by Karen Renee
Mallory’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not like that, Vamp, and you know it.”
Tucker stood up from his chair and went to Mallory’s other side, “We know, hon. Just sit down and let these burly bikers do their thing. You’ll get to do your thing when the time’s right.”
Vamp let go of Mallory’s arm and Tucker guided her back to sitting in her chair as he sat down in Blood's chair. She downed the rest of her drink and gave the clubhouse door a concerned look.
Forty-five minutes later, we all crowded into the clubhouse because a thunderstorm let loose. I expected to find Razor inside with Volt, Cal, and the gang, but they were not around. Jackie was at the bar, and Mallory and I sat down on either side of her.
“What’s the deal?” Mallory asked her.
Jackie gave a small shrug. “Don’t know. Club business, you know the score on that, Mallory.”
I looked at both of them. “What I don’t understand is, why is he here? He’s a Leatherneck, right? Shouldn’t they be helping him out? I mean it certainly looked like Cal brought him here to help him out.”
Henry came up to the three of us. “He’s here because his club tossed him out.”
I gasped. “I thought that couldn’t happen.”
“It can, but right now he said he wanted to talk with Mallory.”
“What?” Mallory asked.
Henry just looked at her and jerked his head toward the hallway.
Mallory left the common room, and Henry took her seat. He gave the prospect behind the bar a signal and the prospect poured a glass of Jack Daniels for him. He took a sip and after a few minutes, he looked at Jackie and me.
“We’re holdin’ church in about twenty-minutes. Not going to give you much, but you should both know that Starla’s dead. Razor shot her at point-blank range.”
I took in a huge breath through my nose. I was relieved, but I also felt guilty that it took her death to make me feel so much relief.
Henry leaned toward us both. “You got anything to say to that?”
I opened my mouth, and then closed it as I tried to think of a response. “Well, I mean, I didn’t wish her dead by any means –”
“Speak for yourself. Good riddance to bad rubbish and I hope she’s rotting in the seventh realm of hell right now,” Jackie snapped.
Henry looked like he was getting ready to leave us, so I quickly asked, “But why? I mean, why would he do that?”
Henry shifted his pursed lips from side to side and I watched his full goatee shift with the movement. “Like I said, I can’t give you much. But, to that question, I will say, it was provoked.”
My head slanted and Henry added. “That’s it, Lo-Lo. All you get out of me. But, I think it’s safe to say your troubles are behind you now.”
*** ***
It was five minutes after five by the time the brothers were done with church. Cal went back to his room, and shortly after came out with Mallory tucked to his side. Razor hobbled out behind them. Henry moved to where Razor was and helped him amble further into the room. Blood gave an ear-splitting whistle and the room fell silent.
Henry spoke to the group. “I want to welcome our newest prospect to the Riot MC. He proves his worth as he did earlier today, he’ll earn his Riot patch like the rest of us did. For those of you women who knew Starla, you should know she’s dead. Far as I’m concerned, couldn’t have happened to a better person. Now, on to a much better topic, in six months or so we should have another addition to the Jacksonville chapter, because my old lady is knocked up!”
This was met with wolf-whistles and rowdy whoops of joy. When it died down, Henry shouted, “So, let’s fuckin’ party, brothers!”
Over the raucous hollering and clapping, I asked Jackie, “So, that’s why you weren’t hanging with us outside earlier?”
She simply nodded at me.
“Congratulations! You don’t seem half as happy as Henry.”
She smiled at me. “Of course not, he’s not the one who can’t drink and can’t keep any food down for ten hours out of the damn day. If I manage to keep my food down, I still have zero energy. I’m past the first trimester, and I’ve been told that I should be getting my energy back but it hasn’t happened. Truly, I’d rather be home in bed, but an MC President’s old lady has to do what she has to do, right?”
“You’re right, but it’ll pass and I can’t wait to meet the little person you and Henry made. I feel like I’m going to be an Aunt! God, Dolly would’ve been beside herself to know Henry’s going to be a daddy.”
