BikersLibrarian

by Shyla Colt

  “I was out of line. I knew it then, but I couldn’t force myself to admit it out loud.” She swallowed, keeping her face pressed against his chest. “It was too much too soon. I felt like I couldn’t afford to lose any more ground.”

  “More ground to who? I’m not your enemy.”

  “I know that, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. You didn’t deserve my misdirected anger. I’m sorry.”

  “You know sorry won’t always fix everything, right?”

  “I do, and I’m working on it, I swear I am. But I know you’re still holding back too.”

  “Fair enough. Apology accepted, baby.” She inhaled his scent, holding tight to the safety he provided her like a child with its wubby. “Now, how about that surprise before we let pencil dick ruin the rest of our night?”

  She smirked. Leave it him to make light of the situation. “I’d like that.” He took her bags from her and placed them into the saddlebag and she climbed on behind him. Arms wrapped around his waist, she wondered what he was up to, when they pulled onto her street and into her driveway.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “You’ll see.” He helped her get off the bike and they made their way into the house.

  “Oh my god! What did you do?” Her house was pristine. The clean, crisp scent of cleaning products and sunshine tickled her nose. She stepped in the house and spun in a circle, taking it all in. There were replacement things here and there but all fit her tastes.

  “How?”

  “Prospects…and the girls, Evonne and Hil picked replacement items while Joey kept you company this weekend.”

  “I knew those two were up to something when they left early.” A profound surge of gratitude swept through her. “Thank you.”

  “It was the least I could do. Fucker should’ve never gotten to you in the first place.” His jaw turned to granite and she caressed it with the backs of her fingers.

  “You’re not god—you don’t control everything.”

  “No, but I take care of my own. He’s fucking with that. Which means he’s toying with my manhood. Only person allowed to do that is you.” She smiled. His tiny turn of phrases were poetry to her ears. Every admission made her feel closer to him. “Come on, baby. Let’s check out your new pad.”

  After putting the inevitable off for thirty minutes, they retreated to her couch with beer, wine and pizza.

  “Wait, are you trying to tell me that pussy had underlings?” Shooter asked.

  She shook her head. “Best I can tell, he’s referring to his fellow club owners. I have no clue who they actually are. He was a man with a lot of friends, and he kept me out of the loop. Probably because I would have run off screaming if I knew what he had in mind for me. Their threats scare the shit out of me, because unlike most people they can back them up. I saw the extent of Peter’s power back then. I can only imagine it’s grown by leaps and bounds.”

  “What kind of things did you see?”

  “Traffic tickets dismissed and wiped from the system, competition bowing out when it wasn’t in their nature. I thought back then they were intimidated by him and figured they were going to lose. Now? Who knows what the hell he did to the poor people.”

  “Well he’s about to be dethroned and put out of commission.”

  “Shooter, you should take him seriously.”

  “Trust me, I am.” His voice lowered and filled with gravel and grit. The unflappable front he put up masked his true feelings. The closed expression frozen on his face scared her. This was the Shooter a person feared meeting in a dark alley.

  “What do we do next?”

  The muscles in his neck corded and he turned to her. “I think it’s best if I don’t tell you that. I do have some questions. What do you think means the most to him?”

  “Control followed closely by his image, wealth and power.” She frowned.

  “What?” Shooter took her hand.

  “He doesn’t understand no. He walks away. Not the other way around. That’s really what this is about now.”

  “You don’t think he’ll stop, do you? Be honest.”

  “No,” she whispered. “I don’t.”

  He nodded. “I’m worried about that, but right now it’s speculation. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it when it comes.”

  * * * * *

  Shooter pulled the t-shirt over his head and placed a hand on Juliette’s bare back. He shook her gently.

  “Baby, I’m headed out. Hawk’s going to camp out here while I take care of a few things.”

  “Mm-kay.”

  “I’ll be there to get you after work tomorrow. Hawk will drop you off in the morning.”

  “Mmhmm.” Her eyelids fluttered open and he leaned down to deliver a kiss. Putting his game face on, he grabbed his cut off the chair and shrugged it on as he walked into the living room. He answered the door when Hawk knocked a few minutes later.

  “Hey, man, thanks for coming by.”

  “No problem.”

  “Juliette’s passed out. I want you to keep a close eye on her and make sure the prospects post themselves in the coffee shop across from the library. Anyone even halfway suspicious enters the place and I want them there.”

  “You got it.”

  “Good, now keep your charm to yourself and keep my old lady safe.”

  “I can only promise one of those things.” Hawk grinned rakishly and Shooter scowled.

  “Better make it two, pretty boy.” Clapping his shoulder, he moved past him out of the house. He’d arranged a meeting with Specs and Gadget at the club. Tonight they’d show Stant he wasn’t the only one with power.

  * * * * *

  “Tell me what you got. I want this fucker shitting himself when the morning comes.” Shooter slammed the meeting room door behind him, walked over to the table, and sank into the seat beside Moose.

  “We have a neatly bundled list of clients who will not want to be identified, services rendered and questionable shipments. A lot of people have been paid to look the other way. We put out some feelers. Turns out they tried to talk the Crazy Eights into a deal not too long ago.”

