Random & Rare Page 9

  I shifted my weight, begging my cock to lay low.

  “Nice, huh?” Ronny said.

  “Very.” Butler grinned, his blue eyes glued to Lissa’s full ass cheeks separated by the thong of the suit.

  Ronny laughed. “You two know where the store is. I don’t need to give you a business card.”

  Lissa punched out her other hip, a hand landing on her waist.

  My gaze met hers. “Nope.”

  “Good to hear. Better make the rounds while the going’s still good. Where did Stacy get to again?”

  Lissa shrugged, and Ronny wandered off.

  Lissa took two steps closer to me, blew a bubble with those bright red-painted lips and popped it, her tongue lashing the pink goop back into her mouth.

  A girl in a Confederate flag bikini top bounced next to her. “Lissa, come on. These guys want to take pictures of us on their bikes. They got us Jell-O shots and everything. Where’s Ronny?”

  Lissa smirked at me, her eyes narrowing. She got even closer and slowly ran her hand down my chest, spanning over my abs. My cock argued with me. She tugged at my belt buckle and then let go of it and nabbed the cigarette from behind my ear, holding it between her fingers. I snapped out my lighter and flicked it on. Her plump red lips held my cigarette in between them, sending my brain messages of doom and chaos. Lissa inclined her head closer to me, her hand over mine on the lighter, and inhaled until the cigarette inflamed. She lifted her face at me and grinned, exhaling a long trail of smoke just to my side. I grinned back at her. Licking her lower lip, she turned and sauntered off on her platform heels, her friend in tow.

  Butler let out a hiss. “Shit, that was calling my name.”

  “Go for it. Get her off my fucking back.”

  “You don’t want a piece of that?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, man. You already had a piece of that.”

  “No, I did not. Have not. Will not.”

  Butler laughed. “Whoa. Okay, bro. Your loss, my gain.” He stalked off after Lissa.

  I drained my beer cup and tossed it in a trash can. Where the hell was my old lady?

  The lot was filled with people laughing and yelling, clapping and hooting, singing along with the band. Vendors hawked riding accessories, studded and fringed saddlebags, all sorts of T-shirts, while others were offering Jell-O shots and hot dogs and fucking pizza. Everyone was taking photos of themselves in front of bikes, on bikes, of girls kissing each other on bikes, girls licking each other on bikes, chicks posing with their asses in the air on bikes. The sun had long since set, and the huge overhead lights were glaring down on us.

  My eyes strained, searching the crowd by the band—no Grace, no Alicia, no Dee. I pressed my fingers into the sides of my head and rubbed. The piercing burn behind my eyes only flared. I needed another beer.

  “Hey! Is there a wet T-shirt contest tonight?” I asked the waitress.

  “No, we decided against it this time. There was so much trouble the last time we had one. Forget that!”

  “Right.” I handed her a few bills and grabbed the beer.

  “Dig Quillen. How you doing?”

  I squinted through my increasingly blurry vision. Zed, the president of the Broken Blades from northern Nebraska. He scratched at his neck, which was stamped all over with tats heralding his time in the Marines. He had a huge Z down one arm. Zed had a long, complicated Polish last name that was too hard to pronounce, and everyone had settled on calling him by the first three letters.

  “Hey, man. Good to see you. What brings you my way?”

  “A beer, hon.” Zed threw bills across the narrow counter of the temporary bar set up outside, leaning his hairy forearms against it, fingers dragging through his long mustache. “Been wanting to talk to you for a long while now. Came through town, especially for you.”

  “For me? Or the Jacks?”

  He snorted. “You. Your prez and me just don’t see eye-to-eye on most subjects. I thought it might be smoother if we did it this way—bumping into you at a social event.” He waggled his eyebrows and snorted.

  “He’s here, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. We said our hellos.”

  “What’s up, Zed?”

  “Demon Seeds are on my ass.”

  My eyelids sank for a second. I put down my beer and grabbed a cigarette. “What the fuck is their problem now? They reaching out to you?”

  “Reaching out would be kind, brother. More like threatening, torching. They even handled a brother’s woman last week. Making statements left and right.”

