by K. J. Dahlen
No, it was a friggin’ motorcycle.
Mariah was livid. It had better not be Nelson Primeaux, the biker captain of the Robinson Street Bikers. Everyone, even if they didn’t know anything about bikers or gangs, knew the Robinsons were really a gang and not a biker association. Robinson Street was voted the next dangerous street in Baltimore, right after the street she was currently stuck on.
Nelson Primeaux was an avid fan of Mariah’s band, Gravel. Actually, he was more of a fan of Mariah – turned stalker. He was broadsided by the fact he would have to take no for an answer. Apparently, as the captain of a dangerous biker street gang, no was not part of his repertoire, unless he was the one saying it.
When Mariah had given Nelson no for an answer, stuff started happening. Her painstakingly-planted flowers in the front of her very modest row house in the poor part of Baltimore were dug up. She drove to work on what had been a full tank of gas and nearly ran out because she was empty; really on empty, like running on fumes. The gas station attendant had told her that someone had to have gotten underneath and drained the fuel, syphoned it somehow.
Stupid, bad boy biker Nelson had to be behind it all, and probably literally parked behind her now as well. Like a doofus, Mariah had forgotten to kill the lights. So, despite the locked doors and heavy steel of the crowbar now in her hands, she was a sitting duck. He could clearly see that someone was stranded.
She huddled more tightly anyway and scrunched her eyes closed. The sound of boots crunching toward her on the roadside gravel was followed by the tap of a ring against the side window.
“Hey,” a low, rumbling voice called out.
It was not Nelson. Now she kind of wished it was. At least with someone she knew, even though a disgruntled stalker type, she had a fifty-fifty chance of not being murdered. This guy could also be someone working for Nelson. Nelson was good for that. When he was barred from a place for being a pest, he liked to send his biker buddies in to give Mariah and her band grief while they performed.
“Hey,” the biker repeated; his voice low and sexy. “Are you okay? Your axle’s busted.”
Mariah didn’t move. It was a shame she really liked the sound of his voice, because this was not a good situation.
“Hello, lady? Hey, if you’re playing possum, I’m totally safe. If you don’t move, though, I’m calling an ambulance,” he said, the sound of a chuckle catching in his voice.
She spied at him through cracked lids. She watched as he lifted his visor. Nice face… damn. She was going to be killed by a good-looking biker with a great voice. Sexy-ass biker.
“Okay,” he said, “have it your way.”
She listened as he placed the call. Still could be a ruse. While he was distracted, she grabbed her phone.
While Sexy-ass Biker was calling for an ambulance, Mariah called the police.
“Hello,” she rasped into her cell phone. “My car’s broken down on Camden. You can’t miss me; I’m blocking the road… a black Passat, and I think my stalker’s outside my car. He’s driving a motorcycle. Please hurry.”
“I see you in there,” Sexy Biker said while he then finished his call. “Bring a tow truck. The car has a busted axle.”
The quiet night was rent with the screams of sirens rushing down the otherwise-empty highway to the scene.
“What the hell?” muttered Sexy Biker.
By this time, he had removed his helmet. Damn, he’s gorgeous. She sat up in her seat and peeked out the window at the drama unfolding before her: Cops exiting their car, with guns drawn.
“Hands in the air where we can see them!” one of the officers shouted, approaching her car.
Mariah finally got out of her car as well, her hands in the air
“I knew you were playing possum,” Sexy Biker accused.
“We got a report that this woman was being harassed by a stalker,” said one cop as he patted the biker down.
“I’ve never seen her before in my life. My name’s Cody Dallas,” he said, patiently letting the cop check him for weapons.
“Cody Dallas,” said the cop. “Want to try a real name?”
The cop removed Sexy Biker’s wallet from his back pocket.
“Fine. Matches your identification,” snapped the cop. “You can relax, but keep your hands where we can see them, and don’t make any quick movements.”
“Is this your stalker, ma’am?” asked the cop.
“No, but I think he works for the dipstick stalking me,” said Mariah as she eyed Cody with distrust, but also something else that seemed to suddenly wake her body and warm it from the inside.
