Unforeseen Riot_A Riot MC Novel

by Karen Renee

  Besides the sex, the only other thing I missed most about Vamp was riding on his bike. Oh, the freedom. And the speed. Yum. I missed that so much that I had looked at trikes at the Adamec Harley-Davidson dealership one Sunday afternoon. I knew I wasn’t brave enough to handle two wheels on asphalt. The first time I saw a trike, I thought now that’s a machine I could handle. But who was I fooling? I didn’t want to drive a trike, and I damn sure didn’t want to drive a motorcycle. I wanted to ride. I craved sitting behind a warm, broad back clad in a leather jacket or leather cut and hugging on that man’s waist with the wind roaring in my ears and my hair stinging my face as it whipped around me.

  But, back to the guy at the diamond counter. I learned a long time ago that trying to do a sister a favor and inform her about the cheater on her hands, nine times out of ten, backfired. Just because I learned the rules didn't mean I still didn't break them, though.

  My cousin Diana also agreed with not telling a woman her man was a cheat. Diana managed to get off the cheater merry-go-round when she married her husband Duane, but she was cheated upon plenty during her high school years and into her twenties. Much like me, though neither of us seemed eager to admit to such a thing. In fact, Diana said to me, “Better to let them dig their own grave and then watch them trip into it face first.” That being said by Diana, her impromptu plan against the latest cheater seemed to be not only genius, but flawless.

  I had an admittedly unhealthy addiction to the whole Pandora bracelet fad. It was unhealthy because it was expensive. It was made only slightly less expensive because Diana worked for Jared’s, which meant, during a good month I could finagle an employee discount from Di. This made me happier than I could state, but it didn’t make my jewelry craving any healthier. As a single gal, it seemed unhealthy because it was practically a constant mental reminder that only I could buy my jewelry. No special man would do it for me. No kiddos to beg daddy to take them to the fancy boutique where they could find a bauble to add to mommy’s bangle. Yet, that reminder was also a security blanket. I was self-sufficient. If I were pressed, I’d admit that I was even proud that my baubles, bangles and beads were all acquired by my own doing. Most of the time I thought of it as a wearable little scrap book that cataloged my life, but standing inside Jared, The Galleria of Jewelry, I really was feeling my mental instability because of high-end jewelry.

  I told Di why I wanted the ‘Believe’ charm. Given Di’s disdain for cheating, she had her own ideas for digging a grave in which Bradley could trip into face first. It was Saturday morning, working toward noon, and customers were streaming in and out, more streaming in than there were streaming out. Even so, Diana had only eyes and attention for me, and I gave her a grin.

  Diana winked and said, “Talk is cheap, actions speak.” She moved to the end of the Pandora counter and said, “Follow my lead, Cuz.”

  Diana left the separate Pandora counter space and authoritatively prowled into the area housing engagement rings, anniversary bands, and anniversary jacket bands. She semi-crouched in order to open a locked drawer located in the middle of the space. My cousin withdrew a small plastic bag with a white piece of paperwork that looked like a restaurant order slip stapled to it.

  She straightened herself, tossed her dirty-blonde hair over her shoulder while casting a surreptitious look at Bradley and then practically threw her voice his way as she said, “Yes, Ms. Ingram, here’s your engagement ring. Newly-sized and everything.”

  From the corner of my eye I saw Bradley give me a deer-in-the-headlights, but still very pissed-off look. Tee-hee. Before I could thoroughly congratulate myself, I heard an all-too-familiar voice from my past say, “Well, congratulations Rainey.”

  SHIT!

  The mention of the name Rainey set my blood to boiling. The person saying that name being the ultimate catalyst: Cary Sullivan, or, should I say, Vamp. Little did he know, the moment he became Vamp and engaged in three-way sex was the moment I dropped Lorraine or Rainey. as he liked to say time and time again. Yeah. Rainey, short for Lorraine, every bit of it screamed innocence to me. Nothing about me was innocent after Cary became Vamp, and for that matter, I didn’t want to be innocent after Cary became Vamp.

