by Lexy Timms
“Any coffee?” barked Gibs.
Luke nodded toward the pot while he counted the cash receipts again. Most days his deposits consisted of checks. The credit cards were processed automatically. Yesterday, however, a customer paid in cash. He screwed up his face and counted the cash again. He couldn’t be twenty dollars short. Luke was more careful with cash than that.
“When?” asked Gibs. He pointed to a calendar with a swimsuit model hanging predominately on the wall. It was big, eighteen by twenty-four, with the blonde-haired, blue-eyed babe straddling a hog. She was leaning forward, her eyes gleaming, and her tits hanging over the gas tank.
When Gibs asked “when” he was asking when Luke would take it down. It was an old joke. The calendar was five years old, but Luke refused to replace it.
“When you can pry it from my cold, dead hands,” replied Luke with a smile.
“Huh.” Gibs stared at the repair tickets hanging in transparent plastic folders from coffee cup hooks on the wall. “What do you want me to start with?”
“The Suzuki,” Luke said without looking up.
“Fucking rice burner,” mumbled Gibs.
“This isn’t the seventies anymore, Gibs. We don’t call them rice burners anymore.”
“Not the seventies?” Gibs scratched his head. “When did I lose a decade?”
“Every day, Gibs, every day. Now the Suzuki.”
“Okay, but afterwards I do the Dyna Glide.”
Luke shook his head. The 2000 Dyna Glide was nearly a classic, and Gibs had a nostalgia for the twin V-engine models. “Sure, whatever keeps you happy.”
Pepper, then Saks, rolled in, and Luke handed off other assignments. Pepper was a dark-skinned Latino, but since he objected to being called Pepi, they called him Pepper instead. Luke tried to tell him that nicknames were part of motorcycle culture. He explained that his own nickname ‘Spade’ had to do with an unfortunate incident with a shovel, but Pepper would respond with, “I’m just here to work.”
Saks’ real name was Anthony Parks, but since he came to work each day dressed in dress slacks and a button-down, he earned the name Saks for Saks 5th Avenue. Of his workers, Gibs and Saks were members of the same motor club, Hades’ Spawn. Much of Luke’s business came from the club.
“What about the Dyna Glide?” asked Saks.
“You know the rules. Gibs got here first. He got to pick. Next time you get in before him and you can pick what you want.”
This little rule he set up when he first set up shop and got regular mechanics saved him countless headaches when portioning out the work. He chose the first round, and after, the guys picked what they wanted in order of their appearance at work. It motivated them to get in at a decent hour.
He couldn’t figure where he went short twenty bucks. If he didn’t have other things to do, he’d track it down, but as it was, he probably miscounted when he received the money yesterday.
Luke shook his head. He certainly was off his game yesterday. While driving home from picking up a part in New Haven on I-91 he could have sworn he saw Emily when he passed a black Honda Civic. But that couldn’t be. As far as he knew, Emily was living in California, where she went to college. Still it shook him, the memories of that time, ten years ago when he was younger, and considerably thinner.
Luke glanced up at the calendar, of the girl that reminded him so much of Emily, his Emily. Not in attitude, no. His Emily was never so brazen. She was sweet, kind and loving. Until, of course, he fucked it all up and lost her forever.
He didn’t know why he couldn’t shake thoughts of her. It was over and done, ten years ago. But there was one thing that was true. No woman since compared to her, and he suspected no woman ever would.
Luke, iPad in hand, went through the inventory of stock items for his shop, and clicked his stylus against it.
“Hey, did someone use a Honda oil filter and not put it down on the ticket?”
A round of “no mans” came from the crew. However, before he could say something, a familiar figure walked into the repair bay. Luke quickly greeted him, throwing his arm around him. He steered him out of the garage. People were always walking into the garage, but the insurance company had their regulations, so Luke did his best to move them out, in a friendly way, of course.
“Aces! Good to see you, man.”
