Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1) (7 page)

“You traumatized, Gracie?”

I shook my head no reflexively. I was a twenty-one year old woman. I shouldn’t be, so I was making myself not be. “No. I just wasn’t expecting that when I walked in.”

“Yeah, well, at least it wasn’t out there on a bike or some shit. Tread is the lead mechanic so he considers that his space.” She shrugged and clicked away.

“I thought you were the mechanic.”

“When the guys are out of town, we run things. But since I’m only a woman, he gets seniority.” Her tone was bitter, but her expression was blank.

“That’s kind of, 1950s isn’t it?” I asked cautiously.

She laughed as the printer came to life. “Maybe to the outside world. In our world—the MC world—Ronin is pretty progressive. Others don’t let their women do anything but suck dick. At least we know what’s going on half the time.”

I was shocked into silence as I processed her crude words. I had no idea societies like this existed outside of my religion—former religion—and I was about as 1950s as they came. “You’re a family member, though, right? So you get more freedom than the ones upstairs.” I gestured to the garage next door and she shook her head.

“At least they can get laid. The boys always got patted on the back, and the girls were held to a standard near impossible for us.” Marley sniffed and snagged the papers. “Hell, Kit’s got a freaking badass degree and she’s a bartender. How fucked up is that?”

“What?” I followed behind her, tugging my dog as she walked into the night. “She’s been to college and still lives here?”

“Yeah. The boys had to sign up for the military and the girls had to go to college. Then we all come back here and make ourselves useful.” She rolled her eyes, her mouth set in a straight line.

“What did you major in?” I was trying to process the fact that these men, that everyone hadn’t always been stuck in a border town their whole life and just didn’t know better. Sounded familiar.

“Nutrition. Here’s your estimate.” Marley handed me the papers then walked off. I looked down.

“Five thousand dollars?!” Heads turned at my voice and I ran to catch up so that I didn’t get stranded out there.

“It was the best I could do.”

“But I don’t think my car is even worth that much.”

She nodded as she opened the door to the kitchen. “You’re right. Best just to junk it and get something else.”

“I can’t get something else. Marley, I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your story, Gracie Lou?” Great, now there was two of them calling me that. I didn’t want to tell her.

“Ran away,” I mumbled.

Marley scoffed and walked through the busy kitchen, leaving me again. “I should have known. No doubt the craziest thing you’ve ever done. You are in the wrong town, Grace.”

Didn’t I know it.

I took a seat and poured over the list of charges and parts. Nothing made sense except the column on the side with a crazy amount of numbers. I looked up when the lights came back on some time later. My head had been in my hand, trying to figure out if everything on the list was exactly necessary or if they were gouging me. But how in the world would I know that?

Men headed up the stairs, single file, with Royal leading the pack. The rest of the crowd was heading out the front door, except for some younger guys at the door. Tread winked at me as I caught his eye. Holy Hannah, I saw that man slap a woman with the hand now gripping the railing.

Was that normal? Did people do that all the time? Or was this crowd demented in some way? I was learning that my previous beliefs in just about everything had been skewed in my sheltered life. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to be spanked, but that never even happened to me as a child. My face burned with heat and I looked around nervously, feeling like everyone knew exactly what I was thinking.

Marley was by the jukebox, and Tatum was stacking chairs on top of tables. The men left to babysit us groaned as Bruno Mars came on. I heard the door click upstairs, then Kit turned the speakers up with a flick of her wrist.

Before I realized what exactly was happening, all three of the girls started moving from one leg to the next in unison. They were not standing next to each other, but their bodies moved in sync. The men laughed, grabbed chairs and relaxed to, I assumed, watch the show.

Each of the girls looked more carefree than I’d ever seen them. They laughed, flicked their hair, raised their shirts in a sexy move I didn’t have in me. Even Tatum, with her short legs, was keeping up, moving her big booty around like it was on a swivel.

The next song rolled right into the first and it was another from the gym, but it was a pole dancing song. The girls dipped and bent together as they did their after closing chores. I stood awkwardly and lifted a stool to put on the bar while they had fun.

When the next song came on, it was some rap song with heavy bass, but this time they didn’t seem to have anything choreographed. Tatum catcalled to Marley as she breakdanced in the middle of the little dance floor. Kit tossed her rag, leaving me at the bar to be with her friends. They danced and laughed, having a great time while I wiped the bar and swept the floor.

I smiled, watching them with envy at their sisterhood. What would it be like?