  Of all the ways for a genius plan to go wrong, this had to be the worst. Vamp and I had more baggage than the Las Vegas airport and more unresolved issues than both houses of Congress combined. Truly. Don’t ask me how, because God knew that when Vamp and I were involved there was a snowball’s chance of me corralling him to a place I wanted him to be, but miracles can happen, because I managed to get him and his buddy Cal to the sidewalk outside of Jared’s in record time. I had just opened my mouth to explain the matter when the thick double door to the jewelry store swung open fiercely.

  Bradley stomped toward me with fire in his beady blue eyes. In an effort to head him off at the pass, I said, “I’m not engaged, but you’re a God damned cheater! You colossal asshole.”

  Bradley had narrowed the gap between us and said, “You’re not engaged? I’m supposed to believe that shit?”

  I poked a finger into his chest. “You don’t have to believe jack. No wonder you always had to cut and run from my place around eight thirty or nine. Early morning meetings and driving in from the beach taking too long, my ass. You left me to go to her place or maybe some other unsuspecting woman’s place.”

  A female voice said, “Ohmigod! I’m sloppy seconds?”

  I leaned to the right and saw the fiancée-to-be standing behind Bradley with tears in her eyes. It had happened to me so many times, I was able to save the tears for when I got home. Nevertheless, I tried to soften the blow for her. “At least he’s putting a ring on your finger.”

  Her brown eyes narrowed to give me a harsh look. “You think I believe any of that shit now? He always told me he was working late. Never dropped by to see me until after nine at night. Working 'til eight or eight-thirty he’d say. Only time I’d see him in the daytime was Saturdays or Sundays.”

  Sucks to be us, I thought but didn’t say. My cousin came out of the store and sidled up to me to whisper, “Honey, gotta have the ring back or I’ll lose my job.”

  I handed her back the bag with the ring. Bradley had turned around and was standing in front of the fianceé-to-be, pleading his case. As Diana left the awkward huddle she looked at them and said, “Not my circus, not my monkeys. However, woman-to-woman, talk is cheap while actions speak.”

  The other woman smiled at Diana. Then she gave Bradley a scathing look and bitch-slapped him across the face. Turning on her heel, she stalked off to a car and left.

  Bradley turned on me. “What the fuck? Did you have to do that? Shit. You’re a real fucking cunt. What am I supposed to do now? I got no ride.”

  This guy could not be believed. “You got no right to use that language with me. I was the one who was cheated on. You dug your own grave, jackass. I don’t care how you get home. Call a fuckin’ cab. You can walk as far as I’m concerned. Whatever you do, quit yer bitchin’.”

  I went back into the jewelry store, and Diana rang me up for the “Believe” charm. Cal and Vamp came back into the store, and Cal nudged my shoulder when I was done signing the credit card slip.

  “Lorraine Ingram. You’re a sight for sore eyes, woman. You need us to take care of that douchebag out there?”

  I sighed and looked into Cal’s friendly hazel eyes. He was a stunner, but too old for me. I had girlfriends who married men eight, even twelve, years older than them. I could never seem to maintain a conversation with a man that much older without feeling weird and having fleeting thoughts of Freud and Daddy issues. Immature of me, maybe, but true nevertheless. So, I thought the world of Cal, but he would always be in the friend zone.

  “You don’t need to bother. He’s a pissant anyway. I was just happy to save another woman the hassle of getting married to a cheater. And for what it’s worth, I go by Frankie now, not Lorraine.”

  Cal arched a dark blond eyebrow at me and said, “Well, you
change your mind about the pissant, you let us know. Riot’s always happy to take your back if you need it.” Cal chucked me under the chin like I was a little sister to him and added, “Mean it. You take care.”

  A burly black man in a suit bee-lined for my cousin behind the counter, where Cal, Vamp, and I were standing. He glanced at me, and then gave my cousin an infuriated look.

  “What was all of that, Di? Did I just lose a hefty commission because of your little cousin here?” he grumbled.

  Diana gave him a resigned smile, but before she could say anything I said, “One of these two men here are after some jewelry. I have no idea what they’re looking for, so the commission might not be so big, and I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry about the drama too, but consider it an attempt to lower the divorce rate, okay? That poor woman didn’t need to tie herself to a cheater. No woman does.”

