Ride All Night

by Michele De Winton

  Grim nodded again. The emotions had fled. Now his face showed only worry. But whether it was for himself or his brother, Rusty couldn’t tell.

  “Fuck that. You’re only part owner. You barely lent me thirty grand. And we agreed I’d pay it back in five years. Not now.” Rusty had trouble getting the words out between teeth that felt like they would like nothing more than to grind Grim into tiny bone fragments.

  It was clearly not the reaction Grim had been expecting and he stood straighter, his fingers clenched around his beer bottle. Grim’s face paled and his whole body screamed distress, but Rusty was beyond caring about his brother’s feelings.

  “I already bailed you out big-time once. I don’t need to do it again.”

  “I know you don’t have the money.”

  “So you just want my shop.”

  “If you sell it now you’ll be able to start over and do your pilot. Better that than having this guy come muscle in on your scene when you’re finally getting some customers to pay you any attention. He’ll demand interest and then we’ll be completely screwed.”

  “You fuckwad. Can you hear yourself?”

  Finally, Grim’s face changed and took on a more pleading expression. “I’m over the barrel here. Help a brother out.”

  “I already helped you out. Plenty. Are you seriously asking me to put everything I’ve worked for this past year in the trash and suck it up for you? Again? I knew you were a self-centered fuck, but this takes it to the next level. How am I supposed to start over without anything?” Rusty knew his voice was getting louder but he didn’t care. Rocco gave him a look but Rusty didn’t need him. Not yet.

  “I don’t know. We could work it out. No way you’re making enough to live on in that shop. Isn’t that why you joined Hell’s? To keep your hand in the game? Isn’t that what you do? Someone is going to find out about it and then your garage will be toast anyway.”

  Rusty felt like the air had been knocked out of him. It took a moment to recover. “You think I’ve been running gear out of the garage all this time?”

  Grim shrugged. “It’s not that big of a stretch, is it?”

  Rusty shook his head. The anger turned so hot it was almost a blinding white light in his eyes. “That’s why you did it. You tried telling the Hell’s boys I was in with the Reapers to make them stop me from doing the pilot. And when that didn’t work you let it slip to the Reapers down here. Do you know someone threw gasoline at me? And tossed in a lighter?”

  “What? They said they wouldn’t . . .”

  Rusty just shook his head. “You shopped me to a rival club because you figured that’s what everyone does. To give me a warning, is that right?”

  “I needed you to give up on the idea of the TV thing. If it goes ahead you might lose everything for good.’

  “Oh, very noble of you.”

  “I’m not a complete shit.”

  “No. Just one willing to let me take on your debt not once but twice and then think I should just roll over. Not because you did me a solid, ever, just because you think you’re the center of the fucking universe. I hate to break it to you: I might be a patched biker, but you’re not better than me. And some of the boys in here have been more like brothers to me than you have ever been. Dad must be spinning in his grave listening to the crap that’s coming out of your mouth.”

  He should have seen it coming, but he didn’t. Grim pulled back and punched Rusty square on the jaw. Stars swam in bright bursts across the ceiling for a moment before Rusty shook his head and lunged at Grim. The pain flared up, shooting down his neck and he wanted to land some of it on Grim. He got him on the jaw before Grim swung back.

  Instantly Grim was pinned between two bikers. “Need some help?” said Martinez in his languid drawl.

  Rusty put every ounce of his frustration into his fist and slammed it into his brother’s gut. Grim doubled over and when the Hell’s boys released him he slumped to the floor. “I’ll deal with him,” Rusty said as he shook his fist out.

  “He’s not Hell’s boys so you’re entitled to do whatever you want. But make sure you do.” Rocco was right beside him. “He needs to know that you don’t fuck with us and smile about it the next day.”

  Grim pulled himself up from the floor and stood wavering, defiant. “Say what you really mean,” he managed.

  “You might have the world fooled, but you don’t fool me. You think you’re the fucking sun in everyone’s universe. I don’t know what Beth sees in you,” Rusty spat out.

