Rusty Cage (Rawlins Heretics MC Book 1)

by Bijou Hunter

“Is that Joker talking?” she asks, arching one of her perfect eyebrows.

  “Oh, no, he thinks we’ll all be best friends, and a few of us will hook up with the bikers and make Everything Nice Heretics combo babies. All unicorn and rainbow crap. I swear bikers go soft when they start using their jizz for something besides stinking up the place.”

  Sitting next to us through my speech, Duffy remained totally oblivious between her headphones and complete fascination of the coffee stirrer in her hand.

  Inside the house, Duffy and her mother settle in for the night. Bay, though, walks to the curb where I stand. We’re waiting for Pepper to arrive before we choose rooms and start unpacking.

  “Hildy is nice,” Bay says. “She’s younger than I expected when I heard her old lady name.”

  “It’s a swanky place, but I’m ready to move into the townhomes. We have meetings with contractors tomorrow,” I mumble while digging through my pockets for cherry cola Tic Tac mints. “Let’s hope we can find someone decent around here. I don’t want to pay extra for a company to drive in from Little Rock.”

  “You worry too much,” Bay says, though she’s the one grinding her teeth.

  Ruffling her short, brown hair, I leave her to worry about Pepper who is most likely taking the scenic route as usual.

  Rather than bunking at a hotel outside of town, I decided the crew would be better off staying at this bed and breakfast. I’d seen pictures, but they didn’t do this place justice.

  “Wow, right?” Clove says from an adjoining room while I gawk at the massive staircase.

  “We might not be classy enough to stay here.”

  Behind Clove stands a black woman, sporting curly red hair and a splash of freckles rivaling Bay’s. She smiles warmly, but I sense she’s nervous. I don’t blame her since she agreed to let us stay for at least two months. No doubt the money we offered calmed any concerns she felt about six women and a disabled child holding up in her vintage home. She’d only met Cayenne who is an ace at playing the middle-aged suburban mom con. Now Hildy might wonder if she’s opened her door to a crew of wild women.

  “I’m Ginger,” I say, shaking her hand and hoping I’m pulling off my nice lady expression.

  “Hildy. My husband, Calvin, will help with any bags you need taken upstairs.”

  “Much appreciated.”

  “Cayenne said you’re renovating the townhomes on Backway Road.”

  “We’re hoping to have the work done in the next month.”

  Hildy’s expression remains frozen on friendly, though it’ll take her a few days to get used to the Everything Nice Crew. Probably longer, if Yarrow acts up as she’s prone to do whenever she pisses circles around new territory. The sooner we feel we belong in Rawlins, the sooner I won’t have to worry about every move my girls make.

  ➸ Oz ★

  Rawlins makes no sense to outsiders. Beautiful homes sit next to dumps. Our Main Street includes many empty businesses while ending at the gold-domed city hall building.

  The mishmash is caused by the planning committee consisting of our lazy mayor, his dippy receptionist, and a wealthy man with poor eyesight. My mother, Tana Savo, wants to be on the committee, but we aren’t the right kind of townsfolk. Though I considered making threats to get her the spot, Mom wouldn’t appreciate the effort.

  “If I’m not good enough for them, then they’re beneath me,” she said when I hinted at making a few calls.

  Our tiny, yellow rental house sits miles outside of town. The country residence allows us privacy, but we lack nearby neighbors. I moved out here to give my kids a big yard and lots of land to play on. These days, they’re more interested in hanging out with friends than each other.

  I still like the small house even if the kids share a room, Mom sleeps in what’s meant to be a sunroom, and I can’t stretch out completely in bed without knocking my knuckles or feet against the walls.

  Despite the sometimes painfully small size, I can’t leave the home where my kids were babies. I’m a sentimental pussy that way.

  Parking under the carport, I leave the Harley and walk past a dozen stray cats that live on the property. Mom sits on the front porch with two of the larger ones. Years ago, when a local vet was offering half-priced neutering and spaying, we got them all fixed. Yet somehow, we end up with new kittens every few months. One of the nip-tucks clearly didn’t take.

