BIKER DADDY_The Chain Gang MC

by Claire St. Rose

  "And, my first choice for a bride didn't suit. I think American culture ruins good women. Their self-importance becomes inflated. Of course, I expect a woman to be possessed of intelligence, but not so vulgarly secular. So..."

  Zoya's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I understand," she murmured, not hearing a word he was saying.

  "A woman like you, for instance, your brilliant mind must be turned to pleasing your respectable parents. I've heard nothing but virtuous things about you, Zoya. Wise is the woman whose name is above reproach. You're almost done with graduate school, if I've heard correctly?"

  "That must be so," she uttered. Her gaze found Miad at the open bar yet again. She frowned. It was about the fourth or fifth time she had caught him there. She wondered if her parents were paying any attention to him. Likely, her mother was somewhere watching her, making sure Zoya crossed her T's and dotted her I's. She sighed involuntarily. Catching herself, she covered it with a dramatic yawn. "I'm sorry, Javid," she excused herself.

  He chuckled. "Yes, I know education taxes you. If you were my wife, you wouldn't have to worry about your financial well-being. I am on course to be a successful neurologist. Did I tell you that?"

  "I'm sure," she muttered. She spied Miad slink from the main room where the gathering was centered. He looked unsteady on his feet. "I, uh—excuse me a moment. I need to go check on my brother. Will you hold my drink?"

  She left Javid's side without a backwards glance. She discreetly moved across the room and slipped into the corridor where she had seen Miad disappear. She hissed his name. "Where are you?" she whispered.

  "Whaaa?" His slurred speech was all the evidence she needed to hear. He was sloppy drunk.

  Zoya huffed and moved deeper into the shadowy hallway where she found Miad sprawled face down on the floor, his nice suit rumpled and stained. He reeked of liquor. She couldn't believe he would act so irresponsibly in a place like this. "Come on." Zoya grunted with effort, as she laboriously dragged her brother to a kneeling position, so he could struggle to his feet. He stood up, albeit on wobbly legs.

  She guided him step by step to the front door and out into the night. Why was it she was always on clean-up duty? Zoya persisted to his Camaro. She dug into Miad's pocket for the keys and opened the car, shoving him into the passenger seat. She had traveled to the social event with her parents. She didn't have her hybrid. When she was sure he wouldn't climb back out in a drunken stupor because he was passed out, she rushed quietly back into the house to find her mother.

  Taba was mid-laugh in a conversation with some of her peers when she saw Zoya hurrying towards her, and her smile left her face. She excused herself from the gathering of women talking about their oafish husbands and ungrateful children, and she met Zoya halfway. "I thought you were supposed to be talking to Javid," she admonished.

  "I was, Maman, but Miad grew ill. I think it was the shellfish. Didn't it taste off to you?"

  "What? No, of course not. Where is your brother?"

  "I have him in the car. I'm just going to drive him to his house and make sure he gets inside and gets something to settle his stomach. You needn't worry, Maman. I left Javid with a great impression."

  Taba looked like she wanted to say more, but she thought better of it. At least Zoya had given the young man a chance, which was more than Taba could say about others she had tried to persuade her daughter to see. She waved her hands in a shooing motion. Zoya's smile lit her face, and she kissed her mother's cheeks, hurrying away so that she could get Miad home. She rushed to the white Camaro and got in the driver's seat, adjusting it to her height. She put on her seatbelt and pushed the start button. The car purred to life, and she thanked her lucky stars Miad had gotten drunk, but she also worried about him.

  Was it just her imagination or was her normally conservative brother drinking more and more lately? She remembered he had come to the house last week with a flask on his hip. Deep in thought, she drove across the city to the street where his townhome was located. She cast glances in his direction, but he didn't rouse. His soft snore filled the car. Zoya grumbled as she killed the engine and tried to figure out how to get his limp body out of the passenger's seat and into the house.

  "Miad," she said his name. She shook his shoulder. He made a sound of dissent. "Miad, wake up! You're home."

  "Unh?" he groaned.

  She sighed in exasperation and shoved him harder. With annoyance, she said louder, "Miad, this is irresponsible of you!"

  He shifted from a position slumped with his head against the window to his head pressed against the headrest. His shoved his fists to his eyes and knuckled them clear. He yawned, a sour smell erupting. "Home?" he said groggily, scratching his stomach. His tie was loosened and his shirt had come free of being neatly tucked in his pants. He shoved open the door of the car and stumbled out, moving by habit to his front door. He fumbled in his pockets for keys Zoya was still holding.

  She frowned and took his keys to the door to let him in, running back out to the car to close and lock the doors and set the alarm. She made sure he was at least stretched out on his couch before dropping the keys on the coffee table and tiptoeing out. Hopefully, at some point, he would come to his senses enough to slide the deadbolt.

  Zoya skipped down Miad's front steps and moved to the side of the sidewalk to hail a taxi, realizing for the first time how late it was and how deserted the streets were. Her amber eyes darted from left to right. Not a taxi visible. She saw a suspicious looking character walk by on the other side of the street, and she clung to her purse. She waved her hand again. A taxi passed, but it kept going.

