CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
"What does it look like I'm doing? Making myself useful," Ruby said, stacking three glasses on top of each other in a way that looked a bit precarious, although Joe was smart enough to know he shouldn't say anything. "You should try it sometime."
The last thing in the world he'd expected to see when he'd grabbed his helmet and left his apartment that morning was her, wearing one of Regan's checked button-downs, sleeves rolled halfway up, casually unbuttoned to just above the tops of her breasts. Looking more refreshed than she had in days, she was leaning over a cutting board peeling a lemon, humming to herself--all utterly and unconsciously sexy.
He'd stopped short and asked the obvious question, hoping his confusion wasn't showing.
He dangled his helmet from the strap casually as he pulled on his riding gloves. "You really think I don't know what hard work means?"
"I don't know," she glanced casually up at the clock. "You roll out of bed around ten-thirty."
"Ruby, I don't exactly work a normal schedule--" he stopped himself. He was letting her get to him. "But that's not the point. You're making assumptions about me."
"Joe, if I am, that's because I don't know anything about you, except what I've picked up from others. You never tell me anything." Her tone was brisk and businesslike.
"That's not true. I told you about Kyle."
"Only because I forced your hand."
When he'd lived with Colt, he'd worn his hands raw pumping tires and waxing chrome. He’d had foster parents who seemed to think the measly compensation they got from the state to take care of him meant they were entitled to use him for slave labor.
Not to mention that summer roofing job, or his work detail in the laundry room during his time in juvie. In fact, when he'd joined the Jockeys, it was the first occupation he'd ever had that actually let him use his brain. To think critically, to make decisions for himself and for others.
Up till then, only his standardized test scores, which nobody paid any attention to, had showed that he was capable of more than the little that was expected of him. The Jockeys, though, didn't care about that--they cared about results. And he'd delivered. There was a reason Kyle had made him vice president. For the first time in Joe’s life, someone had seen promise in him, encouraged and nurtured it. It was one of the many reasons Joe knew he'd found where he belonged.
And trying to find the words to explain all that to Ruby--would open the floodgates for questions about his childhood that he had so far strained desperately to avoid. Better to deflect.
"I'm going to come to my own conclusions, unless I hear it from you. You'd rather toy with me."
He glanced down. She was wearing the ruby necklace again. Of course she was. Now he was looking at her décolletage, the small dark beauty mark that peeked up above the gold chain, standing out against that strange, beautiful olive skin tone. He was going to have to tear his eyes away before she noticed and thought him a creep for staring.
"Toy?" He rested his elbows on the counter, telling himself that letting her have control over this small realm was a good thing.
It made her feel needed, and less like an interloper, or a burden. She hadn't had a lot of say over what had happened to her in the past few days. He knew he was partly to blame for that. Besides, for the first time in days, she actually looked somewhat well-rested-- serene, almost. "If I was toying with you, you’d be having a lot more fun.”
He was joking, of course. Sort of. He was also running late. He was supposed to be riding out with A.J., Rex, and Wings for their regular gig escorting an eighteen-wheeler from Oakland to Modesto. At some point, they would also discuss what should be done when Aaron Beeson got into town tomorrow; what they could demand from him without angering him further or having him interpret their request for an explanation as a threat.
Joe was only five minutes behind, but A.J. was already blowing up his phone, and his vice president’s mood wouldn’t be any better once he arrived. Needless to say, Ruby’s crack about him rolling out of bed had hit home more than she knew; not to mention her flippant responses made it seem as if she belonged there and he was the interloper. Yes, he probably deserved everything she was dishing out, but it still annoyed him, especially the fact that she was rested. As expected, his sleep last night--except when Ruby had made a brief appearance in his dream--hadn't exactly been high in volume or quality.
“You’re toying, Joe. You are. You’re playing your silly little game because you think I'm just like every other girl you've ever known. That all it will take is a little convincing, a little reminding by your friends about how sexy Joseph Ryan is and how stupid I'd be to resist the man that any other woman would kill to have.” She held a knife in her right hand, its tip resting on the cutting board, casually twirling it between her fingers before putting it down suddenly. “Well, there's only one stupid thing I could do in all this. And I didn't do it last night, and I'm not going to." She started for the back room.
"As if the fact that nothing happened last night was only because you didn't want it?"
"What?" she whirled around, eyes flashing.
"Hey, I was in your bedroom. I chose to leave."
Ruby's mouth dropped. "Joe, to think you once had me convinced you didn't have an arrogant bone in your body."
"It's not arrogance," he said, looking at the floor briefly. "It's just a fact. If I'd wanted you last night, I would have had you." Harsh, maybe, but he knew he needed to take control of this situation. Ruby's idea that she had was in control of this conversation had to be done away with.
"Do you even remember what we talked about last night? As I recall, it was mostly my pants and how they made you want to grab my butt so badly you were losing your grip on reality. By the way, I'm still wearing them." She held the glass in two hands and rested her elbows on the bar, waiting for Joe's eyes to stray to where he could almost catch a glimpse.
