The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) (17 page)

“Umm, I don’t think so.” She obviously has the wrong chick.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she laughs. “I’m not here to stake claim on him or pick you up. I’m Sammy, Dan’s daughter,” she introduces herself with a big smile.

Lilly mentioned her. Told me she was all lady on the outside, but all biker babe on the inside. She definitely looks like a lady on the outside. She has straight blonde hair, styled perfectly down her back, a pair of black stylish shades on her head, and a tight, crisp white tank top on. She’s the picture of elegance and beauty.

“I’m Lennon,” I say, even though I have a feeling she already knows that.

“So I’ve heard.” Still smiling, she waves her hand at the young guy behind the bar, silently demanding a drink. That’s another thing Lil had said, that she’s demanding.

“I know who you are. Jess mentioned you.” Oh boy.

“Oh.”

“Said you were trying to steal her man or something like that. Buck is not her man, she’s just too goddamn stupid to see it.” I’m not sure what to say to that, so I say nothing at all.

Taking the glass the young guy sits in front of her, she throws it back in one long swallow. The then flicks her eyes over my shoulder at a quiet Tags. Slowly, her lip curls.

“Samantha,” he growls. I feel stuck between the two, like a war is about to break out at any moment between them.

“Why are you here?” she sasses, tapping her manicured fingers on the bar top, clearly annoyed by his presence.

“Why are you?” he counters as he stands. She’s on her feet immediately, staring him down. They’re face to face, angry as hell. “I don’t have to tell you shit, asshole,” she snaps. “This is my club.”

“Your club?”

“Yeah, dickhead, my club.” Turning back around in my seat, I try to ignore the war brewing between the two. Pretending not to listen lasts for five seconds before I’m peeking over my shoulder again.

She glares at him for a beat before smoothing her face out into one of ladylike qualities; sweet smile and kind, agreeing eyes. Looking back at me, she beams at me. “We’ll chat later, hun,” she purrs before she focuses back on Tags, and her smile melts clean off her face.

“Babe.”

“Sam,” she corrects him in a bitter tone. Turning on her heels, she marches off, hips rocking and hair swinging. Pointing a finger in the air, she yells, “Fuck you, Tags. Fuck you real hard!”

“Don’t walk away from me, Sam.”

“Fuck off,” she shouts, slamming the door in his face when he advances on her. Tags is right through it after her, slamming it himself. Well, that was interesting.

I got bored there at the bar alone after my entertainment left, and when I get bored, I wander. When I wander, I tend to get into shit. That’s how I ended up here. I walked around the motel, heard voices, and I had to investigate. Now my ass is sitting in a rusted metal chair in a dark dank room. See? Trouble.

I’d ask to flip on a light or two, but I’m pretty sure this is all the light they’ve got back here. One dingy hundred watt exposed bulb hangs from the ceiling.

“Bet,” Tyler nods at my hand, kicking the leg of my chair. So here I am, hanging with the guys, Buck’s guys. Poncho invited me to sit in on a game of poker, and boredom caused me to agree.

“Damn, woman, hurry the fuck up,” Rock says in an encouraging grunt. I can barely see the cards in my hands to figure out what I even have to work with. Leaning back in my seat, I get back to counting before he loses his shit. Rock has zero patience I’m learning.

Shifting my eyes around the table, I try to read their faces, but I don’t get shit. I’m terrible at poker―well, sometimes I am―or maybe it’s the booze making these numbers start to blur.

I’m sitting in a small room off the back of the motel. I can’t help but to wrinkle my nose at the smell of smoke, stale beer, and piss. It’s stomach churning. “You need to clean this room up,” I mutter while staring down at my cards. I’ve got five cards; a queen, two tens, a five, and a three, all clubs.

“Flush.” I call, laying out my cards proudly. Winning. Collective groans come from the bunch of grown men, bitching like a bunch of girls over a game of cards.