  After greeting my mother, I walk inside where I start dinner. The front screen door shuts, and I glance back to see Mom approaching. She still looks like the island beauty I imagine wowed my father years ago. Her black and gray hair reaches her waist, and she rarely wears shoes even in the winter.

  “Have a good day?” she asks and looks out the window at the cats roaming the yard.

  “I met the infamous Ginger Snaps,” I say while giving the top of her head a kiss. “Foxiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “This is the killer you’re drooling over?” Mom asks.

  I open the fridge to retrieve meat for dinner. Mom pokes me when I don’t answer her question.

  “She is a badass, yes. That doesn’t change how foxy she is. I expected the first part, not the second.”

  “Women like that make bad mothers.”

  “I’m not looking for a mother,” I say and smile. “I already have the best one.”

  Mom playfully slaps my arm. “Your dick gets you into trouble.”

  “My dick gave you two grandchildren.”

  “With horrible mothers.”

  No denying she’s right, I say instead, “The kids are happy.”

  “You should be careful with this one.”

  “I won’t screw her unless I’m armed.”

  “I meant you should use a condom. She’s not the kind of woman who will dump her child for you to raise. She’ll take the baby away. Women like that don’t need or trust men. You should remember that.”

  “I will. Ginger’s got a mouth on her. She reminds me of you and Alani.”

  “Then you really need to watch yourself. You’re already whipped by your daughter. You don’t need a woman adding another leash around your neck.”

  “I hope Alani grows up to be a badass like you or even Ginger. I don’t want men taking advantage of her.”

  “Men like you?”

  “No, bad men. I’m a fucking teddy bear.”

  Mom throws her head back and laughs. I smile at her amusement, admiring how beautiful she remains even after a long, hard life. Because of my mother, I believe the sexiest women have been beaten down but never broken by life.

  “I wonder if Ginger can cook,” I say while browning the ground beef. “I suspect she can’t.”

  Mom sits at the kitchen table. “Well, that’s the deal breaker. Not her violent personality but an inability to make your food.”

  “Quit your bitching. I haven’t brought home a stray in a long while.”

  “I know, but the TV’s been out all morning. Boredom makes me bitchy.”

  “Did you call the cable company?”

  “They said they’re working on it.”

  “It’s bullshit. We pay for a service, not to have them working on it.”

  “If we lived closer to downtown Rawlins, we’d have better service,” she says, giving me that look of hers.

  “So you keep telling me. I often wonder if you’re the one who keeps jacking our cable, just so I’ll move closer to town.”

  Mom’s lips tighten into a thin line. Is she angry at the accusation or because I caught onto her bullshit? Either way, she pretends the subject never came up.

  “Kids will be arriving soon,” she says and kneels to feed the indoor cats. “They’re the last kids to get off the bus.”

  “That’s because we live so far away from town.”

  “Is it?” she asks innocently.

  Laughing, I flick water from the faucet at her. “With the money coming from the Little Memphis club, we ought to be in a better situation soon. Ginger and her people are doing renovations on the proper
ty they bought. With the infusion of cash, we can look at getting something closer to downtown.”

  “That’s my boy,” Mom says, hugging me. “It’ll be better for me now that I can’t drive so much. I’ll walk around and make friends. It’ll be good for the kids too.”

  “What about all the cats you feed outside?”

  “Oh, they’ll do fine. They’re more feral than not, and I don’t think they’ll miss us.”

  Mom kneels to play with our indoor cats and whispers how they’ll have a new home soon.

  With dinner nearly ready, I cover the pan and head outside to meet the kids at the end of our long driveway. Crime isn’t too bad around Rawlins, but I don’t trust anyone. My kids are always supervised, and I plan to drive them nuts long into adulthood.

