Dizzy: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Prequel

by Cate C. Wells

  I find the boys watching the end of this movie from the 80s that they’ve seen a hundred times. It’s about a cat and a dog, and they get lost or something. Maybe there’s a hurricane. I sat through it enough, but I never paid much attention.

  “What happened to the action flick?”

  “We seen it before.”

  “You’ve seen this before.”

  “Yeah.” Carson scooches to make room for me. I plop down between them, kick a few toys off the coffee table so I can prop up my feet. This room is a fucking disaster. I’m gonna have to take away dirt bikes again until they clean it up.

  I pop the chips, and both boys’ hands dive in.

  “After this, it’s bedtime.”

  “Okay, Dad.” Carson’s eyes are drooping. He’s the one who’ll pass out wherever. Parker’s like me. A light sleeper.

  We watch in silence. By the time the credits roll, Carson is conked out with his head on my lap. Parker is wide-awake, his face set in a scowl. He’s still pissed. That boy carries a grudge just like his mama.

  “You gonna tell me what crawled up your ass?”

  He shrugs. He wants me to try a little harder before he’ll give up the goods. So much like his mama.

  “You can sleep in your bed tonight.”

  He’s surprised. “Fay-Lee gonna sleep down here?”

  “She’s sleeping in my bed.”

  “She your girlfriend now?” This news has distracted him from his pouting. The gears in his brain are turning.

  “Somethin’ like that.”

  He’s quiet a minute. He’s really thinkin’. “Does this mean she’ll be here a while?”

  “I hope so, but she’s her own woman. She might have plans she wants to get back to.” I rub my chest.

  “If she’s here a while, would she get a job?”

  “She could if she wanted. I’d rather her work around the house, but that’s up to her.”

  “If she decided to stay home, could I come live with you?”

  Whoa. Did not see that coming. “Why do you ask that, bud?”

  I’m playing for time. I know Parker gets real hinky when it’s time to go back to Steve’s. It can’t be easy livin’ with one foot in one place, the other somewhere else. It sucks. Carson rolls with it a lot better.

  “If I lived here, we could finish the rebuilds a lot quicker.”

  True. Parker and I rebuild old dirt bikes we find on the internet and donate them to local families who have kids who want to ride and can’t afford it. It’s a great way to teach him about engines. We’ve done 2-strokes, 4-strokes, you name it.

  “We ain’t under a deadline.”

  “But if Carson and I stayed here, we could do all sorts of stuff more. Like, um—Like just be here. With you. At Steve’s place, we’re alone all the time.”

  I school my face. Make sure he can’t see the ugliness I got inside when it comes to this.

  My dad never said a bad word about my mother in his life. I distinctly remember her driving him insane, bitchin’ about him getting grease on the towels or her carpet, and he’d get so pissed. He’d stomp out to the garage, bang shit around for a few hours. Then he’d come in for dinner and kiss her. She’d have made his favorite—fried chicken or cobbler—and that was the end of it.

  Sharon and I ain’t together, but I want my boys to understand that’s how it goes. Behind closed doors, shit gets real. But around other people, a man treats his woman with respect. Full stop.

  So I don’t say what I’m thinkin’ about his mother. Instead, I say, “Your mom says she’s got a work thing. In a little bit, y’all are gonna be staying with me for a few weeks while she’s out of town.”

  “I’m not talking about a few weeks. I mean, like, for real.”

  I sigh, grit my teeth. “Your mom and I have a setup. You know that.”

  “Mom won’t care.” His voice is bitter.

  “Why do you say that?”

  I ain’t thick. I know he’s noticed how things have been going. A few hours turning into a few days. A weekend turning into a week. Sharon’s doing well for herself, and selling houses takes a lot of time. The hours ain’t regular. I try not to judge.

  But she was so damn hot to make sure I didn’t get no more visitation than the minimum when we first split, though. I try not to dwell on it. But every time she asks me to “watch” my own kids—when back then, she swore to the judge I was a piece of shit—it’s a raw wound.

  “She’s always showing houses. If someone’s home, it’s Steve, and he don’t want us around.”

