The Handler (Noir et Bleu Motorcycle Club #2) (4 page)

Chapter Four

The SUV followed us at high speeds. I wove through the late-night traffic, trying to shake him. We were in Orange County—thirty minutes from her hotel—only ten minutes from my house.

I split the lanes between two trucks, then cut down a side alley. He blew by without seeing us. Lincoln’s head continued to swivel to search the streets even after I lost him.

“I think he’s gone,” she shouted.

I nodded and turned up my street, breathing heavy. Eight bikes were parked on the driveway and grass in front of my house.

“Is this where you live?” she asked, checking out the bungalow as she stepped off the bike and removed the helmet.

“Yeah. I’m going to ask if I can borrow my roommate’s truck so the paparazzi won’t recognize you on the highway. It will only take a minute.”

“It’s so late. Can’t we crash here tonight?”

“No. Trust me, you would be more comfortable in a five-star hotel.”

“There are more paparazzi vultures circling there. I have to get out of the truck at some point, and they’ll swarm me then.”

“You can’t stay here.” I checked both ways up and down the street. She couldn’t stay on the front lawn, either. I clutched her elbow and led her into the house. The guys were in the living room drinking, so I snuck her down the hall to my room and shut the door.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

She removed her jacket and sat on the bed. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said and stood back up.

“Uh, that’s not a good idea. I live with really disgusting guys.”

Her face contorted in response to the ridiculousness of not being able to use the bathroom. “What am I supposed to do?”

I knew it was unreasonable to expect her to hold it, but the toilet was going to make her sick. I stared at her for a while, then said, “Okay, give me a minute. Stay here, don’t make any noise, and keep the door shut.”

She nodded, and I slipped out into the hall. Kaz was just coming out of the bathroom. “Hey Cain. When did you sneak in?”

“I just got home. What are you guys doing?”

“Poker. You want me to deal you in?”

“No, thanks. I have to go out again. Do you mind if I borrow your truck for about an hour? I’ll gas it up.”

“It’s not running. The fuel pump went on it. Crow’s going to fix it tomorrow.” He glanced at my closed bedroom door. “What’s wrong with your bike?”

“Nothing.”

He waited for me to elaborate on why I needed the truck, but I didn’t. He either decided it wasn’t any of his business, or he didn’t care what I was going to do with his truck. Instead of prying, he said, “You can borrow it tomorrow. Come play poker.”

“I’m too tired.”

He wrapped his forearm around my neck and squeezed it like a python suffocating its prey. “One beer won’t kill ya.”

I punched him in the spleen to make him stop strangling me. “Tomorrow, man.”

“Okay, okay. Get your beauty sleep, pussy.”

After he walked away, I slipped into the bathroom and locked the door. It was revolting. I poured bleach all over the toilet, the floors, the counters, the sink, and wiped everything down with a rag. The fumes made me dizzy, so I held my breath and opened the window. We didn’t even have hand towels to put out, so I hung a couple of bath towels for Lincoln to dry her hands on. I took a quick shower and cleaned the tub while I was in it. It still looked kind of grimy when I was done, but it was better.

There was a knock on the door. Crow said, “Cain, vacate. I need to take a dump.”

I opened the door wearing a towel around my waist and carried my clothes. “Don’t mess it up. I just cleaned it.”

He looked at me funny. “You cleaned the shitter at two in the morning. What’s wrong with you?”

“It was making me sick.”

He shrugged, putting about as much thought into it as he did everything—which wasn’t much—and went in without closing the door behind him. I snuck back into my room.

Lincoln was in bed, wearing only one of my T-shirts. Her gaze lingered on my bare chest before she smiled.

I averted my eyes and said, “You’re not staying here.”

“I overheard the guy in the hall say his truck isn’t working.”

Since she didn’t appear to understand what type of message she was sending by lying half-dressed in the bed of a guy she just met, I assumed it was more of a naïve, sheltered sixteen-year-old girl mistake, not a slutty Hollywood starlet move. Regardless, she wasn’t sleeping over. “I’ll call you a cab.”

She rolled onto her side and picked up a framed photo of Liv that I kept on my bedside table. “Is this why you don’t want me to stay?”

“Yeah, one of the reasons. Get dressed.”

