Bikers and Pearls

by Vicki Wilkerson

  Those well-dressed young men with their…corrupt intentions. Their privileged attitudes. And that acrid breath. She flipped over and over, from one side to the other. Fear shuddered through her body every five minutes or so. Until she had an idea. She got up, walked over to the chair, grabbed Bull’s jacket from the back, and climbed into bed once again.

  She pulled the leather to her face and took in the scent. The dark spices lingered. She held the jacket close like a security blanket. It held warmth and safety in its arms, and in moments she was asleep.

  The next morning, she woke early and felt that she’d had one of the best night’s sleeps of her life in spite of her evening of terror. After having showered and dressed, she started out the front door and then stopped. She went back in and got the leather coat from the chair and put it to her face again. Somehow, she was going to have to get this to Bull. She couldn’t have him riding all over town without it.

  When she’d settled in at the office, she thumbed through the folders on her desk. If she worked all day and stayed late, she doubted she would finish everything. Good. Then she wouldn’t have a moment to think about what had happened last night. That was going to take some time to sort through. The strange, comforting feelings she’d had about Bull. Her carelessness with her safety in that dark parking lot with those clean-cut posers. It would all have to be analyzed, categorized, and resolved. Later.

  Her break came at 10:00 a.m., and she quickly ran to her car to get one of the fliers from her front seat. She still needed to make a few more copies, and she wasn’t about to go back to that library after what had happened there. When the coast was clear, she placed it in the machine and started it.

  “Oh, there you are,” said Mandy. “Did you hear about Immette? I think she’s going to the head office. She’s cute enough, don’t you know?”

  “I heard something about a promotion,” April said. “She’s worked really hard this year.”

  “Yeah, but who knows what she did to get it,” Mandy said. “Looks like she—”

  “Mandy, I need to talk to you about some claims you filed last week. Could you gather those together for me so that we can talk after my break?” Maybe that would get rid of her.

  “Yeah, sure. I came to get one of my originals I left in the copier.” She giraffed her head around April.

  “I didn’t see anything when I came in here,” April said.

  “What’s that?” Mandy pulled one of the bike-rally fliers from the small stack. She wriggled up her face as she read it. “Does this have anything to do with that motorcycle dude who came in here yesterday?”

  “Kind of. I’m sort of helping out with this fundraiser thing for Ben Evans. You know. He’s the little boy from the Humanity Project with leukemia,” April said.

  “But motorcycles, April?” she asked with a twisted look of disgust etched across her face. “You see the latest premium increases for them sent from headquarters?”

  April reached out and took the piece of paper from the woman. It would only be a matter of minutes before the news was all over the office. Contorted and exaggerated, thanks to Mandy.

  “Look, Mandy.” She held the flier in the air. “I’m not going to ride a motorcycle or anything.” She paused. “This is for Ben.”

  “Oh,” Mandy said quickly, like she knew she was being played.

  “And I’m going to pay for the copies,” April said.

  She worked through the rest of the morning. Every once in a while she glanced into her drawer to look at the artwork and graphics on the fliers she had copied. They reminded her of the warmth and safety she had felt last night with Bull’s leather jacket.

  She had to get it back to him. Maybe she’d call him later. After work.

  It was almost lunchtime, and she needed to talk to her boss about the copy-room incident with Mandy—no sense in letting him think April was stealing from the company. She stepped across the hall to the only walled-in office in the building and stood in the doorway. “Charles, I made some fliers this morning for a charity fundraiser, and I want to pay for using the copy machine,” she said.

  “I had already heard about the fliers, but no problem. You worked through your lunch hour yesterday, so let’s call it even. ’Kay?” Charles said.

  That was kind of a jerky thing to say. No. A real jerky thing to say because she always put in tons of overtime. A few fliers could never make up for her time.

  “You seeing that motorcycle-gang-member guy?” he asked. “Mandy said he used to belong to—”

  “Mandy says a lot of things and asks a lot of things that are inappropriate in an office.” She paused, hoping he’d get her insinuation about his own inappropriate question. “But, no. Of course not. It’s a charity thing, like I said.”

  The tinkling of the bell above the front door sounded in the distance. She turned and gaped. Bull was striding through the row of desks. The light slicked across his untamed hair. He flashed his sexy, crooked smile at a couple of the secretaries. They were probably melting all over the floor by now. She wondered what it would be like to be with him.

  Though she could never be, the possibility moved something deep inside her hips.

  He was wearing a pair of fitted jeans, a white shirt, and a leather vest. A white shirt hadn’t ever looked so sexy. It was thin and moved against his body as he strode. She couldn’t help but stare at the creases his jeans made every time he took a step. She had to stop thinking like this. And staring at him like he was lunch.

  “Excuse me,” she said to her obnoxious boss, and took a few steps away from his door. Now she had to deal with another problem. A good-looking leather problem that everybody in the office was either talking about or drooling over right now.

  “Hungry?” Bull asked. Now that crooked smile was hers.

  “What?” She stood gazing into his eyes and saw flashes of depth that she wanted to probe.