  “What, they want to branch out?” Shooter asked, scowling.

  “It looks like it. They stand to make a lot of money. If they take over the strip clubs they’d dominate,” Gadget said.

  “They’ll move in on our territory over our dead bodies,” Shooter said.

  “They must realize it. I think that’s why they were doing it slowly, claiming one club at a time and trying to make nice with the M.C.s. The Crazy Eights hate flesh peddlers so they turned them down flat. A lot of others aren’t so particular as long as you’re paying green,” Specs said.

  “This problem is a lot bigger than I ever anticipated.” Shooter shook his head. “We need to keep Prez in the loop on this one.”

  “Done. How do you want to handle this?” Specs asked.

  “We send Stant the information, let him know if he doesn’t back off that’ll be in an email to every prominent paper by the end of the night.”

  Moose frowned. “What the hell is that going to do?”

  “Push him over the edge.” Shooter smirked. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. This can only end with him in jail or six-feet deep.”

  “You got a preference? Cause one is really easy to accomplish without all this,” Moose said.

  “I want that bitch’s tower to crumble. I owe Juliette his destruction.”

  “Nothing says I love you like the ruin of an ex,” Moose muttered.

  “In this case, yes.” Shooter inclined his head.

  “Shit. You didn’t deny it.” Gadget pointed toward him.

  “What?” Shooter frowned.

  “That you love her.” Specs stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

  “I never said I didn’t. Keep it to yourself for now. I haven’t gotten a chance to tell her. Kind of hard when the bottom keeps falling out from beneath us.�
� He shifted in his chair, glancing down. “Let’s just stay focused. Specs, Gadget, dump the stick on his front porch and send out the emails. I want him to sweat it out, try to make amends and realize in the morning how fucked he is.”

  “You think this will bring him down?” Moose said.

  “I think it’ll send him scrambling to do damage control and he’ll do the rest. He’s not used to riding bitch. It’ll make him sloppy and paranoid,” Shooter said.

  The skeptical looks on their faces made him smirk.

  “I know how to play fuck-fuck games. Special ops here,” Shooter said.

  “Oooh, pulling out the big guns, eh?” Moose smirked.

  “Fuck you guys. Come on, let’s get this shit done.” Pushing away from the table, Shooter stood.

  “What are you going to be doing?” Moose asked.

  “Hopefully my old lady.” Shooter winked and made his way back out of the club.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “West Chester Library, Juliette speaking, how may I help you?”

  “Honey, have you seen the news yet?” Evonne asked.

  Juliette frowned. “No. What’s happened now?”

  “Pull up the net and search under Peter’s name.”

  Her hands shook. It took a couple of clumsy attempts with the keyboard to get things typed in properly. The headlines that greeted her made her gasp. Hidden harassment charges brought to light. Peter Stant, predator or powerhouse?

  “Oh my god.” Pictures of Peter with a hand over his face were splattered across the screen.

  “Yeah. Keep reading.”

  More than three victims have been identified, and more are anticipated to be unearthed in what is rumored to be a trail on human trafficking.

  “His lawyers are scrambling to do damage control now, I’m sure. I doubt he’ll have time for recreational activities anytime soon.”

  “I hope you’re right, E. I really do.” She shook her head. Had Shooter made this happen? How?

  “If this is your man’s handiwork, all I can say is I do not want to be on his bad side.”

  “Yeah, me either,” she whispered.

  “I have to leave the house to meet a client. But I wanted to make sure you saw this.”

  “Thanks, E.”

  “Of course. Love you, girl.”

  “Love you too.” Disconnecting, she breathed easier. Peter had his hands full. Between his lawyers and appeasing his parents, she’d at least have a reprieve. Maybe knowing he could be brought down a peg would dissuade him permanently? She couldn’t pretend to know how his warped brain thought. But right then she felt pretty damned good. Smiling for what felt like the first time in years, she resumed her job without fear. Clocking out around two, she headed outside to wait for Shooter. The day was beautiful and she felt like celebrating. The library doors opened and the wind caressed her face, blowing her hair back. Laughing as the strands tickled her neck, she walked toward her favorite bench beneath a tree.

  “You fucking bitch.” The sadistic voice from her nightmares sounded too close. I know that voice all too well. She glanced up and froze. Peter’s perfect hair stuck out every which way, and his face was twisted with rage.

  “I know this is your fault. You think you’re safe now? That I’m going to back off? We will make your life hell. I can’t believe you have the nerve to try to defy me. Do you remember what happens when you do that?” She backed up, glancing around for a safe place to be. Her back hit a car and he caged her in, placing an arm on either side of her body. He pressed his lean form against hers. His breath caressed her ears. She launched away and he laughed. Grabbing her hands he twisted them behind her back. Tears sprang up in her eyes. To anyone else they looked like a couple roughhousing.

  “You’re going to wish you never did this, Juliette.” The whispered words scared her more than the yelling had. The iron band around her wrists tightened. “I was going to let you be my special girl. But now I’ll sell you off to the highest bidder. Once I break you in nice and good you’ll turn a pretty profit. So pretty and innocent with those big brown eyes and lips made for sucking.” He moaned. “You have a mouth like a Hoover. That sort of talent is far too good to waste on the likes of your new man. You really did scrape the bottom of the barrel with him, didn’t you?”

