HALE: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  The trip from Ironwood to Dayton is supposed to take a little over two hours, but Hale drives fast, and we pull into the parking garage in the center of town an hour and forty-five minutes after we leave. He drives to the top floor and we get out of the truck. I do my best to pretend that we don’t look totally weird together: the girl with no fashion sense who looks like she just got her braces off, and the guy who looks like he just got out of prison.

  We take the elevator down to the first floor of the ramp, and emerge outside to a warm, partly cloudy day. Hale pulls out his watch and looks at it. “We’ve got an hour,” he remarks.

  “I want to do some shopping,” I tell him, pointing. “There’s a shopping center over there, I think.”

  “Clothes shopping, I’m assuming,” Hale retorts, his eyes sliding over my outfit.

  Even though his words are meant to insult me, I’m actually grateful that the T-shirt and jeans I’m wearing make me look like I have the figure of a twelve year-old boy. His gaze makes me feel… uncomfortably warm. If he could see anything revealing through my clothes, it would just make that situation worse. “Are you coming with me?” I ask, hoping he’ll say no.

  Fortunately, he seems to hate shopping as much as I would have guessed he does. “You go right ahead. I’ll pass,” he says, his lip curling.

  “Okay, um…” I look around. “Meet you here in an hour or so?”

  “Take your time,” he says, waving me off.

  I don’t wait to ask him twice. I turn and head in the direction of the shopping center, breathing out a loud sigh of relief.

  For the next hour, I don’t have to deal with the stress of talking to Cameron Hale.

  9

  Hale

  It doesn’t escape me how fuckin’ relieved Kylie seems to get away from me for a while. I watch her ass move away in those bullshit mom jeans like she’s trying out for a speed walking competition, and can’t help but chuckle even though I’m kind of pissed, too.

  That girl is lucky as fuck I decided to come with her. She’s a hell of a lot safer with me than she would be doing this run on her own. Even though Axel set it up so that she never has to interact with the shitheels buying drugs off the MC.

  I snort out a laugh again and shake my head as I take a seat on a concrete barrier next to a blacktop parking lot and light up a smoke. Damn, that girl was mad as fuck when she saw me come into the waiting room at Ironwood Car and Truck. I thought she was gonna blow a freakin’ gasket, steam coming out of her ears and all. I should probably let her know that her anger isn’t really producing the sort of effect she’s probably after. It’s more cute than anything. Not to mention it makes me hard as hell, for some reason. When she gets mad at me, it feels like we’re about three seconds away from me taking her into a back room somewhere and fucking her senseless, until we’re both satisfied.

  Because make no mistake. Down deep, there’s something between us. I can see it in her eyes, and in the way her body reacts. It’s a sexual tension I’ve been trying to ignore ever since I saw her at the clubhouse the first time.

  Up to now, I’ve been able to bury the my attraction to her under my anger. But the more time I spend with her, the more the fucking anger is starting to fade into the background, as the frustration of wanting her pushes it out of the way.

  Goddamnit. I gotta get hold of myself.

  Uncomfortably, I adjust my position on the barrier, my cock having hardened to the point that I can’t ignore it. As I smoke, I look around at the scene in front of me. It’s a typical weekday in a mid-size city center. I watch as young dudes in cheap suits hurry from one gray fucking building to the next. Women in dresses and tennis shoes try to get their lunchtime exercise in and prevent middle aged ass spread, from sitting at a desk all day. Once or twice, a big, gleaming motorcycle passes: city dwelling chromosexuals, driving around like their very existence is a big “fuck you” to corporate America. Never mind that they only drive their bikes on picture-perfect days like today. And when they’re done, they’ll go back to the suburbs and pull motorcycle that’s too big for them to handle back into their three-car garage, next to their Beemer and their Prius — where it’ll sit for months, until the next picture-perfect day comes around.

  Jesus, I’m fucking glad I don’t live a life like that.