  Chapter Three

  kuli kuli

  ➸ Ginger ☆

  The Pasadena Townhomes—a six-unit building—lured me to Rawlins more than anything else. The former owner bought them with the plan to renovate and sell. Unfortunately, the tenants refused to move, and he spent years in court forcing them out. By the time the units were empty, he no longer had the cash to renovate.

  On our second day in Rawlins, we start the process of fixing our future homes.

  Barely ten minutes after we arrive at the townhomes, I hear the distinctive sound of a Harley approaching and then a second one. My gaze remains on the townhomes while I lean against my bike and chew on a watermelon Starburst. The Harleys park behind me. I don’t need to look to know they don’t belong to my girls.

  With Bay and Pepper going from unit to unit, doing inspections, I wait for the contractors to show up and overprice their bids once they realize they’re dealing with women.

  Shoving the candy wrapper in the pocket of my army-green khaki pants, I glance over my shoulder to find Oz and a few of his long-haired barbarians stomping my direction. One doing their menacing act might work but walking in a line like that makes me laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Oz asks, already looking to push my buttons.

  “You walk stupid.”

  “How do you figure?” he asks, never losing his smirk.

  “Well, I’ve seen men walk before, so I’m comparing you to them. I apologize for hurting your bitch feelings.”

  “You’re in a shit mood this morning.”

  “No, pal, this is me in a good mood.”

  “Can’t imagine what you’re like in a bitch mood,” says one of his apes.

  “Here’s a hint, I talk less and remove dicks more. So if you ever see me attacking your crotch with a pair of sheers, just go ahead and assume I’m in a bitch mood.”

  “Fuck,” Oz says, laughing at me because nothing calms an irritated woman more than a man giggling at her irritation.

  “So why are you here?”

  “Heard you wanted someone to fix up the Pasadena for your girl club.”

  “And you think that someone ought to be you boys?”

  “It’s what we do.”

  “I don’t know,” I mutter while kicking at the cement. “It’s a lot of work that involves more than heavy lifting. It takes skill.”

  “We can get the job done.”

  “Sure you can. Feel free to put in a bid, and we’ll see how you stack up.”

  “No one will outbid us once they know the Heretics are in the mix.”

  “I’ve already had two bids,” I effortlessly lie. “As I said, you put yours in, and we’ll see how you stack up.”

  “You’re not much of a partner.”

  “I never claimed to be.”

  “Then what the fuck are you in Rawlins for?” he asks, erasing the space between us.

  “To keep an eye on the Little Memphis investment. You didn’t really think they’d hand over cash to bail out you bums without wanting to ensure you didn’t fuck up shit?”

  “You talk like someone itching for a fight.”

  His tone tempts me to throw a punch, but I only glare instead. “That’s the smartest shit you’ve said so far.”

  Oz nods in his condescending way, and I roll my eyes.

  “Anyone around to show us the units?” he asks.

  “You mean, besides me?”

  “Yeah. Maybe someone a little less friendly.”

  “Bay has the patience of Job. She and Pepper are in unit three. Go inside and see what repairs they’ve come up with so far.”

  The other men stomp in unison toward the building. I notice the older, beard-sporting one slows down as if realizing they’re still synchronized in the silly way I mentioned. I catch him glance back at Oz, who doesn’t react even though I know he saw what I saw.

  “You spend too much time together,” I say and fish out another Starburst. “If you were ladies, your periods would have synced by now.”

  “We want this job.”

  “Then lowball the other contractors.”

  “That’s not how that works. We get paid what we're worth.”

  “Then when you’re thinking of a lowball number, go ahead and reduce it a bit more.”

  Oz takes a large step with his long legs and erases any personal space I once enjoyed. Looming over me like a storm ready to release a violent downpour, he twists his lips into a bear snarl.

  I swear it takes every ounce of strength I have not to laugh in his handsome face.

  “You’re making enemies,” he growls.

  “It’s what I do.”

  “That ain’t a smart move for a pretty girl in this town.”

