by Lexy Timms
“Shit, Spade. How do you get away with that?” growled Kinney.
“My winning personality,” grinned Luke. “Can I buy you ladies a drink?”
“Sure, sugar,” said the blonde. “What are you drinking?"
“Jack and Coke.” Luke expected a large gum bubble to pop out of her mouth. He was almost disappointed when it didn’t.
“I’ll take the same.”
“And what about your friend?”
The girl looked at Luke and then to Kinney, giving him the once over. “What you drinking, hon?” she said.
“Sam Adams,” he said, tipping his beer.
“Sounds good.”
They were the right amount of distraction. The evening progressed and the Rojos were all but forgotten as the ladies grew friendlier with each drink they downed. Wolf, Dagger and the rest of the crew drifted off to the pool tables.
“How about we find a quieter place for this party,” suggested Kinney’s girl, whose name turned out to be Jeannie.
“How about we take a walk outside? We can figure out what we want to do,” suggested Aces.
“Sure, hon.”
“Let’s go, then. Come on, Spade.”
With a small shake of his head Luke paid for the drinks with a couple of fifties. He trusted John, who would make sure any surplus ran as a credit on his bar tab. The tab was a privilege of being a long-time customer, and Luke was one of the few regulars who had one. This was one reason why Kinney spent most of his time with Luke when they were at the bar. Always looking for a freebie.
Luke followed Kinney and his flavor of the day out to the back of the building. He slipped on his jacket just before he walked out.
“Nice jacket,” cooed the blonde, whose name was Austin. She slipped her arm through his and hung close by him.
She didn’t smell like Emily. Austin had more of a cheap perfume kind of appeal. Luke shook his head, trying to get Em out of his mind. This was business, not pleasure.
Kinney flipped the switch to the outside lights off, and the concrete and grass disappeared to black. The four of them walked out in the darkness. The July night was hot and sticky. Luke was tempted to take off his jacket again.
“Oh, baby,” said Austin, sliding against him, pushing him against the rough boards of the building. Her ample breasts, that couldn’t be real, pushed into his chest as her cheap perfume filled his nose. She kissed him hungrily, pressing her form to him, demanding a response.
In the background he heard things getting immediately real for Kinney. The sound of his zipper ripping down his jeans was unmistakable, the slurping noises that soon followed even more so.
“Yeah, sugar. Suck that. You like that don’t you, you dirty whore? Take it down, all the way down, slut.”
Some people got off on dirty talk but not Luke. He never did, nor could he ever think of women as whores or sluts, even if his companion was doing her best to act like one.
Austin slowly unzipped his jeans and slid her hand inside, rubbing his length. She was obviously trying to mimic the action her friend was already doing. “Feels good, baby, nice and big,” she breathed. “Austin would like some of that.”
Yeah, he bet she would. Trouble was, since the day he left Emily he hadn’t had the inclination. Oh, he had his morning wood, just as he should, but trying to do anything with it proved useless. And now, despite Austin’s ardent attentions he didn’t even twitch.
He supposed the reason was because of the shitty way he had left Emily, with those awful words and cold exit. Even if he had done it to keep her away from him, to keep her safe, as he descended into the dark underworld of criminal gang activity, he still felt like dirt about it. Thinking about it now wasn’t helping his dick.
“Hey, baby,” he said to Austin, pulling her hands away. “Save dessert for later. I have an appetizer for you.”
His fingers sought her nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt and pinched it hard. She gasped as Luke’s other hand reached for the hem of her tight skirt and reached in to find the spot between her legs already dripping wet.
In the dark, Kinney grunted as he worked the throat of the girl on his dick. Luke pulled aside Austin’s thin panties and rubbed his thumb around her clit. Her juices slid on his fingers as he swirled around the sensitive spot. She moaned, and impulsively he fisted her hair and pulled back her head, leaving her throat exposed. At the same time he jammed two fingers inside her pussy. Austin gasped, then groaned as he pummeled her with his fingers, his thumb pressed firmly against her clit. She rocked her hips, her breathing hitched, and she gushed all over his hand.