The girls carried on for a few more songs, then a slow song came on and they got back to work. Not a minute into the song, the men’s boots could be heard on the stairs. I looked to the new men—prospects, I thought they were called—by the front door and saw their chairs stacked up and arms crossed like they had never sat down.

“I’m gonna go take out the trash, Gracie. Can you count the deposit for me? Leave fifty in the drawer.”

“You trust me with the money?” I asked incredulously.

She smirked and adjusted her bandana to catch some sweat. “You wouldn’t steal from the MC, even with car troubles.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you don’t have a death wish, kid.” She stepped through the doors, fingering an envelope in her apron absently. I turned to the till.

When I was done counting the money, I put it in the bag I found under the drawer. Kit still wasn’t back. I pushed open the door, and for the second time that day, walked in to find two people in a compromising position.

Kit was sitting on the stainless steel counter in the middle of the room, with Royal between her legs, one hand on the back of her neck, the other molded around a bra covered breast. But this door wasn’t so heavy and it hit the back wall with a thud that jolted them away from each other like they’d been hit with a cattle prod.

Royal’s hands replaced Kit’s in his hair to smooth down what she messed up as they panted. Royal backed away from her like he couldn’t believe what he’d done, and Kit looked so dejected, I was certain she was going to cry.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, backing away.

“Nah, it’s cool. I was just leaving,” Royal rumbled, walking away with a swagger that was no front, but the man he was. He was the definition of a bad boy. I’d now seen two of those tonight. I looked back to Kit. She was wiping her mouth with a shaky hand, pulling down her tank top with the other.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She jumped off the counter and cleared her throat. “Yeah. I’m perfect.”

She was definitely not that, but she took the bag from me and walked to the small office off the kitchen. When she came, back her face was an expressionless mask. I would have never known she was just making out with their VP if I hadn’t seen it myself.

I followed her back to the bar as she turned off the lights. Her hands grabbed the towel on the bar and she gave a swipe like it soothed her. The other girls had left already, and I still didn’t know where I was staying tonight.

“I just . . . never mind.” She straightened. “How’s your car?”

“Dead. It’s going to cost more money than I can dream of to get it working. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” I leaned against the bar and gave her a minute to deal with my problems instead of her own.

“No family?”

I shrugged. “Not anymore. They’re church people. The legal kind.”

She laughed and I was relieved.

“A preacher, huh? Father, Father.”

“Exactly.”

“So where were you going when you got sidetracked by custard?” she asked with a smirk. Kit really was so pretty, but now her eyes had dulled.

“You guys should really take that sign down. It’s like Hansel and Gretel to hapless good girls.” We both laughed and she nodded in agreement.

“I walked out on my wedding day.”

“No shit? Just left?”

“Left with my something old and something blue.”

“Weren’t you scared, Grace?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“I felt like I couldn’t breathe. So far, I haven’t regretted it much, until my car died.”

“Never regretted it.” It was a statement, but I shook my head and shrugged, anyway.

“I don’t know. My life was planned, but it wasn’t mine.” I looked up to see her nodding her head slowly.

“That is a lot. You do realize you jumped from one extreme to another, right?”

“Why, do you worship the devil?” I asked flippantly.

“Nah, nothing like that. But these guys have demons that come with being in the wars like they have. A lot of them don’t believe in God anymore, actually.”

I found that incredibly sad, even though I wasn’t sure I did, either. I knew my doubts stemmed from my experiences in my later life, but to know that they once did and had been disillusioned by the cruelties of the world broke my heart a little. My woes suddenly seemed trivial in comparison.

“So you’re stuck here.”

“If you’re kicking me out, I’ll go . . . somewhere. But I like being able to go if I feel like it.”

Kit’s eyes suddenly cleared and started to sparkle. Her hand went inside the apron at her hips.

“You ever had a job?” I nodded, and she tossed me the rag.

“You think you could do what I do at the bar?”

“I’m a sucky waitress. Been there, crashed and burned. Where will you be?” I asked in alarm.

“Away.”

“You’re gonna go.”

Her blue-gray eyes shined as she nodded so slightly I would have missed it if I wasn’t staring at her. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“Are they gonna freak out?”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh. Yeah,” Kit said with certainty. She took her keys out of a pocket and pulled off two, sliding them to me. “You can have my room here. Number 1 all the way in the back. It’s quieter than the rest. Use anything inside.”

“Thanks.” I palmed the keys, wondering if they were going to kill me for letting her get away, or something equally as crazy. Oh my gosh, was I Kit’s Holly?

“The second key is for the bar. Lock up behind me. Do you have a cell?”