  "This is ridiculous," Zoya muttered. She ran back up the stairs and let herself into Miad's house. She thought about calling her parents, but she didn't want to make them leave the party. She just didn't trust lingering on the side of the road, waiting for a cab on the dark, questionable street. Instead, she pulled out her phone, and her thumb hovered over a number she had shied away from calling.

  Feeling like she had few other options, (although she technically could've called Callie, who was likely lounging around their apartment without much to do), Zoya impulsively hit the call button for Micah. She stood with her back against Miad's front door, her eyes never leaving her sleeping brother's face. When Micah answered, she kept her voice hushed.

  "Micah?" she whispered.

  "Hey, you." He sounded pleased to hear from her.

  "I'm in what you would call a bit of a bind."

  "Oh, yeah? Anything I can help you with?"

  She heard the sound of music playing in the background, people laughing. She closed her eyes and shook her head. "No...no, never mind."

  "Hey," Micah halted her before she could hang up the phone. "What's up? You okay?"

  Zoya opened her eyes, as she heard a rustle from the couch, but it was only Miad turning over in sleep. "I could use a ride?" Her voice lifted at the end of her statement in question. Only if he wasn't too busy, she thought.

  The music faded to a distant buzz, and she got a mental picture Micah was leaving wherever he was. She heard the distinct sound of boots crunching over gravel. "Where are you?" he asked.

  She murmured Miad's address.

  Micah climbed on his bike and fired up the engine. "Stay there. I'm twenty minutes out."

  "Don't knock!" she hurriedly added. "I'll hear your bike. Just park outside."

  He sounded concerned when he said, "Okay."

  Micah hung up the phone and stared at it for a second before pushing it into his pocket. Pinwheel dashed up to him and put her crimson nailed hand on his arm. "Babe! Where are you running off to? We got business to take care of tonight."

  Micah g
rimaced. "Q-ball knows how to handle everything. Tell the fellas I'll meet you guys back at HQ. I've got some business of my own to tend to." He kicked up the kickstand and gunned the engine, shifting into drive and tearing away from the parking lot, leaving a trail of dust. He hated to leave in a hurry, but Zoya had sounded urgent over the phone.

  Micah avoided speed traps and took a shortcut where he could race full throttle to the address she had given him, familiar enough with the city to find the place on his first pass. He slowed his bike some and coasted past townhome after townhome, wondering which one was the right one. Suddenly, a door flew open to his right, and he braked. He swooped the bike up to the side of the road, blocked from getting directly next to the sidewalk by a parked Camaro. He dropped his feet to the ground and flipped back his vizor.

  She looked amazing. The rose-hued, loose-fitting garment gave her normally modern style an exotic tweak. He smiled at her as she eased up her flowing robes and maneuvered herself onto the bike behind him. Micah handed a helmet over his shoulder, which she remembered how to put on correctly. As soon as the helmet was in place, he had questions.

  "This is my brother's place," she replied before he could ask. "So, you have to get away from here. Hurry. If he hears the motorcycle, he might wake up."

  Micah nodded and kicked off, accelerating down the empty street to turn around at the corner and make his way back to the freeway. "Where to?" he asked.

  "My place. Where else? Did I steal you away from anything?"

  "Nothing that couldn't wait. I was thinking I'd never hear from you again. Thought maybe you had gotten hip and realized I was the wrong bad decision to cut your teeth on." He chuckled. Zoya clasped her hands together against his abdomen, resting her head against his back in answer.

  She smiled. He felt the bulge of the apple of her cheek between his shoulder blades. Micah shut his mouth before he talked himself out of a good thing. He broke the speed limit to get her home.

  Once they were outside her apartment, he felt his anxiety level diminish a little. The call in the middle of the night had made him worry. His helmet rested atop his head. Hers was buckled to the back of the bike, and she stood close to him, staring boldly into his eyes. "You're good, now? Need anything else?"

  "No, I'm sorry. I was out at a gathering with my family, and my brother got uncharacteristically wasted; so, I drove him home to save him some embarrassment. I just had a hard time flagging down a taxi, and I didn't feel safe out there by myself." Zoya looked down at her hands.

  "I'm glad you called," he said. "Call me whenever you need me. Call me when you don't need me. Call me."

  His smile was infectious. She blushed and backed away from him. "Well, thank you," said Zoya. She waved goodbye and ran to the steps of her apartment building. When she looked back over her shoulder, he was speeding away. She sighed in pleasure at the unexpected episode that had allowed them to see each other, and she pushed open the door and went inside. There was no way around it, she mused. She liked him.

  Miles away, Micah gritted his teeth as he rushed onward to the location where he was supposed to be for a very important business transaction with the rest of The Hangman’s Crows. He was glad that he had been able to wrap up things with Zoya in time to get back. He had left in a rush from the biker bar, and he trusted, as he'd told Pinwheel, that Q-ball could handle things. However, it was better if the leader of the gang was present. When money, like the amount involved, changed hands, Micah liked to be the one making the drop.