  Fuck. I wasn’t prepared for a heavy conversation when I came down. I probably should have been. Parker’s clearly been working himself up to this for a while.

  “Yeah? He always seems like a friendly guy.”

  Steve’s a dick. Smiles like a used car salesman and talks like a sports announcer. Play one game at a time, right? Slam dunk. Got to keep your eye on the ball.

  He always comes across as smug to me, as if he’s proud of himself for fuckin’ my wife. But he’s got it twisted. As soon as she gave it up to him, I didn’t want her no more. Truth be told, it was a relief. I’d been mostly hanging around for the boys for a while before she stepped out.

  “Steve’s fake as shit.”

  I can’t argue with that. Hold up. Exactly how fake is Steve’s nice guy routine?

  “He don’t hit you or nothin’?” I’ll put him in the ground.

  “No. He huffs around, bitchin’ all the time about how we make a mess and cost him so much money.”

  Bullshit. Sharon gets way more than the court-ordered support. And anytime she asks, I write a check. The mess, though. Steve’s got a point.

  “You kids are terrible at cleaning up after yourselves.”

  “I know. But he’s such a dick about it. He hates us.”

  I shove a handful of chips in my mouth. I got no idea what Steve thinks about my kids. I know if I follow my inclination—pay him a visit tomorrow, remind him who the fuck he’s dealing with—it ain’t gonna play out the way I want.

  “You talk to him about this?” I hedge.

  Parker snorts. “Yeah, I asked him why he hates us so much.”

  Fair. It was a stupid question.

  “What about your mother? What does she say?”

  “She says clean up your shit and stay out of his way. Then she says she’s got to get back to work. That’s what I’m sayin’. We may as well be here. The bikes are here.”

  “What does Carson think?”

  “Carson thinks Steve doesn’t like him ‘cause he’s fat.”

  “Carson ain’t fat.” He’s got a little baby chub left on him, but wait until he has his first growth spurt. He’s gonna be a linebacker. I was the same way. “Why’s Carson think that?”

  “’Cause it’s true. Steve makes him eat egg white omelets for breakfast. Calls him husky all the time.”

  The fuck?

  “Carson thought he meant husky like the dog, so he didn’t mind. Then I told him what it meant.”

  “You really needed to do that?”

  Parker’s lip sneaks up. “Guess not.”

  Yeah, Steve and I are gonna have a conversation. He’s a gym rat. Tans. Got himself veneers. The whole shebang. But I still got at least fifty pounds of muscle on him and no compunction about makin’ him get his teeth done again.

  “I asked Mom. She said we can’t live here during the week ‘cause there’s no one to watch us after school while you’re at work. If Fay-Lee stays, she can watch us.”

  That’s what Sharon said? She probably was sayin’ what first came to mind. Sharon loves her kids. She’d never agree to change the custody arrangement. ‘Course she did just ask me to take ‘em for a month or so. And she don’t seem to notice that it’s a pretty even split now. But I’m only “watching” them for her when I take ‘em extra days.

  I sigh. I don’t know what to say. “I’ll talk to Steve.”

  “He’s gonna tell you what you want to hear, and the
n keep bein’ a dick to us.”

  “You think so?”

  “That’s what he always does.”

  This is a fuckin’ mess. I’m happy Parker’s speakin’ his mind, though.

  “I’ll talk to your mom then.”

  “You’re just gonna piss her off, and it’ll make everything worse. I told you I talked to her. She basically said it’s our fault.”

  “I’ll sort it out.” Somehow.

  “It’s okay.” Parker tilts his head back and rests it on the couch, the weight of the world on his thin shoulders. I fuckin’ hate this. It’s not what I wanted for him or Carson.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Parker grabs some chips from the bag. “I told Steve if he calls Carson ‘husky’ again, I’m gonna punch him in the face.”

  That’s my boy. “What did he say?”

  “Gave me a lecture. Told Mom. She took my phone.”

  “He call Carson husky again?”

  “Nope.” Parker grins. First smile I’ve seen from him today.