  I noticed Cal gave the man a chin lift and tilted his head to the necklace section on the opposite side of the store. The two of them sauntered off to examine necklaces or watches. I felt eyes on me and turned to see Vamp was still leaning into the glass counter with his vibrant blue eyes boring into me. It was something I used to love about him, the way he could look at someone like he had a sixth sense and was peering right into their soul. Plenty of people would squirm with discomfort because of the intensity of it. He’d do that to me before sex and it made me feel like the most important woman in the world. Now though, I could really do without the intimidation tactic.

  He blinked and asked, “You go by Frankie now?”

  I nodded. My full name was Lorraine Francis Ingram. When I left the Riot MC compound that night six years ago, I needed an immediate change. Cary calling me Rainey was ringing in my head, and I decided to go by my middle name, but what woman wants to be called Francis? Franny wasn’t a viable option either, but Frankie seemed fitting.

  “Since when?”

  I turned my head slightly to the side and then back to him. “What does it matter? This is the first time I’ve seen you in six years. Hope life is treating you well, but I’ve got to go.”

  I hauled myself up into my Mazda CX-3 and pulled out of the Jared’s parking lot. Jared’s was located at the St. John’s Town Center in Jacksonville. The Town Center was an outdoor mall in the latest trendy area in town, and was sprawling with shops and eateries galore. The digital clock on my console read 11:45, so I decided a crappy morning deserved cheesecake. I turned right and motored over to the Cheesecake Factory. Seeing as it was lunchtime on a Saturday and there was only one location of the Cheesecake Factory in all of Jacksonville, there was a small crowd milling about outside the restaurant. I decided to forego the wait, and just eat at the bar.

  I was alternately looking down at my phone and stabbing at my chicken-avocado salad when the barstool next to mine slid out quickly. Just as quickly, I noticed jeans-covered male legs were perched atop it. I tilted my gaze upward to see Vamp’s eyes shooting a non-verbal challenge my way.

  With a shake of my head, I asked, “How’d you know where I would be?”

  His eyebrow arched, and his eyebrow ring shifted with it. “Watched you drive out of the parking lot. In your own world, as always. Slung a leg over my bike and followed. I’ve been outside pacing, and generally scarin’ the piss outta the other patrons while I decided if I should let it go or not. Didn’t wanna scare any more little kids, so I decided to come in here and get the answer to my earlier question.”

  I put my fork down on my salad plate with a clatter, crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back in my seat to give him a disbelieving glare.

  “What question would that be?”

  His lips quirked slightly at my show of attitude. I forgot about that. He loved it when I would “throw ’tude his way.” I mentally noted to dial back my attitude, so as to get rid of him quicker.

  “How long you been goin’ by ‘Frankie’, baby?”

  I closed my eyes to keep my temper in check. Vamp had always been a flirt. He’d call any female “babe” but it was only the pretty ones he’d call “baby.” During our nuclear break-up he kept calling me “baby” and I had shrieked at him to never call me that again. Saying it now, he had to know it would set my temper off, and I suspected he did that on purpose.

  Blowing out a sigh, I said, “Six years. Okay? The day you became Vamp, I became Frankie. Happy now?”

  He looked away from me and then back to me. “I’m sorry.”

  I held my silence and gave him a look. He was looking at me like I should understand something so I asked, “For what?”

  “I really fucked it up that time. I knew it was your heart on the line, like that song from Mumford and Sons?”

  “So you’re telling me it took an alternative rock song to give you a conscience?”

  Vamp didn’t exactly nod, but the look in his eyes was agreement nevertheless.

  I chuckled. “Unbelievably classy. Thanks for that. At least something made me chuckle today. I’ll have to send Mumford and Sons a thank you note.”

  Vamp let my smart-aleck response slide, but he put a hand behind my neck, and I looked at him. I had buried deep my feelings about his inherent male allure. The concept that bald is beautiful‒ Vamp was walking, talking proof of that. He had early-onset male pattern baldness, but he embraced it and routinely shaved his head. His eyes, angular nose, and high cheek bones were accentuated in a delicious way because of his absence of hair. It was just him. Completely Cary Sullivan.

  “I’m sorry. Really. I mean it. And what Cal said, about that fuckhead who did you wrong? Seriously, you give the nod, he’ll learn a lesson he won’t ever forget. Ever. Got me?”