“Jesus Christ, remind me not to play with this girl again.” Rock sighs, tossing his cards down on the table like a big ass baby.

“Beginners luck.” I shrug, scooping up my winnings before these guys try to take it back from me.

“The fuck it is. You’re over here card sharking our asses,” Tyler hollers, slapping his hands on the table, making the chips jump.

Maybe.

“This bitch,” Poncho points at me laughing, “is fuckin’ us.”

“I would never.” Again, maybe, just a small fuck.

“Me?” Sitting up in my chair, I start counting my winnings; twenty, thirty, forty. “Come on, boys. Little ol’ me, fuckin’ y’all? Nah.”

I asked to play and it only took one game of convincing before I was betting in. I might have been invited by Poncho, but it still took convincing. They thought I would be easy prey, but they thought wrong.

“Yes you, little girl, are fuckin’ us. Bendin’ us over ‘n stickin’ it to us,” Rock chuckles. I think I like these guys.

“Its just luck,” I claim, which is a lie. A big, fat, fucking lie.

“Here,” Rock says, shoving an unlabeled bottle towards me. “Drink this. Let’s get down ‘n dirty, baby doll.”

Two hours and a handful of games later, the bets have changed from cash to random pieces of clothing. I’m buzzed, my cards went from blurry to nonexistent. Rock has run out of money and has resorted to clothes. Tyler’s drunk and funny, and Poncho is high, making frequent snack breaks. The game is getting interesting until the door meets the wall with a whack.

“The fuck ya doin’? Why is there a shoe and a shirt on the table?” Buck bellows, looking right at me. Jesus, they’re not my clothes on the table. I’m still fully dressed.

“We’re playin’ a few friendly games of poker ‘n drinkin’, fuckface.” Tyler says, lifting up his cup. Buck looks at everyone, then back to me.

“They let you play?” Yes, they did. Why the hell wouldn’t they?

“Yes. Is there a problem with that?” I ask, sorting out my cards.

“Girls don’t sit in.”

“Well, I’ve got a vagina, and I’m sitting in.”

Buck stands there staring at me. This is weird for him, I can tell.

Getting up, I pat my seat. “Sit.” He hesitates, but finally sits down. Following suit, I plop my ass back down on his lap.

“Buck’s on my team,” I declare.

“Babe, your team? Seriously?” he laughs.

“Fuck yeah. Play with me.”

The ground shakes and bounces under me. My blood throbs to the beat of my heart in my skull. My unfocused floating eyeballs make it hard to focus on the ground below my head. My stomach is smashed and queasy. This is fun ...

“Buck, if you don’t put me down, I’m gonna throw up on you,” I warn. I’m not really going to puke on the man, not yet anyways. I drank while playing poker, but not that damn much. I know how far to go and when I need to slow down. I got this shit down to a science.

“Whatever,” Buck grunts, obviously not concerned. He doesn’t stop. He just keeps marching through the gravel lot. He doesn’t believe me? That’s fine.

I make an obnoxious puking sound and it works. Buck sets my bare feet on the gravel, but he doesn’t look happy about it.

“Thank you,” I mutter dryly, situating my shirt.

He scowls at me with his tattooed arms crossed over his chest, his lips straight and serious. After I cleaned house at poker, had some more drinks, and continued to sit around and bullshit with the guys, Buck had reached his limit.

“Told you it was time to go an hour ago.” One minute Buck’ happy, enjoying himself, then he turns grumpy. Hot and cold.

“Yeah, I got that when you chucked me over your shoulder in the middle of a game.”

“I’m tired. Don’t have time to watch you play with your new friends. I wanna go home and relax.”

“Buck―” I hardly get the words out before he’s on me again. Man, he’s handsy tonight.

Turning me towards his bike, he wraps his hands around my sides and picks me up, sitting my ass on the seat. “I’m ready to go,” he growls, eyes firm and serious “And when I’m ready to go, you are ready to fucking go. You got me, babe?”