"You bitch." He hadn't meant to say it; it had just slipped out. It wasn't angry; more exasperated, admiring of her brazenness. Luckily, she didn't seem to mind. She knew she had the upper hand, anyway.
“So, if it’s true and you can have me whenever you want me,” she challenged, “Just when is our appointment? I’ll pencil it in.”
He flipped up his helmet and adjusted the strap. “When it’s time,” he said turning around only to glance back at her, “you’ll know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
It was only noon when Ruby nervously stepped into the absolute last place on Earth she'd ever thought she'd set foot under her own volition--the Thunderbird, Madelia’s official biker bar. There was already a fairly decent crowd gathered around the pool table and on the high stools, drinking Jack Daniels out of lowball glasses, cigarettes in the corners of their mouths; clearly Madelia didn’t share the same anti-smoking ordinances as Oakland.
"Are all these guys Steel Jockeys?" Ruby asked Regan nervously, examining their familiar tattoos and the logos they wore on their jackets and cuts, all seeming to glow orange under the artificial neon lights.
"Yeah, but from other chapters,” explained Regan, who had breezed in as if she were going for a swim at the community pool. She pointed to the man coming out of the back room drying his hands on a rag. “This is Mark Chester, who owns this place. He's like an honorary Jockey. All of the benefits with none of the stigma,” she explained with a laugh.
Mark was like a shorter, skinnier version of Colt--same scraggly, graying beard, though he had added a pair of bifocals. He shook her hand, and didn’t even question her too much about what on earth she was doing here, volunteering to work without pay. In fact, he seemed to understand perfectly--or maybe he just wanted the extra set of hands. In no time, he had put Ruby to work chopping lemon and orange slices, refreshing the ice, and washing and drying lowball glasses and pints.
She kept her head down, not wanting to attract too much attention at first, though she was aware some of the patrons had noticed her. She watched them out of the corn
er of her eye. A lot of them were as huge as Colt, and younger, too. There were shaved heads and flowing manes covered by bandanas, not to mention sleeves of tattoos, spiky bracelets, pierced eyebrows, and stretched earlobes--every possible modification of the body one could get in an effort to look intimidating. Not to mention the scars.
"You were expecting to see more punches being thrown?" asked one of the customers, a guy in his forties with tattoos covering his neck and part of his shaved head, who'd introduced himself as--no kidding--Rooster. When he'd asked, she'd admitted to him that the Bird wasn't quite what she'd expected.
"I can arrange that," joked the guy next to him, grabbing his buddy in a headlock then throwing him playfully into a chair. They were jesting with each other, Ruby realized. It was all posturing. They were genuinely friends, and what's more, they were sensing that she felt out of place and were trying to make her feel welcome here.
She hadn’t identified herself outright, but word had apparently spread anyway--and it was clear that Kyle Clarke's sister was a member of the family, no questions asked. Once she realized that nobody there was side-eying her, she managed to get into a groove and the afternoon flew by.
"I duck out to go over to my Mom's every day," explained Regan at around three.
“Huh?” she asked, glancing at the clock. “Three o’clock already?”
"I'd invite you along, but you know, it'll just be a lot of sitting around talking about potato salad recipes and The Bachelor. No fun, really.'"
"You go see your mom every day?" she asked, then backed up. "I don't mean to sound critical. It's kind of nice...actually. To be able to do that." She hoped she didn't sound too pathetic, or bitter, about the fact that Regan had a mom and a stepmom who were still alive, loved her, and wanted to see her.
"Yeah," Regan said hastily. "You know, she works from home, and she doesn't get out much. She makes leather motorcycle accessories and sells them on Etsy. Makes a pretty good living, too. I guess now you know what badass biker chicks resort to in middle age. Oh well. If it makes her happy," she said hastily, "I'm glad to oblige." She glanced at her cell phone. "But I've got to run." She grabbed her handbag.
"Run where?" asked a voice from the doorway.
Regan started nervously. "Holly, what are you doing here?"
"Come to see your bartending prowess for myself. You know, since Kyle spent all that time and effort teaching you," she said, teasing, "I need to know he got his money's worth." She was wearing a leather jacket similar to the one the guys wore, only without the logo on the back. Ruby got the feeling she didn't show up here much--at least not anymore--but it didn't prevent her from looking perfectly at home in a way Ruby knew she herself never would. "Yikes, it's still only three. How about a Tequila Sunrise?"
"Make that a Tequila Midnight,” laughed Regan. “But I've got to go. Ruby will make it."
"What about Mark?"
"Mark says knock yourself out," the older poked his head in from the back room. "I don't pretend to have the skills necessary to please Her Majesty Queen Holly. We mostly just serve cheap whiskey here, anyway."
"What do you say? Ruby?"
Her eyes were already darting back and forth across the liquor bottles, looking for the blue Curacao. "Got it." It had been ages since she'd made it, or even bothered to buy the ingredients for Kyle's signature drink, but as she assembled the glassware, added ice to the shaker, straining the curacao, then the grenadine, then the tequila on the back of a spoon to get the proper graduated look, she felt herself reverting back into kind of a Zen state. She popped a maraschino cherry on top and presented it.
