Survivor: Steel Jockeys MC (22 page)

"Not everybody," she muttered.

"Like Joseph Ryan?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Joseph who?" She asked innocently, although the idea that George -- or anyone -- might think that she and Joe were involved caused her stomach to flutter. "We found ourselves in a situation that kind of...threw us together," she explained. "But that's all over now, and besides, he had a fiancée."

George nodded thoughtfully as he spun her under his arm, and she felt momentarily dizzy. She'd expected he’d throw out some slam against Joe for being a two-timing cad, but he remained diplomatic. He gave her a little dip, and she eased into him, noticing the way his broad hand expertly cupped the flesh of her lower back, preventing her from falling too far backwards. His hands were warm, she realized, manicured, and very, very different Joe's, which were cold and always seemed to be roughened by whatever weather raged outside. George was buzzed, and so was she, but she had confidence that his interest in her remained (mostly) professional. If he truly wanted her to go to work for him, then it wouldn't do to put the moves on her before she ever started her job.

"And what about Fox Keene?" he asked, just as the singer onstage cooed her final note into the microphone, and Ruby broke away from his embrace, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I heard you were selling bikes at his dealership."

"I learned some things about Fox that indicated he isn't the kind of guy I want to be around."

"I don't blame you. Those things you've heard? I've seen them. Fox is a master actor. I know better now than to trust him, but not until he had everyone thoroughly fooled," he said with a sigh. "Everyone."

*

The stage had been dismantled, the band dispersed, and the last of the caterers had gathered up the empty glasses, chafing dishes, and tablecloths and driven off into town in their van. The half-moon showed on the aqua-blue water of the swimming pool in which Ruby buoyed her feet, which looked pale and ghostly, unrecognizable. Far off, she thought she could hear the ocean. Strange that she was so close to the beach and hadn't even seen it yet. Inspired and suddenly restless, she got up and tried the handle of the gate that led out of the pool area. A dog's growl greeted her.

"Lo siento, senorita," an accented voice called from the guardhouse. "Senor Beeson said nobody leaves the compound. Esta bien?"

"Esta bien," she repeated dully and let her hand fall.

"It's no use, I tried yesterday," said Tony, hobbling from beneath the shaded palapa over the patio, leaning on the back of a chair with a glass of tequila in one hand.

“Your mom invited you here but won’t let you leave?”

"Ruby, my mom's the kind of person who takes a photo of herself putting $100 in a panhandler's cup and then posts it on Instagram to see how many likes she can get.” Ruby smirked.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Let’s just say she didn't introduce you to George McCombs out of charity. She did it because for whatever reason, she and Aaron want you working for George McCombs."

"But George--"

"He's a decent guy,” Tony said, easing himself down with difficulty into one of the patio chairs. “I doubt he has any bad intentions for you. But if you go to work for him, you're always going to be under someone's thumb -- if not his, then Aaron's, or my mom's. Or Fox's. They want you with him for the same reason they wanted you down here. To control you."

She gulped and looked over at the guardhouse, where she could see a row of TV monitors, one of which, she knew, was tuned to the pool area and was probably listening into every single thing they were saying. A despaired feeling spread over her, like black oil spilled. "But what do I do? I've got no one else left."

"What about Joe?"

"He's with Lydia," she snapped. "You should have seen her walk into the Bird like she owned the place. She was born to be with Joe. They're going to be like Mr. and Mrs. Biker America,” she spat with contempt. “And I --" Her throat was starting to feel lumpy, and she stopped speaking helplessly.

"Ruby, I know it looks bad. But I also remember back a few years ago when Kyle had just been voted president. We were all joking around in the bar one night after a few drinks, and Kyle pulled up a picture of you on his phone. He showed it to Joe and kind of slurred something like, ‘Dude, I've already written my best man speech for your wedding.’ Well, we all just kind of laughed, of course. But there was something in Kyle's eyes that showed he meant it. He talked about you a lot, but he always made it clear you were off-limits. We respected that. But with Joe, it was different. He always said that if anything happened to him, he knew Joe would be around to look after you. Sometimes I think that was the only thing that helped him sleep at night.”

"He tried to introduce us," she said, recalling a conversation she'd had with her brother over a year ago when she'd been dating Farley Main, convinced he was her ticket to move up in the world.
His name's Joseph Ryan. I really you'd get along.
She'd laughed in his face at the idea that any of his outlaw thugs might be worth a second look from her. If only she’d listened to him then, she thought, mentally cursing herself. She could have avoided all of this grief. She might have been able to stop this train wreck and use her good instincts to steer the Jockeys in the right direction. But now it was too late, and she'd been blind. "I shot him down, of course."