“Hey! You’re the singer at Harry’s!” Cody raised his eyebrows in surprise.
Mariah made a face at the cop, like See?
“Thought you said you’ve never seen her before,” said the cop.
“I just came from Harry’s. I saw her car broken down and was just trying to help. I promise you that the last thing I want to do is stalk her,” he said, clearly annoyed. “In fact, if I never see her again that’s fine with me.”
“So you’re telling me you don’t know Nelson Primeaux,” said Mariah.
Cody stared at her, his arms crossed over his chest. “Of course I know of him. Every- freakin’-body does. Do I know him personally? No. Do I associate with him? Hell no!”
“So you’re not a Club boy?” the cop almost sounded like he was taunting Cody.
“Do I belong to a bike club that’s not a fuckin’ gang? Yes. I belong to the Dark Riders,” Cody huffed and ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. His eyes blazed and Mariah tried to catch if they were blue or something else in the darkness around them with only car lights to see. “I really was just stopping to help.” He turned his attention back to Mariah. “You’ve a broken axle. I could see it as I pulled up behind you. The lights in the car were on. I figured it had to happen within the last few minutes, ‘cause you still had juice. That’s it,” said Cody firmly.
He was telling the truth. She knew it. But hell, he was gorgeous, especially when agitated. She wanted to kiss him to make him feel better. Really? Now that’s what you’re thinking? “Hey,” she said softly, “I’m really sorry I took this all the wrong way. I appreciate your stopping.”
“Whatever,” he said, rolling his eyes.
He was still angry, but she could see he was cooling off.
“This isn’t exactly the best neighborhood. I’ve got a dumb-ass stalker.” She shrugged and offered an apologetic smile. “A girl’s gotta protect herself.”
“Wasn’t cool having guns pointed at my face. I get that you have a reason to be afraid,” he said, and then turned to the cop still standing by them. “Why the hell is it that you guys aren’t around this street when the real shit goes down, but you’re suddenly available when a Good Samaritan tries to help?”
The cop shrugged. “Your lucky day?” he laughed and then signaled to the tow truck pulling up. They watched as the big lug of a driver got out of the truck and began hooking up Mariah’s car. Cody sank to his haunches and started snapping pictures of the broken axle.
He and an officer were looking it over.
“Looks tampered with,” said Cody to the cop.
“I was thinking the same,” replied the cop.
“Can you give me a ride home?” Mariah asked the cop.
“Where do you live?” he asked her.
“I live over on Queen Anne,” she said.
“Ordinarily we would, but since the riots we have to do everything by the book,” he said. “We can call you a cab.”
Cody rolled his eyes again and lightly stomped the ground. “Can you ride on the back of the bike?”
“It’s only a few minutes from here,” said Mariah. “I can pay you.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t want your money,” he said, as though she’d insulted him.
“I really am sorry about calling the cops,” she sighed. “I’m not full of myself. Honest. Nelson Primeaux really does bother m
e. A girl’s gotta protect herself somehow.”
“It’s fine,” he said and waved his hand. “No worries. Better get what you need out of your car; it’s about to go bye-bye.”
But it was too late. The tow truck was already pulling out.
“My purse! Damn it!” she shouted.
“Quick! Put this on and go get him. I think I know where he’s going.” Cody handed her a helmet.
“I don’t need a helmet,” she said waving it away.
“I should beat you,” he said facetiously, “for arguing with me right now. Put it on.”
Mariah put the helmet on and stood cooperatively while he adjusted it. He mounted his bike and she climbed on right behind him. Her cocktail dress hiked up vulnerably high. Cody looked over his shoulder at her black-stockinged legs gripping his thighs. He had to touch her to position her safely. She didn’t mind.
His bike roared to life and he pulled back out onto the road, leaving the police behind. Cody’s body heat and the rumble beneath her weren’t unpleasant. Instantly, Mariah was turned on. The hum of the bike, the adrenaline of the moment, not to mention the beautiful man chasing down her car. . . Mariah couldn’t believe she was on some stranger’s bike in the wee hours of the morning.