From behind us, Henry slung an arm over Jackie and the other arm over me. “Damn right, Dolly would have been excited as fuck and you shouldn’t just feel like you’re going to be an Auntie, because you should know you’re going to be my baby’s Auntie. Got me?”
I turned toward Henry and wrapped my arm around his waist and gave him a half-hug, “I definitely got you, Henry. Congratulations! I am so excited for the both of you.”
Henry kissed my forehead, then looked at Jackie and declared, “Gonna take my old lady back to our room. I can tell she’s wiped, so be sure you have a few for her, okay, Lo-Lo?”
“You got it,” I said as I let go of Henry so he could walk Jackie back to their room.
Someone moved in front of me behind the bar, I looked up to see Razor leaning heavily against the bar. His eyes and lips were swollen and bruised. Butterfly bandages were on his cheek, and he looked like the definition of ‘miserable’.
“What are you doing back there? You should be sitting down,” I said.
He shook his head at me. “No way, babe. Prospect’s got to earn his keep, and I got to hit the ground running if I want to get patched-in quick. Being a prospect blows, but it sure as hell weeds out the wanna-be-members from the will-be-a-member types.”
I nodded, but then, since nobody seemed to be near us at the moment, I asked, “Why would your club kick you out? I didn’t think it could happen, though Henry dispelled me of the notion quickly. I just don’t get it, you seem like a solid brother.”
Razor gave me a harsh look. “Well, babe, what I did with that cunt Starla put the Leathernecks in a really bad place with Leventon, who’s a tentative ally at best. I did a few other things in the past few months that got me in some shit with my former brothers, too. So, to sum it up, when I’m good I am good, but when I’m bad, I’m seriously bad. Like Jesse James, as sung by John Lee Hooker, if you catch my drift.”
I smiled because I caught his drift, since John Lee Hooker sings about getting rid of a man who spreads rumors about sleeping with his wife. While I didn’t know what Starla did to provoke Razor shooting her, the blues reference definitely gave me some ideas. It didn’t hurt that I loved the hell out of that song, but Vamp spoke before I could respond. “Flirting with my Old Lady is not the best way to become a patched member ’round here, man.”
Razor was flirting with me? Fat chance. Even beaten to hell and back, he was so damn gorgeous, he could seriously have any woman he wanted. Well, those women who weren’t taken by super-bossy bikers.
“Stop it, Vamp. He’s not flirting with me. We’re talking blues songs.”
Vamp looked at me with an eyebrow arched. “Yeah. And you love blues music. Hell of a good way to flirt with your ass.”
I rolled my eyes, “He has no way of knowing that about me. Besides, I got you. That’s all the pushy, domineering biker I can possibly handle.”
Vamp’s arms encircled my waist and his face was coming toward mine for a kiss, when he said, “Damn straight I am. Don’t you dare forget it.”
Read on for a Sneak Peak at Into the Riot (Riot MC Novel 3)
Those pretty boys! They know they have it. As much as I try to avoid them, it’s like they see me as easy prey. They’re hard to resist. Don’t get me wrong, their advances always make me feel special, but I’ve come to know the hard way that a rugged guy is far better. They’re similar to the difference between a sports car and an SUV. Both are fun to ride in, but one has far more hea
daches and heartaches involved.
I can do 'humble and kind' like nobody’s business and make Tim McGraw damn proud while I’m at it. It’s too bad many of the world’s pretty boys don’t understand the concept of humble and kind. Well, they get the 'kind' part to an extent, but humility…not so much.
My taste for rugged was challenged the night I met the latest pretty boy. He had a small shiner on the lower portion of his left eye that was in the early stages of healing. His inky-dark black hair and spectacular blue eyes, however, screamed 'pretty boy'. The black leather MC cut said 'rough'. It was like Tina Turner’s speaking intro to Proud Mary. She says she and Ike are gonna start out “nice and easy,” but they’re gonna finish “rough and hard.” I was all about finding a rough and hard man. I could do without the easy. I should have stuck to my own playbook regarding guys that had too much pretty in them, but if I had then there wouldn’t be a story, huh?