She remembered something Regan had told her when she'd first arrived in Madelia. Joe had two ways of looking at a woman: one when he wanted something from her and one when he wanted
her
. She'd seen him like that in the moments when the cocky outlaw, the scrappy opportunist, and the hard-luck kid, all melted away, and he became the gentleman, the one with nothing but earnest curiosity and honest desire.

"But what about Lydia?" she demanded.

"I don't pretend to know the whole story there. But if for some reason Joe did agree to marry her, it wasn't because he loves her. It was because he didn't have a choice."

"You really think so?" The idea that Joe didn't love Lydia, that he didn't even want to marry her, had never occurred to her. But now the idea tantalized, like sunlight shining through the hinges on a locked door. That Joe hadn't been going through the motions with Ruby, that the wide-eyed, irresistible way he looked at her wasn't an act, or a tool in his long-practiced arsenal of seduction. That glowing cloud of warmth she'd felt rising up inside her as she'd stood washing glasses at the bar, remembering what it had been like to wake up next to him that morning. Her body tingled; she tried to tamp it down, reminding herself that there was a long road ahead, regardless of which direction she took.

"Joe has integrity. Don't ask me where he got it; it's a rare commodity among outlaws. It's why he went after me the night I got stabbed, even though it got him thrown in jail. But it's why Kyle trusted him, why he loved him like a brother. Because he knew that whatever he does, he does for the right reasons."

"So what if I do go back?" she said softly. "And for whatever reason, Joe still has to marry her. Do I get to be his piece on the side? Let’s face it, there's no way this could end well. It's too much of a mess. I avoid messes, Tony. I have to. I've had too many in my life already."

"Life's a mess," he said, stretching his arms behind him on the chaise. "Look at me. A week ago, I fucked up about as badly as a guy can fuck up. And here I am, sitting by a pool in Mexico drinking Patron. In a month, maybe I'll be in prison for real. Or dead. Life isn't fair, Ruby. You of all people should know that. So take what you really want before someone takes it from you."

"That is really twisted," she said, staring at her feet.

"Look, I'm not saying to go out and rob a drug dealer. I'm just saying, whether you're good girl or a bad boy, things will sometimes go wrong. So you might as well quit trying to be good and start trying to be happy."

The desert heat must have addled her brain if she was even thinking of taking Tony's advice seriously. But she’d been spending her entire life trying to be the good girl, to rise above the sorrow of her past, as if that would make herself, and her family, whole again.

But her family would never be whole. She knew that now. And yet in Madelia with Joe, awakening to watch the sunlight on his scarred body and angelic face, of the ecstasy that had claimed her when her body enclosed his, she’d heard a whisper of what she wanted her future to be down to the marrow of her bones. Of the only safe place she could put her heart, of the only life that would ever make her happy.

She raised her head, heart starting to thrum. "How the hell do I get out of here?"

Tony put down his drink and smiled. "See, this is why I’m a bad boy."

Just a little closer,
she told herself.
That’s the border up ahead. That’s America. It has to be
. The alternative that she’d walked in stony darkness for an hour and had reached but a dead end was too horrible to contemplate. Rhythmically, she put one sandaled foot in front of the other.

For the past hour, she’d had nothing but a flashlight to guide her through the tomblike tunnels beneath the earth. She never stopped, slowed down, or paused to think about how many tons of earth lay between her and the gift of being able to breathe fresh air again. The tunnel was empty except for piles of discarded water bottles and clothing every half-mile or so. These strangely soothed her:
People had been in here. People had gotten out.

For some time, she’d been able to feel the tunnel rising and the cool but musty air getting warmer as it leveled out closer to the surface. According to Tony, the Beeson patriarch had dug out this tunnel in the late nineties in order to smuggle drugs – and the occasional illegal immigrant – across the border. Its terminus was supposed to be in the root cellar of one of Aaron's business associates who owned a horse farm outside of San Diego. Tony had told her that there had been auxiliary tunnels added onto it over the years, but that as long as she went straight, she had no chance of getting lost. It would only take an hour or so, he said. She'd packed an Aquafina bottle and a bag of tortilla chips in her handbag, both of which she'd finished an hour ago.

All she was seeing now was two rotting two by fours holding up a ratty blue tarp that seemed to cover the semblance of a hole in the ceiling of the tunnel. But at least it was something. She scrambled to get a foothold, grabbing onto the crossbeam and hoisting herself up, clawing the ground, and shoving the tarp aside. But as she heaved it aside and clambered out into the fresh air to land on her knees in the dust, she knew instantly this was no farm; this didn't look like any part of America she'd ever seen.