It didn’t take long before Cody caught up the tow truck driver. He shadowed him the quick drive to the tow yard.
“Hey,” said Cody to the driver as soon as he parked. “We forgot her stuff. We’ll just be a sec.”
Mariah had to dismount so Cody could load his side bags with her stuff. As she watched him, this stranger who didn’t know her from Eve, taking care of all the details, she realized that the short ride on the back of his bike was the most fun she had had in a long time.
“Thank you,” she said with a shiver.
It was late June so it didn’t make sense she was cold, except that she was long overdue for bed. And when she as exhausted, she tended to have a tough time staying warm.
Cody removed his bomber jacket, revealing a powerful upper body. He wore a black T-shirt with the sleeves torn off. His extraordinarily ripped guns were beautifully showcased. Mariah estimated his biceps were nearly as big around as her waist.
“No, that’s okay,” she said, refusing the jacket. She eyed his arms appreciatively. She joked, “What do you do? Eat dumbbells for breakfast?”
“I wouldn’t call you a dumbbell,” he replied and winked.
Damn, he was sexy.
He insisted on her wearing his coat. He gently took hold of her arm, turned her around, and slipped the jacket on her. It was heavy and had a wonderful smell that was a blend of sweet leather and musk, like him.
“Better?” he asked gently.
“Much,” she said, soaking in the coat’s comfort. She shivered, but not from cold. “I want to go to bed right now.”
Mariah caught Cody’s gaze. He was studying her. His expression didn’t alter at her suggestive choice of words, even though they were an accident. She suddenly meant them the way that they’d sounded.
“Let’s get you home,” he said softly.
“Okay,” she said.
“What do you know? She didn’t argue this time.” He smiled.
2
Mariah was bummed when Cody dropped her off and left. No kiss, no exchanging of phone numbers. Nothing. Not that she should have expected it. Over the next few days, she was even more bummed to learn that the repairs on her car were more than a simple fix. The cop and Cody had called it: It had been tampered with. Now the police were trying to sort it out, and the car had to sit while it was examined by the authorities.
Her roadside service towed the car to the mechanic’s on the house since they hadn’t picked up when she called. She was spared that cost. But she had to get herself another set of wheels for sure. Since her bandmates lived at the other end of Baltimore, for the time being, Mariah would have to settle with cab rides. Expensive but doable.
A week passed since that hellish, but strangely brilliant, night when she was rescued by Cody Dallas. Her knight on chrome armor, she’d dubbed him. It was a drag she would never see him again. Well, she saw him again in her mind as often as she could. And in bed, which turned out to be a lot.
She was pretty sure she lost some of the costume jewelry she wore on stage in one of his bags.
It was dumb, but suddenly all she could think of was that she needed that jewelry back. It made the perfect excuse to see him again. But it wasn’t like she was going to search the Net for ‘Cody’ and get his number.
She had a gig at Carl’s Little Big House for the evening. She and her band played there all the time. It was a notorious biker hangout. In fact, most of the places – Harry’s included – were the biker hot spots. She wondered how she had never seen Cody before.
That night, Mariah dressed for the gig like she might see him. She put on a cowling, silver-threaded spandex that looked almost liquid. The dress hugged her where it needed to and it spilled and revealed in all the right places. She rolled her layered hair and gave herself almost a ‘70s look.
She threw on her leather jacket; not because she expected to be chilled in the balmy June heat but because it reminded her of Cody. It turned her on pretending she was dressing for him. She would have to lose the jacket later, or just carry it around. It’d be too heavy in the bar and she couldn’t wear it on stage.
The bikes in the parking lot of Carl’s also brought Cody to mind. In fact, she mused, the man just really never left her head. She might just have to start stalking him. She laughed and tried to push him from her mind and focus on the gig.
Mariah and the guys in the band were in the middle of a sound check, her back to what would eventually be the audience, when she was jerked from the bandstand.
“What the fu—?” she began, but fear shut her up.
