Dirty Deeds

by James, Nicole

Rat moves off toward his bike and throws his leg over. The men follow unquestioningly, and they all mount up. Even Reload stumbles to his bike, one arm holding his side.

  Reno spins, seeing me on the stairs behind Rusty. He jabs a finger toward me. “Get the fuck inside.”

  I jerk back, stricken by the anger on his face. Is he mad at me? I did nothing to bring all this on. Furious and hurt, I whirl and run toward the bedroom to fling myself on the bed and bury my face in the pillows. I want to go home. I want my daddy. I hate Reno. I hate him. But I know it’s a lie—I don’t hate him at all. He fought for me. I mean, I think he did. That was because of me, wasn’t it? Of course it was.

  The rumbling roar of five Harleys shakes the RV. It trails away, and I can finally breathe easier for the first time in hours.

  I hear footsteps. Rusty stands in the doorway; the bedroom is dark, and his body is in shadow, lit from behind.

  “You okay, darlin’?”

  How do I answer that? No, I’m not okay. None of this is okay. “I want to go home,” I whisper, and the words catch in my throat.

  The door to the RV opens, and someone comes in. Rusty turns, looking over his shoulder then steps back. Reno’s form fills the doorway. He takes me in, lying on the bed, and then jerks his chin at Rusty, who retreats.

  Reno slides the pocket door shut and flips the light switch. Two lamps on either side of the headboard fill the room with a soft golden glow. I avert my face. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t know if I want him to hold me or if I want to throw something at him.

  “Did he hurt you?” His voice is low, gravelly.

  When he says nothing more, I rise up on my elbows and look over my shoulder at him. My eyes blur with tears. His face is tight, his lips compressed, and the lines around his eyes show his tiredness. But it’s the split lip and the cut above his eye I notice most.

  “I’m sorry, Kara. I shouldn’t have left you with them.” His voice sounds flat and oddly bitter.

  I feel nervous. I actually do not want him to leave me yet. “Wait,” I say when he turns to go, and there’s a puzzled, almost surprised look in his light eyes as he turns back to me.

  Something powerful takes control, and the next moment I’m scrambling off the bed to fling myself at him, clutching his neck and burying my face. His arms wrap around me like two strong bands, and he bends to press his face to the side of my head. “Baby,” he breathes softly into my hair.

  I can’t stop myself from breaking down into sobs. My body shakes with reaction I finally feel safe to let out. I’m this close to a full-blown hysterical collapse.

  “Shh. Shh,” he murmurs soothingly, his big hands stroking my back. “I’ve got you. It’s all over now. They’re gone.”

  I draw in a ragged breath but cling tightly to him. “You promised me I’d be okay.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He holds me for a long while. He makes me feel safe. How can I have these feelings for a man like him? I can’t explain it. I just know that I do.

  “You need to eat something, babe.” He says the words against my forehead.

  “I’m not hungry.” How can I be? “I want to go home, Reno.”

  “That can’t happen, baby,” he says gently. “Not yet.”

  “I want my daddy.”

  “You’ll see him again. I promise you.”

  I finally pull back to stare up at him, dashing my tears away. “How can you associate with men like that? I don’t understand.”

  “I am men like that.”

  I shake my head violently. “You’re not. You’re nothing like them.”

  “I am. I have been.”

  “You… you would do… what those men were going to do?”

  “No. Not rape. But I’ve done bad things, Kara. Horrible things, all in the name of the Devil Kings.”

  “Why?”

  “Told you. It’s who I am.”

  The truth of his statement is right there in front of me; it’s written in bruises and blood on his jaw, his bleeding knuckles. I can’t ignore them. I lift my fingers to his lips. “You’re bleeding.”

  He puts his hand up, grimacing as he touches the warm stickiness of blood. He attempts a half smile. “Guess I am.” His eyes search mine. “You worrying about me, babe?”

  I push out of his arms. On a rational level, I should hate him, but I don’t. “Of course not. Just… you should have it tended to.”