  I got him all right. I spent over a year of my life with Cary while he was prospecting with the Riot MC. Those brothers liked trouble in a big way. If someone wasn’t raising hell with them, they’d raise hell for themselves. I had bandaged and iced many of Cary’s wounds during that time. He’d always come home and say, “Baby, don’t worry. Besides, you should see the other guy.” Every time, I’d dismiss it as typical post fight guy banter. Until I went to a club party at their clubhouse and it was found out a hang-about was also hanging about with another MC in town. The brothers rained down blows on that guy mercilessly. As a prospect, Vamp only got a few punches in, but his hands still needed ice and one of his knuckles needed wrapping. He spouted off his tried and true line, but because I actually had seen the other guy, I knew he was telling me the truth. Remembering that party night, I realized that Bradley was certainly a royal dick, but he didn’t need that kind of beatdown because of it.

  I gave a weak smile. “Thanks for that, but it really isn’t necessary. With any luck, he’ll learn his lesson for next time. And thanks for the apology. I…”

  I trailed off because I was stupidly thinking of telling him that I thought about him a lot over the past six years. He didn’t need to know that, and I didn’t need the humiliation of admitting that to him.

  So, I lamely finished, “I appreciate it.”

  Now Vamp gave me a weak smile. He pulled my head toward him and he kissed my forehead. I felt the contradictory nature of his soft supple lips and the hard metal of his lip ring. Just like six years ago, that lip ring was something else.

  He stood up and whispered, “Take care, Ra -, I mean, Frankie.”

  * * * * *

  Four weeks after the blow-up with Bradley, I went out to Ragtime Tavern, since I live at the beach. I was eating at the bar. It was late on a Monday night; month-end was closing in on me, and I work for VyStar Credit Union as a home-loan officer. My paycheck depended on me being certain my pending loans were on target to close by the end of the month. I had been working until seven at headquarters, which was on the Westside, so by the time I got to the Jacksonville Beach restaurant, it was close to eight o’clock. A man wearing a light-blue plaid long-sleeve button down shirt and navy blue trousers sat down next to me. When the bartender asked him what he’d have, he ordered a vodka tonic and another glass of wine for
the pretty lady here.

  I looked at the bartender and said, “The lady respectfully declines.” Then I turned to the well-dressed business man, and I looked into his brown eyes. He had a well-trimmed beard and mustache surrounding his thin lips. Straight brown hair hung slightly over his forehead as though the hair gel he used had stopped working. It was an attractive look, and a tiny part of me wanted to run my fingers through it in order to put it back in place. His eyebrow was arched and before he could say anything to me, I said, “I appreciate it, but I’m not available.”

  He said to the bartender, “Bring the glass of wine anyway.” Turning back to me he said, “It’s just a glass of wine.”

  So, over ‘just a glass of wine’, I met Mark Stillman. Apparently, he worked as an engineer for a local company known as RS&H. He talked me into dinner three nights later, and we had a decent time at River City Brewing Company on the St. John’s River downtown. He walked me to my car and gave me a fierce goodnight kiss. When we broke, he asked me to meet him for dinner on Sunday.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He traced my jaw with his finger. “Why not, Frankie?”

  I pressed my lips together and then said, “Sunday’s my day to do nothing. Zero, zilch, nada.”

  He tipped my chin up toward him. “C’mon. Make an exception to the rule. You’ll have all day to do nothing, and then you can have dinner with me.”

  I really wanted to decline. He was pushy, but in a gentle way. I didn’t know why, but I relented and agreed to dinner with him Sunday. “Where should I meet you?”

  “How about I pick you up at six-thirty?”

  Sunday evening, Mark came by but he did not actually pick me up. He brought over PF Chang’s to-go and a very good pre-chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. Dinner was good, and we had a make-out session on my living room couch. Things were really getting good when my house phone rang. Mark let me up to get the phone, and I was in such a state from making out that I didn’t even check the caller ID. I should have checked, because my mother was calling. My mother could talk and talk and talk. I knew a couple of ladies with moms who had similar dispositions, and they just put their phones down and went on about their business. My mom would not stand for such a thing. She constantly had questions to ask to make sure I was paying attention to her. After about ten minutes, I finally got her to hold on and I apologized to Mark.