I was at a hole-in-the-wall bar called Ethel’s, south of Green Cove Springs. It was smack-dab between Palatka and Green Cove, two Florida hick towns that had seen their heydays come and go. I was there deliberating my latest dilemma. Ninety percent of my dilemmas revolved around one person, my sister. My beautiful, gorgeous, younger sister Cecilia had a drug problem. She claimed to be ready to kick it, but just after we put her into rehab, her pimp dropped by informing me that she had to pay her debt.
Unfortunately for me, I had been cleaning out her crap from her tiny apartment in Green Cove Springs. Cecilia and I are a scant fourteen months apart, and immediately her pimp recognized that Cecilia and I were from the same gene pool. Not that I’m even half as gorgeous as her, because, seriously, Cecilia should’ve been born in California; she defined the 'California girls' beauty stereotype, but I digress. Apparently the choices Cecilia had for debt repayment were to continue turning tricks – big ass NO! Or, help this asshole with his latest business endeavor by being in some local porn videos, and Cecilia would become a 'star' on the world wide web – bigger ass NO! I wasn’t given a chance to respond.
After delivering those informative nuggets, he said to me, “She doesn’t clear her debt with me, then I’ll come looking for you.”
Then he turned and left. So, once I had what little decent shit of hers in my Chevy, I went to Ethel’s.
I was sitting at the bar thinking I should find some good ol’ boys to assist me. The smartest thing would have been to motor directly to the Clay County Court House where the Clay County Sheriff’s Office is located and report it. But what would they be able to do? I had no name for the pimp. I damn sure didn’t know she was in debt to start with, though it shouldn’t have surprised me. For years, Cecilia found her way into trouble. When she didn’t have money, she developed a case of sticky fingers and took what she wanted from me, our parents, and even our grandparents. We should have intervened much much sooner, but it seemed my family and I were in as much denial about Cecilia’s problems as she was herself.
Worse, her rehab facility only allowed her to have contact with us at very specific days and times. I had nothing to go on until I could talk to her. Now, I’d had two gin and tonics and I damn sure couldn’t visit the Sheriff’s office in this state. Plus, I had a pretty-boy eyeing me. I came down to Ethel’s specifically to avoid his type. Yet, he did break some of the pretty-boy rules.
I was fiddling with the lime adorning my highball glass in the sincere hope that Pretty Boy was going to leave it at eyeing me from his side of the bar. In my peripheral vision, I saw him get up and move toward me. He sat down next to me, and his aftershave assaulted me. It smelled like he bought the cologne at an upscale department store, which would’ve been nice, but it was more than a touch too strong. I was doing my best to ignore him, but he would have none of that. He nudged my shoulder with his solid muscular shoulder.
“You havin’ another, darlin’?”
I looked up at him, and his eyes were even more spectacular up close. The blue of his eyes was multi-faceted. Deep ocean blue with flecks of dark grey; they were luscious. I pressed my lips together in an effort to not smile at him, because it was hard not to give him my best smile.
“Uh, no. I’ve got to drive soon.”
“Well, how about I buy you a soft drink?”
I gave him a slight head tilt, and said, “I appreciate it, but I’m good with water. Besides, no offense, but you’re not my type.”
He arched a dark eyebrow at me. “Why not?”
“You’re a little too pretty for me.”
He grinned. “You sayin’ I’m a pretty-boy?”
I shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”
“Babe, pretty-boys don’t get shiners.”
Now, I grinned. “Sure they do. Especially when I’m the one who gives ‘em to ‘em.”
I wasn’t trying to be funny, but apparently this guy found me funny because he laughed and it sounded like it came straight from his belly.
He leveled his gaze at me and said, “I like you. Haven’t met someone this spunky in months. By the way, pretty-boys don’t get into motorcycle clubs.”
I shot him a skeptical look. “Yeah, well there’s an exception to every rule.”
His look turned skeptical too. “You got an answer for everything, don’tcha, chickie?”
I rolled my eyes and said, “If only.”
His eyebrows went up. “There’s a story there. Let’s hear it.”
“I got answers for everything except my sister’s problems.”