  Grim’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?” Then his face lifted. “That’s just perfect. You’ve got a thing for her, haven’t you?”

  “No. You might need to have an ulterior motivation to help someone, but that’s not how I roll. Stop fucking with me and tell your man that he better keep his hands off my shop.”

  “Fat chance of that,” said Grim.

  “I’m not kidding. You might be my brother, but if you want to keep your pretty little face all shiny for the movies then find another way to pay your man back. I’m through cleaning up your mess.”

  Grim laughed. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be all life-smart, but you have no idea how the world works. I’m sorry that the Reapers threw a bit of gasoline at you but that will be nothing if my backer doesn’t get what he wants.”

  “If he wants it so much he can come and get it,” Rusty growled.

  “Oh, he will.” Grim turned to go, a hand gingerly holding his stomach. “And your pretty little actress? Beth wants the whole fairy-tale happy ending so I’m going to play Prince Charming and give it to her. Your TV series is going to be sunk before it even gets going.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Rusty spat out.

  “Nothing. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rusty woke the next morning crumpled and tense. Rocco had slapped him on the shoulder and congratulated him on his restraint. Punching Grim in the stomach like that, with two other guys holding him hadn’t felt very restrained, but then Grim’s punch to his jaw had been a long way from controlled. If he hadn’t seen the glimmer of danger in the bar with the Hell’s boys ready to take his brother down, Rusty might have done a lot worse. But while Grim was a complete fuck, he didn’t deserve to end up broken, and that’s what would have happened if Rusty’d let the Hell’s boys loose on him last night.

  Martinez had promised he’d made it clear to the Reapers that it wasn’t Rusty at the bottom of their leaks and Rusty would just have to trust that they took him at his word. He’d tried to drink his brother’s deceitful barbs away, and it had worked, for a while. But now, with his head pounding, his jaw throbbing, and staring down the barrel of a full day of work, those bourbon chasers didn’t look quite as appealing. When he stumbled into the kitchen he couldn’t even manage to work the coffee machine, it kept swaying away from him.

  Then there was Beth. Showered and dressed, she looked about ten times more ready for the day than he thought he’d ever be. She caught sight of him and from the twist of her mouth, it looked like she agreed. “You remember what day it is, right?”

  Rusty checked his watch. “The fifth.”

  “And I thought this pilot was your baby.”

  The bourbon fog lifted and he remembered why he’d drunk it all in the first place. The three reasons. The first was standing in front of him, hair spiraling into a halo that was just asking for a guy like him to wind his fingers through. The second was that they were meeting with the producer today. And the third had been standing in front of him at Wilde’s. Grim’s callous disregard for his business, his history, and his honor cut him deeper than he realized. Who sold out family like that? And asking him to take on Grim’s fuckups not once but twice . . . ? Rusty shook his head. But the stupidest thing was the part that seemed furthest out of Grim’s grasp: playing around with biker loyalty never got anyone any friends, and no matter what Grim thought he was doing, trying to get an MC crew to give Rusty a “friendly warning” was
not what the Reapers did. Not back in Illinois, not anywhere.

  When his brother left the bar, Rusty had knocked back a line of shots and kept going. Now he felt them trying to climb back out of his stomach.

  “I’ll make coffee and eggs. You load up the pilot. Dave is coming in an hour so if there are any glaring issues we have time to change them as long as they’re small. It’ll take too long to fix otherwise. Or that’s what Dave said. We need to be downtown with the final version by two p.m.”

  With his laptop plugged into the big screen in his living room and blowing the steam off his coffee, Rusty surreptitiously crossed his fingers that the pilot was great. Hell, he’d take it being good, so long as it ticked the right boxes the producer needed and got made. Grim could get fucked; he wasn’t going to turn his back on his dreams again just because his brother wanted him to.

  “Ready?”

