Midnight Obsession: A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance Part 4

by Olivia Thorne

  “I’ll beat it out of him, then.”

  “Yeah, that’ll hold up real good in court.”

  “But we have pictures of Lou there,” Jack insisted. “Lou owns the fucking property.”

  “Maybe, but they still only get Lou and maybe those other assholes from last night. This Fordham guy obviously wants everybody and his uncle, not just a couple of loser bikers.”

  “So what do we do?” I asked.

  “We gotta flush Lou out. Force him to make a mistake he can’t come back from.”

  “And how are we going to do that?”

  “If I knew that, I’d’a been a little more specific the first time around.”

  We sat there in silence, thinking.

  I turned to Jack in frustration. “Is there somebody in the club you could go to?”

  He shook his head. “The ones who would normally help me are too scared of Lou.”

  “Can’t you warn them about what’s going to happen if they don’t help you?”

  Jack and Sid both looked at me.

  “That DEA prick was right,” Sid said. “You really do like racking up the jail time, don’t you?”

  “I meant in general terms,” I snapped. “Like ‘a storm’s coming,’ or something.”

  “What are you, a movie preview?” Sid asked, then did a lame impression of a Hollywood voiceover guy. “‘A storm’s coming, and it’s spelled D, E, A.’”

  “It would be too dangerous,” Jack said. “Besides Kade, I have no idea who I can really trust – and it only takes one guy to rat me out to Lou.”

  “Huh… maybe we should tell him,” I mused.

  “What, that a ‘storm’s comin’?” Sid snorted.

  “NOT ABOUT THE DEA. Jesus. No, we get somebody to warn him that we’re going to make a play. Maybe lure him into a trap.”

  “What kinda trap?” Sid asked.

  “If I knew that, I’d have been a little more specific the first time around.”

  “Smartass,” Sid grumbled.

  Jack was staring out into the distance. “I think I know somebody.”

  “Can you trust them?”

  “To act in her own self-interest, yeah.”

  I frowned. “…her?”

  Jack grimaced. “My ex-wife.”

  58

  I stared at Jack. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope.”

  Sid shook his head. “If it’s a choice between a guy shootin’ my balls off and gettin’ one of my ex-wives involved, I’d just say goodbye to my nuts.”

  “‘One of’?” I asked. “I didn’t know you were married more than once, Sid.”

  “That’s cuz I like forgettin’ my nightmares, not relivin’ ‘em.”

  “It’s not like that,” Jack said. “We’re still on fairly good terms. Sort of.”

  “Then why would Lou trust her?”

  “She and Lou are still on good terms, too. He’d believe her if she sold it right.”

  “If they’re on such good turns, then what makes you think she’d screw Lou over and help you?”

  “If Sloane could make a shitload of money and get more power, she’d screw over her own grandmother. Actually, she probably learned that from her grandmother.”

  “What’s this broad’s story?” Sid asked.

  “After we divorced, she hooked up with Tyler Surrey, the president of the Steel Bastards, a biker gang out of Phoenix. Sloane never approved of my plan to go legit with the club – she liked the money too much. Tyler doesn’t have any problem being a criminal.”

  “I’m not seein’ where the shitload of money and power comes in,” Sid said.

  “With Lou and the Santa Muertes out of the way, the Bastards could expand their territory. A lot,” Jack explained.

  “That’s what you’re going to convince her with?” I asked. “A drug deal?”

  “A territory deal. A business deal.”

  “Wow, you’re right, calling it something else makes it so much better,” I said sarcastically.

  “The only way she’s going to help us is if it benefits her,” Jack snapped. “Not because we had such a great fucking marriage.”

  “Why not just go straight to this Tyler feller?” Sid asked.

  “Because before Sloane got a hold of him, Tyler’s biggest claim to fame was pushing weed in Sedona, and he wasn’t very good at that. Now he runs most of the meth and coke in Arizona.”

  “Ahhh. So the broad’s a regular Hillary Clinton type, huh,” Sid said knowingly.

  “Sid,” I said sharply.

