Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1) (6 page)

Yes. I couldn’t help but wonder what that would feel like.

THE FAINT LIGHTS ON THE
horizon grew close. I could almost taste the pussy and whiskey. Without noticing what I was doing, I heard the van downshift and the straight pipes started a low, throaty roar. I tapped the brakes in response. If I got any more excited to be home, I would probably just whip it out right there and go to town. Maybe I should? I mean, I didn’t want to get down with the ladies and be a two-pump-chump.

“Fuck it,” I said aloud.

Pulling out my trusty glass pipe, I fired a bowl. If I couldn’t get my wood to go away normally, I’d just detach my mind for a bid. The head rush kicked in, and just like clockwork, so did the ringing in my ears.
Not now . . . This shit couldn’t wait?
I flashed back to the orchards, pinned down in a firefight lasting over four hours, A-10 warthogs overhead firing 30mm rounds at over three thousand rounds per minute. The look on the guys’ faces were a mix between fear and bloodlust. Empty magazines were changed, the medic frantically dealing with the wounded from the ambush. The worried faces on the leaders, the non-commissioned officers expressions as they feared they would lose a man. Thumps of RPGs incoming and going out as Afghani soldiers freaked out in their opium-laced Rambo moments. I felt the warmth flow down my face, and I reached up to touch it. My palm turned red in the light of the beating sun, then suddenly to the shaded darkness of the truck cab. I looked up to see brake lights and jammed my own.

Royal was in front of me, giving me a what-the-fuck look. He was stopped right before the only red light in town.

“Sorry, bro,” I called out the open driver’s side window.

“Wake the fuck up, Tread,” he shot back.

I followed the taillights into the parking lot of the clubhouse. Before I even got it into park, Alt and Mac were fighting for first out of the door. They slung it open, and Royal was waiting with his arms spread eagle.

“Welcome home, boys!” He cracked off a half-assed salute.

“Fuckin’ A,” Alt cracked a similar salute.

Royal led them into the clubhouse while I opened my door and exited.

“Debrief in five, Tread,” Royal called over his shoulder with Alt and Mac close in tow with a hand patting each other on the back.

“Yeah.” I slammed the door shut and threw myself back against the door.

“Get it together, bro,” I attempted to command myself as I popped my anxiety medication. With sweat in my palms, my pits, and rolling down my head, I figured I’d need another shower before I went to see any wenches.

Five minutes later, I dropped off my cell outside the door and walked into the room—the room where everything that had anything to do with the club and its members went down. I was in my chair at the debriefing. Everyone just sat down, Mac sparked a cigarette, Alt a cigar. Mac sat there with a blank stare on his face, and I knew what he was thinking about. Maybe it was time I brought it to the club’s attention? I mean, should I have let Mac keep spiraling and pretending he’d gotten his shit together? Or should I have told Harvey that he needed a break? Hell, he might even need to get checked in for a while. There was no shame in it. Everyone there had thought about it, and more than a few had checked into PTSD clinics way out in San Antonio. Mac would have to wait, though.

“What the fuck do you mean you want another pizza tomorrow?!” Harvey shouted into his cell.

“NO, guy, I say
fuck
no. Your fat ass doesn’t need another pizza this goddamned weekend. My delivery boys need a few.

“Yeah? Bring it, motherfucker. Any day, any week, you know where to find me.” Harvey slammed his phone shut and chucked it at the wall.

His meaty fists were at rest on the table even before the cell shattered against the wall. Mac shot out of his daze.

“What the fuck was that about?” Mac shouted, not all too pleased about the sudden loud noise.

“Fucking Carlos wants a fuckin’ supreme, tomorrow night, while the fucking game is on,” he growled through gritted teeth, not removing his fist from the table, nor taking his gaze off the wall directly in front of him.

“Fuck that.”

“NO fucking WAY.”

“Money is money, fellas.”

With that last remark, we all stared at the culprit of the unpopular comment. Alt straightened up and his eyes got a cunt hair bigger.

