Frozen Rain: Royal Bastards MC Anchorage Chapter

by Genovese, CM

  As much as I hated to say it, the women I’d encountered taught me they were only good for two things: taking cock and stomping on hearts. I didn’t expect anybody would come along and change that.

  “Yo, we should go see Cubby tonight,” BP suggested. “That old bastard’s gonna think we don’t love him no more.”

  Cubby was an old member of the Royal Bastards from down in New York City. He moved up to Anchorage to be closer to his daughter who’d married some Air Force Captain who spent most of his time flying C-130s to foreign countries. F.O.C.U.S., the NYC chapter enforcer, played a big part in helping Cubby get out of the club.

  I’d met F.O.C.U.S., that badass motherfucker, and if he vouched for the old man, then he was good people. It wasn’t often someone got out of the Royal Bastards, but Cubby kept up good relations with us by running the local VFW and giving us free beer whenever we wanted it. We protected him, and we got free cold ones out of it. It was a win-win relationship.

  “All right,” I replied. “Maybe tonight’ll be the night Maggie finally lets me hit it.”

  “Brother, if you get inside of that, I’ma start callin’ you the Jedi Master.”

  Cubby remarried when he moved up here and hired his blonde stepdaughter to tend the bar. She was a real fucking spitfire too. She blew me once, and even that only happened when we were both too fucking drunk to remember it. I aimed to be half that drunk the next time I hooked up with her.

  Maybe tonight will be that night.

  4

  Cassie

  “Okay, so we have several options,” Sue said as we stood in my new living room, staring down at the empty Walmart bags that once held blankets, sheets, pillowcases, silverware, and other odds and ends that spruced my place up quite nicely. It was beginning to look like a normal living space. All I needed was a TV. Books would have to hold me over until then.

  “Tell me the options,” I said as I kicked at an empty plastic bag just to hear the crinkle of it as it took flight.

  Sue didn’t miss a beat and kicked one too. We were like two ten-year-old girls goofing around in my living room.

  “We can go get martinis under downtown heat lamps,” she said as she kicked a bag.

  “Martinis?” I asked as I let another one fly.

  “Right. This isn’t New York City. Beer then. How about—”

  I kicked another bag as I heard the muffled guitar riff of Golden Earring’s ‘Radar Love.’ It reminded me of back home and caused me to catch the plastic bag slowly falling in front of my face.

  “I love that song,” I interrupted, bunching up the bag in my fist and stepping closer to my kitchen window where I looked out over the busy parking lot of the VFW below. “What about that place?”

  Sue came to my side and looked out the window. “The VFW?”

  “Can we get in?” I asked. “Not being military and all.”

  “Uh… about that. We can get in, but the guy who runs it, Cubby, he and I kind of had a fling for a while.”

  “Nuff said,” I replied. “I wouldn’t want you to feel awkward or anything.”

  “We’d get free drinks,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

  “You sure?”

  “I am, but you have to be careful in there. There can be some, how should I say it, unsavory types. A lot of war vets in there and quite a few bikers.”

  “Bikers in Alaska?”

  “Yep.”

  “How do they even manage in the winter?”

  “Oh, they manage,” she said with a whistle. “Bikers like nothing more than to keep warm in the winter. With Cubby, we hardly ever left the bedroom.”

  Sue is my spirit animal. She’s wild! I love her.

  Not that I was looking for a companion but having someone help me keep warm this season wouldn’t be such a bad thing I supposed.

  “Okay, put on something sexy, and we’ll go,” Sue said.

  I’d thought I was wearing something sexy enough but standing next to Sue in her top with exposed cleavage, I supposed I looked like her daughter instead of her wingwoman.

  Twenty minutes later, we were downstairs walking toward the VFW. Sue was surefooted as we crossed the icy road between our apartment complex and the bar parking lot. I was much more careful, terrified I’d step on a spot of black ice and pull a Bambi with my legs opening up and me falling into a full splits position right there in front of everyone.