  My goddamn piece-of-shit lighter suddenly wouldn’t light. Third try. Fourth. I tossed it. Zed flipped open his lighter for me.

  I bent my head, lit my Marlboro, and took in a deep drag. My eyes raced round the lot. Where the fuck is Grace now? I exhaled a stream of smoke as I rubbed my forehead. “What do they want?”

  “Want us to patch in. I’ve had my ear to the ground for a while man. On Vig. He’s making moves with the Russians out west, Washington State, even California. They want access to the Midwest through the quiet that is us. Fuck that. I’ve got my own game in play. So do you. Am I right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We give one inch on this, and they’ll only be back for more. I don’t want to give that up to play ball with these goons. I don’t care what kinda cash he’s talking. I don’t trust these Russkie assholes. Can barely speak English, some of ’em in their fancy suits. What do these motherfuckers want with my corner of Nebraska anyhow?”

  “They just want it all. Vig’s all about the squeeze. Squeezing to get his way. He wants a toll-free road through Colorado, too. Colorado is ours.”

  Zed held my gaze. “That’s why I came through here, Dig. Glad I did.” He shifted his formidable weight, a hand smoothing down his gray mustache. “Tell me, he squeezing you?”

  “He tried. He’s all about this brave new world. But I saved his hide in a drug bust a while back, and he’s been laying off us for a while now.”

  “Don’t count on it for too much longer.”

  “Oh, I agree. The Jacks and the Broken Blades have worked together in the past, shared, had each other’s backs. Ain’t no reason why we can’t do so in the future.” I leaned closer to him. “Frankly, there’s all the more reason to do so right now, but that’s just my personal opinion.”

  “Feel the same way. Fucking Seeds don’t like the long-standing relationship our two clubs got. And they don’t like the truce we’ve both managed with the Flames of Hell either. That was hard won, and they want to fuck with that balance. A balance that’s worked real good for all of us.”

  If I could keep Zed and his Broken Blades on my side of that balance and forge a relationship with the Flames of Hell, a very independent and formidable 1% club just over the border in Nebraska, then things would be more than good. We could form a hard wall against the Seeds and beyond.

  Zed drank from his beer. “Look, we’re heading to Wyoming for that poker run. Wanted to stop by though and touch base with you. Play nice with Mick. For now.”

  “I will. Much appreciated.”

  He eyed me. “I’m standing firm. You standing firm?”

  “Fuck yeah.

  His huge coffee-colored eyes flashed as he clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Got to start watching out for those tacos, too, you know?” He sighed. “Fucking Mexicans.”

  Hissing and hooting rose among a group of leather-clad men and women to our right. One-Eyed Jacks were having a standoff with members of an amateur riding club from Rapid. Clip, his eyes full of fire, was in the face of one of the men, as a girl pulled on his arm, her mouth running. Two of Zed’s brothers stood in the center. Clip pushed one of them to the side, and the Blade’s eyes bulged.

  Zed groaned. “Ah, fuck. Now what?”

  I let out a laugh. “All’s right with the world, man.”

  “Yeah. Last time we got together, same ole shit.”

  “This is the good shit. This gives me a sense of pride,” I
said on a laugh, stamping out my cigarette.

  Zed roared with laughter. “Exactly! I don’t even remember what the last one was about, do you?”

  I shrugged. “Who fucking does, man? Let’s go keep the balance.”

  “Hey.” He pulled on my arm, lifting his chin. “Know you got my support,” he said, his voice low, “should you ever sit at the head of your table, when that time comes.”

  My chest tightened. A bid for the presidency. I’d been thinking about it, biding my time, stepping carefully, judiciously. Boner and Jump and I hadn’t even discussed it out loud, only in subtle looks and movements over the table.

  My eyes held Zed’s assessing ones. Knowing that I had a club like the Broken Blades behind me, ready to work with me, coexist with the Jacks, was huge.

  “Appreciate it, man.”