“More!” she gasped as her insides clenched around his fingers.
Luke heard Kinney spit, “Fuck!” Then he moaned, and the girl made gurgling sounds then a spitting noise. “Damn,” Jeannie complained.
Austin threw her arms around Luke. “Oh baby. That was a great appetizer. What about the main course?”
Luke pulled out his phone, pretending he had a text. “Sorry, girl. Gotta go.” He pulled her arms from around his neck. “Aces, later, man, eh?”
“Sure, Spade,” said Kinney, zipping his jeans as Luke walked off into the night. At least he had been able to divert disaster between Kinney and the Rojos, but he didn’t feel good about how he had to do it. Not one damn bit.
If this was going to be his life for the next year or longer, he wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Life is a Highway
“This looks really good, Luke.”
Aces stood next to him the next morning as Luke showed him the clubhouse he built behind his shop.
During the past three months, he had been working hard. He’d bought a Quonset hut kit online for around five thousand dollars, and with the permits, the sewage line, the foundation, the heating system and other building materials, spent an additional fifteen thousand. It was his personal project during the long New England summer as he worked his way into the good graces of Jack Kinney and the now-permanent Tucson crew transplants. He originally thought of putting the clubhouse in the storage garage in back of the shop, but watching a popular television show about outlaw bikers disabused him of that notion. As the tensions with the Rojos ramped up he didn’t want his shop the direct target of a Rojos attack. Not saying the clubhouse in the back made it less likely to be hit.
At least it wasn’t directly at the back. He built the clubhouse on the other side of the broad blacktop lot behind his shop, the back edge of the Quonset hut hitting the furthest edge of the property. He figured if something did happen, his shop would be out of the line of fire.
He hoped.
“Like we talked about, Aces, the taxes on this building come out of club revenue.”
“Don’t worry, Luke. We’re brothers. You did us right by building the clubhouse. I don’t know how Okie got along all these years without one. Besides, you’ll come out all right with the rentals of those rooms you built for club members.”
“Speaking of which, Pepper’s patch comes through tonight, right? He’s been on me about one of those rooms since his lease is up and we agreed that only club members could rent a room.”
“Well, that’s up to the membership, but I haven’t heard any objections.”
“Good.”
“You’ve become real tight with him since Gibs—”
“Yeah, and since Saks left the club,” Luke cut him off. The memory of Gibs’ death was still too raw for him. It also reminded him about Emily.
Saks was a bitter pill to swallow too. Saks still worked for him, but with Luke’s increasing involvement with what Saks quite rightly saw as a criminal element, Saks barely spoke to him. He simply now came in and did his job. More recently, Saks started taking off a day here and there, and Luke suspected he was looking for another job. Luke couldn’t blame him. But it was a tough job market and Luke paid above market wages, so he hoped he wouldn’t lose his best mechanic soon. The replacement ‘employee’ the DEA sent was barely q
ualified to do simple maintenance and Luke spent more time than he wanted going over the man’s work.
“So everything’s ready for the inaugural meeting in the new clubhouse?” Aces brought him back to the conversation.
“Yeah.”
The liquor permit was the stickiest part of the whole deal, followed by the special permits to allow housing on commercial property. Even private clubs needed a liquor permit in Connecticut. Thanks to the discrete intervention of the DEA, the permit squeaked through just in time. The town zoning regulations couldn’t be handled so easily, and Luke had to make special arrangements for that. He hated to skirt the law but small-town politics always won out. There were restrictions too. He could only make six tiny mini-apartments instead of the ten he wanted due to zoning constraints. He never understood the logic of zoning officials, why six was acceptable but ten was not. But it was better to have something rather than nothing and it gave him extra space to install a couple pool tables. Now, to cover expenses, he had to raise the rent to seven hundred fifty a month instead of the five hundred he had wanted to charge.
