Outlaw's Ride: An MC Romance

by Carter Steele

  “Pizza!” The man outside the door said then pounded out another impatient rhythm on the wood.

  “Alright,” Wreck groaned loudly at the second rap when we heard the faint sound of keys being jingled. Not wanting anyone to walk in on us Wreck got to his feet and whipped open the door. “I fucking heard you the first time.”

  “Didn't know if you was around. Was gonna leave it on the bed.” The short, greasy man staggered back a step at the sudden appearance of the angry biker. Wreck snatched the steaming box out of the startled man's hand as was about to close the door when the man saw me. He leaned in slightly and a wide, crooked, gold-capped, smile split his face. “Evenin', Jez.”

  Suddenly I felt more disgusting than before I took that shower. The man's knowing smile made me wither on the bed like a cold-weather flower under a desert sun. Wreck noticed the shame in my features and turned back to the man at the door with a darkness creeping along his intentions. I could see his fists begin to ball up and suddenly a hundred scenarios ran through my head at how the rest of the interaction was going to go. None of them were good.

  I could only hope that news of whatever happened next didn't get back to Patrick. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that Clients getting killed over whores was bad for business.

  “Leave.” Wreck's tone made it clear that was the only warning he'd give. The next sound anyone heard was likely going to be that of a body hitting the floor.

  All the blood drained from the man's face as the weight of the situation finally landed on him. Being caught in the intense gaze of a man like Wreck made the man at the door realize just how much danger he was in. He began to apologize for the disturbance but had the door abruptly slammed in his face before he could fully stammer the words out.

  “You OK?” Wreck turned back to me, setting the pizza on top of one of the dressers.

  I nodded, covering myself up with the blanket. I felt suddenly exposed, much more so than if I'd actually been naked. Needless to say any appetite I had for food or sex was now long gone. My mood had completely shifted from awkwardness to full on guilt. I knew rationally that none of this was my fault, but that didn’t do anything to lessen the feeling that I was leading him on or promising him I was something that I wasn’t.

  Sarah was just a dream, all that was left was Jezebel.

  Wreck leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms, mixed emotion muddled his face. I had no idea what was going through his head right now. He was a hard man to read on the best of days. It was one thing to know what I was but to actually have to interact with one of my former clients... I was mortified. I fought the urge to apologize for something, but I wasn’t sure what exactly.

  What must Wreck think about me?

  “Fuck this,” he growled, lurching forward off the dresser and dead bolting the door. “I’m not going to let some weaselly-shitbag ruin my mood. It was a messy trainwreck of a night but we all made it through alive and we did what we needed to. That’s a fucking good night in my book.

  “Let’s low-key celebrate with some room temperature pizza and whatever crap we can find on the TV. Maybe we’ll luck out with a nature documentary or something. What do you say?”

  Despite myself I felt a smile float to the corner of my lips. That sounded really nice, all things considered.

  “Good. Let’s get fat and melt our brains for a few hours.” Wreck smirked through his beard, turned on the TV and started searching for something to watch.

  A small wave of relief washed over me with his nonchalant attitude, like all the expectations for the evening had fallen away.

  If I was truly honest with myself being in this shitty motel room with someone for just one night felt a lot like what Patrick would’ve forced me to do with one of his clients. I was kind of glad that I didn’t have that pressure now with Wreck. I wouldn’t have to lump him in with all the other guys I’d had to fuck in places just like this.

  I didn’t have to be his whore, at least not tonight.

  11

  Wreck

  “Oh thank God!” Patrick walked briskly up to meet us when we arrived at his laundromat the following day. We’d barely dismounted the bike when he clasped Sarah on the shoulders. “When the fighting was over and I couldn’t find my sweet, little Jezebel I was so worried.”

  I bet.

  Sarah’s expression hardened up as she endured his embrace. She was apparently used to his shifts in personality to the point where she acted like she couldn’t see right through his insincerity. I was sure there was always a different Patrick depending on who else was around.

  “Safe and sound. Can you wash this for me?” I asked, killing the engine and pulling out the key. It was a nice ride, but I liked my Indian Bobber better.

  “Five K to wash and color. I know a guy, but it’ll take about a week.” Patrick replied. The response was immediate and all business, his concern for his sweet girl all but forgotten. “Any preference on color?”

  Washing was code for grinding the VIN numbers off and Color meant they’d paint it. With all the mayhem of last night it’d take the cops a while to sift through all the wreckage, identify the bodies and figure out what exactly was stolen. I wasn’t super worried about the dead man’s motorcycle being recognized but there was no reason to take the chance, especially being that this was going to be a gift for someone.

  I owed Yoga a bike and having ridden this one I knew this would be a good fit for the big bastard. I still felt bad about the way all that went down and what happened to his old bike. This would go a long way to make amends.

  “Take it out of our score for last night,” I said with unshakeable firmness, then tossed him the key. It was the least he could do considering that there were significantly more of Don Accardo’s men there last night than he told us there’d be. Dunk’s Special Forces training paid off in spades last night, but there was no denying things could’ve gone real bad real fast. If we’d gotten surrounded or cut off every last one of us would’ve been dead. Ultimately the MC got lucky last night.