  He tilts his head. “You want to play nurse for me? You could kiss it and make it better.”

  “Oh, just go. Why do I even bother?”

  His laughter retreats down the hall with him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Reno—

  I turn on the kitchen faucet and hold my hands under the stream of cool water. The cuts sting, and I grimace. I tug the silver rings off my fingers, the Devil King ring and the skull ring from one hand, and my favorite, the crossed Devil’s pitchforks from the other hand. I set them on the Formica counter.

  Just the thought of Reload’s hands on Kara has my gut clenching. My inner demons need to feed occasionally and pounding on Reload did it. He deserves to rot in hell and one day I may send him there.

  Rusty chuckles. “I can talk a lot of shit about you, Reno, but runnin’ from a fight ain’t one of them.”

  “Somebody had to knock the shit outta him.”

  “True. She okay?” Rusty asks.

  I turn my head as I rinse my hands again and dry them with a paper towel. “No, but she will be.”

  “Fucking Reload. What a dickhead.”

  I feel a trickle of blood run from the cut above my eye and press the soggy paper towel to the cut. I walk toward the booth where Rusty sits slouched back, one leg stretched out.

  “He looks worse,” he says, grinning.

  I slide in across from him and reach for the bottle of Jack he’s already started in on. Tipping it up, I meet his gaze. “Good thing you hid this.”

  “I’m not dumb.”

  Dropping the bottle, I add, “If anyone doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, it’s Kara. She’s a sweet kid.”

  “Yeah, she is. You starting to fall for her?”

  “That’d be the kind of love I don’t deserve.” I look out the window. It’s dark, and there’s nothing to see but a sliver of a moon high in the sky.

  “That’s not what I asked. You’re not acting like you usually do around women.”

  “She’s a different kind of woman than I usually meet.”

  “So, answer the question.”

  I shake my head. “Not answering your bullshit question, Rusty.”

  “You’ve got a moral dilemma, brother. Loyalty to a club that’s gonna ask you to kill this girl.”

  “If the order comes down, I won’t kill her. I can’t.”

  “You sure about that? This girl is so valuable to you that you’d risk death for her?”

  “Everything’s a risk, brother. Doing nothing is a risk if what the prospect told us is true.”

  “Yeah. Rat’s getting too comfortable in the King’s chair. He may not want to give it up. I’m thinking he’s not too keen on the idea of Prez getting out.”

  “I do not want to be in a club with him as President.”

  “Me either. According to the prospect, he’s been making quiet deals—whispered talks with Quick and Reload.”

  “Think they’re lookin’ to take over?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “What are we going to do about it?” We sit quietly a long time, that question mulling in both our heads.

  Rusty takes a drink. “A shark has to move forward, or it will die. If I don’t continue to move forward, I become a dead shark. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I don’t want to be a dead shark either. I don’t want to be a dead anything.”

  He folds his arms, elbows on the table and meets my eyes. “You ever get tired of it?”

  “Tired of what?”

  “The shit road they’ve taken this club down.”
>
  “Ain’t what it used to be. Now it’s all about money.”

  “You happy with the way this club’s run?”

  “No. Haven’t been in a long time. Tired of getting the shit deals. Like this one.”

  Rusty grins and lifts his chin toward the back bedroom where Kara is. “Thought you were enjoying yourself.”

  I take another pull on the bottle of Jack. “I see where it’s headed. I know what they’re going to ask me to do.”

  Rusty looks out the window. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Maybe this is our opportunity.”

  “For what?”

  “A shakeup of our own.”

  I frown. “You serious?”

  “You serious about hating shit they shovel at you?” he counters.

  “Damn straight I am.”

  “Then lets fucking do something about it.”

  “You got a plan?”

  “Prez is out of the way. All we have to do is make sure we don’t get him released.”

  “And Rat and his allies?”

  “They’re the only ones in our way.”

  “And how you figure we move them out of our way?”