“Fine,” I huff. Arguing with him just doesn’t seem worth it since I’m out here and already on his bike. Flopping my chucks down in the dirt next to him, he sets about putting my shoes on, grumbling about it the entire time. If he hates it so much, I have no clue as to why he’s even bothering with them.

Man, he needs to get laid. There’s a fun man in there under all that mean, smart-mouthed biker.

“When we get home, can we cuddle?” I tease him. He looks up, but he doesn’t look amused.

“No.”

“Pleeeease.” He thinks I’m drunk and treating me like a two-year-old. I’m hardly drunk, but I’m not going to stop him. “Buck, please? Pretty, pretty, pretty please? ” I can do this all night. I have a lot of pleases saved up.

“Jesus. Will you shut the fuck up?”

“Will you cuddle with me?” I counter with laugh. He’s so easy to wind up. I swear his head may just explode right off his shoulders with how hard he’s glaring.

“Come on. I really need a good cuddle.”

“No you don’t,” he says quietly. His resolve is starting to crack.

“I might die if you don’t cuddle with me.”

“I’ll start digging you a hole then.” Oh, he’s so hilarious.

“This is no time to joke, Buck. I need a fucking cuddle.”

Twisting my waist, he throws one of my legs over the other side of the bike so I’m straddling the seat. He’s done with fun and games tonight. Scooting me back on the seat, he makes room and crawls on in front of me, fires up his bike, and looks over his shoulder at me with a frown and a touch of a humor when he says, “I’ll do anything to shut you up.”

9 - Two Foot Rule

Buck

Standing on the porch, listening to Dan yack down the line, I stare out into the yard, watching the goddamn grass grow. Phone to my ear, I lean against the railing, waiting for him to finish his long-winded story.

Some money has come up missing. It isn’t a fuck ton, a couple grand, but enough to catch his attention. No matter the amount, motherfuckers do not steal from us and live to tell about it.

“Uh huh,” I confirm I understand him. I swear the man can talk your damn ear off. “Yeah, I hear you. If it shows, we’ll deal with it, but until then, the last couple sets of hands that touched it are suspect.” He agrees, but not before ranting some more. Swear to fuck, I’m the only voice of reason around here sometimes. I enjoy a fight as much as the next man, but we can’t just go around accusing members, jumping on everyone without reason. We’ll look like fools. Shit like this gets out to other clubs, they’ll think our club is coming apart at the seams. We cannot have that shit.

“Another cent comes up missing, I’ll start asking questions.” And by asking, I mean beating the answers outta people. “But until then, we watch and we wait, strike when we know for sure.”

It’s August up here in the mountains, which means hot days and cooler nights. It’s getting late and it’s starting to cool off, thank fuck, but standing in the setting sun, I can still feel the hot rays on my back.

Finishing his rant, I tell him what I know, which isn’t much. “Listen, that money is somewhere. That shit didn’t grow legs and walk off. Someone has to know something. We’ll figure it out, even if we’ve gotta remove body parts to get our answers.” But there isn’t shit I can do about it right now. “Relax tonight, and tomorrow we’ll start doing some shakedowns.”

“Ow ... Fuck!” Lennon yelps from inside of the house, taking my attention away from Dan’s words when I almost drop the phone.

“Dan, I gotta go.” Hanging up, I shove the phone into my pocket and take off into the house, stopping at the kitchen where I find her howling, flapping an arm around like a goddamn bird. Her hand’s in the air and blood’s running down her hand and arm. Lennon’s searching cabinets hysterically, babying her bloody appendage.

“The fuck happened?”

“I think I chopped my finger off,” Lennon cries. Fucking Christ.

Frantically digging around the shelves, she’s knocking shit out all over the damn place. Salt and pepper fall to the floo, followed by a box of cereal. “Shit!” she howls, looking up at her hand and begins to sway. She looks like she’s ready to pass out.