“Hey, man, I could use the money. This is our job, isn’t it? We all signed up for this shit.” He was trying to motivate someone, anyone, but no one at the table was biting.

“I got an idea, Alt. How ’bout you shut the fuck up?” I was flexing at him, my words heated, but I meant my brother no harm. I was just tired and fried. We’d been going hard getting douchebags
into
Mexico and drugs
out
, and I wasn’t trying to do a turn and burn by heading back out to the badlands.

“It don’t matter. This is my gavel and unless y’all vote to overrule me, this club ain’t doin’ any deliveries ’til next fuckin’ Thursday as scheduled.” Harvey finally moved his gaze from that spot on the wall and started surveying his club.

“Back to business, boys,” he continued.

“Tonight wasn’t without its fuck ups,” he opened with a stare in Mac’s direction. “But we got the cargo across and we got back free and clear. What are we gonna do better?”

“Don’t get fucking high.” Alt nodded in Mac’s direction.

“Get fucked, Alt.”

“Besides that shit,” I started out, “I think we need to get more comfortable utilizing the underground. Fuckin’ Obama has a hard on for drones, especially on the border. It won’t be long ’til we get a hellfire missile up our asses.”

“I agree,” Harvey nodded. “I know no one wants to be in a rat tunnel, but we don’t need the heat. Remember: slow is smooth, smooth is fast, and we don’t get burnt.” He glanced around the table for looks of approval. Almost unanimous nods followed.

“Fuck that,” Mac said flatly. “I say we use the drones. I know I can’t hack a predator, but I can hack a shadow.” Mac referred to the much smaller drone that resembled an R/C airplane from the late ‘90s. “The predators we can take with fly-by-wire from the Colombians. Or maybe even the General.”

Disbelief washed over the table as Mac mentioned the General, someone we weren’t supposed to talk about at the table just in case we were bugged. If the General went down, we were all dead. A lot of outlaws used the General, not just us.

“Maybe one day bro,” I broke the silence and slowly heating up stares. “But for the near future, we need to get used to being underground.”

Another pause. I didn’t know if Harvey was about to flip shit on Mac, and after a few uncomfortable moments, Harvey spoke up.

“I think this is settled, then. For the short-run, we’re going to be underground. Enough of this, boys. We’ve been away from home for too long. Take the night to unwind. We’ll convene tomorrow at 1600. Have fun, boys.” Harvey snapped the gavel up and gave it a couple taps on the table before letting it go.

We filed out of the room and bellied up to the bar for our customary shot of Jameson.

“To the fallen,” the club recited in unison as they tipped a sip out on the floor and slammed the rest. A few chest thumps and bro-fists later, we were out in the bright, New Mexico sunlight.

“Hold up, guys. I need my smokes,” I called out as I opened my saddlebag.

“Ah, fuck me.” I looked inside with discontent. It was empty. I needed smokes.

“Better find you an old lady, guy,” Harvey mocked as he grabbed a fresh pack from his saddlebags and tossed it to me. “I never run out.”

Of course, he was talking about how Lola always kept his saddlebags stocked with smokes, snacks, and whatever he liked while we were out at the rig doing jobs. We walked the three hundred foot trek to the saloon together. Mac peeled off and headed for the motel, while the rest of us headed for whiskey and pussy. I couldn’t even picture having an old lady, or letting anyone in on all my shit. I wouldn’t do that to a woman. I was more of a gentleman than that.

We stepped into the bar and they already had some nice tunes set up for us. The song that was on was a new female fronted metal band. They made great strip tease music. The lead singer was so fucking hot. I used to think about her as I’d whack it in my jack shack in Afghanistan. I would close my eyes and picture a beautiful chick, dressed to kill in black leathers with studs, high heel booties, and fish net stockings straddling my lap and singing dirty songs into my ear.

I could relate to the fucked up feelings that were buried in this music. The writers may never had gone to war, but they sang to my heart and I loved it with both my heart and dick.