Holly glugged it straight from the glass. "Mmm."
"No need to humor me."
"I'm not!"
Ruby leaned her elbows on the bar, staring down at her hands, which, she noticed, had grown a bit wind-chapped from all the time on the bike. Something had to be addressed, and it was now or never. "I'm sorry for ruining dinner last night."
"Nonsense. You were upset. You had every right to be after what Morgan said. I had a talk with that young lady, believe me. I only hope Joe's explanation satisfied you."
"We had a nice talk." She made sure to emphasize the word talk. And nothing else.
Holly smiled serenely, then took a delicate yet deliberate sip from her drink, then replaced it on the bar. "To be honest, Ruby, I really came here to see you."
"Me?"
"We have a present for you. Colt and I. Well, not a present per se, because it's not ours to give. It's more like--well, you'll see."
Ruby turned to call to Mark, but he was already waving his arms with a big grin on his face. "Go on. Get out of here. I got along just fine before you girls started stealing all my tips."
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
"She's tuned-up, waxed, and she runs better than ever."
Colt had been standoffish so far. He'd been trying to treat her like daughter, but at the same time, Joe had made it pretty clear that his dirty-old-man tendencies were liable to come out now and then. But as if to atone for any perceived impropriety, he'd outdone himself, Ruby decided, as she set her eyes on what he had unveiled. He stood in the backyard in front of the pole shed, looking benevolent and satisfied, like some kind of bizarre leather-clad Santa Claus.
The black and silver super-low Dyna Glide was exactly the way she remembered it--only better. Colt had done such a thorough job that it looked like it had never even been ridden, except that she recognized the customized leather saddlebags and the crooked mirror that Kyle had never bothered to fix. Colt had left it as it was meant to look, and she appreciated that beyond words.
"It took me forever to find it. They had turned it over to evidence. I had to call in a favor from Madelia PD, who called in a favor from Oakland PD. Luckily, they owe me a lot of favors."
"I'm not sure 'owe' is the operative word there," remarked Holly, who stood nearby, hugging herself, content to watch the astonished expression in the younger woman's eyes as she took in the present. "More like 'have to do what you say if they want to keep their families fed.'"
"Hey," Colt said, holding up his arms. "I don't believe in bribery. I believe in reciprocal friendship. When you live in a town with a police department that's two cops strong, is it a crime to buy them a few rounds now and then?”
Fox had offered to buy Ruby a motorcycle many times. But the idea of riding around on a brand-new Harley seemed ridiculous to her when she had done nothing but avoid them for most of her life. This was totally different; this was a part of Kyle that she thought she’d lost forever. It was like part of him still inhabited the bike. She could still see him on it, helmet over his chestnut curls, hunched over the broken mirror, pointing at her as he rode away. She reached out a finger to touch one of the handlebars, as if she expected the polished chrome to shock her. It didn't though. In fact it did the opposite and seemed to feel very right under her touch.
"The thing is, I couldn’t figure out why I had to have it. It wasn't until now that I realized the answer." He looked at Ruby proudly, almost fatherly. "Try it out."
"I--I've never." She shook her head. She winced, expecting Colt and Holly to be shocked that the sister of the Steel Jockeys' late president had never driven a motorcycle before. She remembered Fox's words at the dealership. A pretty girl on a bike. It's like poetry. Well, she could take care of that, anyway, she thought, hopping up in the saddle. She felt instantly stronger and more powerful, almost scarily so.
"The keys in the ignition," remarked Colt. "I had to get a new one made."
She took a deep breath and turned the key. Her stomach lurched as the bike seemed to leap forward, excited to run after so long sitting in a lonely warehouse somewhere. For some reason, she thought of the guys she'd met at the Bird. Kyle's extended family, and by proxy, her own. Why had she waited so long? Why had she denied her nature? This bike, and this life really, was a part of her. She stopped, watching her white knuckles grip the handlebars.
"Ruby?" Holly ran over, looking
stricken. "Are you okay?"
"What? Of course."
"You're crying."
She swiped at her face. “No,” she said, smiling. “Well, maybe a little.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Joe wasn’t at the Bird. In fact, he didn't come back that evening at all. She'd gotten up the nerve to take Kyle's bike and cruise along Main Street in Madelia from end of the tiny town to the other. Though she’d kept at least ten miles under the speed limit to be safe, it was as exhilarating nonetheless--even Zen, as Holly had described it. To sit where her brother once sat, to feel the way he must have felt in the saddle; the collective might of all bikers, the emptiness and freedom of the sky, of the road. But it couldn’t discount the pit in her stomach over the fact that Joe didn't come to dinner. Ruby was beginning to wonder whether she was going crazy. Whether he had ever existed at all or that he’d sat next to her bed, making love to her verbally, if not physically. She didn't dare ask, for fear of giving the impression that she cared about him.
Vicious: Steel Jockeys MC Page 15
