk out?” Joe asked Regan, knowing that by using such an accusing tone, he was treading dangerous waters. She'd been sitting on the porch, arms crossed, waiting for him, like some kind of sentry lioness. Joe had the feeling she'd be stroking a shotgun if she had one.