Ignoring me, she picked up the book next to my lamp. “You read Jean-Paul Sartre?”

“I’m trying, for an online English course I’m taking. It’s kind of depressing.” I threw my clothes in the hamper and pulled boxer briefs out of my drawer.

“Yeah, it was a downer. I had to read this last year with my tutor. I didn’t really get it.”

“Close your eyes for a second. I need to change.”

She leaned back on the pillow with her face toward the ceiling and closed her eyes. “Who’s the girl in the picture?”

“My girlfriend, Liv. You can open your eyes now.”

She rolled on her side and bent her elbow to rest her head on her hand. “She’s pretty.”

Not wanting to discuss Liv with her, I said, “You can use the bathroom when Crow’s finished, but it’s important none of the guys find out you’re here.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me.”

“What kind of name is Crow?”

I didn’t want anyone to hear her voice, so I pressed my finger to my lips to shush her. It didn’t work; she just moved on to the next question.

“What does that tattoo on your back represent?”

“Nothing.”

She stood and stepped close enough to run her hand over it. Her fingers were soft and warm on my skin. “Southpaw,” she read the scrolled script. “Are you left-handed?”

“No.” I turned so she wouldn’t be able to see it, and so she wasn’t touching me.

“What’s the date for? Did someone you know die?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said and pulled a T-shirt on to cover the tattoo. “Go to the bathroom. I’m going to call you a cab.”

“I’m exhausted. Can you please wait until the morning?”

“No.”

She exhaled in what sounded like a mixture of frustration and disappointment. “What are the chances you guys have a spare toothbrush?”

“There’s a package of replacement heads for my electric toothbrush in the drawer.” I followed her to the door.

“I think I can go to the bathroom by myself.”

I stared at her mouth for longer than I intended before I answered, “Yeah, not in this house.”

I popped my head out into the hall and shooed her toward the bathroom. She disappeared inside, and I stood guard outside the door, not because I thought any of the guys would hurt her. They would hassle us, though, relentlessly, and I wasn’t in the mood. They trash talked each other while they played cards.

“Deal me in, I have to take a piss,” Gin said. My heart sped up when his chair scraped across the wood floor and his lumbering steps came closer. “Hey, Cain, what’s up?”

“Nothing. How’s it going?”

“I’m down two hundred and fifty bucks, but up six beers.”

“Cool,” I said, trying to come up with a plan to distract him.

“Why are you standing in the hall?” he asked as he looked suspiciously into my bedroom.

“I’m not. I was just on my way to, um.” I inched in front of the bathroom door and scrambled for something to say that would make him go away. “I have the rent money for Mug. Do you mind giving it to him?”

“Give it to him yourself. He’s in the living room.”

“I don’t want to go in there. They’ll talk me into playing, and I really gotta get some sleep. Hold on.” I lunged into my room and grabbed the cash out of my jacket. “Here.” I handed it to him. He put it in his pocket and turned back toward the bathroom. “Aren’t you going to give it to him?”

“Yeah, after I take a leak. What the fuck’s wrong with you? You’re acting like a tweaker. Are you high?”

“No.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I just want to make sure Mug gets the money. He threatened to throw me out this morning.”

“He’ll get it. Chill out.” He twisted the knob of the bathroom door, and it didn’t turn. “Is someone in the can?”

I didn’t answer since there was no point denying it.

He frowned for a second, then smiled as he figured it out. “You brought a chick home, didn’t you?”

I shot him a pleading expression, hoping he wouldn’t tell the other guys. He winked at me and knocked on the door. “Open up, sweetheart.” A few seconds passed before the lock clicked and the doorknob turned. Lincoln slowly opened the door, but she stayed in the bathroom. Her eyes widened as she took in his beard, tattoos, and leather vest with patches all over it. “Ooh, she’s pretty. Hey, Jailbait, don’t be scared. I don’t bite, much.” He laughed at his own joke, probably not realizing how accurate the nickname was.

She scooted past him and leapt across the hall to stand next to me.

He stared at us for a second then, to my surprise and relief, he said, “Have a good night,” and went into the bathroom.

I exhaled, pulled her into my room, and closed the door.

She frowned a little as she let it all sink in. “Why do you live with guys like that?”