  She caught a whiff of the scent she had gone to sleep with last night. Mmmmm. She thought about what would it be like to fall asleep cuddled around the actual source of that tantalizing fragrance.

  “Wanna grab a bite to eat?” he asked. “You know. A restaurant. Food. Iced tea. This is your lunch hour, isn’t it?”

  Her mind raced for something to say, but all that came out was, “I have your jacket.”

  “I know. You can give it to me later. I have some things I’d like to talk to you about. Some rally ideas.”

  “It’s in my car.” That was stupid, but what could she say to get her stare off the hunky man? He was stirring those fireflies in her tummy again.

  “I don’t need my jacket right now. It’s beautiful outside. Get your things and let’s go.”

  She was all discombobulated. He was asking too much from her. She crossed her arms. “I need to tell you this right now. I’m terrified of motorcycles. I won’t ride on one,” she said with finality. “Ever.”

  “I didn’t ask you to. Are you getting your things or not?”

  Hesitating for another moment, she stepped inside her office and retrieved her sweater, purse, and keys. After all, she had to eat.

  As they walked down the long corridor of desks, she felt as if every eye was upon her. Was she merely being paranoid? What would they be thinking?

  He isn’t wearing a helmet. How much is he paying in skyrocketing motorcycle premiums? And he must have a heck of a deductible.

  Or maybe they were thinking:

  She’s being careless.

  She’s playing with fire. And wasn’t it her family involved in that motorcycle tragedy and scandal years ago?

  What must she be thinking?

  That’s what they were thinking.

  But she did need to give him his jacket.

  “Here,” Bull said, ushering her toward a big black Cadillac Escalade.

  Turning to him she asked, “Is this yours?”

  “You think if someone owns a bike, they can’t own an SUV?”

  “No. It’s that— Well, I never pictured you
for a—” She held her face toward the unusually warm March sun. “Never mind.” Nothing she said around this man was right. Of course she knew that people who owned motorcycles owned other vehicles. Her company had a number of dual riders insured, as well. Safe ones. Weekend riders. Probably none who used to belong to Rebel Angels, though.

  He helped her into the passenger seat by supporting her right arm. It had only been last night that he had held her in his arms. Recalling the strength and the warmth she had felt in his embrace made her smile. But what was she thinking? She should be remembering what the Rebels did to her father and to the town. That was what she had told herself to do.

  “Have anything against Mexican?” he asked.

  “You mean like Mr. Taco?” she asked.

  He burst out laughing. “No. Like authentic Mexican food.” The left side of his lips curled upward.

  “Oh. No. I guess that’ll be okay, though. But I’ve never had authentic before.” The genuine variety had always sounded a bit too spicy to her.

  “There’s a little place on Cedar Street with a courtyard. Good stuff. And the weather’s great today.”

  “Sounds fine.” She might even like something new. Once again that feeling of safety and warmth enveloped her, and once again she was confused. She had to remember that he had once been with the Rebels. That she still needed distance from this man.

  When they arrived, Bull asked for a seat in the courtyard. “This okay?”

  She nodded, even though it was not okay. What could be okay about how she was gawking at him? What could be okay about all the silly fluttering deep inside her? What could be okay about being so attracted to someone who was so completely wrong for her? She was not okay around him.

  …

  Bull couldn’t believe his fortune. He wasn’t at all certain he’d be able to pull April away from her stuffy office to talk to her. If they were to help one another, like he wanted, he’d have to explain his past with the Rebel Angels to her. But that wasn’t going to be easy.

  The Spanish moss dripped from the limbs of the oaks that wove a green awning over the little outdoor space. Between branches, needles of sunlight pricked the ground. It was pleasant to be outside. And with April.

  She looked distracted, though.

  “Something on your mind?” he asked as she stared blankly at the menu.

  “No.” She glanced over her shoulder and back at her lunch choices. “What is an encha…enchi—how do you pronounce that?”

  “Let me help you with that. I can’t believe you’ve never had real Mexican,” he said.

  She sheepishly shook her head. He watched as her hair gently moved across her shoulders as it swung.

  “Let’s see what we’re going to order for you. You like chicken?”

  She didn’t answer his question. “Look, we need to talk.”

  This sounded final. Like a hundred other conversations he’d had with people who wanted to erase him from their list of contacts after they’d found out about his past. “About what?”

  “First of all, I wanted to thank you about last night. If you hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would have happened.” She took a deep breath, but before she began again, the waiter came.

  “Señor, Señorita, what you want today?” he asked, poised to write.

  “I’ll have the beef fajitas, fried, and she’ll have the chicken enchiladas, soft,” said Bull. She’d probably be upset that he had ordered, but it was obvious that she didn’t have a clue about what to choose. At least a chicken enchilada was a mild introduction to the spicy cuisine of Mexico.

  “Thank you, Señor,” the waiter said.

  “You were saying?” Bull sat back to listen.

  “Oh, yes. I also wanted to thank you for lending your jacket. I felt so bad when I realized that you were riding without one in the cold last night.” She lowered her head, then looked up with her deep brown eyes. “Really bad.”

  “You needed it more than me,” he said, remembering how she’d felt in his arms last night.

