FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Vivian Lux

J. stepped forward without meaning to. It took everything he had not to leap between the two Presidents. The hot sun beat down on his neck but the blood in his veins ran ice cold.

  "You watching'?" Des barked over Teach's head to the rest of the Sons.

  "Yah, we see you," Doctor D. drawled lazily. Mac grunted.

  "Wayne!" Des called. J. balled his fists when the big man took off his helmet and stepped sullenly forward.

  Just then a ham-hock sized fist crashed into Wayne gut. He doubled over with a muffled "oof," but managed to stay standing. A Storm Rider J. had never seen helped Wayne right himself before sending another fist cracking across his face. A spray of blood shot from his mouth. He swore and spat out a tooth, then nodded. The third punch sent him staggering backward, clutching his eye. He didn't moan or protest; only swore low and long.

  The Storm Rider who had attacked him stood straight and rubbed his hand over his knuckles. Then he cracked them, nodded at Des and turned to face the Sons.

  J. saw the patch on his cut. Sergeant At Arms. The brother on charge of security.

  And discipline.

  "Your turn," Des snarled at Teach.

  Teach still met his eyes, but a flicker of pain flashed across his face. A hollow realization suddenly dawned on J., even before Teach opened his mouth.

  "J."

  J. felt his mouth fall open. He hesitated for a moment, and Desmond sneered. "Thought you said he'd be a man about it, Jones."

  Teach ignored the jibe. Instead he turned to where Case stood, rooted to the spot. "Do it now, Case. Those are the terms."

  Case's eyes glittered and he blinked fiercely. He stepped forward, right up to where J. still blinked uncomprehendingly. "It ain't personal, it's just business," he whispered, low and ragged.

  "You're my best friend, asshole," J. reminded him, dumbfounded.

  A hard gleam shone in Case's eyes, the likes of which J. had never seen. "The greater good," he hissed. "Remember what I told you?"

  With a sudden flood of understanding that made him woozy, J. remembered. Case had tried to warn him of what the terms had to be. He was being sold out to keep the peace. He was being "disciplined" in full view of the man who had insulted him. Those were the terms. And why? Because Teach wanted to form an alliance bigger than them. He looked at his mentor, the man who had pulled him out of the suicidal spiral in prison and formed him into the man he was today. And the only feeling he could summon was mute hatred.

  "I told you," Case repeated, his voice high and tight. "You're my friend. But this club is my fucking family." And he buried his fist in J.'s stomach before J. could utter another word of protest.

  The two of them had wrestled and sparred their entire friendship, so the sheer strength wasn't a surprise. What was surprising was the anger behind it. Case wasn't holding back. J. doubled over coughing when the first blow hit him, so he didn't see the second hit until it snapped his neck violently to the left. He threw up his hands on instinct, leaving his side wide open to catch the third blow directly in his ribs. He fell to the side, and it was only Crash's quick catch that prevented him from landing on the burning pavement.

  "Stand up and shake it off, man," Crash hissed. "They're watching."

  J. steadied himself and hauled himself back to his feet. A quick assessment of his injuries let him know he had had worse.

  It was the hurt to his heart that pained him the most.

  Des was watching him with interest. "Thought you might just be another bunch of posers just playing with bikes. Now I see you're real men. And real men deal with problems head on. Truce." He extended his meaty forearm to Teach who clasped it in his hand.

  "Truce," Teach replied keeping his eyes on Des, never once looking back to where J. stood gasping and reeling.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Emmy

  The pancakes sat in my stomach like a lead ball. I had pleaded myself away from further conversation with my mom by saying I wanted time to get ready for our lunch. She always understood what she called "making an effort in your appearance."

  My father had finally woken from whatever stupor he had slept through. I shut the door to my room when I heard his footfall hit the creaky floorboard outside of their room. I wasn't ready to deal with him yet.

  The vanity mirror was below my line of sight. I had to stoop to get a good look at myself, and when I did, my own bewildered eyes stared back at me. What are you doing here? they asked.