The Soiled Doves were primed and ready for us. A couple hang arounds sat at the bar. They weren’t part of the club, but they weren’t unwelcomed there. These were guys that would help the club when we asked, but never wanted to embrace the life. We didn’t blame them. Being an outlaw wasn’t for everyone, and the military requirement was mandatory for a full patch. The Soiled Doves were dressed especially to my liking. All my usuals were there, and I liked my usuals. I didn’t like breaking in a new Dove. It was awkward and fucking annoying. Taking a seat near the stage, one of my Doves sat next to me with my whiskey and beer at the ready.

“Thanks, love.” I nodded and raised my glass to her and the girl that was dancing on stage before taking a mouthful of smooth, cool whiskey, aged in what tasted like a hickory barrel. I sat against the back of the chair, leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and tried to unwind. I didn’t like the flashbacks, and I sure as hell didn’t like the sticky sweat that coated my shirts in their aftermath.

I for damn sure didn’t know what was the right thing to do about the Mac situation. I loved him. He was a brother. It fucking blew hard to see him suffer and spiral down that rabbit hole without knowing how to help.

A hand tracing my thigh, heading towards my cock, yanked me back to the present. The dirty girl was ready for a fresh coat of soil. She knew that my not stopping her meant I’d be hers for the next . . . oh . . . thirty minutes? Shit, I knew I should’ve beat off in the van.

THE MEN CAME INTO THE
room like a tidal wave. Things had been as calm as I assumed they got here, but the minute the doors opened, it was pandemonium. The sea of black seemed to roll like exhaust fumes through the tired saloon. Black jeans, black shirts, black leather vests. The only thing that differed with each man was their shoes. Some were tanned, some black, some white. I wondered how stupid it would make me seem if I started learning them by their shoe wear.

The women from the balcony squealed and clacked down the stairs. Marley, Tatum, and Kit weren’t much better, jumping into steely arms as soon as they got close. I observed it all from my corner of the bar, watching men lead some of the women straight upstairs, others reaching for bottles behind the bar without waiting for service.

“Hey, Daddy,” I heard Kit say as I watched her reach across the bar to give an older man a hug.

“There’s my girl. How are ya, baby?”

Kit grabbed a bottle and popped the top before handing it to him. He took a drink and watched her fidget with the black bandana around her head. One thing I envied most about Kit was her hair. She had gorgeous, dirty blonde locks, but every time I’d seen it, it was always in some kind of braid. Crazy intricate styles that made it clear she could multitask better than anyone I’d met.

Tonight her hair was in twin French braids that landed over her shoulders and a rolled bandana over the top of her hair. I asked about it earlier in the day. She just smiled and said it was easier on her hair when riding a bike.

Whatever the reason, it was clearly a nervous gesture for her to mess with it.

“I’m doing great. How was your run?” she asked, swallowing hard.

Harvey’s eyes started scanning the bar as he answered distractedly, “Fuckin’ long. I’m glad you’re good, baby.”

“Listen, Dad. I wanted to talk to you—”

A woman Harvey’s age came running and he stood to catch her in his arms. “There she is. Where you been, Lola?”

The blonde smiled wide, making her look ten years younger. “Freshenin’ up for my man.” She jumped up, wrapped her legs around his waist, making him grunt slightly.

“I’m an old man, sug’,” he complained against her lips.

“It’s past your bedtime, then, poppa,” Lola said, not getting down. He palmed her backside as he stumbled to the back of the bar. My nose scrunched up and I turned to Kit.

“That doesn’t gross you out?” I asked.

She looked up at me with sad eyes, tossing a dishtowel on the counter. “Nah. It’s the life. They’ve been like that since forever. At least I’ve never walked in on them or something. You want another drink?”

“Yeah.” I looked at my Sprite then back to her. “You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s the life. I’m fine.”

Kit blew me off, turning to the men waiting patiently for drinks. She started popping caps and pouring from spouts with long wooden handles. The guys acted respectful, to my surprise. I’d seen them pop a breast into their mouths over a booth, but with these three, they were on their best behavior.