I nodded and took out my prepaid cell phone.

“Write down your number and I’ll text you in a few days when I get mine. You can call me if you need anything.”

“And you can keep tabs on what’s happening here.”

She backed towards the door with a smile. “Now you’re gettin’ it, kid.”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE
doin’ up here?” Alt protested.

“Beats me. VP called it,” I replied as I leaned back in my chair, folding my hands behind my head.

The door swung open and Royal walked in. He strolled to a seat at the head of the table. He’d better have a good reason for pulling the whole fucking second generation up here. Once we got to drinking and hooking up with Doves, we didn’t like handling more club business unless something came down from the Prez. I looked around at all the guys we grew up with, most of which I went to Afghanistan with. All eyes were on Royal as they waited to see what he wanted that required us to put down the booze and dope.

“Look, fellas,” he spilled. “I wanted to talk about Mac. Now seemed like the best time since he’s passed out shitfaced in his room. I need an honest assessment from each of you. He’s been up and down but never really processing his rough spot. I need your take on him, whatever it may be. Can he still work?”

Everyone shuffled uneasily in their chairs. We didn’t like talking about a brother while he wasn’t present to defend himself. That kind of thing just didn’t happen in the club, until now, when the VP was asking. As I cleared my throat to speak up, Alt beat me to it.

“Dudes fuckin’ out there right now. We’ve been home a long time and he’s gettin’ worse, in my opinion.”

“Nah, fuck that. Mac is solid.” Hendrix sounded a bit touchy.

“I know he’s your best bro, but come on. You’ve seen it. That’s the third quad he’s fucked up since he’s been back. Every damn time he’s either been drunk, high, or fuckin’ drunk
and
high. He’s got no focus, man.”

“Fuck you, Alt. Mac is a hardcore motherfucker; a steely eyed killer. You shoulda seen that guy in combat. Showed no mercy to them fuckin’ jibs . . .” Hendrix trailed off and started giving the wall a hollow gaze.

Hendrix was going somewhere with that, but where?

That valley in Afghanistan, I knew it.

“Look, brother, no one is callin’ Mac out cause he ain’t a hardcore dude. We all talked to guys in his platoon. We know what he did over there.” I was playing peacekeeper, but the truth couldn’t be ignored. “We owe our brother, your
blood
brother, Royal, more than just watching him spiral and slappin’ him high fives on the way down. This meet had to happen.”

A quick glance around showed that I had the floor for the moment, so I elaborated.

“Look, when Duck and Lee had their moments, the old timers had their back, set them up in the hospital, and welcomed them back just fine when they came home. I’m not trying to ship Mac off to one of those PTSD clinics, but I’m not ruling that out either, man. I just don’t want to see Mac commit suicide, whether it’s the noose, a quad, or death by cop. We owe each other more than that with the shit we’ve been through.”

I threw my thoughts out the best the whiskey allowed. I was all about a speech or two until I got to drinking, then it was all for not. My words just didn’t come out right after the first few drinks.

After a long pause, the VP finally spoke.

“Mac is my blood brother, but he’s our brother in every way that matters. We’ve been together since we were kickin’ ‘round naked in the bathroom. My brother isn’t gonna go out like a bitch and kill himself. I don’t wanna hear anything to the contrary, either.” He eyed everyone in the room and lingered when he got to me then shot his eyes down. “I’ve kept up with some of my bros at Ranger Bat. They said that sometimes the clinic will help. Who knows, maybe we all need to go once in our lives.” Another long pause overtook the room.

He continued. “The old timers want Mac to continue runs. I talked to them about it. That’s what they want. I know they’ve been there and done that but everyone is different, and my experiences downrange aren’t the same as Macs. I don’t know what he went through.” He looked to Hendrix and snapped his fingers. Hendrix stuck his head out of the door.

A prospect entered the room stumbling, clearly drunk. He carried with him a case of beer and set it in the middle of the table.

“Call it a night, guy,” VP told him and pointed out the door.

“It’s uh, Dale, sir,” The ’spect spoke back.

“
It’s uh . . . it’s uh
a fuckin ass beatin’ if you don’t take your happy ass to bed. Shut your fuckin’ cock holster,” Royal said angrily.

The prospect seemed to melt with embarrassment, as if we’d just taken his blank cut or something.

“All right, without any fuckin’ interruptions, Hendrix. Tell us about the night ya’lls platoon sergeant died. Make me understand.”

