Patchwhore

by Kim Jones

  “I don’t have the privilege of knowing why. It could be something as simple as gettin’ Ronnie a beer because it tastes better coming from me.”

  His agitation and snide comment is amusing to me. So much that I actually snort. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “That’s the world of prospecting,” he mutters, pulling the truck into traffic.

  “Why do you do it?”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “Because it’s worth it.”

  “Why?”

  He fights a grin. “Nosey girl.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not nosey. Just curious.”

  “My life was shit,” he says, his voice detached. “My dad was dying. Heart was broken. Only brother was fuckin’ the woman I loved.” His eyes slide to me. I gape back at him in shock. “You don’t have to pretend, gorgeous. I know they told you.”

  “Kat say something?”

  “No. Nobody said anything.”

  “Then how did you know?”

  “The same way I knew you told Red we fucked.” He winks at me, smothering some of that unease in his eyes. “I can read lips.” I knew that. I mean, I wasn’t sure, but had said it in hopes he would understand. He did. I hadn’t taken into consideration that he might have read more than I wanted him to.

  “And the four of you are completely clueless to how obvious you are. Here’s a tip for the future. When you talk about someone, don’t stare at them, make sad faces or clutch your chest. That shit gives you away.”

  “Well, not everyone is as observant as you, smartass.” The corner of his lips barely tip. Then he’s quiet.

  Talking about his ex-girlfriend earlier didn’t have the slightest effect on him. It was as if he was over it. Done. Accepted and moved on. But the mention of his brother and father triggers something inside of him.

  “When life takes an unexpected turn, sometimes it’s hard to recover,” he says. My heart breaks a little at the sadness in his tone. “Watching my father slowly die and being betrayed by my brother left a huge void inside me. To fill it, I need something that can’t be given. It can only be earned. The Devil’s Renegades have it. And every time I answer that phone, I’m one step closer to deserving it.”

  “So what is this something you’re searching for?”

  Blue eyes seize me. Captivate me. They’re filled with endless depths of conviction that reflect his answer even before he says it.

  “Loyalty.”

  The Ride

  “I did it to prove a point,” I say to Kat who stares back at me in confusion. She crosses her arms and tilts her head—her jaw working overtime as she gnaws on her gum. Studying me as intently as Cook had when he’d picked me up.

  “You look like a crazy person.”

  “Can I get a drink? Please?” She examines me another moment, then shrugs before busying herself behind the bar.

  I hadn’t worried about showing up to Pop’s looking ridiculous. Because I knew that even in Wonder Woman pajamas, I would fit in better than Cook who—to quote Red—looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ. I’d even envisioned Ronnie giving him hell. Telling him to walk the stage like a runway since he’d rather dress like a model than a biker. But the joke was on me.

  The moment we pulled up, Cook lost the jacket. Retrieved his cut from beneath the seat. Traded his shoes for dusty boots. It took ten seconds for him to transform. Too bad I hadn’t thought to bring something to change into. But thankfully, it was still too early for the bar to be full.

  That victorious smirk he wore the entire walk across the parking lot had me wondering if Ronnie even really called him. Or if this was his way to get back at me. But after a brief, curious glance in my direction, Ronnie pulled him away from me the moment we walked in. His mood as anxious as Cook’s had been.

  “What is this?” I ask Kat as she hands me my drink. I take a tentative sip of the dark liquid and nearly choke.

  “Something new I’m tryin’. You like it?”

  “No. It’s horrible.”

  “Hater,” she mumbles, jumping up to sit on the bar. “How’s the date goin’?”

  I shrug. “Okay I guess.” Perfect until Ronnie called…

  “Better than the others?”

  Rolling my eyes, I breathe a laugh. “Like you have to ask.”

  “I don’t know why you even bothered with all those other guys.”

  “Because it was part of the plan, remember? I’m the idiot who wasted the past three months of her life dating Jud’s superiors in hopes of making him feel inferior.” The reminder of my stupidity has sickness swimming in my gut.