Nelson Primeaux, the wrong damn biker who wouldn’t leave her alone, stared her down, his features beady with rage. He was easily six feet tall and then some, and in pretty good shape. Her base player once joked he was built like a longshoreman. The damn idiot wouldn’t leave her alone; even when she screamed at him at the top of her lungs, many times, to go away.
“Damn it!” she cursed. “Leave me alone. Get it? What part of ‘restraining order’ do you not understand? Leave me alone! I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“How the fuck is it okay for you to go joy-riding on the back of some other guy’s bike?” he hissed. “So all that ‘I don’t date’ shit was total bullshit!”
“Am I not explaining myself to you? I don’t date you. Now go away,” she demanded. “I’ve got a gig to set up.”
Mariah’s drummer, Lenny, called for help, using the microphone, “Hey, Beale, can you call the cops? This asshole is bothering Mariah again,” he said.
Nelson shoved passed Mariah and lunged for Lenny. Mariah teetered to the side and Lenny fell back into the drums. The base player was hemmed in, unable to help, though he started whacking Nelson with his drumsticks. Mariah finally lost her balance completely, her vision blocked by the mess of her own hair in her eyes and a curtain ripping and tumbling down on top of her.
So she couldn’t see when Nelson was plucked off of Lenny, and who did the plucking. She cleared herself from the tangling mess of cloth and then her hair from her face, to see Cody Dallas and a friend of his restrain Nelson and help Lenny up.
“Mariah,” said Lenny breathlessly.
Poor Lenny looked like an injured animal. He and the band often felt dwarfed by the mega-bikers. He shook his arms and circled his wrists. “I feel like a fuckin’ wuss,” Lenny declared. “But my fuckin’ arms are okay. I can play. My ass bone is killin’ me.” He shook his head and glared at Nelson. “I’ll fuckin’ break your neck with my drumsticks, asshole.”
“Don’t sweat it,” said Cody as he watched Lenny get up, and then shot Nelson a pissed off glare. “Took two of us. This is my buddy, Andy. And for what it’s worth, we can’t play guitar.”
But Lenny had lost it. Month
s and months of Nelson’s harassment had taken its toll and let loose. “Asshole!” he shouted to Nelson. “Leave her the fuck alone!”
Lenny drew back his leg and landed Nelson with a pretty powerful sidekick. Despite having his arms held behind his back by Cody, Nelson fell straight to the floor on his butt.
“That’s your ass,” Nelson hissed. “Music boy had a little after-school karate? I’m going to break that leg and feed it to my dogs.” He laughed wickedly.
Cody slapped Nelson upside the head and leaned over him, grabbing him roughly by his shirt. “Knock it off,” Cody said casually.
“You wanna go a couple rounds, punk?”
“Nah, it ain’t worth my time.” His smile turned into a snarl. “Seeing as how I’m the guy who drove the lovely Mariah home.”
Nelson struggled to get his fist out to land something on Cody. Because of the size and strength of Cody’s arms, he had no problem holding Nelson down until the police arrived. Nelson was furious, but must have known better than to try and throw any sucker-punches Cody’s way. The cops took the band’s statements as one of them verified the restraining order Mariah had against Nelson. They cuffed the fuming Nelson and dragged him away to a waiting cop car.
“That’s an amazing coincidence,” said Mariah to Cody, unable to stop staring at his handsome face, the straight line of his jaw with just the perfect amount of stubble and his bright green eyes. How had she missed the green and hazel coloring? “That’s twice you’ve shown up when I needed you.” She reached for his shirt and pulled the collar down slightly, unable to miss the strong expansive of tight muscle. “You sure you’re not wearing a Superman outfit under there?”
“I promise you, on my honor as a Dark Rider, I’m not Superman. Nor am I stalking you,” Cody teased. “These must have fallen out of your stuff into my bag.”
He pulled a small bag out of his back pocket. It was Mariah’s stage jewelry.
“Thanks! I didn’t realize I’d been missing it,” she pretended and hated the fact she now didn’t have an excuse to see him again.