  “Dig, months ago you shared with me when my club needed it. It made sense for you to make adjustments, and you didn’t fight it just to be a prick. You made those adjustments. You didn’t tick me off your list out of spite, and you didn’t bullshit me either. Kept it uncomplicated. Ain’t typical. I respect that. Just trying to do the same.” He hiked up his jeans. “Gotta kick some ass tonight. Promised my boys. You in?”

  I grinned. “Here’s to keeping it real.”

  “That’s right. See you on the road, brother.” Zed stalked in the direction of the swell of jeering and hooting.

  Boner came up next to me. “A couple Blades kicked this pansy’s Honda, and the idiot thought it was Clip. All Clip was doing was necking with this chick who was hanging out by the bike. I think the stare down has just about hit its limit.”

  I grabbed Boner’s collar. “Where the fuck is Grace?”

  He pushed off my hands. “She went inside to the restroom with Dee. They’re around.”

  “Around is not here, bro!”

  He wrapped a hand around my neck. “Hey, man, easy. The women are fine. They’re inside. Listen, Jump and Judge are already in the mix.” The grin splitting his face was unmistakable.

  I took in a deep breath. Power in unity. Yeah, despite our president, Mick. Despite his divisive tactics. “Let’s get in on it before the cops get here.”

  Boner and I stalked off toward the brouhaha to the left of the stage. I’d recognize that hair anywhere. Jackhammers went off behind my eyes. Grace’s long brown waves shook over her shoulders as she talked. Talked with Butler. No, she was laughing with Butler. Both of them, relaxed, listening to the music, their bodies moving to the beat as they spoke. Their eyes were half on the band, half on each other. Her shirt was soaking wet, outlining her tits. She had it knotted and pulled tight, her bare midriff showing, her curves on display. Her one hand held a beer cup, and she hoisted it in the air, cheering the band on.

  Grace leaned her head closer to Butler’s and put a hand up against her mouth, her eyes opening wide with every word she uttered.

  Is it that important, what she has to tell him?

  A slow smile lit Butler’s face as he dragged his white teeth across his lower lip. Gone was his usual smug grin. Gone was that air of boredom he cultivated so well. He now wore an expression I’d never seen on him before. He wasn’t charming the panties off some bitch with that surfer-boy grin and those light-blue eyes he knew how to work. No, he was listening to whatever Grace was saying. Listening and interested.

  He leaned over her and made some remark, that long blond hair of his covering his face, and she threw her head back and laughed, her one hand clutching his arm. He laughed, too, his eyes never leaving hers, soaking in her reaction. He swept his hair out of his face and took the beer cup out of her hand, gulping down whatever was left. She jumped up and down, clapping for the band. He cheered alongside her, the two of them laughing.

  I sucked in air. The searing ache in my head shifted. A burning knife dragged its poisoned hot tip through my brain. Fuck, I had to deal with testosterone first before I could deal with my woman. At least she was with a Jack and away from the brawl.

  I scanned the crowd and spotted each of our brothers, except for one. “Where the hell is Creeper?”

  “He left with that kinky rich bitch he’s been banging. We won’t be seeing him again tonight.”

  “Jesus.”

  We charged to the end of the lot where the Blades had taken up position, and a wave of people pushed and clamored, shouting and cursing at each other. A tall thin guy was in Zed’s face, talking trash. Judge was at his side, shoving a Blade out of the way.

  “Bring it on!” Zed smirked at the man.

  Alicia stood behind Jump with an empty beer bottle in her hand, ready to use it. I had to hand it to the woman. She was always prepared and ready to defend her old man. Being vicious or sweet, she always had his back, no matter if the enemy was male or female. She’d used that old bike chain on her belt many times, doing just that, not to mention her rings or the odd shot glass. She caught my gaze and narrowed her eyes at me.

  “Go get Sister and Dee!” I spit out, pushing her out of the way, as Boner and I lunged into the brawl.

  The blur of pounding and shouting took over, and I forgot everything else. Zed let me get in a few good shots on the tall thin guy he was holding onto, and then Zed went to town on the him, hooking high with a powerful right, slamming his knee up into his chest. I distracted another civilian who had come up behind Zed and gave Jump a chance to get his licks in. Luckily, none of us were stupid enough to bring guns to this little local hoedown. Maybe a knife or razors were concealed in a boot or two, but that was all. You could get hurled down that road of no return in the blink of an eye.