  “I remember the plan. I just don’t understand why you didn’t just stick with Cook. He smells better, looks better and he outranks all the Eagles.” I can do nothing but shake my head at her ignorance. For Kat to be a bartender, in a bar that catered to bikers, she sure didn’t know a whole lot.

  “He’s a Prospect, Kat.”

  She nods slowly. Then speaks even slower as if I’m the one who’s ignorant. “I know…”

  “Then you should know he doesn’t outrank them.” She quietly regards me a moment before she breaks into a fit of laughter. “What’s so funny?” I ask. She only laughs harder and louder--drawing attention to us from the few people sitting around the bar.

  “You don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?” My impatience grows as I have to wait for her to catch her breath before answering.

  “The Eagles are a ridin’ club, Carmen. Cook may be a Prospect, but he’s a Prospect for the largest MC in the south. He outranks even the president of the Eagles.” Surely she’s kidding. “True story.” She holds up her right hand. Okay … maybe she wasn’t kidding.

  Frowning, I flush with embarrassment. “I didn’t know there was a difference,” I mutter.

  She sobers a little. “Hey, it’s cool. Lots of people don’t know. I thought you’d have figured it out, though.”

  “Well I didn’t,” I snap, heat flaming my cheeks. I feel like such a fool. I’ve suffered through weeks of shitty dates, while all along, I could’ve just had Cook. “Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

  “Probably because he didn’t want you to want him just for his patch.” Her lips turn up on one side as she chews her gum. “He likes you. A lot. I can tell.” Before I have time to process this, or ask why in the hell she’s waited so long to tell me this herself, the back door opens and the bar is instantly filled with men’s voices.

  Lots of men. And they’re all Devil’s Renegades. Many I’ve never seen before. But I only have eyes for Cook. He holds several beer bottles in his big hand. I watch as he dumps the bottles in a nearby trashcan. Unlike the other men who are talking and laughing, Cook remains quiet. His lips pressed in a thin lin. Brow furrowed as he turns his head to look at me.

  His blue eyes are sad. A look of uncertainty on his face. It lasts for only a moment before he shields it behind a mask of indifference. The corners of his lips tip slightly, and the smile is just as desolate as his eyes.

  “Seventeen of the best, Kat,” Ronnie says, taking a seat next to me. “We’re takin’ the ride.”

  Kat’s eyes widen. “What? Who?” Ronnie’s eyes flicker to me for just a second before moving on to someone behind him.

  “Kyle. He leaves first thing in the mornin’.”

  “Oh no,” Kat pouts. “Kyle is one of my favorites!”

  I turn to look at the man behind me. Wherever he’s going and for whatever reason, he seems happy about it. Sliding from my seat, I offer it to him. I flash the lady behind him a warm smile—noticing the patches on her cut that brand her “Property of Devil’s Renegades Kyle.”

  Shouldering through the crowd, I make my way toward Cook who sits at the end of the bar. He starts to stand, but then grabs me by my waists and lifts me to sit on the bar in front of him—my knees parted wide to accommodate his big body between them. He even makes sure I don’t sit on my cape and choke myself before resting his arms around my thighs.


  The position makes us eye level, and now that I’m so close, I notice the sadness in his eyes is deeper than I’d realized. “You going to miss him?” I ask, wanting to wrap my arms around his big shoulders and comfort him.

  He stares back at me a moment before shaking his head. “No gorgeous, I can’t say I will.” His words confuse me, considering the pain in those beautiful blues.

  Wanting to distract him from whatever burden he’s suffering, I give him my best smile. “What’s ‘the ride’? It sure does have Kat excited.”

  “It’s a ride we take when someone in the club takes a leave, transfers or patches in. In this case, it’s a transfer.”

  “Patches in?”

  “Transitions from a Prospect to a patch holder.”

  “Maybe that will be you before long.”

  He winks, and some of the tension in his face softens. “Hope so.” Finally, I get a genuine smile and the sight of it warms me all the way to my toes. I want to kiss him. But Kat interrupts us.

  “One shot for Wonder Woman,” she says, placing the glass next to my thigh. “And one shot for Captain Cook.” Chairs scrape against the floor as everyone stands. Cook abandons his seat then lifts me with one arm to stand next to him. An unspoken moment is shared between him and Ronnie as they stare at each other and nod. Then Ronnie speaks.