  What was I doing here? I was ping-ponging aimlessly around the state. Looking for love. Looking to be cared for. I was hopping from dependency to dependency, and in my carelessness, I had ended up in this house. Where I was still regarded as a silly child.

  Enough was enough. I walked over to my meager backpack and looked at my belongings. The feeling that had been crystallizing inside of me suddenly became clear.

  I walked quietly to my brother's room and knocked softly on the door. "Andy?"

  He opened the door to his room. I saw a paperback lying face down on his bed and smiled at the image of my fighter brother as a bookworm. "Can I use your computer?"

  "Uh."

  I grinned. "I promise I won't look at your Internet history, you pervert."

  He opened the door wider. "What do you want to do?"

  "To stand on my own two feet," I answered, brushing past him and settling into the old kitchen chair he used at his desk.

  "Uh," he repeated.

  I typed on the keyboard and he looked down over my shoulder. "Craigslist?"

  "I'm gonna find a sublet, Andy. I need to find my own place, like yesterday."

  He made a sound above me. I looked up and saw he was smiling. "What?"

  "Nothing." He kept grinning.

  I smiled back. "I'll see if I can find one big enough for you to visit."

  I clicked through several entries quickly, my excitement growing. Yes. This was it. I was going to take care of myself. It was about fucking time.

  "That one's nice," Andy interjected, stabbing his index finger at the screen.

  I read the description. "It's twenty-five hundred dollars a month."

  "Fuck."

  "Yeah," I chewed on my cheek. "That's a bit out of my range seeing as I don't even have a job."

  "What're you gonna do about that?"

  "Waitress, I guess. For now. I've got a couple ideas."

  He smiled at me and I ducked my head. "Stop it. Don't be proud of me, I haven't done anything yet."

  "Yeah you have," he said softly. I blinked at him for a moment, until he grabbed my hand. "Wait, go back."

  "That one?"

  "Yeah, at least it has a tree."

  I read the description; small one bedroom in the basement of an older building off of Spring Garden. Not too far from J. I thought anxiously. "It'd be a stretch, but sure, I'll print it out." I could call this afternoon. The printer hummed busily as we quickly found five more potential rooms. Andy was looking happier and happier, and I bounced in my chair with glee.

  My mother's footfall on the stairs made us both freeze. I minimized the window, feeling suddenly guilty, but I pushed the feelings down. The printer hummed to a stop just as she nudged the door open.

  She stood in Andy's doorway, looking momentarily surprised to see us both in the room. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously before she broke out into a wide, manic smile. "Emilia, there are some people here to see you!"

  I looked up at Andy, who shrugged and went to his window. "Nice car," he whistled.

  Something inside of me shifted violently to the right. "Mom? Who is it?"

  Her manic smile stretched even wider. "Come downstairs honey!"

  I was frozen to the spot. "I don't want to."

  "Emilia Grace!" her smile vanished.

  "No mom, not until you tell me who it is."

  But the patrician drawl that floated up from the downstairs answered my question. I rose, feeling like I was moving underwater. The blood thudding in my ears drowned out all other sound. "Him? You brought him here?"r />
  I reached the landing and he turned. The dark growth of a new beard wasn't enough to hide the bruise that still bloomed outward from his jaw and up his cheek. I was glad to see that. Even though the rest of him was unchanged, I had still left my mark. I clung to that as he opened his arms wide. "Emilia! I've missed you!" Robert called up to me.

  I could only say his name. "Robert."

  Andy grunted, but it was drowned out by my mother's delighted squeal as my father shook Robert's hand.

  "See how much he loves you!" my mother laughed, gripping my forearm tightly. Her smile was curled up around her teeth, more of a snarl than anything close to happiness. Her eyes burned into me with a fierce hatred as she trilled, "I'm so happy to finally meet my new son-in-law!"

  Chapter Twenty Six

  J.

  Habit was the only reason he followed the pack. The numb hate spread through his body, adding to the physical pain that wracked him with every bump in the pavement. The joists on the Ben Franklin Bridge jarred him so violently that he was nearly knocked from his seat.

