by Brook Wilder
“Hey, Honey, can I get my usual, and a…” she looked at Carla questioningly, letting her words trail off and Carla answered quickly.
“Whiskey, please. Neat.” Both the woman and the bartender gave her a surprised look and she shrugged, “I can’t handle anything sweet, gives me a terrible hangover.”
“Hey, it’s fine by me, you just don’t strike be as a whiskey type of girl,” the bartender, Honey, said. His voice was deep despite his quiet demeanor and Carla had to wonder how he got the nickname. As if reading her mind, the woman next to her spoke up.
“We call him honey ‘cause he’s so sweet,” she said, her voice all saccharine and he gave her a grimace but then she continued in a lower voice, as if to impart a secret but was loud enough for him to hear, “Actually, we call him that because he attracts women, and trouble, like bees to–.”
“Honey. Yeah, I get it,” Carla said with a small smile as the bartender rolled his eyes.
“And they both usually go hand in hand,” he finished, with an honest smile this time that set his warm, chocolate brown eyes to melting and two dimples flashing in his cheeks. Suddenly, Carla had no problem seeing why women would flock to him. Those dimples were dangerous.
“So, you must be Carla, right?” the woman asked as Honey handed them both their drinks, and left her with a wink as he turned to another rough looking man at the bar, totally covered in tattoos.
“How…how did you know?” Carla asked, confused and her nerves fired again.
“Oh, relax. Casanova told me to keep an eye out for a girl about your height with brown hair and big, innocent blue eyes.”
“Casanova?” Carla repeated, her confusion doubling before the other woman spoke again.
“Yeah, Joel. His nickname is Casanova because, well, that one’s pretty obvious, actually. The man’s like a revolving door. But he hates it, so nobody calls him that to his face.”
“Oh,” Carla said, taking a big gulp of her whiskey because she didn’t know what to say. A part of her had already known that, but having it confirmed chipped away at a part of her excitement, and she wasn’t sure why. She was nothing to him, and he was nothing to her. They didn’t even know each other. She was there strictly on business, nothing more.
“Now, tell me the truth, Carla. What are you doing here?” she said and lifted what looked like a sex on the beach to her painted red lips, took a gulp that nearly drained the glass, and then focused her pale green gaze on hers.
“Well, there was this shipment…” Carla started with a shrug, but the blonde waved her words away like flies buzzing around her head.
“Oh, I know all about that. And that may be the excuse you told yourself to get here, but I want the truth. Why would a girl like you show up to a rough place like this? The real reason?” Her eyes, like two pieces of polished jade, bored into her, demanding the truth, and Carla finally gave in with a sigh.
“It’s complicated.”
“Ain’t it always, darlin’,” she interrupted with a nod, and Honey nodded right along with her. Carla hadn’t realized until then that he’d been listening to their conversation but she wasn’t bothered by his presence. In fact, having their unbiased attention seemed to set something free inside her.
“Well, I graduated from college just about a year ago–”
“Ooh, an educated girl,” the other woman broke in, but Honey shushed her.
“Let her talk.”
“Oh, all right. Go on, Carla.”
“So, after I graduated, I couldn’t find a job. What little savings I had were long gone and my parents couldn’t help me out. I didn’t have anyone else to ask, so I did what I could. I moved to the cheapest place I could find, did whatever I could to make enough money to scrape by, but it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough.” The pressure of the past year, of living under the shadow of debt had her breath hitching, but she continued, “I was going to lose my place because I couldn’t pay rent, I was this close to being homeless,” she held up her finger and thumb, just a millimeter apart, “but my friend stepped in and loaned me some money. It was…it was amazing. She really saved me. Then, with all the marijuana legalization, there was a farm that opened up not too far away and I was able to get a job there, but…” she shook her head.
“But what? It sounds great,” Honey said, cleaning a glass absently in one hand but both of their focuses were still on her.
“My boss, Maurice. He keeps, he won’t stop…he won’t leave me alone at work. A few nights ago he grabbed me, and then yesterday he cornered me in the back of the shed. Luckily his phone rang and I ran for it while he was distracted, but…”
“Fucking scum,” Honey growled, and Carla looked at him, startled at the vehemence in his voice while the woman just shook her head sadly.
“Ain’t that the way of it,” she said, “A girl gets something good going for herself and someone’s gotta come along and ruin it. You gotta get out of there, sweetheart. It’s only gonna get worse.”
“I know, but what am I supposed to do? I’m desperate. I was going to take that shipment of weed and sell it, try and get out of this mess with the money, but…” Carla let the words end with a helpless shrug and the other woman continued for her.