  “To Kyle. A good man, best friend and a damn fine brother. You will be missed. But Mississippi will be a better chapter because of you.” Everyone salutes and we throw back the shot. It burns, but doesn’t compare to the heat I feel as Cook looks down at me.

  I turn into him, pressing my weight into his side. “Are you okay?” I ask, so only we can hear.

  He studies me a long moment before setting his glass on the bar and cupping my head in his hands. Our bodies now flush against each other. Thumbs on my jaw, he tilts my face up, leans in and covers my mouth with his in a passionate kiss.

  My toes curl in my footed pajamas. The concrete cold and unforgiving beneath the thin material. But I can’t help it. This is one of those kisses. The kind that shoots tingles down the back of my thighs. Makes my heart somersault. Creates a burst of fireworks behind my eyelids. Quivers my liver—just like the first time he ever kissed me.

  “Prospect!”

  I jump at the sound and break the kiss. Wanting to kill Ronnie for interrupting. Cook’s hands still hold my head, but I manage to slide my eyes to Ronnie and give him an ugly glare. He only smiles as he looks me up and down.

  “Normally, I wouldn’t approve of anyone ridin’ in somethin’ like that.” He motions to my outfit. “But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

  Cook’s hands slowly pull away from me. I chance a look up at him, relieved to find him relaxed and smirking down at me. Maybe he just needed a kiss. “So I can ride?” My fingers fidget with my cape. “With you?”

  “Well you sure as hell ain’t ridin’ with me lookin’ like that,” Ronnie says, his breathy laugh filling the room as he walks out. I can’t help but smile. Cook smiles too—that all teeth baring smile I love so much.

  “Come on, gorgeous,” he says, tucking my hand in his. He leads us outside and to his big, black, monster of a motorcycle.

  “How did this get here?” I ask, looking across the lot at his truck.

  “I trailered it here earlier. Ronnie’s call was a precontrasectional.” I smile at the use of my ridiculous word, but it drops to a frown when Cook says, “Capes gotta go.”

  “But it’s the best part.”

  “Fine.” He shrugs. “Leave it on. Just let go of me when it gets wrapped up in the tire and jerks you off the back.” I make quick work of untying it from my neck.

  I fold it neatly as Cook waits patiently with his hand extended and one eyebrow raised. When I offer it, I tighten my grip as he tries to take it. “Don’t lose it.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, babe.” He smirks, tossing it carelessly into his saddle bag. I roll my eyes but he ignores it, making a motion with his finger for me to turn around. Cautiously, I turn—glancing back at him over my shoulder.

  Then his fingers are in my hair. Separating the long strands into three pieces. Something like warm honey flows through my veins as he braids my hair. It’s so intimate. So relaxing that I have to hold onto the seat of the bike to keep from stumbling as my eyes flutter closed.

  “You like when I play with your hair?”

  “Yes,” I breathe on a contented sigh.

  “Wish I knew that. I’d have made sure to do it more.” There’s a note of sadness in his tone, but when he grabs my shoulders and turns me to face him, he’s smiling. Placing a set of clear glasses over my eyes, he asks, “Helmet or no helmet?”

  “We have to wear a helmet. It’s the law.”

  His grin is cocky as he slides on his own glasses. “We know people. This ride is about freedom. About having earned the right to ride in places other than here. Not wearing a helmet is a way to express that freedom. And you’ll find that it’s pretty fuckin’ liberating. But if you feel more comfortable wearing one, you can.”

  I cast a nervous glance around the parking lot. None of the other three women here are wearing helmets. “What if we wreck?” I ask, wringing my hands. Cook takes them in his.

  “What if we don’t?” He winks and my doubt and anxiety fades, replaced with the thrill of doing something dangerous.

  After Cook climbs gracefully on the bike, I clamber on behind him. My knees bounce in anticipation as I slide as close to him as possible. Unlike Drake’s bike, this one doesn’t have a sissy bar. So I lock my arms around Cook’s waist in a death grip. He chuckles as he releases the kickstand and balances the machine between his powerful thighs.