  "You okay?!" A Storm Rider mouthed noiselessly into the wind.

  J. gritted his teeth and nodded. The Storm Riders were coming back to the clubhouse to celebrate the peace. To drink their liquor and beer was more like it. J. could barely see through the red rage in his head, but the memory of Case's beating had him wary of opening his mouth again. He needed to watch himself with his best friend, for the first time in his life.

  Now that the negotiations were over, he couldn't help but notice two of the Storm Riders had been secretly packing.

  He didn't blame them. He would have brought a weapon too, if he had known what was coming.

  The old clubhouse looked unchanged. J. wanted there to be something different about it. It still was the same oddly beetle-shaped building it had always been. The change was in him, not the building. His hatred decided it. His heart was no longer here. These men who were his family had betrayed him for political gains. The man he called his best friend had beaten him as coldly and precisely as a robot.

  When they rolled up to the garage and cut the motors, J. was ready to roll out. The half-formed plan in his head revolved around nothing more than grabbing his toothbrush and a pair of underwear and heading out onto the road. Fuck these "brothers," fuck this building and fuck this city. There was nothing left for him to care about.

  The ringing of the old-fashioned office phone caught all of their attention. It was so loud that it came through the walls, forcing J. to pause and listen. It stopped, leaving an echoing silence, and then immediately started again.

  Teach frowned and walked across the cement floor. They watched him through the office door as he picked up the receiver slowly, as if he expected it to bite him. After a muffled cough he dispensed with the usual "Steel Cycles" and just croaked "What?"

  His puzzled frown as he listened deepened further as he held out the receiver to J. "It's for you."

  J. didn't want to talk to whoever was on the other end. He wanted to throw his cut to the floor and ride out with his middle fingers aloft. But something made him take the receiver. He was careful to avoid Teach's eyes.

  "Who is this?" Talking hurt, as did standing. He leaned against the counter, twisting himself into a position to avoid hurting his bruised ribs.

  The crackling on the line sounded like the caller was in the middle of a rainstorm. Or from underwater. "Is this Steel Cycles? Are you J.?"

  "Who wants to know?" J. asked suspiciously.

  The voice on the other end had sounded like a man's. But then it cracked like a little boy's when he said, "My name is Andrew Hawthorne. Emilia is my older sister."

  "Emmy?" J. stood up and shouted into the receiver. He felt like fireworks exploded in his head.. "Where is she, is she okay? Have you talked to her?"

  "She's here," the boy answered.

  "Where the fuck is 'here?'" J. shouted desperately.

  "Our parents' house. She came here last night. I picked her up from your clubhouse when she called me."

  J. let out a whoosh of breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Holding since yesterday when he saw she had gone. He leaned hard against the table, willing his knees not to go weak. The numbness rushed away and the feeling came rushing back into his body in a painful symphony of pins and needles.

  "Hello?" The boy sounded panicked.

  J. swallowed and found his voice. "So she's safe?" It was all he could hope for. If Emmy was safe, maybe he could go to her. Maybe he could start things over again. Focus on the only thing that mattered. Her.

  "Well," the boy hesitated. "Not really." J.'s heart beat faster as he listened, gripping the receiver tightly. "My mom is kind of psycho. She called that guy, you know, that asshole?"

  "Robert?" All the relief that J. had felt upon hearing where she was left in an instant.

  "Yeah, her old fiancé. The one that she says hurt her."

  "She doesn't just say that," J. spat.

  "I know, I believe her. But my mom doesn't. She's trying to force them to reconcile."

  "When?"

  "Like, right now. He's here. In the house. The four of them are talking in the living room and I heard them all pushing her to go back to Philadelphia with him."

  Ice flowed in J.'s veins. "What does she need?"

  "I think," Andy paused. "I think she needs you."

  "I can be there." J. launched himself to a stand, ignoring the spike of pain in his side. "How far away are you?"