  Police sirens stung the night air, peeling me out of my bloodlust. Jump, Wreck, and I pushed through the yelling citizens and good-time bitches scattering all over the lot. Yeah, they wanted to fuck you and climb all over you, but the minute the going got tough, they would be screaming and running in the opposite direction. Stale beer, grease, and exhaust fumes filled my nostrils. Bikes were gunning and twisting out of the Dead Ringer’s lot, one right after the other. The knot of people loosened, and the crowd thinned and receded.

  A sudden wave of nausea had me wavering, and I crouched down on the asphalt to fight it. I took in several deep breaths and swiped at a cut on my forehead, wiping the sweat out of my eyes. The burn in my belly spiraled. Two legs in faded tight jeans, capped off with brand-new Harley boots that I recognized, stood before me. I raised my bleary eyes, my head falling back.

  Gracie.

  “You okay?” My voice came out in a rasp.

  She only stared at me, her eyes hard, her hands on her hips.

  “Answer me.” My tone sharpened. “You okay?”

  She offered me her hand, and I reached out and clasped her lower arm, raising myself up.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  Her eyes darted over the dwindling crowd. “Listening to the band.”

  “Right. Was it a good time?”

  She made a face at my sharp tone. “Very,” she replied. Her cool fingers touched my forehead. “Are you okay?”

  I brushed her hand away, and her lips pinched together.

  I yanked on her tucked-up damp T-shirt. “Why is your shirt wet?”

  “Some jerk in the crowd spilled his beer on me.”

  I let out an exhale as I wrapped my bloodied sore hands around her neck and bent to kiss her. She shifted her face, and something inside my chest prickled. It was a slight movement, a few degrees at most, but it was a move. I lifted her chin in a tight grip and took her mouth hostage, my tongue storming inside her, leaving no questions as to who owned it and how. Her hands dug into my middle, and I pulled her into me, keeping her face close.

  “Go start my bike, babe,” I said against her parted lips, my voice tight.

  She pushed back from me, taking a step away, scowling.

  I clenched my jaw against a new wave of nausea. There wasn’t time for this shit now. “Bike.”

  “Yeah, I heard you,” she muttered. She pivoted away fr
om me but stumbled and crashed right into a cop.

  He grabbed her by the arms and steadied her on her feet. She pulled her arms out of his grip.

  “Watch it, Grace.”

  Trey fucking Owens.

  Since that dick-brain had become a cop in Rapid, if he ever spotted us riding through, he’d find a reason to stop us, make a remark, insinuation, look over Grace. He towered over her now, talking down at her, with a stone-cold look etched on his face, his mouth stiff as it moved. I stormed towards them.

  I slid an arm around my old lady’s waist. “What’s the problem, officer?”

  He scoffed and slung out a hip. “You’re kidding, right, asshole?”

  “Grace has nothing to do with all this. We were jumped, so figure it out. I got to get my old lady home now, so if—”

  He raised a hand in my face. “Mr. Sergeant at Arms, you’re a part of this little disorderly conduct drama tonight, so back it up,” he said, his eyes glinting in the dark. “Feds are going to be really interested in your little chat with a club from Nebraska.”

  I glanced at Grace. Her hands were jammed in her back pockets. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek like she did whenever she was anxious. Tonight was supposed to have been a bit of fun, the two of us hanging out, enjoying ourselves with our friends. Once again, it hadn’t quite turned out that way. Not very surprising.

  I held out a hand to her, and she looked down at it. Taking in a breath of air, she untucked one of her hands from a pocket and curled her fingers into my palm. I tugged her closer and squeezed her hand, but she still wouldn’t look at me.

  Hours later, we paid our fines with no one pressing any real charges against us, certainly not Biff who owned Dead Ringer’s. Biff knew which side his bread was buttered, and Bike Night always made him a tidy mint of cash every month from all the bike clubs in the area as well as a long line of local vendors and a number of citizens who lusted to get down and dance with the illusion of their liberation.