  At first, Bull simply sat there, staring at some fallen leaves blowing across the concrete of the courtyard. He had to choose his words carefully. A lot was resting on them. Finally, his thoughts congealed. If he was going to work with April, he had to clear the air about his past.

  “I know I owe you an explanation. About the Rebel Angels,” he said.

  “No you don’t. You don’t owe me anything,” she said.

  He nodded. “It was a long time ago. I was young, and I’d just left home. Right after—” He swallowed hard. “I told you last night about Adam dying.”

  She nodded. “But why did you leave your home?”

  “That’s the ugly part. You know how kids can be. Adam wasn’t like the rest of the children.” He took a deep breath. “It was a brain tumor. Affected a lot of functions. Surgery didn’t go well. Neither did radiation and chemotherapy. Adam didn’t want to make a big deal out of what went on. He simply wanted to fit in. Some kids were kind, but mostly, they didn’t get it.”

  She touched his hand and closed her eyes. “I understand.”

  When she opened her eyes he thought he saw some kind of alliance or empathy in them. But what could she possibly know about feeling ostracized?

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand how that’s connected to the Rebel Angels,” she said.

  “Simple. I needed to belong. To something. Some of the guys befriended me. My dad had taught me a lot about working on bikes and they needed help with their motorcycles. At first I had no idea what they’d been involved in. After a few months, I found out that some of them ran a chop shop…some were drug running.” He thought about his next words. “Yeah. I admit I did some things. Things I regret.” He wanted to come clean so he gave her a few details. “At first I didn’t know exactly what was going on. They said they were purchasing cars for parts when insurance companies totaled them for floods and such. When I couldn’t see any damage, I figured out the vehicles had been stolen, but by that time I was dissembling the autos and acting as a courier.”

  “My company takes some pretty big hits with stolen vehicles. Makes everybody’s premiums go up. It isn’t fair to people just getting by,” she said.

  “I know. When I confronted the Angels about it, they called me some pretty ugly sissy names and laughed. At the time, I couldn’t go back home and deal with what had happened to Adam, so I stayed. The only way out of my involvement in it was I had to become invaluable in the legit part of the garage. So I did. I ended up being worth more to them there.”

  April took a deep breath and gazed up at the sunlight straining to make it through the old tree. Then she reached for the chipotle sauce and twirled the bottle, watching the insides stir.

  “I also need to tell you that sometimes there were more than car parts in the courier runs. I even have a record.” He shook his head. “I’m not who I used to be, though,” he said. Maybe he’d said too much.

  She bit her bottom lip, nodded, and took the drink menu that the waiter had left on the table and began to fan herself.

  “I left the Angels a long time ago,” he said.

  She squinted her eyes and shook her head. “What made you leave?”

  “I’m nothing like those guys. I’d simply needed to grow up and figure out who I was. And what I realized was that I wasn’t a criminal,” he said. “They left town and continued what they had been doing. I stayed and kept clean.”

  He wanted to tell her how he’d worked hard, bought the garage, and turned it into a legitimate business. A legitimate business that was very lucrative, but he could tell her all that later.

  She turned over the napkin in her lap, adjusted it, and turned it over again. She became completely still and stared him squarely in his face. “What do you know about this town’s history with the Rebels?”

  “Not much. I heard bits and pieces about some kind of trouble a long time ago. Before I came to Summerbrook. All I know is that they weren’t too sorry to leave w
hen the council passed all those ordinances that, in effect, ran them out of town.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but only let out a sigh.

  “What?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing.” She closed her eyes.

  “I understand if you don’t want to help. I just need to know now. Before we get underway with all the planning,” he said.

  She stared into his face, searching it for answers or words or something. After a small nod, she said, “I know about wanting to belong. About wanting to be like everyone else. I get that.”

  He reached for her hand and held it in his lap.

  “But it’s hard for me to understand reaching out for that acceptance to those people in that gang,” she said.

  “Look. I get it. I do. Even I can’t understand it sometimes. Let’s put all that aside for now. I need to know if you’re coming to the tackle shop tonight for the meeting.” It was his turn to search her face for answers.

  What he really wanted to know was if she was going to put aside her concerns and worries to help Ben with him.

  The waiter appeared and pushed two sizzling plates onto their table. As he stepped away, Bull saw what looked like pure fear in her eyes.

  Humph. She hadn’t begun to see spicy yet. If she was that afraid of a little fiery food, he doubted she was going to make it to the end of the rally. He needed to get all the help he could from her before she crabbed her way out of helping. By the expression on her face, it looked like it would be sooner rather than later.

  Chapter Five

  April gaped at her plate, which was buzzing with heat. Everything was too hot, spicy, and dangerous for her. The meal, the man, and the tackle shop proposition. She doubted she even possessed the ability to overcome all the anxieties that had made a home in her since childhood.

  And then there was work. There was no way she could ask her boss to insure a bike rally. Her company was very conservative and hardly conceded to insure retired old men who rode bikes on Sunday afternoons. Really. These bikers were crazy. In fact, she was crazy for continuing to hang around one of them.