This is utterly surreal.
“Sticker bush,” I say.
The older boy nods, satisfied. “You gonna ride two-up?” he asks his father.
“Gonna have to. You take Carson back. We’ll be behind you.”
“What’s her name?” The husky one from the garage—Carson—flips up the visor on his helmet to get a better look.
I go to answer, but the big man beats me to it. “Fay-Lee.”
He knows my name.
That’s not good.
But still, my chest warms.
“So what’s your name?” I crane my neck and yank my arm, but he’s still got an iron grip on my hand.
“Dad’s road name is Dizzy. But his real name’s Dwayne. You can call him whichever you want.” Carson lifts his chin at his brother. “He’s Parker. I’m Carson.”
Why do they both have last names as first names?
“Dizzy,” the dad corrects. “Call me Dizzy.”
“Okay, Dwayne.” It flies out of my mouth. I don’t even think about it.
A split second later, Dizzy drops my hand and lands a walloping slap to my ass. I sway forward.
“Hey!” I grab the cheek and rub. It didn’t hurt. Not really. But it did surprise the shit out of me.
Parker snorts.
Carson shakes his head. “You can’t do that to a woman, Dad. She’s gonna be mad.”
“You mad?” Dizzy’s eyes are twinkling, his mouth quirked up at the corner amid that thick beard.
I should be. I narrow my eyes.
“Yeah, she’s mad.” Carson nods. “Look at her face.”
“I better get her back to the clubhouse, then. Feed her. Patch her up.”
“Yeah.” Carson snaps his visor back down. “I’m hungry, too.”
Parker revs his engine. In some kind of silent accord, both boys tear off, mud spraying behind them in all directions.
Dizzy tugs me toward his bike.
“You can’t just kidnap me with your kids right there.”
“I’m not kidnapping you.”
We come up along his two-wheeler. “We’re not both gonna fit on that.”
He’s sizing it up, eyeing me. I’m skinny, but the laws of physics still apply, and he’s gargantuan.
He grunts. “We’ll walk back. I’m not confident about that patch anyway.”
“I don’t know. If you leave it here, someone might take it. You go ahead and ride it back. Fix it up. I’ll follow.”
He snorts, grabs my hand again, and drags me off in the direction of the clubhouse. His stride is long. I scamper to keep up.
My brain’s spinning a mile a minute. If he loosens his hold for just a second, I can run. Didn’t work last time, but if I stick to the trail, I’ll have a better shot. I’m younger than him by a lot. I’ve got stamina.
And an empty belly and an aching ankle.
Maybe the club really just wants to ask me a few questions. Maybe they want to know how I dodged their security. This could be like the hacker who gets hired by the FBI ‘cause her skills are so crazy good.
Yeah, right. That’s not what’s happening here.
They know my name. They’ve been looking for me. I’m no fool. No one knows that I’m here except Chaos, and the Lord only knows where he is. They’re gonna kill me. Make an example. I struggle for breath, not from the pace, but the growing panic.
I should have left when I had the chance. What are blisters to being murdered and buried in an unmarked grave in the back of a biker compound?
We’re closing in on the tree line. I can see the makeshift stage in the yard and the picnic table pavilion.
I dig in my heels. Dizzy’s still moving, so he nearly yanks my arm from the socket.
“Let me go.” I’m not joking anymore. My brave front’s gone. My eyes are prickling, and my nose is burning. I’m gonna start bawling. “I promise I’ll disappear. I’m not gonna be any more trouble for you guys.”
He stops, gazes down at me, forehead furrowed. He drops my hand and raises my chin with the knuckle of his index finger.
“I said no one’s gonna hurt you.”
“I don’t believe you.” It’s a whisper.
“Baby,” he says. “You don’t have a choice.”
A cry echoes in the yard, and in seconds, huge, tattooed men in leather and chains are trotting toward us, surrounding us, and there’s no way out. I’m trapped.
Everything goes red.
They’re not taking me without a fight.
My elbow connects with a slab of muscle, and I keep going, eyes screwed shut, desperate and wild.