Royal twisted the top off two fresh beers, slid one to Heni then took a large pull of the other before setting it down in front of him. With his elbows on the table, he stared at Hendrix, his hands interlaced in front of his mouth.

“VP, come on, that’s some serious shit.”

Royal’s gaze was solid. Hendrix started shaking his legs, his eyes wide now as he fumbled in his pocket to retrieve his glass pipe and a fresh ounce of weed. He packed one and hit it twice, eviscerating both his beer and his packed bowl. He cracked out another beer and brought his hollow gaze to the wall again.

“All right, so we all know that Mac was tight with our platoon sergeant.” He stuttered, starting to choke back a hint of pain.

“No, we don’t. Explain it,” I said, leaning forward, breaking Hendrix’s connection with the wall and meeting his gaze.

“All right, all right, all right.” Hendrix was getting skittish. “It started when we showed up at the unit. We had our BDUs pressed and ready, fresh jump wings sewn on our uniforms, the whole deal. We got into the training room, were processed, and I guess the fuckin’ platoon sergeants smelled fresh meat and came for supper.” He took a swig.

“So they started bustin’ our balls and shit. Cherry this, cherry that. Then there was Sergeant Norse. He walked in while we were doing flutter kicks and eyed us, finally saying, ‘These fuckin’ cherries our mine.’ And the other platoon sergeants just stared at him while they left.” Hendrix lit a cigarette and took a hard drag as he leaned back in his chair.

“Sergeant Norse was the man. He smoked the fuck out of us, taught us everything from demo to battle drills. Then he would have us over for like, Thanksgiving and shit. Always having cookouts and drinkin’ Kraut brews. His wife was nice, and never gave a shit about how much we drank at her house. Hell, she was usually just as wasted. They would talk to us about the hard times they had during past deployments and warned us to be careful what we wished for with this one. Apparently, Sergeant Norse was having issues with losing one of his soldiers a couple years ago. Sometimes we’d be drunk, smoking cigars, and Sergeant Norse would just stare into the fire we made, all lost and shit.” Hendrix choked again.

“All right, so Sergeant Norse was like Mac’s pops out in Germany. Home away from home, right?” Alt asked. “I get that.”

Hearing Sergeant Norse’s name took me back. Everyone and everything drained out of the room as I recalled my own history. I remembered standing at his death ceremony at Forward Operating Base Airborne. When I walked up to that Soldier’s Cross, an M4 with dog tags hanging on the handgrip and a helmet set on top, I gave Sergeant Norse the most crisp salute I could muster. I quickly swiped away a tear on the way down, made my proper left-face turn, and moved out.

Outside of the gym where the ceremony was held, I was smoking a cigarette, listening to some of their platoon mates tell their version of the story. They portrayed Mac as a hero. Apparently, their medic triggered a dismounted bomb and was vaporized, but his platoon sergeant got fucked in the explosion. He had no legs.

Mac went all badass, shot some jibs, pulled Sergeant Norse back, and treated him. They medevac’d Sergeant Norse but he didn’t make it. He flat-lined on the way to the combat surgeon.

DOA . . . Dead on arrival.

I hated this shit. I didn’t want to be here for this conversation. I didn’t want to start going there with my own shit, too. This was why I couldn’t go to group back in Germany. I got almost as fucked up hearing other peoples stories as I did reliving my own.

Hendrix’s voice was watered down in the background. I couldn’t listen to it. I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t. It was about Mac right now, and the fucked up spot his head was at.

“All right, Hendi, thanks.” Royal held up his head, noticing how uneasy everyone seemed. “Look, fellas, some of the choices we make in church . . . well, I think they need further debate. Just between the second gen.” He looked around the room, his palms flat on the table for effect, “That’s why I called this, and why I’m going to call a meet shortly after, every time we go to church. We’ll call it . . . fuck, I don’t know . . . choir practice.” He smirked, earning one from everyone else.

“You got it, VP,” Alt said, putting his hand on Hendrix’s shoulder to give it a shake before standing up to leave the room.

“Yeah, you got it, VP,” Hendrix parroted as he fucked with his bowl and weed as he walked out.

“You know what this means?” I sparked a cigarette. I had some words for my VP once we were alone. “You know what this’ll do to the club if the old timers found out.” I added.

“Yeah, I do, and I got a plan for that,” Royal explained. “I’m not undermining church at all. I just want to brainstorm afterwards.”

“You got it, VP. I ain’t gonna say shit. Is Mac coming to the next one?” I jested.

“Yeah, if that bastard can stay sober enough.” He chuckled dryly and stood up.

I followed him out of the room.