  Visions of him popping a wheelie and me falling off flash in my head. Then another of me loosening my grip and flailing backwards, causing my braid to get sucked into the tire and getting dragged forehead first down the highway. Terror strikes me full force and I shiver. So much for that thrill of excitement.

  “You cold?”

  Shaking my head, I swallow hard. “No. Just a little scared.” A lot of scared. My hold on him tightens and I try to move closer. It’s impossible. I’m already on his back.

  His hand rubs up my leg, over my knee and back in reassuring strokes. “You trust me, gorgeous?” he asks, smiling wide when he turns his head just a fraction and my face is there.

  I nod, my chin digging into his shoulder. “Yeah, but my one and only experience on a motorcycle wasn’t the best.” The reminder of Drake and his wobbly riding and raggedy bike causes me to shudder again.

  “Well in the MC, we ride Harleys. They handle a helluva lot better than that piece of shit Drake rides.” That reminds me…

  “So what’s up with you not telling me you outranked the Eagles?” I ask, temporarily forgetting my fear.

  “Been talkin’ to Kat, huh?” He releases an exasperated breath, but he’s grinning. “I’ll have to remember to return the favor,” he mutters, staring at Kat who waves at us from the back of Ronnie’s bike. Cook gives her the finger. She points at me and gives me the finger. I’m not quite ready to release my grip on Cook to return the gesture.

  Loud pipes sound across the lot as one by one, the riders crank their bikes. The noise reverberates off the walls of the building. It’s powerful enough to rattle my bones. Cook is one of the last to crank his bike, then he’s pushing us back with his feet.

  When he has enough room for us to pull out, he angles his head so he can look at me. It doesn’t take much considering I’m so close my cheek nearly touches his. “You ready?” he asks, his foot already shifting the bike into first.

  “Just don’t kill me,” I mutter.

  He breathes out a laugh. “I’ll try my best, gorgeous.”

  With practiced perfection, Cook smoothly pulls out and takes his place in the pack. I think there’s someone on the right of us, but I’m too scared to look. Instead, I focus on keeping my body glued to Cook. I’m not even on my seat anymore, I’m sitting on his.
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  On the first turn, I squeeze my eyes shut tight as the bike leans—just as I’d done when I rode with Drake. But this ride is nothing like that. Where Drake had bobbed and weaved and bounced us through the potholes and bumps, Cook gracefully glides us around them.

  I hold my breath when we turn onto the frontage road next to the highway and pick up speed. The speedometer on Cook’s bike says we’re only going forty miles per hour. I remember he’s good enough to handle one hundred and forty miles per hour, and it relaxes me a fraction. And when he leans against me a little and straightens his long legs to rest his boots on the highway pegs, I relax even more.

  Shit he’s sexy. Stretched out like a big cat. Those thick arms rippled in muscles and fully extended so those big hands can grip the handlebars. Strong, square jaw shadowed in hair tickling my cheek. He has me so worked up, I have to force my eyes to something else to keep from imprinting a wet spot on the small of his back.

  We turn off the frontage road and take a side street that leads to an older part of town. As we near, our speed reduces to thirty—allowing me to take everything in as we pass. The sun is setting, making it dark enough for the district to be brightly lit with street lights and gas lanterns, giving it a look of old charm. We pass antique homes. Oversized Cypress trees. Historical buildings. All while riding in two, perfectly straight lines. The formation is something to see.

  I unlock my fingers and rest my hands against Cook’s stomach, easing the strain in my shoulders and tightness in my arms. But I keep my face close to his, enjoying the way my cheek feels pressed against him.

  Cook effortlessly leans into the curves as we wind down road after road. I don’t know how long we’ve been gone, but I hope it doesn’t end soon. I can see why they all love it so much. It’s so peaceful. And I’m already looking forward to the next time I can do it again. Although next time I ride, I’m wearing shoes. The fabric feet of my pajamas provide little protection against the vibrating foot pegs. They’ve been tingling for miles, and I’ve been too afraid to wiggle the life back into them. Fearing my movement might cause us to wreck.