Across the road, the skeletal remains of a gas station looked eerie in the pre-dawn moonlight. Parched looking saguaro cactuses dotted the landscape. It was straight out of a Wile E. Coyote cartoon, but this was no laughing matter. She sank down to sit in the dust, holding her head, trying to save her energy, determined not to panic. She could reenter the tunnel, but how would she know whether she was headed in the right direction now?

Was this even a highway? She hadn't seen a single car. She took out her cell phone, though she knew the battery was dead; she hadn't had a chance to charge it before she left, determined to give herself the longest possible head start before anyone woke up and noticed her missing.

She hadn't been far from the ocean at Aaron's place. She wondered if it would make sense to follow the sun to the ocean, using it as a guide to begin walking north. But for that to happen, she'd have to wait till morning. That was a long time to go without water. Plus, if she was still in Mexico, how was she supposed to get across the border without a passport? Panic nipped at her heels as she surveyed the emptiness surrounding her. Nobody knew she was here. For all she knew, nobody even knew about this part of the tunnel; the man who had built it was dead.
Getting into Mexico is a lot easier than getting out.
She felt her hands form fists. She should have been smart enough to know this would happen; it's exactly the kind of thing that always did. The Ruby Curse, she thought bitterly. Fuck Tony and his advice. Forget about being good, he'd said. But if she'd been good, she wouldn't be
here
, wherever here was.

Maybe she would just lie down for a little while, she thought, placing her handbag under head and closing her eyes. There was no use traveling under darkness anyway; she'd get lost and waste energy, roving around in a circle. And anyway, she was feeling a little dizzy. Overhead, a nighthawk screeched.

***

The tiny purse sitting primly in the lap of the woman at the bar table looked a bit silly next to her as a bowling ball.

Rita Chambers turned around and smiled her million-watt smile that lit up her dark skin – the one bright spot during his lost three days in the Contra Costa County lockup and perhaps the key to unraveling the truth about the Reapers. He approached her with caution. "Rita, are you sure you're not going to get in trouble for being here?” He asked, noticing the various Jockeys’ mugshots prominently displayed on the far wall. “This isn’t exactly the kind of place an officer of the law is usually spotted.”

She puffed out her chest. "I certainly am, honey. I don't work for corrections anymore. They made me work overtime one day too many. Social services has better hours, and less chance of getting shivved. But enough about me. That beautiful young lady who was here when I came in told me you're getting married," she said.

"That's what they tell me," he replied, changing the subject. “Did you find out something about Chad Carter?

"That little punk who stabbed you in the eye? I sure did. A few days after you got out, he scraped up the bail money all of a sudden. I thought it was a little odd, so I watched who he left with. He got picked up by some guy driving a BMW which struck me as even more odd, considering up till then, he didn't have seventy cents to buy a Snickers from the commissary."

Joe eagerly pulled up an empty chair, sitting with the rungs facing backwards. "Do you remember who it was? Or what the guy looked like?"

"Ooh, how could I forget? White dude with blond hair. He had this sort of flip on the top of his head. Sort of like that soccer player from England. Bend it like Beckett?"

He could practically see a brick wall tumbling down. "Rita, I love you," he said, preparing to rush off, and then stopped. "Wait a minute--where did you say you transferred to?"

"Social services. Why?"

He could feel a light bulb flickering on in his head. "I've got another favor to ask you," he said.

Rita looked behind her, pursing her lips. "Oh, honey, you're not in trouble again, are you?"

"It's not me this time." Rita rolled her eyes. "I swear. It's a friend of mine. And her baby. Don't worry, I'm not the father," he clarified quickly. "I'm not sure the world's quite ready for another generation of Ryans.” He swallowed and thought of Regan. “But he is family.”

Rita took on a sympathetic look; she seemed to recognize his sincerity. Still, she shook her head. "Honey, what did I tell you? Isn’t this how you got in trouble before? You can't save the world all on your own. You gotta fight your own battles."

"If I don’t fight, I’m not sure anyone will.”

Rita gave a crooked smile, her blinding white teeth lighting up the dimness of the bar. "This wouldn't involve anything illegal now, would it, honey?"

“Hey, we didn’t meet at choir practice.”