  We polish off the chips, and then I carry Carson up to bed, Parker behind me. I wake Carson up long enough to brush his teeth, and then I tuck them both in. Parker’s getting too old for the whole bedtime routine, but he lets me do it sometimes.

  After the boys are down, I check that the doors are locked and turn out the lights. I grab another water in case Fay-Lee wakes up thirsty.

  I fully intend to fuck her a few more times before morning.

  When I get back to the bedroom, she’s still asleep, same position, curled up like a shrimp. The only part of her sticking out of the covers is a mess of shiny black hair and her cute nose. She stirs when I slip under the sheets.

  “Dizzy?”

  “Hush, baby. Go back to sleep.”

  Instead she snuggles into me, kissing my chest. I fold her in my arms. She fits so perfect, and she smells so good. Like watermelon.

  “Dizzy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  My stomach knots. In my experience, it don’t ever go well when a woman asks that. “Of course.”

  “Can we ride dirt bikes tomorrow?”

  I fuckin’ love this girl. I laugh, roll her over on her back, kiss the corner of her sweet, tilted mouth. “Not tomorrow. I got work. But we’ll go next chance we get.”

  And then I fuck her nice and slow until she cums on my cock, face smothered in my chest as she cries out my name. Until she leaves, I’m gonna enjoy the hell out of her. The most perfect woman in God’s whole creation.

  We have three perfect weeks. The kids go back and forth between me and their mom a few times. Fay-Lee and I fall into a pattern. She makes dinner and forces me to watch some show about people who always dress nice and have really long conversations in fuckin’ living rooms.

  I make excuses to come in the house during the day when I’m supposed to be workin’. I fuck her in the kitchen. The shower. On the living room floor. She convinces me to let her braid my beard, and I make her wear her hair down.

  The kids and her take to each other. She bakes brownies from a box and things like that for dessert when they’re over, and they’re always bringing shit over from their mom’s to show her. Then there was a prank war that was goin’ for some time until I called it off ‘cause my truck gets dinged in the cross fire. Took out the cost of buffing it out from Fay-Lee’s ass.

  It’s been nice. Easy.

  Then, before sunrise on a Saturday morning, a wild animal wakes me up. Claws slice my shoulder and a sharp kicks lands in my ribs. It’s right before dawn, and the room’s light enough so I can see the comforter flailing, but I can’t make out what’s goin’ on. There’s a weird keening sound from under the covers.

  Did the raccoon get in?

  Fuck.

  I leap out of bed, grabbing the baseball bat I keep behind the night table.

  I hurl the covers, bat raised. Fay-Lee sits straight up, gasping for air, eyes as big as saucers. There’s no raccoon. Only her.

  My heart’s pounding. I crane my neck to check my side. She drew blood.

  Her lungs are heaving, and I can see her heart beating in her chest. She’s so damn thin.

  “Jesus, Fay-Lee.” I drop the bat and go to her, pull her into my lap, hold her as tight as I can. She’s shaking like a leaf. “Did you have a nightmare, baby?”

  That was some PTSD shit. I struggled for a while after my second deployment. Dreams. Trouble concentrating. Still happens, sometimes. Time has been good for me, though. Dulled the edges. Other guys I served with, it don’t go that way.

  “What happened, huh?” I rub her back, rock a little.

  “I had a bad dream.” Her voice is so weak. Distant.

  “You want to tell me about it?”

  “Nope. Not right now.” She scrubs her bleary eyes.

  “Okay, baby.” I ain’t gonna press right now. Later, I will. If someone hurt her, they ain’t never gonna have the opportunity again.

  God, she’s so small. Defenseless. She was all alone after we took care of Chaos. The brothers are decent men—mostly—but we get all kinds of hang arounds. And before she rolled into town . . . I can’t think about. Gives me fuckin’ indigestion.

  “You want to go back to bed? Or you hungry?”

  “I want to take a shower.”

  “Okay.”

  “And then I want to eat.”

  “All right.”

  “I want to make pancakes.”

  I grin into her hair, breathe her in to calm my racing heart. “More than fine by me.”

  “And then I want to go dirt bike riding.” I said we could go a while back, but with one thing and another, we haven’t gone yet.