The vice president of the Hades’ Spawn club clapped his shoulder.
“Need to talk to you, man. And it’s some serious shit, so I’m talking to all the club members.”
“Shall I?” Luke motioned to the repair bays, intending to call over Gibs and Saks.
“Naw. I’ll catch them at the clubhouse later. You, though, are always working.”
“You know, business owner.” Luke shrugged his shoulders.
“And you’ve got it down. Sweet shop it is.”
“Thanks. So?” Luke didn’t have time for pleasantries.
“Yeah. Bad news, Luke. Okie’s going to Enfield on those drug charges.”
Luke shook his head. He couldn’t believe the club president did anything with drugs, let alone deal them.
“It was heroin, Luke. Five to twenty on a first offense.”
“That sucks. Okie’s a good guy.”
“That he is, Luke, but we have to think of the club. I’m taking the prez’s position. Everyone is moving up, but we’ll need a sergeant-of-arms.”
“Are you asking me?”
“You’re Road Captain. Everyone likes you. You’d be a natural.”
“Sorry, I’ve got enough on my hands.”
“Then you don’t mind if I ask around then?”
“Not at all.”
“How’s the planning for the road trip?”
“Everything’s set.”
“Great. Thanks. See ya Saturday.”
“Sure.” Luke stuck his hands in his pockets. He watched Aces get on his bike and pull out on the road. He walked back into the garage disturbed at this latest development. Regardless of the evidence against Okie, Luke knew the man for years and didn’t believe for a second Okie dealt drugs. There was something he didn’t like about Aces, even though the man was popular with other club members.
“What was that?” asked Gibs.
“Bad news. Okie got five to ten.”
“That sucks,” said Gibs.
“Yeah. Aces is taking over the club.”
“Good,” said Saks. “This business with Okie has put a drain on the whole club. Don’t get me wrong. Okie’s a good guy and all, and when he gets out, I’ll welcome him with open arms. But until then, the club must go on.”
“Yes,” seconded Gibs. “Besides, Aces is a good guy. He’ll make a great prez.”
“Sure,” Luke said without enthusiasm. “I’m sure he will.” With a sigh, he walked back to his office.
LUKE DROPPED HIS KEYS on the side table inside the front door of his house and sat down to pull off his boots. Almost immediately he heard the doorbell. He finished tugging off his boots and opened the door to find Deirdre, the woman he’d been dating the past three months.
“Hi, honey,” she said with a bright smile. Her dark hair flowed over her shoulders, and her brown eyes shone with happiness to see him.
He on the other hand didn’t want company.
“I brought dinner.” She held up a paper bag and gave him a kiss.
“I wish you’d called, Babe. I’m beat.” He did his best to smile and came up short.
“You’ve been busy all week.”
“I know. Sorry.”
She slid her hands around his neck. “You know I miss you, baby.”
Luke gave her a kiss on the cheek but wasn’t feeling the spark that would light up things with Deirdre. He cursed himself. It wasn’t her fault he didn’t feel sociable, but on the other hand, he didn’t ask her over either.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“Our club president Okie, was sentenced today. He got five to ten”
“I’m sorry.” Deirdre ran her hand over
Luke’s ass.
“Aces is taking over.”
“Who’s Aces, again?” Luke could tell by the flat tone of her voice she wasn’t interested, but he answered anyway.
“Jake Kinney, the vice president.”
“Oh.” She found a spot behind his ear interesting and licked it.
“Ummm,” Luke murmured. He didn’t feel anything and wished he could get her to go home.
She put her free hand up his shirt and pulled it up to suck on his nipple.
“Deirdre.”
The bag of food slid to the floor, and Deirdre palmed his crotch. “I’ve missed this.”
“Sweetheart,” he tried to say, but she covered his mouth with her red lips, devouring them, thrusting her tongue to meet with Luke’s.
She pulled her head away. “Come on, baby, show me a little enthusiasm.”