***

Joe briefly considered calling an emergency meeting of the Madelia charter, but immediately nixed the idea. Although Joe knew A.J. would be incensed not to be included in the loop, his vice president was only beginning to cool down after the meeting with Aaron. If he got an inkling that the tentative agreement they'd reached was built on lies, the consequences could lead to an all-out war. All deals would be off. Everybody would be fair game: Regan, her baby, and Ruby. He wouldn't be able to protect all of them, especially when his own actions in the days leading up to Kyle's death were almost certain to come out. No, the possibilities were too perilous. He had to continue to be diplomatic about this for as long diplomacy might still work. Of course, even if everything went his way, if he could prove that Fox was involved with the Reapers, or even Kyle's death, it wouldn't change the past. It wouldn't help him redeem himself in Ruby's eyes or convince her that she could actually have a future with the president of an outlaw motorcycle club. Even if he could somehow get rid of Lydia, winning Ruby back might already be beyond his reach. Would he be an idiot for trying? He thought as, after having safely escorted Rita back to her car, he returned to front door of the Thunderbird and came to face to face with one of the last people in the world he wanted to see – the president of the Jockeys’ Fresno charter.

Sean Donovan looked smoldering dressed in all-black, his long, stringy hair covering his face, and leaning casually against his Low Rider helmet dangling from between his fingers, looking very comfortable at the fact that Lydia was leaning against it, too, facing him. When he quickly looked up to see Joe standing there, he didn't seem the least surprised. He dropped the helmet and took a few easy strides forward.

"Hey, Joey. Seems like just a few days ago you and your new girlfriend left my place without so much as buying me dinner. What gives?"

"You know me. I like to make an exit," said Joe nonchalantly. He'd known Sean a long time, and he knew he was already as good as forgiven for their escape. True to his unorthodox nature, Sean was always willing to let bygones be bygones the instant he felt there was a shinier prize somewhere else. "No hard feelings, right?"

"Of course not. Likewise about that whole pulling-a-gun-on-you stunt. I just can't control myself when there's a beautiful woman involved." Sean exchanged a knowing glance with Lydia.

"You can't control yourself period," Joe replied. "I wasn't going to stick around and wait for you to bust out the ball gags."

"I've got some in here, if you're interested," said Sean, kicking the saddlebag of his bike. "You know me and my 'Pulp Fiction' fetish."

"Uh, next time," said Joe, not entirely sure he wasn't serious.

"Miss Lydia tells me you and her are back together. Pulling the Great Escape seems like a lot of trouble to go to just for a girl you're just going to send down south of the border."

Lydia just folded her arms smugly. Joe knew she didn't care that Joe had caught them flirting. There was nothing she loved more than being fought over, and the rivalry she had stirred up between Joe and Sean was a long-standing one. Joe wondered if Sean had heard she was back in town and had ridden over here just for that reason. "Seems your Ruby’s a slippery one. No sooner did you lose her, but Aaron Beeson did too."

"Don't--" Lydia bit her tongue.

"What do you mean, lose her?" Joe demanded.

"She didn’t waste much time saying
hasta luego
to Aaron and Brenda. I'm kind of impressed at how she escaped, to be honest. I'd be a little claustrophobic myself."

"What are you talking about?”

Sean spoke slowly, reveling in the attention and the upper hand it gave him. "It seems Aaron's sitting on one of the longest drug tunnels in North America. She was headed toward San Diego, but she must have taken a wrong turn, because Aaron called his guy with the horse farm on the other end, and he hasn't seen a glimpse of her," he shrugged. "I made the mistake of letting her out of my sight once, and you snuck off with her right under my nose. I wouldn't think
you'd
fuck up like I did. I was under the impression you kind of liked her."

"This isn't a joke, Sean," Joe grabbed him by the front of Sean's jacket and pulled him toward him, his heart pounding in his ears. What if it's too late, a voice was whispering somewhere in the back of his mind, and he gritted his teeth to drown it out. "Where is she?"

"Fifty thousand leagues under the Sonoran desert would be my best guess."

"Fuck." Joe clenched his fist and raised it, looking for something to punch that wasn't Sean's face, but he let it drop. Rita's news had just been swept out of his mind by the knowledge that Ruby might be in danger after all and all because he'd allowed Lydia to convince her to leave.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to think. It would be half a day's worth of riding to get anywhere near her if he could even figure out where to start looking. The feeling of helplessness seemed to swell up within him. It was a feeling that had characterized his childhood, one that he'd been running from ever since. To think that there might be nothing he could to make sure Ruby was okay was crippling. He had one job; he had made one promise to Kyle. And it was what, he realized now, had been giving him purpose and made him feel like the man he'd fought most of his life to be. If there was anything he could do now, no matter how impractical, he had to try.

"Lydia, you grew up there. Where does that tunnel end up?"