  I pull out my phone and check it for messages, but there’s nothing new. I make a mental note to call Angel today or tomorrow and give him an update on Ironwood. Probably tomorrow, after the run to meet the Dos Santos cartel. I debate whether to talk to him about this situation with Kylie muling for the MC, and decide against it. This ain’t his problem. Like Axel said, Ironwood’s a separate chapter, even though our two clubs are connected. He’s the prez, and he makes his own decisions, as long as they just affect his chapter and not the whole club.

  An hour passes. I’m on my third cigarette when I spot a small figure making her way toward me, shopping bag dangling from her right hand. I stand up from my perch and stretch. Kylie stops across the street, waits for the light to change, and then crosses to me.

  “Looks like you had some success,” I say, nodding toward the bag.

  Kylie gives me a smile that’s so simple in its happiness that it kind of stops me in my tracks for a second. “Yeah. I found a dress I just love, and some shoes to match!” she enthuses. “Even better, both were on sale! God, it’s been ages since I bought any clothes for myself.” She heaves a happy sigh.

  I never could understand why chicks get so jazzed about buying clothes, but okay. “Congratulations,” I mutter, but at the last moment I soften my tone.

  Kylie cuts her eyes at me. “Thanks,” she stammers, not sure if I’m mocking her.

  “So, I think we should be good to go,” I continue, nodding down the street toward the parking garage. “You got anything else you wanna take care of while we’re in town?”

  “No, this is it.”

  We walk in silence back to the garage, and ride up the elevator to the top floor. The silence is less fuckin’ hostile than it was before. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Part of me wants to poke at her, to get it back again. But the rest of me is sick of being mad, so I leave it for now.

  When we get to Kylie’s truck, she doesn’t even argue with me for the keys. She slips into the passenger side and puts her bag behind her seat. I get behind the wheel and start the vehicle. We drive out, I pay the fee, and we start back for Ironwood.

  “That was… so easy,” Kylie breathes as we drive out of downtown. “It feels like we didn’t actually do anything.”

  “That’s the point. You get plausible deniability, but the job gets done. That’s why the MC is using someone like you.”

  “I suppose so.” Kylie nods absently, then sighs. “I’m relieved that this one’s done, though.” She looks over at me. “Actually, thank you for coming with me, Cam. I know I didn’t want you to. But, honestly, it was a lot easier this way.” She gives a tiny shrug. “Maybe next time I’ll be less nervous now.”

  Dammit. Don’t fuckin’ thank me for anything. I didn’t do this for you.

  “You’re welcome,” I grunt.

  More silence. As we pass through the city limits, Kylie reaches over and turns on the radio. I expect her to change the station back to the one it was on before, but she doesn’t.

  “You shouldn’t be less nervous next time,” I say. “This shit you’re getting into is dangerous, Kylie. You should know better.”

  I can feel her tensing up beside me. “I do know better,” she replies. “But I’m still doing it.”

  “You don’t get it.” I shake my head. “Once you’re in, you’re never really out.”

  She swallows. “I hope that’s not true,” she tells me in a quiet voice. “But I don’t have a choice.”

  “You always have a choice. Don’t shit me,” I shoot back, anger starting to surface.

  I expect her to get angry, too — to match me barb for barb. I’m ready for the argument. But it doesn’t come. Instead,
she sinks back into her seat and looks down at her hands.

  “You don’t know, Hale,” she says tiredly.

  “Know what?”

  “You don’t know why I’m doing it.”

  “Well, why don’t you tell me?” I challenge. “Then I’ll know.”

  She’s silent. Then:

  “My dad is sick. He has cancer.” She blows out an exhausted breath. “We don’t have insurance, and he needs treatment and pain meds.”

  Her words hang in the air as I realize what she’s saying.

  “Oh,” I mutter. “Fuck.”

  “He’s been suffering a lot,” Kylie murmurs, the music turned low so I can hear her. “He tries not to let me see, but he is. Sometimes when he talks to me, he just… winces…” Kylie stops speaking for a second, and I can hear her throat contract as she swallows. “Like, he stops talking and he just has to sit there for a second, you know? Waiting for it to pass.” Her voice trembles. “We both kind of… pretend like it’s not happening.” She shakes her head. “We don’t talk about it much. He doesn’t want to, and I don’t want to force him.”