  “Ain’t figured that out yet.” He pins me with a hard look. “I need to know, Reno, you with me on this?”

  I nod. “You’re talking about some serious shit. But, if it gets me out of killing her, yeah.”

  “We play this, we’re going to have to get the rest of the club behind us.”

  “You want that gavel? You’d be the natural progression. Been in the club the longest. Guys respect you.”

  “Yeah? That include you?”

  I nod. “You know you don’t have to ask me shit like that, don’t you?”

  Rusty grinned. “Yeah, guess I do.”

  “You’d make a good president. You’re smart. You’re fair. Men can count on you to have their back, not to hang them out to dry.”

  “I’ll need a right hand man I can trust. You interested in VP?”

  I never thought I’d want an officer’s position in the club. Never thought I’d be anything but club muscle. Now, for the first time, I consider it, and it appeals to me. Rusty and I could really take this club in a new direction. I look him in the eye and grin. “With you as Prez, I would be.”

  He holds his hand out to me, almost like he wants to arm wrestle. I grasp it, and we shake. He grins. “We’ll finally have the club we talked about, the club we always wanted.”

  “Sounds good, man.” I huff out a laugh. “Sounds real good.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Kara—

  I wake up to the sound of a bike. I’m on my stomach, my hands tucked under me. With the rising sun, the RV is quickly heating up.

  Reno is beside me, sleeping deeply. He doesn’t even rouse at the sound of the bike.

  I stand and peek out the blinds.

  Rusty sits astride his Harley, strapping on his helmet. I watch as he pulls out, rolling slowly down the dirt road, disappearing into the trees. My eyes move to the water of the small creek we’re camped beside. It sparkles in the sunshine.

  The sound of the motorcycle fades, and I turn back.

  Reno is beautiful lying in the bed. He came in long after I fell asleep. Just as he did the last several nights, he kept his hands to himself. He’s shirtless with just his jeans on. My eyes move over his chest. There’s bruising visible behind the tattoos, proof of the blows he took in the fight with Reload—the fight he fought because of me. I can’t deny I liked his concern when he first came in last night, tender even, and he felt like the man I first fell for—the man I let do amazing things to my body in that supply closet. I’m so torn about my feelings for him.

  Rusty slept out on the couch.

  I slept in his flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up. I quietly reach for my jeans. I pull them up, and my eyes fall on the nightstand next to Reno. His shoulder holster is there, his gun, pulled free and lying next to it.

  I freeze, staring at it. Then my eyes shift to Reno. He’s breathing deeply, and I know he’s still out. I move silently to the weapon and quietly pick it up. I back out the door and move to the kitchenette. I sit in the booth and stare at the gun in my hands. I don’t even know if it’s loaded, but I assume it is. Reno doesn’t seem like the kind of man whose gun would ever be unloaded. It’s heavier than I expected.

  I look at the door. I’ve thought of nothing but escape for so many days, but now when it’s within reach, I find myself hesitating. Why?

  I look toward the bedroom. Reno has surprised me at every turn. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever know the real man. When I first met him, he was sweet, attentive, interesting, and funny even. Then he was scary, dangerous, and intimidating. Last night he was both—the aggressive badass with Reload and sweet and tender when he came to me later.

  Can I believe the things he told me the other night when he was thoughtful enough to bring me my glasses and journal and shampoo? When he let me watch my favorite show and even teased me about it? When he told me not to apologize for the things I loved or wanted or strived for? He seemed like the kind of man who would support his woman in her goals and choices.

  He’s told me no one is going to kill me. Can I trust him? Perhaps. My daddy always told me you could judge a man better by his actions than his words. Last night it seemed like his actions backed his words.

  I put the gun down on the table and stand to make coffee. When it’s ready, I fill a mug and move to the table to wait.

  It isn’t long before I hear movement in the bedroom.

  I grin behind by mug. I knew the aroma of coffee would wake him.