All I can hear through the roar in my ears is Dizzy shouting, “Back the fuck off.”
4
DIZZY
She loses her mind.
Mikey and another prospect lope over with Jed and Bullet, and she freaks out. I got my arm around her waist before she can run, but she fights, flailing, nails me in the ribs with a bony elbow.
Thank goodness the boys ain’t around. They’re probably in the kitchen by now.
I hold her firm against my chest, arms pinned to her sides, and I try to hush her. She don’t like that. She windmills her legs. Jed lunges for her, and before I can warn him off, she nails him in the solar plexus. He snarls, raising a fist.
On instinct, I spin with her, give him my back. A weird growl comes from my chest. I cough to clear my throat.
“Back up, dude, and she won’t kick you.” I jiggle her a little. “Calm down now.”
“Let me go,” she screams.
I can feel her chest expand as she gets ready to howl. I slap a hand across her mouth, careful to leave her nose free.
“No one’s gonna hurt you. They just wanna ask you some questions.”
Even to my ears, I sound full of shit.
No one’s gonna touch her, though. No one but me.
She keeps fighting, but she’s fading quick. She’s probably starving. She needs protein. As soon as Heavy gets his answers, she’s gettin’ fed.
I wrangle her toward the stairs to the basement. We’ve got a gym set up down there. Nothing fancy. Twitch’s old free weights and barbells. A treadmill, all-in-one machine, punching bag. When the addition is finished, we’re gonna expand and add a sparring ring, sauna, the works.
For now, it serves its purpose. With the door closed, it’s soundproof. Spotty cell phone signal. One way in, one way out.
As soon as I haul her down the stairs, she starts struggling again in earnest, screaming into my palm. She’s gonna hurt herself.
“I’ll get some rope,” Jed says.
“The fuck you will.”
She’s out of her mind, though. Jerkin’ her head back, aimin’ to smash my nose, the whites of her eyes flashin’. I drag her into an alcove, away from the bench where Heavy and Grinder are waiting.
“Gimme a minute,” I bark at them as she slams a boot into my shin.
For lack of options, I press her against the wall, my chest to her back. I got a hard on—I’ve had one since I saw her in the middle of the trail, wearin’ my shirt—and I know it ain’t the time and place, but damned if I can help it. She feels it and makes a strangled yelp.
“Calm down. They’re just gonna ask you some questions.”
She’s got no room to move, but her body’s wired taut, and she’s tryin’ her damnedest to budge me.
She’s as bad as the boys get for Sharon when they stay up all night, eat nothin’ but crap, and then melt down when it’s time for school. Sharon’s called me a few times, askin’ me to haul Parker’s ass into the building. It don’t ever come to that. The kid can be reasoned with. Probably ‘cause he knows I’ll carry him into class over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
I never would have pulled that shit as a kid. My old man wouldn’t have it. He’d have tanned my hide. But Sharon doesn’t approve of “corporal punishment.” She says people don’t do that no more.
This ain’t a kid acting up, though. And if Fay-Lee don’t chill the fuck
out, I don’t how this is gonna go.
Steel Bones has never hurt women, but shit is changing. This ain’t the club I patched into when I turned eighteen, my dad at my side. The stakes are multi-million dollars now. Life or death.
The jobs we do now—there’s much less risk in the front end. We ain’t racking up charges for petty shit like back in the day. Now, if we get popped, it’s serious time. Not only for us. The cast of characters we could implicate is growin’ every year. If these men don’t trust that we handle our business, we all become a liability.
Heavy’s made us rich, but he’s also made us vulnerable. I believe he will back my call when it comes to this woman who’s done lost her mind, but he ain’t the only one with skin in the game.
If Fay-Lee knew what Chaos was doin’—if she was helpin’ him—I don’t know how that plays out. She needs to show she can reason. A person who cannot control themselves is nothing but a threat.
“Come on. Pull it together,” I mutter in her ear.
She kicks my foot and whimpers in pain. Steel-toed boots.