  Everyone meaning the smokers standing out in the parking lot, swapping gossip while blowing clouds into the cool night air. A man in a cowboy hat squeezed the ass of the woman standing in front of him. She exhaled a blue cloud and the man locked lips with her before she could finish fully blowing it out. A couple standing next to them laughed at a joke I’d never hear. Everyone seemed happy.

  The door to the VFW flew open as we approached and ‘My Kinda Lover’ by Billy Squier seeped out along with a giant biker with arms the size of my head. He was sleeveless and didn’t seem to mind that it was ridiculously cold out. As we passed him, he looked down at my ass and whistled. When I scoffed, Sue whispered, “Pay him no attention. He’s a Neanderthal.”

  “Neanderthal,” the biker repeated and laughed. “Fuck yeah I am!”

  When he lifted his arm, I saw that it held the tattoo of a beloved young adult classic. The book cover of a story I loved as a kid was inked on his bicep.

  “Beezus and Ramona?” I asked.

  “Beezus!” the man shouted over the music while pointing a thumb at his chest.

  That can’t be this burly biker’s name.

  He shoved a cigarette into his mouth as we entered and the door swung shut behind me, blocking him from view.

  “Was that his name?” I asked Sue. “Beezus?”

  “I have no idea, darlin’,” she replied. “I only know Cubby and a few of the Royal Bastards. He must be new.”

  His name cannot be Beezus.

  Inside the VFW reminded me of the Billiards Palace back home. The walls inside were painted a dull green and four pool tables filled most of the space at the far end of the room. Tables with old, gruff military veterans playing cards or dominos took up the rest of the area. There had to be ten men to every woman. Tattoos decorated their chests and wrinkles had taken over the faces of most of the women in the room. They’d already experienced twice the amount of life I had.

  “Still want to hang out here?” Sue asked.

  I shrugged. “We’re here. Might as well grab a drink.”

  “I like how you think.”

  We moved over to the bar and sat down at the counter on barstools with cushions that looked to have been stitched up a time or two. The tables behind us seemed reserved for more “distinguished” guests. The usuals. The regulars.

  “There are some fine specimens in here,” Sue announced, and I wasn’t sure what she meant. Everyone seemed worn out and tired. My best friend back in Nebraska, Kinsey, would be laughing her ass off if she could see me right now. Perusing the local hotties at the VFW. This was more Sue’s speed. These guys were all old enough to be my father. All except Beezus out there, and he was too sloppy to be my man. He looked like the type to make that farting sound with his armpit and eat his cigars after he finished them.

  You sound like a snooty bitch.

  I swear it wasn’t like that. I just wanted more. I was a young woman, you know? I wanted a man who could pick me up, slam me against the wall, and give me a proper pounding. These guys all looked like their backs would go out with a woman like me.

  Yet you want a video game playing homebody? They’re sure to give you a proper pounding. In Mortal Kombat.

  The truth was, I didn’t know what the fuck I wanted anymore. In the end, I supposed, I only wanted to feel wanted, needed, and taken care of. Wasn’t that what most women wanted?

  A beautiful blonde bartender, with a bob that hung below her chin, approached us. She wore a Bad Wolves T-shirt cut into a v-neck, probably done herself, that showed her tattooed cleavage.

/>   “You are not from around here,” she said as she placed both elbows on the bar and cupped her chin in her hands. She looked at me almost adoringly. “So… where are you from?”

  “Lincoln,” I said. “Nebraska.”

  “The cornhusker state,” she said with a whistle.

  I liked her. She got right down to it.

  “Did you husk a lot of corn?” she added.

  And just like that, I wasn’t sure I liked her anymore, because as she said it, she shook a fist up and down as if giving a hand job.

  “I’m not even sure that’s how you husk corn,” I replied.

  “I’m only fucking with you, sweetie,” the girl said. “What do you want to drink?”

  “A beer. Whatever’s good.”

  “Make that two,” Sue said.

  “Maggie,” an older guy with a grey handlebar mustache called out as he slid behind the bar.

  “That’s Cubby,” Sue whispered.