  “Whatever your heart desires.” She wiggles in my lap, and I figure she’s gonna get up, but she surprises me. She reaches down and grabs my dick. It leaps to attention.

  “Please,” she whines, brown eyes wide and needy. “Make me feel good first?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She strokes me, and I’m rock hard in seconds. She’s already climbing me, ready to shove me in her pussy. She ain’t wet enough, though.

  She’s scared, and tryin’ to distract herself. She’s not worried that she’s gonna hurt herself. That’s not all right.

  I hoist her by the bottom, and lay her down on her back, legs dangling over the bed. “I got a better idea. Put your heels here on the edge.”

  I wish I could take a picture of her expression. Her eyes light up, and that smile curls. She knows what I’m thinkin’, and she’s more than down with it. She don’t waste time gettin’ in position.

  Now I see some cream. I’m gonna lap it up. I sink to the carpet, spread her wider with my hands and leave them resting on her knees. I flatten my tongue, start at her asshole, and lick all the way up to her clit, slow and steady.

  She reaches for me, but she can’t quite grab whatever she’s aimin’ for, so she rests her hands on mine, twines our fingers as if she’s tryin’ to hold me in place. I’m not going nowhere.

  I stiffen my tongue and spear her hole. She has a powerful taste. Tart. Delicious. She’s definitely been fucked recently. Last night, in fact. Twice. She’s swollen, too. From my cock. I love it. I eat it up and listen to her pants turn into moans and pretty pleas.

  “Dizzy, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

  I can keep going as long as she needs. I suck her clit, tease it. She raises her hips, shoves her wet pussy into my beard, demanding as hell.

  She wants it so bad and that drives me crazy.

  She’s whining, tugging on my hands. “I want cock, Dizzy. Give me cock.”

  I ain’t gonna say no to that. I flip her over and thrust, reaching between us to circle her clit, keep it popped out of its little hood.

  This pussy is mine. This girl is mine. I cum with her clenching around me like a vise, neck twisted so she can catch my lips.

  Later, she makes an entire box of pancake mix worth of pancakes. She uses up all the eggs. And
she eats her fair share. So does Carson, of course. Parker and I max out after one stack each.

  She’s sitting with one leg tucked under, swinging the other. She’s trying to spare her ass. I wailed on her good last night. No reason except she asked.

  There were no handprints this morning, but the apples of her bottom were pink. Next time, I wanna leave marks.

  Maybe she needs to get it for wasting pancake mix.

  Nah. I don’t want to discourage her from eating. She still chows down like she’s making up for lost time.

  I should probably give it a break anyway. She’s been game these past weeks, but I don’t wanna push too hard ‘cause I’m so into what we do.

  Ever since we got the internet when I was in high school, I always search the same videos. I ain’t into the chains and ropes and ball gags. I like when the girl gets her ass reddened. The way her pussy looks peeking through red cheeks. The bending over. That’s the best part. And the squirming and squealing and dancing on her toes.

  I don’t know. Some men like to look at jizz drippin’ out of a woman’s pussy. Some men like tits. I like a red ass.

  Sharon would never go for it, and I never pressed it. Part of what makes it so hot is the woman’s got to be into it, too. I tried gettin’ it going with a few women since the divorce, but no real interest. Not like Fay-Lee.

  With her, it feels like a game. You know when someone really wants to play, and someone’s goin’ along for whatever reason? Fay-Lee wants to play. And that makes her a fuckin’ rarity. I don’t want to bend her over, and she thinks “This again?”

  Besides, she and I do have bigger fish to fry. My ghost girl’s still keeping her secrets, and with the club already suspicious, the sooner she trusts me with them, the better I can keep her safe.

  I don’t want to wake up with a raccoon in my bed again.

  Bad enough we’ve still got the one out back.

  9

  FAY-LEE

  After breakfast, we ride out to the clubhouse. Dizzy keeps bikes in the garage there, and there are tons of spares. Dizzy hooks me up with a 150f, and he brought along the protective gear he bought Parker for Christmas. It fits, but it’s tight.