  “Jesus, what?”

  “How about, ‘behind every great man is a great woman’?”

  “Howsabout ‘behind every fuckin’ scumbag drug dealer is a real bitch’?”

  I thought for a second. “Normally I would be mad, but… this time it’s probably accurate.”

  “It’s accurate, all right,” Jack agreed.

  “You don’t seem to like her too much,” I said.

  Jack gave me an amused look.

  “She’s his ex-wife,” Sid snapped. “Pay attention.”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea, then?” I asked.

  “No, but she’s the one person who could get close to Lou without him suspecting right away that I’m trying to manipulate him.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “If you’ve got any better ideas, I’m all ears.”

  I didn’t.

  So of course he called Sloane.

  59

  I could only hear Jack’s half of the conversation, and it went something like this:

  “Sloane.”

  “Not bad.”

  “Oh, you heard about that, huh.”

  “Yeah, well… I’m surviving.”

  “Well, you were right about that – he is a son of a bitch.”

  “Speaking of which, I have a… proposition for you.”

  “I’d prefer to talk in person.”

  “Alright… yeah, I remember. See you there about 6, 6:30?”

  “Alright. You too.”

  Then he hung up.

  “…well?” I asked.

  “We’re meeting her at a little motel outside of Joshua Tree, halfway between here and Phoenix. Should take us about four hours to drive there.”

  “What do you remember about it?” I asked suspiciously. In my mind, I pictured a honeymoon suite.

  “She mentioned a deal we did there, back in the day,” Jack said. “Back when we were first married and the Midnight Riders were still running guns.”

  “Oh,” I said, relieved – and not sure why. Gun-running was way worse than honeymoon suites.

  …right?

  “Okey-dokey, have fun, kids,” Sid said as he opened the back door.

  “Wait – aren’t you going?” I asked.

  “Hell no.”

  “Why not?!”

  “I prefer to remain the secret weapon. If it goes sideways with this broad, at least she can’t tell Lou I’m workin’ with you. Not to mention I got shit to do.”

  “Alright,” Jack agreed.

  “He just doesn’t want to drive four hours there and four hours back,” I said.

  “That, too,” Sid said, right before he slammed the door and walked off.

  Which left me and Jack sitting uncomfortably alone.

  “I can handle this alone, if you want,” Jack said.

  “No, I’ll go.”

  “Seriously, I got this.”

  I narrowed my eyes as I turned to look towards him. “Why? Don’t you want me to go?”

  He acted all nonchalant as he said, “I don’t care. You can go or not go. Your choice.”

  “You don’t want me to go,” I said, realizing the truth.

  That annoyed him. “I don’t give a shit either way.”

  “Now I’m definitely going.”

  “Look – you were really pissy about this being a ‘drug deal’ – ”

  “I was just surprised, seeing how often you like to talk about going legit and d
oing the right thing. ‘Talk’ being the operative word,” I said snarkily.

  He glared at me. “You go in with an attitude like that, you’re going to fuck this up.”

  “I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Yeah. I wonder sometimes,” he said angrily, then got out of the car and headed towards his bike.

  I rolled down the window and yelled, “Hey! What about the address?”

  “Just follow me,” he said as he got on his bike.

  “What if we get separated?”

  “Don’t get separated,” he said coldly as he cranked the Harley’s engine and roared out of the parking lot.

  60

  We stopped long enough to grab some McDonalds and gas outside of LA. We didn’t say a word to each other the entire time. Then we drove straight to the motel.

  Once we got closer to Joshua Tree, the scenery turned surreal. The strange rock formations and bizarre, bendy trees are always a sight to see.

  The meeting place was a little single-level lodge out in the middle of Buttfuck Egypt. Maybe a dozen rooms all told, a real-life Bates Motel. Gave me the creeps.

  When we pulled in the parking lot, the entire place was deserted – except for three Harleys in front of the last room on the strip. Two of the Harleys were standard-issue black and chrome, but the one in the middle… whoa. Tons of pink curlicues and whirls. There was a silhouette of a woman stenciled on the gas tank – one of those really busty ones you see on truckers’ mud flaps. But this one had a spiked baseball bat over her shoulder.