I watched Marley and Tatum taking trays of drinks to the tables and no one grabbed at them. The men moved out of their way and took the trays once they were delivered. They were different.

“So how did church go?” I heard from the man next to me ask as I concentrated on fishing out the cherry that Kit put in the bottom of my glass.

“Not good, dude. We’ll talk later. Kit, babe, you got anything for me?” At the words, I looked up because I hadn’t heard anyone call her that before.

The man had slicked back blond hair that was a few shades darker than Kit’s. His beard was longer on his chin and kept trimmed shorter on his cheeks. His baby blues seemed to sear holes into the woman, and I watched his hands flex as they gripped the bar.

Kit looked over her shoulder from where she was laughing with one of the other patrons. He swallowed when she stood from her bent position over the bar, and I finally caught on that he had a crush on her. Then I watched her eyes heat with more than brotherly love, and realized it was reciprocated.

She was not obvious about it. I was just used to watching couples interact, usually with envy. She made eye contact then grabbed a frosted mug before filling it with frothy beer. Nothing about that was any different. But her hip stuck out, showing an inch of skin he couldn’t seem to look away from. Kit’s thumb stroked the big wooden handle, her silver ring catching the light. My eyes shot to the blond and I watched him shift.

When she brought him the drink, it clunked loudly on the bar.

“Kit . . .”

“Yeah?” she asked with crossed arms.

“Thanks,” he mumbled before turning away and fading into the crowd. Kit practically wilted, tugging on her bandana again.

“Have you guys ever done anything, or is this a from afar type of thing?” I asked, biting into the cherry.

“What are you talking about?” Kit demanded.

I shrugged. “Nothing, just your thing with that guy.”

“Royal?”

“Is that the blond?” She nodded. “Then, yeah.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Grace. Leave it be.”

I held my hands up. “Sure, sorry.” Obviously people were professionals at turning a blind eye in this town. I hopped off of my stool.

“Where are you going?”

“I heard there was a church around here. I was going to go douse myself with holy water,” I joked. Kit stared at me with wide eyes before throwing her head back and laughing loudly. Several heads turned to watch her then went back to their business.

“Did you just make a joke, Gracie Lou Who? I’ll be damned.” She shook her head, still laughing.

“Glad you aren’t sad anymore, Kit.” I turned to walk away, but she snagged my hand.

“What church are you talking about? Where did you hear that?”

I shrugged. “Your blond mentioned church to another guy. You know, I was starting to think that you were all a complete mess, but a congregation changes everything.” As much as I hated the life, I did know the Bible, and I felt a need to re-center myself.

Kit’s head fell to the bar, and her arms shook as she rocked her head back and forth.

“Yeah, so I’m gonna go.”

“Wait. No, wait. You can’t.” Kit wiped her eyes, still giggling.

“What is so funny?” I asked, getting annoyed.

Kit cleared her throat and motioned for me to come closer. “Church around here isn’t like where you’re from. It’s a meeting with the cabinet members of the MC.”

I blinked then stared at her. MC means motorcycle club, I knew that much. “So church is like a meeting at the White House?” I asked, half-jokingly.

“Exactly.” Dang, I wasn’t serious.

“So who’s the president?” I asked, again facetiously.

“My dad,” Kit deadpanned.

My eyes widened. “And the vice-president?”

“Royal.” Kit lifted her eyebrows.

“What does that mean?” I whispered, completely freaked out. Who were these people?

“It means, Gracie Lou, that you can’t leave here without an escort, and the boys are going to head upstairs soon. If you want to go to a real church, there’s a Catholic on the other side of town you can get to tomorrow. With an escort.”

“Right.” I sat back in my seat, but Kit was called away before I could ask any more questions. She served a man that looked Mexican, if I had to guess. His tan was light, more golden than bronze. His hair was up in a bun on his head, the scruff of his beard at least a few days of growth, but pretty close to his face. He was smiling, and his white teeth were a stark contrast to his dark features. He was pretty, in a scruffy, sweaty kind of way.