  I glance over to see she’s looking at me. She’s looking straight ahead, but I can still see the bright tears shining in her eyes.

  “The drugs will help with the pain, regardless,” she continues, her voice cracking. “And with the money, I can pay for treatments. I’m going to tell him I got a promotion at work, with health insurance.”

  Goddamn. I know Kylie doesn’t have any family other than her dad. If he dies, she’s pretty much on her own. I can imagine she must be fucking terrified. And as much as I hate her fucking deadbeat father for being part of the reason Scotty’s dead, I can’t wish losing her only living parent on Kylie.

  “I’m sorry, Ky,” I say gruffly. “I didn’t know.”

  “No, I know, I know.” She shakes her head, brushing away her tears with the back of her hand. “I just… don’t have many options, you know?” she sniffs. “I’m lucky as hell I ran into Mal a while ago. This is the only way I can see to help my dad. And it’s really not that dangerous, after all.” She nods absently, as if she’s trying to convince herself. “Less dangerous than I thought. It’s just driving.”

  “Yeah,” I murmur, suddenly wanting to reassure her. “It’s just driving.”

  We make it back to Ironwood mid-afternoon. Just as we pull into town, I realize neither of us had lunch. I make a detour at a drive-through fast food place and grab us each a burgers and fries. Kylie wants a chocolate shake, too, so I get her that. I insist on paying, and thankfully she doesn’t argue. We eat sitting in the truck in the parking lot, and I watch as she inhales all her food, rolling her eyes and moaning with pleasure at the shake. I’m betting this is the most food she’s consumed at once in a long damn time. It occurs to me that part of the reason she’s looking thin these days might be due to worrying about her dad. Maybe she’ll put a little more meat on her bones now.

  After our late lunch, I drive back to the Ironwood compound, and turn right to pull it into the shop. Kylie glances at me questioningly.

  “The cash to pay for the product is in the compartment under the truck,” I explain. “They’ll have to access that before you can leave.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why don’t you come into the clubhouse?” I suggest. “Have a beer while you wait.”

  Kylie pats her nonexistent belly. “I’m way too full for beer now.”

  I shrug. “Well, you can come in there and wait, anyway. It’s more comfortable than those bullshit plastic seats in the waiting room.”

  I’m almost surprised when she consents. I go to one of the mechanics and tell him to pull her truck out front when they’re done, then lead Kylie toward the clubhouse.

  10

  Kylie

  My eyes are still adjusting to the dim interior light of the clubhouse when I hear a familiar squeal coming from the far end of the room.

  “Oh my God!” Cyndi squeals. “How fun that you’re here!” She totters up on her ever-present high heels and throws her arms around me, then pulls back. “Though,” she continues critically, “what are you wearing? Good lord, you look like you just got done mowing the lawn or something.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I say sarcastically. I look over self-consciously at Hale and feel myself blushing. I don’t look that bad, do I?

  Hale leans toward me. “I need to go talk to Axel. You okay here for a bit?”

  I nod. “Sure. I’ll just wait with Cyndi until my truck’s done. Do you think they’ll come in and let me know?”

  “Probably.” He does a scan of the room, which is filling up with Ironwood men. “If anyone gets a little too close for comfort, tell them you’re with me,” he frowns. “Otherwise, make yourself at home. Grab a drink at the bar if you want.”

  I watch him walk off, my thoughts a jumbled mess. I haven’t really had time to process everything that’s happened in the past couple of hours. The drop-off is one thing, and I’m sure glad that’s out of the way.

  But that’s not the thing that’s got me feeling strange and confused.

  More than anything, I’m struggling to make sense of where Cam and I stand now. Six hours ago, he hated my guts — and I wasn’t too far from feeling the same way about him. But since then, not only has he helped me get through an ordeal that frankly was scaring me to death (not that I asked for his help), but I also confided something to him that I had no intention of telling him.