“It’s a long story. I shouldn’t have brought you here. Let’s go.”

She rested her shoulder on the door and dropped her head to the side to sell her sleepiness. “I’d rather be here than alone in a hotel room.”

“That’s sad.”

“It is really sad.” She overdid the pout. “That’s why you should let me stay. Don’t worry about your girlfriend. I’ll crash on the floor. Totally platonic. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Letting her crash was the worst idea in the world. I picked up my phone to search for a cab company number but hesitated. The cab would take at least half an hour to show up. Sending her downtown in a cab alone wasn’t all that safe. I was tired, too. The guys weren’t going to bother us. She was only looking for a friend, nothing was going to happen.

Shit
.

I wasn’t sure how it had happened, but I convinced myself it would be all right to let her stay. “Fine. I’ll take you to the hotel in the morning.”

She perked up, excited that I agreed. “Really?”

I grabbed a blanket and an extra pillow out of the closet and tossed them on the floor. “You can have the bed.”

She hovered near the door for a few seconds as if she didn’t believe me. Then she made her way over to the bed and crawled under the cover, which caused my T-shirt to ride up and show a flash of her hip.

I turned away, so I wouldn’t end up staring. Feeling guilty, I texted Liv:

Sorry about this morning. I don’t want to fight anymore.

She didn’t respond, but the latest posts on her profile confirmed she was at a house party. The college guy was in half the pictures. I set my phone on the bookshelf to resist the impulse to comment, then knelt on the floor to spread the blanket out.

The sheets rustled as Lincoln moved around to get comfortable. “Is this a biker clubhouse?”

“No. It’s a house where some bikers and I live.”

“What’s the difference?”

I reached over and turned out the lamp before stretching out on the hardwood. “Thirty members hang out at the clubhouse and non-members aren’t allowed in.”

“Where’s the clubhouse?”

“Newport.”

“What’s it like?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not a member.”

“But they are?”

“Yeah.”

She was quiet for a while, but I knew she wasn’t done. “Why do you live with them?”

“They’re doing me a favor.”

“Is it something illegal?”

“No. Can we go to sleep now? Please.”

The lamp clicked, and light flooded the room. “I don’t know if I can sleep now knowing there are drug dealers, rapists, and murderers in the next room.”

I chuckled at the misconception. “Despite popular belief, bikers don’t just walk around committing crimes on innocent people. The ones I live with are disgusting pigs, but none of them would hurt you. I wouldn’t have brought you here if it wasn’t safe. Just don’t owe them money or touch their bikes or their cuts and you’ll be fine.”

“‘Cuts’, as in scars?”

“A ‘cut’ is what they call the vest with the patches on it. Turn the light off.”

She reached over and clicked the lamp switch. “Do you have a nickname?”

“Yeah.”

I heard the rustle of the sheets as she sat up. “What is it?”

“Cain.”

“Oh. What’s your real name?”

I rolled to face her again. She was silhouetted by the street light angling in through the blinds, sitting cross-legged on the bed watching me. “What’s your real name?” I asked to shift the line of questioning off me.

She laughed. “It’s a secret. Does your girlfriend know your real name?”

My girlfriend. Right. The fact that a beautiful celebrity was in my bed was not only surreal, it was going to be impossible to explain to Liv. Despite what she might have been doing at the house party, a guilt induced queasiness built in my stomach. “Go to sleep, Jailbait.”

She sighed and slid back down to rest her head on my pillow. “I think you look like a Scott. I can’t place your accent. Did you grow up here?”

I groaned because I could tell she wasn’t going to stop with the questions anytime soon. “No.”

“I was born in South Dakota and moved to L.A. when I was eight. How about you?”

“Go to sleep.”

“I’m not tired anymore. What else are you studying online?”

“Only History and English. Stop talking so I can go to sleep.”

“Tomcat only works with the very best. You must be a pretty good electrician. Is your dad an electrician, too?”

I ran my hands through my hair and stared at the ceiling. If I knew she was going to keep me up all night talking, I would have called the cab. “We’re not having a heart to heart.”

“Okay, mental note, Cain gets touchy when it comes to talking about his family. Let’s stick to something a little less personal. How old are you?”

“You’re killing me. If I tell you, will you zip it?”