Luke tried to get his head into the game. He cupped her breast and pinched her nipple between his thumb and index finger, and though she squirmed, Luke didn’t.
Deirdre wasn’t to be deterred. She rubbed his crotch with her hand, and with expert grace, undid his belt buckle and the zipper of his jeans. “Oh, baby, you know I love those jeans on you, but even more off.”
With her help his jeans slipped down his hips to the floor, and Deirdre reached inside his boxers to take his cock in her hand.
It wasn’t happening, not this way, and Luke knew it. Slowly, he backed her to the couch, and pushed her skirt up around her hips. Her lace panties were wet from her excitement, and normally this set Luke off. He nibbled on the panties, and eased a finger inside her. She was so wet it wasn’t long before he added a second finger, sliding them back and forth.
“Yeah,” she begged. “More, I need more.”
Luke pulled her panties down, enough so that his mouth could connect with her mound. His tongue worked inside and around the folds around her clit as he worked his fingers inside her. Her hips rose and fell to the rhythm of his fingers stroking her.
“Fuck,” she said and he sucked her clit sharply. Deirdre’s back arched.
“Oh shit! Baby, oh fuck.” Her breathing sped up, and Luke took away his fingers and speared her with his tongue. She grabbed his head, pulling him so deep into her he couldn’t breathe. He could tell she was close now. Her juices mixed with his spit on his face. He moved to her clit once again, laving the sensitive flesh while his fingers crawled back inside her. He pumped his hand. She bucked her hips, muttering, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.
She gasped and her juices flowed over his face. Deirdre lay there, her legs splayed apart as her breathing evened. Luke sat back on his heels, watching her.
“My word, Luke! I can’t wait for round two.”
Luke looked down at his cock, which didn’t show any interest at all in round two. Heck, it hadn’t shown any interest in round one either. He sighed. “Honey, sorry, but I’m just not up for it right now.”
She pulled back and gave a huff. “When are you going to grow up, Luke?”
“What? Now, wait a minute—”
But she didn’t. “If it’s not the business, it’s the club, and if it's not the club, it's the business. When is there going to be time for me in this equation?”
“You? It was all about you not two minutes ago!” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“That’s all nice, but I’d like a hard cock from time to time.”
Luke bit down on his lip to keep angry words from spilling out. It was true he wasn’t as attentive as he should be, but damn he was trying the best he could. “This isn’t a good time for this conversation,” he warned.
She stood and smoothed her skirt down. “Fine. Call me when it is.” With some words muttered under her breath, Deirdre left.
The door shut with a solid thud.
CHAPTER THREE
Caught and Snared
WHEN EMILY WOKE THE next day, the shadow of her argument with Evan seemed a distant memory. She had a dream, a good one, where she and Luke were talking, sitting in a summer meadow, the sky overhead clear, and a light breeze singing through the trees. Emily woke feeling warm and happy. The dream seemed so real she thought for a second it had happened. Then Reger swatted at her from the side of the bed, with a plaintive meow, and she landed with a thud back into her life.
“Yes, I’ll feed you,” she mumbled to the cat. He meowed impatiently, and she left her bed, leaving her dream behind. Reger led her to the kitchen, his tail held high, and stared at her until she opened the cat food can and gave him half the contents. He set on it immediately, as if she never fed him. Then after devouring that he looked up and meowed again.
“You’re such a liar,” she scolded him. “I just fed you and you act like I haven’t.” She covered the can with a plastic lid designed for cat food cans and placed it in the refrigerator.
Reger meowed again.
“No,” she said. “I have to get ready for work.” She noticed she hadn’t flipped her wall calendar from March to April, so she did that now.
She swallowed hard when she saw the date.
April six.
The last time she was with Luke.