“You about done in there?” Heavy shouts.
“Almost.” Ah, shit.
If we were somewhere else, I’d give her a shot and a toke. But I don’t have my flask on me.
She’s not givin’ me a choice here. I tighten my grip on her mouth. She’s tryin’ to bite me.
Fuck. It worked with Parker when he was little.
I reach around, unbutton her shorts. They fall straight down.
Damn. She’s not wearing panties. That sweet, taut ass is bare.
This isn’t about that. Focus.
She kicks up the volume again, but whatever she’s hollering is muffled by my palm.
Here goes nothing.
I back up, bend my knee, and turn her, using one arm to force her over the best I can, freeing her mouth.
Her shrill shriek echoes off the ceiling.
I haul back and smack that ass.
She goes absolutely quiet and still.
A bright red handprint shows up on her creamy skin.
Shit.
I can’t tear my eyes away. My hand is huge. The mark spans from her ass crack to her hip.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she gasps.
I smack her again. She squeals, clenches her cheeks tight. “Hey!”
I do it again. Her ass jiggles. Holy shit. I can’t believe I’m doin’ this. I should stop.
She’s still flailing and screaming, though, and it takes all my strength to keep her pressed to my thigh. Fuck. In for a penny, in for a pound.
I crack her again. The whack echoes. She bucks, tries to avoid the blow, but she’s got nowhere to go. She’s hollering, wordless. She don’t sound scared so much anymore as highly indignant.
I lay down four or five more, careful to make an impression, but not use the kind of force that would actually hurt her.
If this don’t work, I’m out of ideas.
On the eighth or ninth whack, she starts to calm. Totally silent except for sniffles and an occasional hiccup.
Both globes of her ass are glowing pink.
I rub the handprints, smooth them out. She moans. Her skin’s hot to the touch.
“It’s all right now, baby. Everything’s okay.” I set her upright on her feet.
She’s breathing heavy. So am I.
She blinks at me with her jaw dropped open. I’m expecting her to be furious, but those big brown eyes are dazed.
“Did I hurt you?” My words catch in my throat. I ain’t never done anything like that before. I mean, yeah, I’ve slapped a woman’s ass while we were fucking doggy-style, but this? I watch it in porn, but in real life? No.
“You spanked me,” she whispers. She seems as surprised as I am.
“You’re calm now,” I point out, stepping back.
She squats and tugs up her shorts, casting anxious looks at the doorway to the other room.
“I ain’t gonna let anything happen. You have to trust me.”
“I don’t,” she hisses. “I don’t trust you.” She’s flustered and her fingers keep slipping off the button. I push her hand aside and do it up for her.
She glances up at me under thick black lashes. Her face is as red as her bottom. She really don’t seem mad.
She’s unsteady. Scared.
She should be, but I don’t like it.
“You need help back there?” Jed hollers.
“Fuck off,” I shout back. That asshole is way too eager for this.
Fay-Lee starts trembling all over. Even her chin’s wobbling. Ah, hell.
I bend over and snag my butterfly knife from my boot. I flick my wrist back, unsheathe it so she sees it ain’t a toy. She gasps.
“You used one of these before?”
Her eyes are as round as saucers. Shit. She thinks I’m gonna stab her.
She slowly shakes her head no.
I show her a few times how it opens, how to fold it and hold it by the dull side. I don’t think she’s following much. Then I hold it out to her, handle first.
“Put it in your pocket. Don’t take it out unless you plan on using it.”
I’ll be able to disarm her before she can undo the latch, but if it makes her feel better, I don’t see the harm. Turns out I much prefer her angry to scared.
She nods, somber, and shoves it in her shorts. My chest twinges. She’s a brave little thing. Ain’t right that someone’s let her come to this, all alone.
I gesture to the other room. She walks out, takin’ small steps, as if she’s headed for an execution.
I try to see things from her perspective. There are six huge men, stone-faced, arms folded, in a half circle by a bench. Each one looks like a hardened criminal.
Each one is, in his way.
Heavy nods to the weight bench. “Sit.”