What started as a midnight inspiration ended up as a giant summer headache and a royal pain in the ass. Aside from all the challenges, the opening of the clubhouse was nearly accomplished and the smell of the pig roasting to the left of the clubhouse wafted over the parking lot. Pepper came around the side, his face smudged with charcoal.
“What’d you do, Pepper? Start eating that pig?” Luke smiled.
He grinned back. “Man, that porker’s falling off the bones already. Good thing you had me put that chicken wire around it.”
Luke nodded. Okie taught him that trick on previous club pig roasts. “Well, remember to keep turning it. That center has to be good and cooked through for this evening.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Don’t call me that.” He couldn’t stand hearing anyone call him boss since Gibs died.
“Sorry, forgot.”
“That does smell good.” Aces sniffed the air.
“We’ll have a good opening. By the time that pig’s done it’ll literally fall off the bones onto our plates once we clip open that chicken wire.” Luke threw his arm around Aces neck briefly in a show of camaraderie he did not feel. “Good drink, good food and good friends.”
“Hell yeah! How about a look inside the clubhouse.”
Luke shook his head. “Nope. I want it to be a surprise. You’ll see it all tonight.” He grinned like a proud owner of a shiny new toy, which was a lie. The DEA complained that they couldn’t get anything on Kinney because he never discussed any of the club’s business in a place where the DEA could listen. Frustrated by the first non-productive weeks of his involvement in their investigation, Luke came up with the idea for the clubhouse. Truth was, a couple of the DEA crew were still inside checking the cameras and bugs they installed inside the club. Luke almost shit a brick when Kinney showed up this morning asking to see the clubhouse.
“Well, later Spade.”
“Later.”
With relief, Luke watched Kinney get on his bike and pull out of the lot. Pepper walked up to Luke.
“Tell you anything good?”
Luke shook his head. “The little jobs he has me do don’t give a clue as to what he’s up to.”
“Kinney hasn’t done shit since the firefight.”
“I wouldn’t say that. He’s padded the membership with the Tucson crew and the new prospects he’s recruited. I think he has plans to add some of those as patched members tonight.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Pepper.
Pepper wasn't sure, but Luke understood what Kinney was doing. Every instinct Luke had said Kinney was getting ready to make a move, but he couldn’t do it without the right kind of membership behind him. As the old members of Hades’ Spawn moved off in disgust, Kinney brought in men that looked like they’d done time. Pepper’s DEA crew confirmed they did.
“He’s just gathering his forces is all.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am. It’s what I would do if I ran a crew like that.” He sighed. It was frightening how easy it was for him to think like a criminal. “Okay, get back to that pig. I’m opening the shop.”
“Luke.”
“What?”
“These six day weeks look like they’re killing you. Why don’t you let George handle opening and get yourself some breakfast?”
Luke raised an eyebrow. Gone were the days of working half days on Saturday. “What are you, my mother? Being down a man doesn’t help my business.” Saks, Pepper and Luke had to put in extra hours to cover losing Gibs.
“It’s just, I notice you look skin over bones.”
“Excuse me?” Luke looked at Pepper in annoyance.
“You look like shit. I can’t afford my asset not being at the top of his game.”
Luke figured he’d lost some weight because his jeans were loose, but never figured it was noticeable. He took a cigarette out from his pack in his shirt pocket and lit it. He gave up smoking in high school at Emily’s urging, but now it didn’t seem like there was any reason not to smoke. In fact, there seemed to be many reasons to do so. He drew in the smoke and felt the mild rush of relaxation the tobacco brought him.
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about that pig. Or you’ll look like shit.” You watch that one and I’ll take care of the one working in my shop.