  He walks down the hall, still shirtless, scratching his chest and yawning. “Is that coffee I smell?”

  He stops in his tracks when he sees me holding his own gun on him. His eyes narrow at the unwavering muzzle. Then his eyes lift to mine. “Do I get coffee first, or are you going to blow a hole in me before you lose your nerve?”

  “Maybe it’s what you deserve.”

  He nods. “Maybe it is.”

  He tilts his head to the side, folds his arms, and leans against the wall.

  Damn him. I expel a breath, set the gun down, and stand. Still he doesn’t move, but his eyes are watchful, waiting to see what I’ll do. I move to the cabinet, take down a mug, fill it with coffee, and then hold it out to him.

  He takes it, his eyes meeting mine over the rim as he sips. Then he sets it down, hooks an arm around my waist, and pulls me flush against his bare chest. His mouth comes down on mine, and his fingers thread through my hair.

  It’s a soft kiss, coaxing my mouth to open. I comply, and he sweeps in, his tongue dancing with mine. When he finally comes up for air, he stares into my eyes and cups my face with both hands. “Glad we got that cleared up.”

  “What cleared up?”

  “You trusting me.”

  “Who says that I do?”

  “That gun lying on the table. You could have run; you could have shot me. Instead you poured me a cup of coffee. That tells me everything I need to know.”

  “Don’t get too cocky about it. It’s just a cup of coffee. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

  He nods. “You’re right. Are you hungry?”

  I nod, and he proceeds to make me pancakes. Microwave ones, but still, they are on a plate with butter and syrup, and he sets them before me, so it counts.

  After we eat, I ask, “Can we go outside? I’ve been stuck in this RV for so long, and I need some air.”

  “I suppose we could do that.”

  We move outside and stroll down by the creek. I kick off my shoes and wade into the cool, babbling water. I bend and splash my hands and face with water. “God, I’d love a bath. That tiny shower is cramped.”

  “Go ahead. There’s nobody here but me.”

  I shake my head, wordlessly. I could no more undress in front of him now than if he was a stranger. I step out, pick up my shoes and scuff my feet
in the soft grass. I scrub at my face with the now soggy sleeve of the flannel shirt, wishing things were different between us. He takes my chin in one hand and mops my face dry with the tail of his shirt, slowly and thoroughly, as if I were a child. My tears come then, at last.

  I break down in his arms. “I was so scared, Reno.”

  He kisses the top of my head. “I know, babe. I’m sorry. We men are wretched creatures.”

  “Not you and Rusty. You don’t act like that.”

  “We’re criminals with no apologies. Make no mistake who you’re dealing with, but even we have lines we don’t cross.”

  He kisses me.

  When he pulls back, he says, “I may be dumb, but I’m not so stupid not to know when an angel is dropped in my lap.”

  I smile at his compliment. “You’re not stupid, Reno. Stop saying that. The man who sat and talked about women in history and Shakespeare that night at the bar is not a stupid man. The man who knew just what items to bring me from my apartment, just what I needed… and not just things, but things that I needed emotionally, is not a stupid man. The man who always knows just what to say to me is not a stupid man.”

  He smiles at my praise. “You really believe that?”

  “I know it.”

  “You think you could get used to being with a man in an MC?”

  “I’m not sure I even know enough to judge what that life is all about.”

  “You know, there are a lot of similarities between that Greek life and the MC life.”

  “Really? You think so?”

  “Sure. The MC is kind of a fraternity. We’re just a whole lot better lookin’ and there’s much more badassery.”

  “Badassery? Is that even a word?”

  “It is now.”

  Standing there, I realize I’m falling in love with Reno. He’s everything those frat boys are not. He stood up to Rat for me. Protected me. Stepped between them and me.

  But one question keeps nagging at me. Can I trust him with my life, or am I just being naïve?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Kara—

  It’s near dusk when the sound of a motorcycle approaching reaches us. We’re sitting at the booth, just finishing dinner, which is fried chicken from some gas station.