  As he cruised away, he shook his head. He could tell Zoya wasn't about to let him ride out of her life any more than he wanted to ride of it, but was that wise? There were things the motorcycle club ringleader was into that could shatter her innocent world. It was up to Micah, however, to make sure that no matter what happened between them, she didn't suffer the consequences for his alternative lifestyle.

  CHAPTER 6 Zoya cradled the cellphone, speaking softly deep into the night for the third night in a row. Not even early classes could keep her from talking to Micah. It was amazing how she had gone from trying to avoid him to surrendering to her desire to communicate with him. Zoya struggled to fit him into her busy schedule, and he made room for her, despite his demanding job and what he called his hobby bike club. She giggled and glanced at the clock again.

  "Well, time isn't on my side," she murmured sleepily.

  "Did you get that homework done, at least? I'd hate to keep you from something that important."

  "I happen to be a master multitasker," she replied, giggling. "I finished that hours ago. If I don't get some sleep, though, I won't make it to my first class."

  "What are you doing tomorrow?"

  "Mmm, I have to go to worship service tomorrow. Friday is a sacred day for Muslims." She reluctantly added, "Plus, my mother set up a dinner date for me with a friend of the family."

  "Should I be jealous?" he asked jokingly. She didn't answer. He whistled. "Alright, then. Can I see you Saturday morning? Weather's supposed to be nice out. I want to take you on a ride."

  Saturday morning, Zoya got up early and got dressed for Micah, who arrived exactly on time. Callie waved her out of the apartment with a playful warning to "be good," and Zoya shushed the voice in the back of her head that whispered she was already breaking the rules.

  He took her an hour's ride out of the city, letting her get the feel of the bike. Gone was the well-dressed businessman. When he took her out, he was the biker of her fantasies, and she was falling in love with traveling by motorcycle. There was nothing like it. The couple pulled off on what looked like a forgotten stretch of road flanked on each side by flat, dusty desert as far as the eyes could see. The dome of the sky was a rich, saturated blue. Zoya shaded her face and peered at the hazy mountains in the distance, white sun beaming down hotly. She was thankful for her protective headwear.

  The bike was parked on the side of the road, and Micah ambled over to her with the keys. "Want to learn how to ride this thing?"

  "What? You're joking, right?"

  "Nope." His eyes danced mischievously, and he smiled, daring her to do it. Zoya reached for the keys, against her better judgment. He pumped his fist in the air and led her back to the bike, showing her what to touch and how to operate the thing. For good measure, Micah hopped on behind her to help her out, but he let her stay in control.

  At first, she burst forward in leaps and sputters; she was too heavy-handed and too tentative with the accelerator. With his calm voice giving her instructions, however, Zoya gradually grew more comfortable at the helm. She managed to drive a few passes a mile up and down the black road. Laughing and breathless with pride at what she had accomplished, she finally tried to park the bike. In her haste, the wheel squealed and slid forward, causing her to yelp in surprise. Micah chuckled and reached around her to steer, easily bringing the vehicle to a stop.

  "Wasn't bad, was it?" he asked.

  "Did you see me? I drove this thing! I'm bad ass!"

  "Ha!"

  Zoya covered her mouth at swearing. Micah helped her off the bike, and she easily took his hand. "I loved it," she admitted. "I see why you like it. What do you do with your bike club?"

  He wrinkled his nose and avoided giving a straightforward answer. "The usual shit. Ride bikes. Get more tattoos. You know what I want to know about, though? This guy I need to be jealous of." He made the statement in a casual tone of voice, but his thumb caressed her palm as he spoke, and he looked Zoya intently in the eyes. Micah wasn't the jealous sort. He abhorred men like that. But, in this case, he damned sure wouldn't be happy if she was seeing somebody else.

  "How best to explain? My mother and father expect a traditional Muslim marriage. Appearances have to be kept up."
;

  "Appearances, huh...you're not really interested in this guy, are you?" He heard himself, and Micah bit his inner cheek to keep from sounding like a jackass. "What am I saying? You're an adult. I'm sorry. That was completely out of line of me."

  Zoya hiccupped in laughter, squeezing his hand. "For the record, I would rather kiss a slimy toad than marry Javid. You have to understand...I'm only seeing him to keep them happy...so I can have the space and freedom to sneak around with you. What a misleading word...sneak. Here we are in the open for the world and Allah to see. If this is wrong of us—well, I just don't see how it can be wrong."

  She thought about the conversation the next day while she dozed and whiled away her free day from work, school, and worship. The evening before, Micah had driven her home and hadn't tried anything improper. In many ways, he was the model suitor. He had an excellent career. He adhered to her boundaries. The only problem was he wasn't the sort of man her parents would choose for her. As she turned over in bed and drifted back to sleep, she couldn't help but think that wasn't a good enough reason not to be with him.