At some point, Nickel joined us. He’s the only one pacing. Fay-Lee tracks him, and she jumps when he makes his sudden moves.
If you don’t know him, he seems like he’s on coke. He’s intense. I knew guys like that in the service. PTSD. Hypervigilance. Nickel didn’t serve, but his upbringing was its own shitshow. He’s the only man in his family not incarcerated or dead.
I ain’t as worried about Nickel as I am about Jed and Heavy. Nickel’s oblivious to it, but if you know him, it’s clear he’s got a soft spot for the females. Treats ‘em like glass. Or like a cottonmouth. Steers clear.
Jed spends a lot of time with the ladies, but he doesn’t have much regard for them. Nails and bails. He’s ten years older than I am and never had an old lady. Fay-Lee being a female won’t earn her any special treatment with him.
And under the fancy talk and gravitas, Heavy is a cold motherfucker. He did Chaos without hesitation. Slit his throat as if he was slaughtering a pig.
My muscles tense. That’s not how this is going to go. Fay-Lee was clearly in the wrong place at the wrong time. Along for the ride.
She cowers on the bench, arms hugging her middle, shoulders hunched, and knees pressed tight together. The silence grows thick. Nickel’s rubber soles squeak on the floor, somehow amping up the tension.
Heavy slowly, deliberately drags over a metal folding chair. He cracks his jaw and ponderously lowers his bulk. The chair creaks.
Fay-Lee’s throat works as she swallows. Her eyes dart all over. She’s searching for an escape, but there isn’t one.
At least she’s got a grip on the hysteria. My palm tingles, remembering. I can’t believe I did that. It did the job, but it doesn’t sit entirely easy with me.
Heavy clears his throat. “Where did you meet Chaos?”
Her gaze shoots to me, as if she’s looking for permission. I nod.
I like her looking to me for the go ahead.
“A rest stop. On 71.”
“You know him before that?”
“No.”
“Were you hitching?”
“Yeah.”
“Where were you coming from?”
“Dalton.�
��
“Georgia?”
“Kentucky.”
“Where’d you meet Chaos?”
“I told you. A rest stop. At a picnic table.”
“Why’d you leave Dalton?”
“Change of scenery.”
“Try again.”
“Why does it matter to you?”
Jed gets in her face, peels back his lips so she can see the Steel Bones tattoo inside. “You don’t ask the questions, bitch. You answer them.”
My chest swells. What did that fucker say?
“You understand?” He grabs her chin.
Hell, no.
I lunge forward, drive my shoulder into him, knocking him onto his ass. I’ve got my boot raised to crush his larynx when Nickel drives into me from behind, shoving me aside.
Heavy leaps to his feet. The metal chair clatters to the floor.
Jed scrambles to his feet, puffing his chest, arms stretched wide. “What the fuck, man?”
“Touch her again. I’ll kill you.”
“Have you gone insane?” Jed glances from brother to brother. No one backs him. They’re gawping as if they never seen me before.
“You wanna go or what?” I’ll settle this now. Not a problem.
Jed doesn’t make a move. He knows I can lay his ass out cold in one shot.
Nickel eases away from my side. I suck down a deep breath. I’m good. The red is seeping away, and I’m myself again.
“Back away from her.”
Jed spits, but he steps away toward the leg machine. “Who’s this gash to you?”
Nickel claps a steadying palm on my shoulder. “Ain’t worth it,” he murmurs.
Jed sneers. Weak-chinned, wannabe motherfucker. I should drop him on principle. I’ll pick which one afterwards.
Heavy gestures for Jed to shut up, and then he turns to me, palms raised. “This was not part of my calculations.” He shakes his head, smiling wryly. “Dizzy, my apologies.”
What’s he apologizing for?
Everyone’s staring at me. Fay-Lee’s eyes are eating up half her face. I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall.
Oh.
I unclench my fists. I can’t do anything about my face, though.
I don’t think I ever looked like this before. Like I’m about to do murder.
Dizzy: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Prequel Page 5