  I’ve talked to almost no one about my dad being sick — much less our money problems and how desperate I’ve been to help him. Hell, Cyndi passes for my best friend in Ironwood, and I’ve barely even told her about any of it. Now, all of a sudden, I’ve told Cam the whole sad sob story, including why I’m muling for the club.

  Absurdly, it occurs to me that in a way, he is my closest confidant in this world right now. A high-pitched laugh bubbles out of me, at the ridiculousness of it all.

  “I’m so glad we’re finally here at the same time!” Cyndi enthuses, apparently mistaking my laughter for excitement. “But my God, girl, why have you been keeping your thing with Hale a secret from me?”

  “My thing with… Oh, no, you’ve got it wrong,” I protest, holding up my hands like I’m pushing the idea away. “Hale is just… helping me with something. That’s all. Strictly platonic, I swear.”

  Now it’s Cyndi’s turn to laugh. “Oh, please, girl!” she giggles, shaking her head. “I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. All smoldery and shit!” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down. “I don’t know why you’d want to keep this under wraps, though. Hale is sex on two wheels. God, if I was hitting that, I’d be shouting it from the freaking rooftops!”

  “Cyndi!” I glance around, but no one’s in earshot, thankfully. “I swear to God, there is nothing going on between us!” I plant myself right in front of her and look directly in her eyes, unblinking. Her grin slowly disappears as she stares at me. Then she frowns, cocking her head.

  “Well, shit,” she asks slowly. “Why not?”

  “Because…” God, how the hell do I even answer that? “Because for one thing, that smoldering look you’ve seen him give me? That is actually hatred. And for another, we have bad history. And for a third, I really think I am not his type. I mean…” I trail off, looking down at my clothes. “Didn’t you just tell me I look like I just got done mowing someone’s lawn? I’m pretty sure Hale’s type is more… well… blingy, or something.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t always look like this,” Cyndi dismisses me with a wave. “I mean, sure, you could stand to dress up a little more than you do. But like I said, he, like, stares at you when you’re not watching. Like this!” She squinches her face up and narrows her eyes, in what I guess must be an impression of Cam undressing me with his eyes. “He likes what he sees, girlfriend.” She eyes me sagely. “You just need to put a little wrapping paper on the package.”

  “I…” I begin, but I trail off as I try to think how to respond. This c
onversation is doing nothing to help me make sense of the last six hours. In fact, all it’s doing is making me uncomfortably aware of the fact that Hale is indeed objectively hot. He always has been, but now that he’s older… wow. Thinking about how I just spent most of the day with him cooped up in the cab of my truck alone, I’m retroactively thankful that for most of it he was super pissed at me, and me at him. Otherwise my mind might have wandered to some of the thoughts I’ve been having for the past two days. Thoughts I haven’t had about Hale since high school — which were entirely inappropriate, because I was dating his best friend. And they’re even more inappropriate now.

  “Can we change the subject, please?” I blurt out suddenly. “You know what? I could really use a beer.” I grab Cyndi’s arm and half-drag her over to the bar, where the same prospect who was here the first day is standing there looking bored. I haul myself up onto a stool, and Cyndi clambers up on the one next to me. She introduces me to the prospect, whose name is Eddie. I ask him for a beer while she orders a rum and Coke.

  Eddie leans down and sets a beer on the counter. I reach for it and take a long drink of the cool liquid. God, I’ve never been much of a beer drinker, but this tastes so good right now. I start to put it back down, and almost set it on top of a small shot glass that’s appeared in front of me, full of a brown liquid.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “Sorry,” Eddie smiles. “It’s a reflex. Around here, beers come with shots unless I’m told otherwise. You want me to take it away?”

  “Nah. That’s okay.” I smile back. He seems like a weirdly nice kid to be prospecting in an outlaw MC. “Honestly, I could kind of use it. I’ve had a day.”

  Cyndi raises her rum and coke at me, and I pick up the shot and cheers with her. I take a tiny sip: whiskey. It burns my throat, but somehow it feels kind of good. Cleansing, almost. I take another sip.