  And I sure as hell wasn’t going to forget that.

  Patrick soured a bit but eventually nodded, not wanting to split hairs over something relatively small potatoes.

  “Why don’t you head inside and relax?” He regarded Sarah, gently but insistently moving her toward the front door. Turning back to me he added, “I’d like to thank your rescuer for bringing you home safely.”

  Sarah spared me a glance before disappearing inside. Her mouth tucked to the side, and eyebrows pulled together. Although it was only a passing look it spoke volumes. She was gone before I could acknowledge her, but either way the message was loud and clear.

  Don’t trust whatever he says.

  I’d sooner trust an alligator with my head in its mouth.

  “You seem to be in a good mood.” I smiled broadly, crossing my arms and leaning against the bike. I fought to keep my eyes from narrowing at him. “Last night was as much of a success as you were hoping, I take it?”

  “Last night was the beginning of a new era here in Baltimore.” He breathed in the crisp air to full lungs as he placed his hands on his hips and walked a few steps. “You can taste it in the air. We got every last one of those fat, complacent bastards. Out with the old and all that.”

  “That’s great. If you don’t need anything else from me it’s been a long night I’m going to head out.” I pulled out my cell phone and ordered a nearby rideshare to take me back to the rest of my MC.

  “No.” Patrick smiled, walking slowly back to me. “It’s what I can do for you.”

  I looked up from my phone, but stayed silent. What was he getting at?

  “You guys did such a great job that I wanted to give you a little something extra.”

  “We don’t need extra. Seventy percent of whatever we find on a raid is good enough for us. That was the deal.”

  The raid against Don Accardo’s place last night was the big score. It was the big money that our MC was originall
y promised. After all the jewelry, art, and all the rest of the expensive shit was appraised, and sold through black market connections, my crew’s share going to net a few million easy.

  “Of course. Of course, but it’s going to take some time to properly fence everything. Then there was Billy. He’s not going to want all of his inheritance stolen, sure it’s all insured but the most expensive things are his family heirlooms.”

  My expression darkened noticably.

  “But!” Patrick quickly added, growing a little tense at the anger rising in my face. “I have a plan for that too. Let’s just say we’re not done yet. My alliance with Billy was always more of a temporary thing.”

  “Now that he’s in your way.” I snorted. “Does he know how temporary your friendship is?”

  “He’ll find out one way or another.” The light caught the tall man’s glasses lighting them up into a white screen, emphasizing the dispassion in his features. It’s all business to him. “In the meantime, as a show of faith for our continued partnership, I’ve sent your president, Dunk, a down payment for what’s to come. Until this is all over and you’re on your way, well, you boys are the only real friends I have.”

  I wondered if we’d eventually find out how true that was in the same way as Billy Bones.

  “So that’s the little something extra then, huh?” I openly scoffed, pitching myself forward to stand fully up and face him.

  “That’s just an advance on future profits.” Patrick offered defensively. “No, the gift is something you are far more interested in. I’ve noticed you have an affinity for my girl, Jezebel. So for the duration of our partnership I want you to have her. She’ll be your personal whore, free of charge.”

  “What’s the catch?” I didn’t bother denying I was interested in her. Between having words with Billy Bones, and me prioritizing her safety over the success of the mission last night, any idiot could’ve put two and two together.

  This fucker knew I wanted her.

  “No catch! I only ask that you treat her well and that she comes back home each night to do some administrative work for me. That’s all.”

  Generosity wasn’t in Patrick’s wheelhouse. Whatever this was, it came with strings attached, even if I couldn’t see them yet. With the way he was so willing to double cross Billy, Patrick was proving to be ruthlessly cutthroat. I’d better figure out what those strings were before they became a noose around my throat.

  I was the last one back to the clubhouse trailer. It took me a lot longer than I’d figured to get to where I stashed my bike not to mention all the doubling back and wrong turns I had to take to throw anyone off my trail. I was being overly cautious, but after a raid like the one last night, I’d be stupid not to be. Keeping our home safe was always of utmost importance.

  “Look what the cat threw up and dragged in now that all the heavy lifting is done,” Buck said, sitting in a folding chair outside the trailer. Must’ve been his turn to keep watch. We always went in shifts whenever we had to head back to the trailer while we were on the job.

  I preferred to stay in motels while we were working but Dunk called us all back home. He probably thought we’d be too exposed out in the open and wanted us to wait till the heat died down. The cops had to have been called to the scene by now and would be starting their investigation, and then there were always those people that slipped through the cracks that would be looking to retaliate. No one would find us here. In this industrial park where Mac had us set up we were just one more tractor-trailer truck of many in the lot. It was a smart move but I still didn’t like it.

  All the body work on the tractor and trailer was finished. Mac had spent most of his time patching and repairing all the bullet holes to make us look less conspicuous. There was no telling how much damage there was in the guts of the tractor until Mac finished going through everything. The last thing we needed was for the rig to shit out on us if we needed to make a quick escape.