  “He’s more man than you’ll ever manage to be.”

  “Oh, has my kitten found her claws?” He laughed “How adorable.” He leaned in and she turned her head. His lips pressed against her cheek. “Please do fight. It always makes everything so much sweeter.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Oh you will, don’t worry. We’ll spend lots of quality time together soon.”

  A motorcycle sounded in the distance. “That’s my cue, sweet girl. I’m not ready to face your bikers head-on. But know it’s only a matter of time until they go down in flames.”

  He released his hold, spun on his heels and jogged away, never sparing her another glance. The blood rushed back into her wrists and her knees threatened to give. She slumped against the car. How did this happen in broad daylight? A few moments later a tiny black sports car burned rubber out of the parking lot.

  The rumble of a motorcycle filled her ears and Shooter rounded the corner. Their gazes met and he pulled up in front of her.

  “What happened?” he barked.

  “Peter happened. The look in his eyes.” She wrapped her hands around her waist. “He wants my head on a pike.”

  “Fuck him,” Shooter spat. “Get on. I want you home where I know you’re safe.” She nodded. Mechanically she went through the familiar motions, handing him her purse to place in the saddlebag and mounting the bike. Hell was coming and nothing Shooter said or did would save her from its flames. Locking her arms around his waist, she pressed her face against his cut, inhaling the scent of leather and Shooter as she focused on the man in command of the beast between her legs. Twenty minutes later they stopped at the gas station near his house and filled up.

  “I need to hit the head, come in with me.” He held out his hand, and she clutched it, vaguely aware of the members of his crew coming in behind them. Right now he felt like the only lifeboat on a sinking vessel. Scanning the parking lot, she paid close attention to the cars and the people. Inside he headed down the hall and she went to the magazine rack, purchasing a few tabloids for the laughs she desperately needed. Stepping up to the register, she smiled and handed the cashier her card.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s been declined.”

  “What? There’s no way.” When it rains it pours.

  “I can try it again if you’d like.”

  “Please. I literally just checked my account this morning.”

  A few moments passed, and the machine beeped angrily. “Same thing. I suggest you contact your bank.” Numb, she moved to the side, pulling her phone from the purse and dialing the number. Punching in her code, she checked her balance.

  “At this time you have zero dollars in your checking account.” No. This morning it was twenty thousand. With a flurry of button pressing she checked her savings account. “At this time you have zero dollars in your savings account.” Her entire savings had vanished in the blink of an eye. Voices sounded around her, buzzes in the background she couldn’t focus on. This has to be a mistake. She pressed zero to go back to the menu and rerouted her call to a live person.

  “Vista Lago bank, my name is Stacey, how may I help you?”

  “Hi Stacey, this is Juliette Moore. I’d like to check my balances.”

  “Hi, Ms. Moore, can I get your social security number?”

  They want through the song and dance and Stacey confirmed she was flat broke.

  “Juliette.” Shooter’s hands on her forearms pulled her back to the present. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s all gone.” Her voice cracked.

  “What?”

  “All my money.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I just checked my balance, zero—all twenty thousan
d—poof.” Opening her hand, she glanced up.

  “We’ll go home and get it all sorted out.”

  Her head pounded at the thought of phone calls and paperwork. “Oh god.” Snapping out of her stupor, she fumbled with her purse and pulled out her credit card, repeating the process.

  “You have no funds left on your card.” The phone dropped from her hand, clattering to the floor. Her two-thousand-dollar credit limit was maxed. Hyperventilating, she allowed Shooter to lead her outside, away from gaping patrons.

  “He took everything.”

  “Whatever he did we can fix this.” Shooter cupped her face. “But you have to calm down for me, baby, okay? I have to get you home. I don’t want to be out on the streets in the open like this.”

  “Y-You’re right.” Breathing in through her nose, she focused on calming her racing heartbeat. She wasn’t alone. Her phone rang. Afraid to answer it, she glanced up at him.

  “Give it to me—I’ll answer it.” He took her purse, fished though it and came out with her phone. “Hello? She’s in the restroom right now, can I take a message? Her what? Someone’s towing her car? Are you sure? Thank you. We’ll get this straightened out soon.” Hanging up, he met her gaze. “It’s going to be okay.” His voice sounded far away but she nodded. In less than fifteen minutes, Peter Stant had set her world on fire. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  She followed him like a baby duck after its parent. Her sole concentration placed on putting one foot in front of the other. Muscle memory saved her from embarrassment as she donned the helmet he offered her, tightened the straps and climbed on behind him. She wrapped her arms around him, losing herself in the vibrating machine beneath her, the solid man in front and the wind on her face.

  * * * * *

  Given the circumstances, he took her to the one place he knew no one would attempt to breach to get her. The lost look in her eyes and robotic manner she responded with added momentum to the shit storm brewing inside him.

  “You’re going to be safe here. Call your girls, have them come stay with you, okay?” Shooter whispered, standing in front of where she sat on the bed.