  ‘Pussy Power’ was written next to the mudflap girl in very feminine, flowery script.

  “Okaaaay,” I murmured to myself as I parked my car.

  Jack was standing by his bike as I got out, a look of weary resignation on his face.

  I looked at the pink Harley again. “Your ex has… interesting taste.”

  “Mm,” was all he said.

  “Is this going to be dangerous?” I asked, tucking my .38 into the back waistband of my jeans.

  “No. Not the way you’re thinking.”

  “What way am I thinking?”

  “Look… just remember one thing when we go in there: I’m a different person from who I was four years ago. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said with a frown.

  “Alright, then, let’s get this over with,” he muttered as he walked over to the motel room and knocked.

  “That you, Jack?” drawled a woman’s voice, sexy and Southern.

  “Yeah. By the way, I got somebody with me.”

  “Somebody nice?”

  “Nice enough.”

  “Well come on in,” the woman said. “But do it real slow, since you’re gonna have a couple shotguns on you.”

  61

  The first two things that come to mind when describing Sloane are ‘big hair’ and ‘huge fake boobs.’

  ‘Brassy’ would probably be a third.

  She was an incredibly beautiful woman, in a trashy kind of way. Her grey eyes were mesmerizing – those witchy irises where they’re lighter near the pupil, edging darker and darker towards the whites. Plenty of smoky eyeshadow. She had high cheekbones and sensual lips painted Fuck me red. Her hair was two-toned – auburn in the back with blonde bangs in the front. Full sleeves of tats with bright, flashy colors. They were easy to see, thanks to her sleeveless, metal-studded leather jacket and a t-shirt that barely contained the cantaloupe-sized mounds on her chest. She also wore black leather pants, black leather stiletto boots buckled up to her knees, and a shit-ton of gaudy chrome rings and necklaces. Her long nails were blood red with a single rhinestone embedded in each tip.

  It shouldn’t have worked, but it did. She looked like a young Angie Everhart – although she talked more like Mae West by way of an Alabama truck stop.

  I hate to admit it, but I was a little jealous – and I didn’t know why. I basically hated Jack now, so why the fuck did I care what his ex looked like?

  Didn’t matter – I still felt insecurity gnawing at my guts. To make myself feel better, I focused on the cheaper, floozier-looking aspects of her appearance. Like the hair. And the tats. And the nails. And the overdone makeup. And the gigantic fake boobs.

  Hell, pretty much all of it.

  She was sitting in a plaid recliner at the other end of the motel room like a queen on her throne. And like any queen, she had two knights flanking her, one on either side – except these dudes looked like refugees from a ZZ Top cover band. And they were pointing sawed-off shotguns right at us.

  Jack didn’t seem fazed at all. “Sloane.”

  “Hello, loverboy,” she said mockingly – but also with a flirtatious wink.

  That ‘loverboy’ part really pissed me off.

  And the wink.

  Actually, everything about her infuriated me.

  Was I that jealous over a man I hated now?

  Apparently.

  FUCK.

  “You got some work done,” Jack remarked.

  “You like?” She glanced down at her chest. “Tyler was buyin’, and he likes ‘em big. Which is kind of ironic, considering…”

  She held up her pinky and made a meh sort of face.

  Jack glanced at the two guys with shotguns. “I find that hard to believe,” he said diplomatically.

  Sloane flipped her hand like a Southern girl gossiping at a beauty parlor. “Oh, honey, I’m with Tyler ‘cause he’s trainable, not for the dick. I gotta get that somewhere else.”

  Jack glanced at the two guys with shotguns again – this time a little more nervously. “Uh… do you really want to be talking about this in front of…?”

  “Pigpen and Zed work for me. They know which side their bread is buttered on. Speakin’ of sidekicks, how’s Kade doin’?”

  “Fine.”

  “Didn’t ever wise up enough to leave your ass, huh?”