  Cubby hadn’t noticed Sue. He was watching the door. The blonde glanced back at him and he nodded toward the entrance. Sue and I both turned to look, being a little too nosey for our own good, and saw Beezus push his way into the bar with a group of guys behind him, each clad in a black motorcycle kutte.

  I’d never been a believer in any of that insta-love stuff, but the moment my eyes moved past Beezus’s shoulder and settled on the tall, broad-shouldered guy with long, black hair, I felt my knees knock in front of my barstool. He kept his head down as he walked, but he lifted his gaze at just the right moment for me to catch it, and I knew he was looking at me too.

  “Here we go again,” Maggie said from the other side of the bar.

  “The guy likes you,” Cubby said. “That’s not really a bad thing, you know?”

  “He doesn’t like me. He wants to fuck me. There’s a difference.”

  The group of bikers passed us, and the odor of sweet whiskey mixed with smoke wrapped around us. I recognized the colors on the back of the vest. The kutte as they called it. Only, the bottom rocker I’d seen before read: Lincoln. This one was the Anchorage, Alaska Chapter.

  “Cubby, what’s the word, brother?” the oldest in the crew, and the one who walked out in front of the rest, asked as he reached over the bar and shook the hand of the older bartender.

  “Pres,” Cubby replied. “Good to see you, man. You know, you could come in more often.”

  “Fuck, I know. I know. Don’t give me shit tonight.”

  Both men laughed.

  The rest of the bikers moved around us and to the right. The good-looking guy stood at the bar, right next to me.

  “Maggie,” he said in a low, throaty growl.

  “Rain,” the blonde replied. “Good to see you. What can I get you?”

  He chuckled. She rolled her eyes.

  So, the handsome guy likes the bartender. How could he not? She’s striking. Go figure.

  “Two shots of Fireball,” he finally said.

  “You like the burn,” Maggie replied.

  “I like to feel.”

  He turned his attention to me as she went to pour his drinks. Our eyes met again and this time he held my stare. A few strands of his long hair hung in front of his face. His eyes were dark, like chips of coal, but a white dot from the overhead lights shone on each of them, and I found myself transfixed. I was glued to my spot.

  Somewhere in the background, I heard Sue talking to a man, but I didn’t care about that. She could talk to whomever she pleased, especially if this hung of a man…

  Hunk of a man, Cassie. Hunk. Get your mind out of the gutter.

  Something about this guy got me hot. It was like an animalistic need that came over me, and we’d only seen each other once, for only a second. Kinsey, my best friend back in Lincoln, told me about this. It’s how she felt about Petros. She just knew he was the one. I’d made fun of her when she told me how he made her practically drip from need when she was around him.

  “What’s your name, doll?” the hunk whispered.

  His voice seemed forced. He wasn’t trying to be quiet. He was quiet.

  Play it cool. Play it cool. He likes the blonde, not you.

  “What’s yours?” I replied.

  He chuckled. “Rain.”

  “That’s your given name?”

  “It’s my name,” he said kind of harshly. “What’s yours?”

  I thought for a second, then, very sarcastically, with my head tilted to one side, I said, “Snow.”

  “Right,” he said.

  I turned back to the bar, to get my drink from Maggie. It didn’t occur to me until later that he thought I’d turned away from him because I wasn’t interested. He picked his shot glasses up off the bar and said over his shoulder, “You didn’t have to be a bitch about it.”

  Did he just… no he didn’t call you a… oh, my God.

  “Don’t,” Sue said as she touched my hand gently.

  I hadn’t even realized I’d already stood up with every intention of chasing him down and giving him a piece of my mind. Her touch calmed me, and I sat back down on my barstool.

  “Cassie, this is Cubby,” Sue said.

  He held out his hand, and I shook it.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “You two ladies really should find a better bar.”

  “So, you’re not happy to see me,” Sue said.

  “I’m married now,” Cubby said. “A year ago, yeah, I would have been damn happy to see you.”

  “Ouch,” Sue replied.

  “Yeah, that’s kinda how it felt when you shoved that dagger in.”

  “Oh, please,” Sue replied. “You were fucking every woman from here to Wasilla.”

  He laughed. “Not anymore. I’m a one-woman man now.”