  He nodded and Beth pressed play. For twenty minutes he chuckled, nodded, and smiled through the footage. It wasn’t just good, it was really great, and Dave had been right when he said Beth was a natural. While she had planned the whole thing meticulously, what he saw on-screen seemed entirely without artifice. The guys in the shop seemed natural, pumped about their work, and the bikes, man, whatever Dave had done with the lighting made them look magic.

  And then there was Beth. He stole a look at her, sitting next to him, a frown on her face and a pen in her hand as she watched with a much more critical eye than she probably needed to. Then he heard his voice through the speakers.

  “Not that bad, was it?”

  On-screen Beth looked up into his eyes and Rusty could have drowned in the shade of green that practically filled the TV. Her hip rested against the bike, her finger coiled in her messy hair and she was looking at him like . . . like she was not thinking about his brother.

  “ . . . I’m a terrible passenger, I know.”

  “Hardly.”

  “It’s okay. I trust you.”

  Rusty sat back on the sofa. That was . . . what was that? When he turned, Beth was looking at him cautiously. “Dave kept the camera rolling; I didn’t script it. But Dave says it’s good. Says that we should play on the two of us building something to heighten the drama. That the network execs will lap it up, whether the connection is real or not.”

  “Oh, okay. Right. That’s probably a good idea.” So, was what he’d seen real or not? Or had she been putting on a show? Do you want it to be real? The pilot kept playing out in front of him so he paused it.

  “What do you think? Do we leave it in or take it out? I wouldn’t want to give your brother the idea that we are a thing.”

  It felt like a slap in the face, even though they weren’t a thing. Not even close. “But we’re not a thing. You’re an actress, it’s what you do.”

  She smiled shyly. “Right. Great. Dave is totally right. Having a little girl-meets-boy drama in amongst all the bikes does bring it to life.”

  Rusty’s chest tightened and an ache set up shop behind his ribs but he straightened, rubbing at his temples to dissipate the last of his hangover. “Of course. If you and Dave think it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Absolutely,” she said and when he pressed play again they both sat back awkwardly on the sofa.

  Dave arrived and they worked through a few tiny tweaks that seemed to take no time at all and at the same time took hours and hours. Then one thirty arrived and Rusty’s stomach tried valiantly to tie itself in a complicated sailing knot.

  And then they were across town and through the giant glass doors of a production house and up an elevator and sitting in a bright white waiting room where Rusty felt about as polished and prepared as a used sparkplug.

  “Ohmygod. You’re doing the talking, right? Or should I? We should have rehearsed this,” Beth whispered. She was even more nervous than he was, he realized, and it somehow made him calmer.

  “I’ll introduce you. It’s not a pitch, remember. He’s already on board. This is a client. We’re showing him the pilot and answering his questions.”

  “Yes. You’re right. We’ve got this.” She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. It felt like he was back on-screen. Beth leaning against a bike in front of him, her eyes holding his and promising to make everything better. Rusty shook his head. She was being encouraging, supportive. That was all.

  “I should be better at this. I’ve done so many auditions. But look at me, I’m a mess.”

  He turned from where he was sitting on the white padded bench seat to face her square on. “No, you’re not. You’re great. Whatever happens, I want to say thank you. You’ve been amazing. Getting this idea off the ground, getting everyone in the workshop on board, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  The grin was fully formed, warmer than the smiles she’d given him while they were watching the pilot. Every part of his body wanted to cross the line he’d drawn in the sand. To take her face in his hands and steal the breath from her mouth. But she nodded and asked, “Ready?”

  Ready? He thought about his conversation with Grim. Screw him. It was his turn to get something he wanted for a change. “Ready.”

  Then they were ushered inside and Beth was laughing and patting the producer on the shoulder. And they were watching the pilot, and the producer was laughing in all the right places, and Beth was still smiling, and pointing out little tidbits of detail and the producer was smiling. Smiling and slapping Rusty on the back.