  “This town ain’t any different from any other shithole I’ve called home, and I stopped being a girl a long fucking time ago, Oz. If you want respect, you best figure out how to earn it.”

  “So that’s how it’ll be, huh?” he says and reaches to mess with my hair.

  I smack away his hand with more force than Oz is expecting. He thinks we’re playing, and he’s right, but I play rough and never give an inch.

  Oz proves to be a slow learner by reaching for my hair again. When I smack his hand, he seizes my wrist with his other one.

  “Be nice,” he warns.

  “No.”

  “Isn’t that what your name is all about, Ging? Aren’t you everything nice?”

  “It’s a play on the sugar and spice part of the nursery rhyme. Our names are spices. Get it, dunce?”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  I stomp on his foot, and he grunts before finally letting go of my wrist.

  “You didn’t see that coming, Einstein.”

  “You’re cruising.”

  I shake out my arms and smile super pretty for him. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, meathead.”

  “How would you like it if I called you names?”

  “Oh, I’d most definitely cry like you are, bitch.”

  Oz laughs and reaches out for my hair again. He refuses to back down, and I’m starting to think I might need to seriously hurt the stubborn sonovabitch.

  “I’m just trying to be nice,” he says, still fucking with me.

  “Didn’t your mom ever teach you to look but not touch?”

  “My mom taught me all kinds of shit, but she ain’t here right now.”

  I try to allow him to mess with a lock of my hair. I’ll be the bigger person and stand down. Swallow my ego, and eat my pride... No, fuck this shit.

  I grab his finger and jerk it away from me. He lets out a grunt and frowns pissed at me.

  “You broke my fucking finger.”

  I can’t control my giggles at seeing his expression. “It’s not broken. Fractured maybe. Don’t be such a bitch. Just stick a splint on it and wrap it up. No biggie.”

  “Can I break your finger?”

  “I don’t know, Oz. Can you?” I ask, still laughing.

  “This shit ain’t fair. I can’t fight a girl.”

  “No, that would be wrong, but fondling her is peachy keen.”

  “I bet you taste as sweet as a peach,” he says, and his frown is instantly replaced with a leering smile.
/>
  “Shut up.”

  “Does it bother you to be considered juicy?” he asks, chuckling at his joke.

  “Are you married?”

  Oz flinches at my question. I’ve thrown him off his game but only momentarily. His smirk returns with a fury.

  “I knew you were playing hard to get,” he taunts.

  “That’s not why I was asking.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “So, are you?”

  “No. I think marriage is a con.”

  “Please tell me no one calls you ‘Daddy.’”

  “I’m a great father.”

  Having only wanted to screw with Oz, I’m a little startled to hear he has kids. “How many kids do you have?”

  When Oz studies me in a grumpy way, I think he won’t answer. Then a light goes on behind his dark eyes, and I know he’s up to something.

  “My girl is Alani, and her little bro is Makoa.”

  “Interesting names.”

  “My mom picked their names, and she’s Hawaiian.”

  “How old are they?”

  “Eleven and nine.”

  “Where is their mother?”

  “Mothers, plural, and I don’t know.”

  “So these women have your kids and then run away. Why do you think that is?”

  “Maybe I just like to fuck women who turn out to be shitty moms.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “As a single dad, I have my hands full.”

  Okay, here it comes. “I’m sure you do. Does your mom help?”

  “Yeah. We all live together.”

  I consider teasing him about living with his mom but decide the dig is too easy.

  “You really need this job, huh?” I say, fighting laughter. “Poor sonovabitch is just trying to feed his kids.”

  Oz smiles despite his clear irritation. No doubt he knows the kid ploy will work. I mean, I’m a cold motherfucker, but kids are still kids and who doesn’t want to help the little booger machines?

  “I’ll give your bid extra consideration now that I know your jizz created life.”

  “That was poetic,” he says, and I fucking swear he’s going to touch my hair again.

  “Do you want me to pull my gun on you?” I ask, shoving him away and storming toward the townhomes. “Is that what it’ll take?”