  “Well?” Buck smoothly cut a deck of cards with one hand over and over as he looked up at me from the video he was watching on his phone. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Laid low after the firefight then took Sarah back to the laundromat this morning,” I said, walking past him without breaking stride. I needed to see Dunk ASAP. However when Buck started chuckling, I stopped and turned. “What?”

  “You’re going to be what gets us all killed. You know that, right? No heroes in this game. We’re all just bad guys taking what we can,” Buck slowly shook his head at me. “How the fuck you don’t know that by now, boggles the fucking mind.”

  “What was so wrong with giving a damn about people?” I asked.

  “I know which people I care about. Do you?” Buck shot me a hard look then went back to his video and card shuffling like I wasn’t there anymore.

  I paused, trying to get the sting of his words out of my head. Failing miserably, I opened the side door to the trailer and went inside.

  Yoga tossed me a quick nod then went back to chopping veggies. He’d taken over the fold out table and was doing a week’s worth of meal prep. It was good to see him back on his feet fully. Buck’s words still ringing in my head, I couldn’t help but feel responsible for what happened to him. Did it really have to be one or the other? Why couldn’t I look out for my brothers and take care of the people around me?

  Like Sarah.

  Dunk and Dreamer sat on the couch talking and making plans. I didn’t see Mac, but that probably meant he was in the cab taking a nap or watching TV. Couldn’t blame him, the bed in the cab of the truck was much nicer than the cots we all slept on. And after all the work he was doing on the rig by himself the old bastard deserved whatever rest he needed.

  “Good, you’re back.” Dunk got up and made his way over to the safe. He took out an envelope and handed it to me. Thumbing through the bills inside it was easy to count a few thousand dollars.

  “This our advance from Patrick?” I asked, not bothering to hide the sourness that puckered my face.

  “Don’t look too happy,” Dunk snorted.

  “It’s a far cry from seventy percent of all the expensive shit we saw last night,” I said.

  “What is this, your first day?” Dreamer called out from the couch. “You know how this goes.”

  “I just don’t trust the bastard,” I grumbled.

  “What’s not to trust? Patrick is a sociopathic pimp who hired a bunch of MC mercenaries as his personal black ops team to disrupt an entire city’s criminal enterprise so he can live out some delusional Scarface fantasies,” Yoga said, sealing the tops on his now full, week’s-worth of glass, food storage containers. The systematic snapping pops of the lids being put in place punctuated his sarcasm. When finished he looked at us and shrugged innocently. “I mean, he seems like a standup guy to me?”

  Dreamer smiled and extended a hand toward Yoga in agreement.

  “You guys are a bunch of fucking assholes.” I sighed, letting their fun at my expense roll off my back. I tucked the envelope into my pocket, crossed my arms and continued with my point. “You know what I’m saying. He is going to fuck us on all this.”

  “He’s gonna try no doubt.” Dunk clasped a hand on my shoulder. “They all do. But we’re still standing and most of those mother fuckers aren’t.

  “Look, Wreck. Mac says we’ve got a few weeks until all the repairs on the clubhouse are done. The truck’s engine was in rougher shape than we realized. Besides it’ll take about that long for all the shit we stole last night to get fenced. After that we take out Billy Bones and clean out his family’s safe, then we’re golden. Greener pastures and all that. We’ll be long gone before Patrick can double cross us. Or, if we have to, we’ll fucking kill Patrick too before we leave,” Dunk continued matter-of-factly with an unconcerned shrug. “In the meantime settle in with a hobby or something, and nut-the-fuck-up. This is the job.”

  “Yeah, OK,” I grumbled, slowly nodding my head. We’d done all this many times before. What was it this tim
e that bothered me so much? Patrick wasn’t all that different than Lenny in Dallas or Mitch in Stamford. They were all the same kinds of ambitious scumbags. The ones that crossed us on the way out we were forced to put in the ground. It was really that simple.

  It was Sarah. She was the wrench in the plans here, fucking up this whole routine operation. It was easy to see and difficult to accept. What happened to her after all this was over?

  Dunk patted me on the back, breaking me out of my deep thoughts, and went back to the couch with Dreamer to continue planning out our next moves on how to take down Billy Bones and the rest of his new blood mafia.

  This was the job. None of us could hack it in the real world so this was the only life left for us. It got shitty sometimes, and paid out big in other times. And it was probably going to get us all killed one day eventually. Until then Dunk was right. Settle in, finish the job and then move on.

  As for that hobby…

  I slid a beaten up paperback book out of my back pocket and walked over to my bunk. I passed a bookstore on my ride home and decided to stop in to see if they had something specific. Turned out I was in luck.

  I sat down, kicked off my boots and got comfortable as I cracked open The Beginner’s Guide to American Sign Language.

  12

  Jezebel

  Sleeping last night was virtually impossible. All I could think about was my last night with Wreck and the texture of his fingertips as they made their way across my body. It was so different with him. While working for Patrick most of the men that drifted in and out of my life were cold, day-old fast food where Wreck was a hot, gourmet meal at a Michelin three-star restaurant.

  I intentionally bit the corner of my lip when I thought of him so I could hide my smile. It was dangerous to wear a touch of happiness out in the open. The last thing I wanted was for Patrick to somehow use that as another weapon against me.