  Jack jerked his head towards ‘Pigpen’ and ‘Zed.’ “You might not want to give them any ideas.”

  “Honey, the difference is, it’d be smart for Kade to ditch you, and it’d be goddamn idiotic for them to cross me. But enough about who I brought with me – who did you bring with you?” she cooed, taking a long look at me from head to toe.

  I swear, she didn’t just undress me with her eyes. She had me tied up and bent over the bed, too.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. It was creepy… and sort of hot, in a weird way. Whatever else, this chick was a sexual powerhouse. You could feel it radiating off of her in waves.

  Which, knowing she used to be married to Jack, upset me even more.

  “Sloane, Fiona. Fiona, Sloane,” Jack said.

  “Mmmm… helloooo, Fiona. Damn, Jack, you always did have good taste. I mean, Exhibit A,” she said, and swept her hand in front of her own body, Vanna-White-style.

  “Yeah,” Jack said with a tight smile, like he was biting his tongue.

  Sloane’s eyes returned to mine. “If you’re the one sharing Jack’s bed these days, all I can say is… lucky girl.”

  “I’m not,” I said tartly.

  “Oh. Well… more for me, then,” she said with a wicked smile, and dropped her gaze to Jack’s crotch.

  Fucking BITCH –

  “We came here for business,” I snapped.

  She opened her eyes wide in mock surprise, like Aren’t YOU Miss Sassy. “Well then, let’s get down to business.”

  Jack glanced at me in irritation – Be COOL – then eyed the ZZ Top dudes again. “I’d prefer we do it in private.”

  “Mmmmmmm,” Sloane purred, biting on one of her fingers seductively.

  Jack smiled darkly. “Not quite.”

  “Are you sending Miss Fiona packin’, too?”

  “No,” I said.

  “She’s staying,” Jack confirmed.

  “So it’s going to be a threesome?” Sloane teased.

  “Not quite,” I growled.

  “Well, then, you won’t mind if I use a little insurance so you won’t both have your way with me,” s
he said as she pulled a pistol out from between the cushions of the recliner. “Put your guns on the bed – slowly. And far enough away that I don’t have to worry about you gettin’ an itchy trigger finger.”

  Jack complied. I grumbled, but tossed my .38 on the bed near the pillows.

  “Much obliged. Pigpen and Zed, you boys can take off. Why don’t you head back to that Dairy Queen off the interstate and get me a Blizzard.” She winked at me. “A girl likes to cheat every once in a while.”

  The two thugs hid their shotguns in their leather vests and strolled past us out of the room. We waited until we heard the explosive brm-Brm-BRRRRM of their Harleys roaring out of the parking lot.

  Sloane smiled. “So… what have you got for me, Jackie boy?”

  62

  “Well,” Jack said, “you obviously heard about Lou.”

  “Yeah, I’m real sorry about that, hon,” Sloane drawled. “I don’t want to say I told you so, but… aw, fuck it, yeah I do: I told you so.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Jack grumbled.

  Sloane turned to me. “I told Jack from the time he got elected president, ‘If you want to go changin’ shit up in the MC, you better make sure Lou Shaw gets fitted for a pair of concrete shoes, or that sum’bitch is likely to come back and bite you in the ass.’ Which he did,” she said, looking at Jack accusingly.

  “Moving on,” Jack said.

  “Moving on to what?”

  “I want the Midnight Riders back.”

  “Well I want the Hope Diamond, darlin’, but I don’t see it droppin’ out of the sky any time soon, ‘less God decides he wants the best blow job ever.” Sloane turned back to me. “That reminds me of a joke I heard. What’s white ‘n creamy ‘n drips from the sky?”

  She didn’t even pause long enough for me answer.

  “The Comin’ of the Lord,” she said. “What’s white ‘n creamy ‘n drips from the sky, but not as much? The Second Comin’.”

  Then she gave a combination giggle/cackle, and shook her head. “Oh Lord, I loooove that joke.”

  I couldn’t decide if she was insanely sexual, or just insane. Probably both.