  "Lehighton. Straight up 476. About an hour and a half if you go really fast like I do."

  "I'll be there in less, just tell me the address."

  He wrote down what Andy told him and was about to hang-up, when the boy stopped him. "Don't make me regret this. Take care of my sister."

  "I give you my word."

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  J.

  The rains came alongside the setting of the sun and J. was riding straight into them. Summer thunder rolled across the sky, louder than the rumble of his engines. If he had any sense, he would turn back and hunker down. Find a bridge and wait the storm out.

  There was no time for sense.

  Emmy's brother had given him the address; it was all he had to go on. He was already pulling on his leathers when Wayne the Storm Rider came limping up to him. His sallow, sneering face was puffed and swollen looking from his beating, but there was something in his eyes that made J. pause and not reflexively punch him out. It was something nearing respect.

  "Take a breath and figure out where you're going first," Wayne grunted, handing him a GPS unit. "Won't do your pretty little lady no good if you can't find her.".

  J. yanked it from his hands with a nod and a lump in his throat. Unable to say anything more, he peeled out of the garage as Case screamed something. He didn't wait to hear what it was.

  He hadn't wanted to accept what was clearly a peace offering. But now that he had it, J. looked down at it gratefully. Wiping the raindrops from its waterproof casing, he slipped it back into his pocket. Not far now.

  At the last minute he had grabbed the helmet. If he was going to be taking Emmy with him, he wanted her to be safe as she rode. But without anywhere to put it, he had to shove it on his own head. It squeezed his ears uncomfortably and made him feel like he couldn't get a full breath. His rapid, panicky heartbeat sent his blood thumping deafeningly through his ears.

  This was taking too long. He cranked his speed higher, heedlessly riding the yellow line to dart between two SUVs riding abreast. The blare of the horn disappeared rapidly behind him as he hurtled into the Lehigh Tunnel and a momentary respite from the driving rain. He used these precious moments to inch his speed even higher as the roar of his engines echoed off the tiled walls of the tunnel.

  It was the visit he had to make that had held him up. Screeching to a halt in front of the rowhome, he had pounded the screen door so hard it almost came off its hinges. He started bellowing for Randall before his sister could even finish unlat
ching the three deadbolts.

  "You say you'll do anything to make it up to me?"

  Randall had looked at his wild expression. J.'s shoulders were hunched around his ears, his breath shallow and ragged. He could see that it took all of Randall's bravery to look him in the eye and say, "Yes."

  "Keep her safe."

  He hoped it was enough. It wasn't the best plan; fuck it was hardly a plan at all. If he had had more time to think, maybe he could have come up with something more for Emmy. Something more deserving of her. Something that really demonstrated how much he really did love her.

  But he didn't have time. Her brother had said Robert was there, right now. She wouldn't be safe until he could get to her. Beyond that, he had no hopes. He wondered if she would even come with him. But he couldn't let himself think of that now.

  The rain was coming hard and fast, lashing at the windscreen of the stupid helmet. He yanked it off and was instantly pelted in the face with the driving rain that blew sideways. It was worse than being blind.

  Slow down, cried the voice in his brain, but his thumping heart wouldn't let him. He jammed the helmet back onto his head. The exit was ahead of him; he just had to keep the bike upright until then.

  Once he was off the Turnpike and onto the back roads, the rain fell gentler, dissipated by the trees that overhung the slippery road. The country up here was mountainous, and the road curved widely around a squat hill. Up ahead, a single yellow streetlamp lit the turn that the GPS indicated. He was almost there. Two more minutes.

  He gripped the handlebars tighter. His anxiety was enough that he could probably leap from the bike and run faster.

  He skidded slightly around the turn. Controlling the bike took his attention off the road for just a moment. Just long enough for the black car to come shooting out at him from where it lay in wait.

  In the last instant he saw the face at the wheel. It didn't make sense. What was the racist lobby guard doing up here in the woods, behind the wheel of a luxury car? He must be hallucinating. Or dreaming. The same way that he was dreaming about flying weightless through the air.