She closed her eyes. No wonder things were going wrong. They always did this time of year. For a few moments, she was tossed back into time, where she was tumbling in the air. Luke clutched her furiously, as she and Luke were thrown off his bike. His bike screeched sickeningly into the guardrail, but she and Luke were falling into the ditch. Somehow, Luke twisted in the air so she was on top, and he took the brunt of the fall, the sliding on gravel that paved the slope into a small pool. At the bottom of the grade they stopped, and Emily rose shakily on her legs. But Luke only lay there, blood welling between the gashes of the cuts and scrapes on his face, hands and legs. His leather jacket protected his upper body, but his jeans were torn and his left leg lay angled to the side.
Sniffing, tears falling, Emily took her phone from her backpack, and with shaky hands made the hardest call she ever had to make.
“Daddy,” she said. “We were in an accident. Please come. Luke’s hurt.”
Reger meowed again, jolting her to the present. He stood by his litter box and gave her a plaintive look.
“You are the most spoiled cat in the universe,” she teased. But she cleaned the box while the cat watched. Then, as soon as she was done, he jumped in and scratched around.
“I don’t even want to look,” she said. It never made any sense to her why the cat insisted on dirtying the box immediately after it was cleaned.
She glanced at the calendar again and shook her head. It still shook her; the police, the questions, her parents yelling at her.
“What happened, miss,” said the policeman.
“Obviously, he was drinking,” her father said.
“No! No! Luke wasn’t drinking! A truck came by. It was going too fast, and didn’t get out of the lane we were in. Luke steered onto the shoulder, but when the truck went past, it knocked us around, and the bike slid.”
The policeman believed her, but her parents didn’t.
“What were you thinking getting on that bike?” said her mother. “It’s not safe!”
“You’re supposed to be grounded!” said her father. “You’ll never see him again, Emily Rose Dougherty.”
“Daddy!”
“Not while you live in this house! Go to your room!”
She did, but as she left the room she heard her mother’s words. “Sam, you’re being too hard on her.”
“She could have gotten killed, Amanda. Killed. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”
A SHOWER AND COFFEE put her head right. She had no time to think about old loves. She had plenty of problems with her current boyfriend, or rather ex-boyfriend. Her phone had a least forty text messages and ten voice mails. She scanned the texts, each one increasingly nasty. The last one said, “You’ll be sorry.”
She shivered. What had she ever seen in that creep? The problem was Evan Roberts was everything her parents thought sh
e should date. Good education, good job, good Catholic family. She’d never be able to explain to them why she dumped Evan.
Emily tossed her phone in her bag and headed out the door. She was late, or would be, if the traffic on I-91 decided to act up again. It was a busy highway, and rush hour traffic could be truly awful.
Luckily, the early leg of the journey wasn’t bad, and Emily made good time. And then she saw him.
The biker.
It was the same one all right. She had caught the picture of the patch on the back of the jacket the last time, just didn’t see the words then.
Hades’ Spawn.
You couldn’t miss the twin chrome tailpipes of a 2009 XL Sportster, a Harley built for speed. The driver drove like a bat out of hell.
On impulse, Emily sped up. The bike weaved in and out of the slower traffic, but Emily followed down the straight road, passing cars at a rate of speed she never dared before. Her heart pounded with heady excitement as she matched the moves of the unknown driver, determined to catch up with him, to see his face once more. She was going so fast she didn’t notice the state trooper parked on the grassy median. But apparently he noticed her.
Emily’s heart pounded harder as the trooper pulled in back of her, his lights flashing. Gulping, she pulled over onto the shoulder and fumbled in her purse for her driver’s license, and then her glove box for the registration and insurance card. The trooper wearing sunglasses bent over at the passenger side window and tapped on it.
She lowered the window.
“License, registration and insurance card, miss.”
“Yes, officer,” she said, handing him all three documents. He looked at the driver’s license, then her, and without another word walked away.
Emily waited, and waited, until a point where she thought it was becoming entirely ridiculous. She was speeding, she wasn’t going to deny that, but the drivers on this road regularly ignored the speed limits.
However, what got Emily even more frightened is when a second trooper pulled up in front of her car.