  “Hey,” Maggie said as she leaned over the bar and got close to me. “Don’t worry about that asshole. His name’s Rain. He’s with the Royal Bastards and he really is a royal bastard. But he is one good looking asshole, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, he is,” I replied. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  When I turned on my barstool to look out at the rest of the place, I couldn’t help noticing Rain at his table with all his buddies. He tilted his head back, drank his shot, and slammed the glass against the table.

  “He can be nice at times,” Maggie said, “but make no mistake. He’s as mean as they come if you cross him.”

  I had no intention of crossing him. I didn’t care to get to know him at all.

  But, God, he is one sexy asshole. You’ve had enough assholes in your life. Fuck him.

  Turning back around on my barstool, I drank my beer and looked at the framed pictures on the wall. Black and white photos of decorated military members smiling for the cameras spruced up the dull green paint. Back home, one of my favorite Italian restaurants was done up like this. Only, they were pictures of the owner shaking hands with famous people who’d eaten at his establishment. None of the people on these walls were famous, but they were no less important. I didn’t have to ask to know that they’d all died in battle or in retirement, but they were all respected and appreciated by each person drinking here tonight.

  “You’re in the wrong bar,” a sweet southern drawl spoke into my ear.

  I turned to see a handsome older man with a five o’clock shadow dipping into the cleft of his chin. The brim of his cowboy hat nearly punched my forehead he was so close.

  “I’m only here for the beer,” I said. It was true, and I’d almost finished this one. I figured I’d down two more before heading home. So far, the patrons of this fine establishment seemed like real pricks.

  “Let me take you someplace nicer,” the man said.

  “Thank you,” I replied. “I really do appreciate it. You’re sweet, but I’m comfortable. I want to sit here with my friend and sip my drink.”

  He wasn’t rude. He wasn’t unattractive. I just wasn’t in the mood after the biker called me a bitch, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on why, but this cowboy gave off a bit of a douchebag
vibe.

  “Horace, what can I get you?” Cubby asked.

  “Jack and Coke,” the cowboy said, “and another beer for the lady.”

  “I’m fine, really,” I said.

  “I’m buying you a beer,” he replied. “It’s rude to turn it down. Take it and chill out.”

  The sting at the end of his sentence finally helped me realize what it was I didn’t like about him. The bikers in the bar carried themselves in a tough, take-no-shit kind of way. This guy puffed out his chest, a trail of hair visible at the top of his slightly unbuttoned plaid shirt, and he reminded me of my stepdad. The gentleman in public, but a little too hands on in private. My mom had been on the receiving end of one of his ass whoopings nearly every night.

  “Stuck up…” Horace mumbled, and I couldn’t hear the rest of what he was saying until he added… “Bitches don’t even know how to accept a fuckin’ drink anymore.”

  “Cubby, please don’t give me that beer,” I said. “I’ll buy one when I’m ready for another. This bitch doesn’t want to accept anybody’s beer.”

  “Give her a fuckin’ beer,” Horace said.

  “You need to calm down, boy,” Cubby replied. “This ain’t the place to be barkin’ demands and you know that. I done told your ass before. You and your buddies are better off drinkin’ back on base. This is a respectable establishment.”

  “Respectable,” Horace repeated and laughed. “You plannin’ to come out from behind that bar and rough me up?”

  He was clearly drunk as evident by his lazy, shit eating grin. I half expected saliva to come dripping down his lip.

  “Fine, I’ll take the beer,” I said. Things were getting heated and I didn’t want to be the cause of a fight. Definitely not over a free beer. “Thank you.”

  You take this beer and you know what comes next. Assholes think they own a woman when they wet her lips.

  “You made it pretty clear you don’t want this fella’s beer,” Cubby said.

  Horace rolled up his shirt sleeves. “I see how this is fixin’ to go.”

  “We got a problem here?” a loud, boisterous voice suddenly asked from behind me.

  I glanced back to see Beezus standing there, his tattooed arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked like a giant, younger version of Johnny Cash with his hair slicked back and his long muttonchop sideburns.