CHAPTER NINE
Angela's Problem
Emily sat next to her mother waiting for Angela to step out of the dressing room. It was Saturday morning and the bridal store was filled with young brides trying on and displaying dresses, and their wedding parties going through bridesmaid dresses. It seemed busier than what Emily thought a bridal store would be.
A large round stage divided by four walls took the center of the showing room. Curved couches in gray raw silk ringed the stage, spaced apart from each other to give the brides a small aisle to step up on the stage. Behind them were the dressing rooms, two free-standing cubicles per section. Each dressing room had an occupant, and a couple anxious brides-to-be stood next to the cubicles waiting for their turn to try on dresses. When a bride stepped out, she could step up to their section of the stage to show off gowns to their mothers, sisters and bridesmaids.
“We should’ve come during the week,” fretted Emily’s mother, “not on Saturday. But we really can’t wait, not with the wedding six months away.”
Emily almost didn’t hear her. She watched the young women in their wedding finery, fighting back her sadness. With the way Luke had talked about getting married she should be one of these women. Not now, not since he pushed her away. She took a quick breath to steady herself. This was all about Angela and she wasn’t going to ruin her sister’s happiness with her own selfish thoughts.
“Well, one of us works,” said Emily dryly. “And I believe that’s the bride.” She didn’t mean to sound miserable. Luckily her mother didn’t seem to notice.
One of the waiting brides knocked on the door of the cubicle behind them. Emily turned.
The girl smashing her hand on the door wore flip flops, ripped jeans, and a skinny tank, looking more like a sleaze than a bride. Emily glared at her, somehow the bride reminded her of the last time Emily saw Luke, with those two women hanging off him during Gibs’ funeral.
The nascent bride-zilla glared back. “Is she ever going to come out of there? Other people are tired of waitin’!”
Emily’s mother tutted, but Emily stood and faced the woman. After what she’d been through, she refused to take shit from anyone ever again. “I’m sure you’d appreciate a little courtesy when it’s your turn in there.” Emily spoke in a deadly serious voice and the girl shrank back.
But the rude girl was right. Angela was taking longer than she should in the dressing room.
Emily knocked lightly on the door. “Angela, how’re you doing in there?”
“I’m fine,” said Angela in a small voice. Obviously she was not fine.
That’s when Emily heard some snuffles, like Angela was crying. Alarm raced through Emily. “Open up, Ang,” she said urgently.
“What’s wrong?” Her mother looked up from her chair, clutching her purse.
“Nothing, Mom. I think her zipper’s stuck.” Emily waved her hand.
“Well, help her.”
I’m trying. Emily turned her head so her mother wouldn’t see her roll her eyes. How old was she? Nearly thirty and she had to hide her face from her mom? That needed to stop as well.
The door latch clicked and the door opened slightly. Emily slipped in and closed the door. Angela stood in front of the mirror, her eyes lined red. She wore a beautiful all white gown that hugged her skinny curves. Emily’s mother picked it out but Angela was reluctant to try it on, but did so at her mother’s insistence.
“Hey,” said Emily gently, “what’s wrong? Is there something wrong with the dress?”
“No. It’s beautiful.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Angela snuffled again. “I can’t wear white.”
“What? Of course—”
She stopped talking when she suddenly understood Angela’s meaning. Her sister stared at her wide-eyed. “Well, that’s no reason not to wear white. It’s the twenty-first century, women do it all the time. All the time. That’s no reason.”
“But this dress is, or will be, too tight.”
Emily gave her a quizzical look. “The dress nearly fits. You just get it altered so it’s perfect. Probably ninety percent of brides have to get their dress altered. It’s not worth cry-stressing over.”
“Oh, Emily!” The distress in her sister’s whispered voice was evident.
Emily tried to imagine herself in the dress and wondered if she’d be crying because she shouldn’t wear white. It seemed silly.
Rattling at the door startled both of them. “Hurry up! It’s my turn!”
“Put a sock in it!” snapped Emily. “We’ll be out in a minute.”