He took the beer and headed over to the little stage in the corner that girls were dancing on. I blinked and he was lost in the dark as the music picked up. Someone turned on the jukebox. After a few songs, it was clear this was a metal crowd. My head pounded to the beat. Kit slid a plate in front of me with a wink. I smiled gratefully. It was driving me crazy that I was at these people’s mercy. The phrase ‘out of the frying pan and into the fire’ came to mind.

Pulling the plate towards me, I yelled a thank you to Kit. She waved from the other side of the bar. It looked to be an enchilada and I took a hesitant first bite, knowing Veesa prepared it. The flavors exploded and I closed my eyes and groaned. The man next to me turned, giving me a once over before returning his attention to his conversation. I’d been dismissed.

I didn’t want their attention, but wow. I turned back to the food and took a bigger bite. I watched the crowd, like always. Men took women up the stairs, some men leaving out the front door, and a whole lot more mingled. The place was packed with more coming and going, but it never settled down. I’d never been in a bar so I assumed this was how things were supposed to go. Well, besides the upstairs bit.

“Hey.” Marley bumped me to get my attention and a glob of guacamole fell from my fork onto my khaki pants. “Whoops, sorry about that.”

I grabbed a napkin. “It’s fine. How are you doing?”

“What? Oh, I’m fine. Listen, I’m taking a break and got the estimate on your parts in the shop. You want to come with me and check it out?” I finished wiping my clothes, but there was a greenish brown stain that was not coming out.

I jumped up and found some money for the food. Leaving a precious twenty tucked under the plate, I caught Kit’s eye and pointed to it. She nodded then went back to work.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

With Bella trailing behind us, we headed through the kitchen and into the parking lot. There were more people out there, different music, and a lot of alcohol. They lounged around motorcycles and looked extremely relaxed. There was a smell in the air, something that made my nose itch, so I walked faster.

“It should be in the office, but I may have brought it back out to double check the list. Go look in the garage. There’s a clipboard by the couch in there.” Marley left me outside so I turned to the door right next to it. It was heavy metal, and I had to use two hands to get it open.

“Oh shit. Yeah, right there, baby.”

I looked up from the door and froze. The pretty Mexican guy with the bright teeth was on the couch with a girl on top of him. She was bouncing up and down, her breasts swinging as she moaned.

I didn’t breathe. I didn’t even think my heart was beating. The belt around his ankles jingled as she picked up the pace.

“Fuck yeah. Ride that cock.” He lifted a hand and I couldn’t guess what he was about to do with it. Maybe grab something. But he flattened his palm and slapped her butt so hard I could see it jiggle from across the room.

The squawk that left my throat sounded like a dying bird. Or maybe a dolphin in pain, I didn’t know. The sound brought both of their heads around. Her expression was annoyed at the interruption. His seemed amused.

“You want in, doll?” he asked lazily, pumping slowly from below now that the girl had stopped.

Backing up, I caught the door before it slammed shut on my nose. “I . . . what? No, I . . . what?” I stuttered in shock. Join them? Together? What was I thinking? I didn’t want to join any of them. “No,” I said more firmly.

The grin on his face might have been nice if he wasn’t
inside
of a woman when he flashed it at me. He lifted his head in a little jerk. “Well, I’m not giving tutorials at the moment, so close the door on your way out.”

I blinked my wide eyes at him. Was he offering to teach me? To have sex? Was this real life?

“Get out!” the girl yelled, causing me to bang my shoulder on the door when I jolted from her words.

“Did you find it, Grace?” Marley came up behind me, seeing my face then sticking her head into the room. She straightened and put a hand on her hip. “Jesus Christ, Tread.”

“What, is this a show, now?” he asked, flexing his hips as the girl rocked onto him. I covered my mouth and looked away.

“Come on, I’ll just print another one.” Marley sighed and left the room, me fast on her heels. You could hear the couple laughing from the other room before moans took over once again.

Marley took a seat in the office chair and woke the sleeping computer with a wiggle of the mouse. I cleared my dry throat. Her eyes met mine for a second and she smirked.