He leaned toward me. “And why would her problems be yours?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t know, just always ends up that way. Plus, she’s in rehab, so it’s not like she’s out in the real world to tackle her own shit.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, woman. How about you tell me your name? I’m running out of generic monikers for the fairer sex.”
I gave him my slyest grin and said, “Neil.”
His chin dipped. “Weird, ain’t that a guy’s name?”
“It’s the short form of my real name.”
He touched the corner of my chin with his index finger. “So, what’s your real name?”
“Tennille.”
His eyebrows furrowed slightly, “As in the –”
“Seventies musical group, Captain and Tennille, yes. So, what’s your name, pretty-boy?”
His plump lips pouted a bit, and then he said, “Razor.”
I felt my eyes bulge. “And you seem to think I have a weird name? Seriously, 'Razor' is not your name. What’s your real name?”
“Augustus Richards.”
It was the month of August, and there was an autographed picture of Keith Richards hanging over the bar. I shot daggers at him with my eyes, and said, “You are completely full of shit. It’s August and you just gave the picture of Keith Richards a look before you answered my question. Augustus! As if you could one up me on the God-awful-names-parents-give-their-kids competition.”
He leaned closer to me, and I felt my right hand curl into a fist instinctively, but then he righted himself; he'd been fishing his wallet from his back pocket. He held out a Florida driver’s license with his pretty-boy smile lighting up his face, and in fact, his name ‒was‒ Augustus Richards.
I pushed his wrist away and said, “Well. I stand corrected, Augustus.”
He leaned close again, and I thought he was putting his wallet away, but I could feel his breath on my ear when he said, “Nobody calls me Augustus, baby. Especially not gorgeous blondes such as yourself. You do it again, you’ll pay.”
“And that reminds me,” I said, signaling to the bartender for my check.
“You’re leaving? I thought we were starting to make some headway here, Neil.”
I grabbed my purse from underneath the bar as I said, “Told you up front, you’re not my type, Razor. God, that is weird to call someone by the name of something you find at the drug store or the hardware store. Razor! Ha! I don’t think Cecilia would even believe me if I told her about you.”
“Gonna tell her about me, huh?”
“Said ‘if I told her.’ Slow your roll, Auggie.”
His blue eyes lit up like the blue flame of a fire at my remark. He stood up in one fluid motion and his face was in mine when he said, “Time to pay up, Tennille.”
His hand went to the back of my head, and then he kissed me.
CHAPTER 2
It was Friday afternoon. I was at work at the Garrett Auto Mall in north Green Cove Springs. I was the lone female salesperson on the floor of the Ford dealership of the auto-mall. My job did not please my dear old Dad. It really shouldn’t matter to him. I was living on my own, and I was supporting myself. However, his primary objection to me selling cars was he knew it was a hard job for most of the men who sold cars. He figured as a woman that I would have to overcome sexism on top of everything else that challenges a car salesman to complete a sale. But the thing is, that same sexist attitude can go both ways. There were plenty of families who would come in looking for their next ride. Many of these families couldn’t get a sitter and they had a toddler or two and they needed reliable wheels, stat. The husbands might have done their research online, but they’d get one look at me and think they could finagle a deal, pull one over on the poor little woman who didn’t know as much about vehicles as they did. Buying a mini-van or SUV is not a quick process, so having my perky blonde self as their salesperson for the next three hours was better than dealing with Bruce or Paul for 180 minutes.
Telling my father any of that was about as fruitful as spitting into the wind.
I also found it ironic that my father wanted to tell me I’d get cheated because of sexism, when he refused to let me work at his lawn-mower parts and repair shop. He had owned and operated it in Green Cove since before Cecilia and I were born. Both of us girls, though more me than Cecilia, because I was a Daddy’s girl, grew up in and around the shop. I was knowledgeable about motors, engines, and replacement parts. Even though I once spent three-hours behind the counter and made more sales for Daddy than his lackluster clerk, Chad, ever did, Daddy still blew his top when he found me manning the register. Unfortunately, the sexism is really fierce in the parts department. Believe me, I’d rather be in that area of the car dealership, but management thinks a woman running parts would be bad for business. They never said it outright, but I sensed it.