  “I have to say when Rusty first pitched it to me I was skeptical. Another bike show was what I thought. And Rusty knows how I love bikes. But this is great. You’re fantastic,” he said, nodding at Beth who ducked her eyes coltishly.

  “Thanks. We’ve worked really hard on it. Couldn’t have done it without Beth though.”

  “I bet. So, the two of you . . . ?”

  “Oh, no,” Beth jumped in. “We’re colleagues.”

  “Perfect. Great. And where did Rusty find you?”

  Rusty watched Beth bite her lip, looking for an answer. “She knows my brother,” he put in.

  “Oh, of course.” The producer beamed, a broad lascivious grin that Rusty wasn’t quite sure about. “Well, folks, I think what we have here is what I’d call a winner. You’ve got it all: sexy bikes, sexy babes, and a few laughs. How many episodes did you say you can plan?”

  Beth jumped in. “There are eight clients who have volunteered their bikes to be involved, and all of them have an interesting story or a high profile, so it’s screen-worthy. Plus, we want to do the ‘pimp my ride’ episode where we refurbish a bike for someone in the community that’s been doing great work. Including the pilot, that makes ten episodes.”

  The producer put a hand to his chin. “And you have them outlined?”

  “We have a one-pager for each,” Beth said with more confidence than Rusty felt. She reached for a folder in her bag and handed the nine neatly typed pages to the producer. He looked over her head at Rusty. “You’ve found yourself a good one here. She’s going to go far. Ever thought of doing any production work? We could use someone like you here.”

  Beth laughed along but Rusty could see she was pleased. Her shoulders relaxed and she released the strand of hair she’d been playing with.

  He stood up and Beth bounced up with him. “I can keep this copy? I want to show it to the sales team here. We’ll pitch it to the networks next week. There are a shit-ton of hoops to jump through to get this made, but I really think you’ve got something here. Let’s make it happen.”

  Beth put out her hand and he shook it vigorously. He led them to the door and it took Rusty a moment to register that the meeting was over. And then they were back out in the white waiting room and the elevator and on the street with the bright sunlight of the afternoon on their faces.

  Beth turned to Rusty, her eyes bright, the smile on her face bigger than he’d ever seen it.

  “Did you hear him?”

  He nodded. “Come on. We need a drink.”

  They found a downtown
bar that served champagne and Beth was in heaven. Then when it got late and he got tired of the city types giving his jacket a nervous once-over, he loaded Beth into a taxi and took her back to the workshop.

  Beth practically bounced up the stairs in front of him and when they pushed through to the apartment she flopped on the sofa with a satisfied sigh. Only to stand up again and start pacing the living room.

  He followed her in and stood in the doorway. “Hey, you’re making me dizzy.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m feeling dizzy. I mean, do you remember what he said? He said we had something.”

  Finally, Rusty allowed himself to let the day’s result out like the cheap champagne bubbles he’d been burping all afternoon. He swept Beth up in his arms and spun her round. “You did it,” he said. “You pulled that all together and he lapped it up, did you see him? You’re amazing. Just amazing.”

  She threw her arms around his neck. “We did it,” she replied.

  He nodded and his world shrank. All that filled his vision were green eyes. Beth’s green eyes. They were bright and shone from something inside that held more good and pride and hope and life than he could remember seeing since his folks had died. She had brought his idea to life and made it a reality.

  “We make a pretty great team,” she said and smoothed her hands over his shoulder blades.

  “In so many ways,” he said.

  She nodded and in her nod he thought he saw something more. That she felt a flicker of what he felt, that she wanted them to be more than a working team. That the night they’d almost spent together had lingered in her mind as much as it had in his. Her hands moved from his shoulder blades up to toy with the long hair at the nape of his neck. She never took her eyes off his.

  Then all of a sudden, his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her, kissing her like he had when she slid into his bed. He pushed her up against the wall and relished the feel of her full, warm body beneath his.

  “We shouldn’t,” she said and he stopped himself but didn’t release her from the wall.