“But Joel and the gang came along, and then took it from you.”
Carla just nodded and took another long pull of her whiskey as the silence dragged on for a long moment. Suddenly, it was interrupted as the woman turned towards her.
“My stars, I didn’t even introduce myself,” she said, turning fully towards Carla and reaching out a hand, “I’m Hot Wheels.”
Instinct had her return the handshake even as she shook her head, “Hot Wheels? Like the toy cars?”
But Hot Wheels just laughed it off with a wave of her hand, “It’s a long story and I don’t have time to tell it.”
“Why not?” Carla asked, but the blonde haired woman nodded in the direction of the back of the main room where a door had just swung open. As soon as Joel walked into the room, the air seemed to change, to crackle with electricity. His gaze swung to collide with hers immediately, silver sparking against blue, and she felt that look shoot all the way through her body like a lighting strike.
“That’s why, sugar,” Hot Wheels said softly, and there was something in her voice that had Carla wondering what their relationship was, if they were an item. But the thought flew from her head as he stalked towards her, ignoring the men shouting cheers and hello’s as he passed. He didn’t acknowledge anyone else until he stopped just a bare foot away from where they were sitting.
“Carla,” he said simply, softly, in that voice of his that was like an engines purr. She could feel the vibration of it and it had her breath catching in her throat.
“Joel,” she replied, still lost in the silver of his gaze, trapped there like an animal caught against a fence, unable to move, unable to look away.
“Honey, can I get a whisky, neat. And another one of whatever Carla here was drinking,” he said to the bartender behind them, never moving his gaze from hers.
“Two whiskey neats, coming right up,” Honey said, and Joel’s eyes widened just a hair in surprise, but then melted again. It wasn’t until Honey slid the drinks across the wooden bar that he finally, finally, released her gaze and glanced over to Hot Wheels for a brief moment before he turned back to her. It was the brief respite she needed to find her bearings again. There was just something about this man that made her lose her head when he looked at her with those eyes, like he could see all the way through her.
“Joel, I’m here because I need the weed back,” Carla spat the words out all at once, thinking they would be less painful--like ripping off a band aid--but in the ensuing silence, she realized that she was wrong. All of their eyes turned to her with varying degrees of surprise, Joel’s with straight-out disbelief.
“That’s not gonna happen, sugar,” he finally said, breaking the tension, and Hot Wheels and Honey shook their heads right along with him.
“You don’t understand. I really need that money.”
“So do I. So does the club,” he countered, and she struggled for an argument that would win him over.
“Well, what about the compensation you promised me,” Carla spat out, fighting for her footing, and, as the grin shot across his face, sexy and sinful and so hot, she could feel the heat all the way from where she was sitting, she knew she was lost for good. He leaned close to her, so close he could whisper in her ear.
“I was suggesting compensation of another sort altogether, sugar. The kind that just has to do with you, and me, a whole lot of bare skin, and you crying out my name over and over until it’s the only word you remember,” his breath tickled the sensitive skin of her neck and his words had heat pooling low and wet between her thighs. A second later, outrage kicked in, fighting a losing battle against the lust that flooded her system, but he pulled back, all business again as he spoke in a normal tone.
“Besides, I’ve already got a plan for the supply. I’m flipping it in Utah. The deal is already set in motion.”
“But I need it…my job, my boss…” Carla trailed off again, desire, frustration, and anger all warring together, confusing her thoughts as she tried one final time. She didn’t notice the look of sympathy that clouded Hot Wheels’s face before she leaned over, all sass and attitude, once more.
“Listen boss, maybe, just maybe, there’s a way this can turn up heads for everyone.” Joel turned towards her as she spoke, and Carla almost passed out from relief at the considering look that crossed over his features.
“Okay, Hot Wheels, what have you got?” It was obvious Joel, as well as the other members of the mostly male club, respected her and her opinion and Carla had to fight a petty moment of jealousy.
Stop being an asshole, she scolded herself, and leaned forward to listen to the other woman’s suggestion, you’ve got way bigger problems to deal with.
“Alright, well, here’s what I think…”
Chapter 6
“Hey, boss, it’s all a go over here. We’ve got our man in play at the state border and we should be just about set. We have a few more connections to make, but it’s smooth as butter over here,” Tucker’s deep voice rang out from the other line of the cell phone, crackling because of his poor reception.
“Alright, Tuck. I got it. Just finish the job and get back here,” he said shortly before ending the call. The poor fucker was in the middle of nowhere Utah, checking to make sure the fake shipping papers they had would fly so it was no surprise that he didn’t pick up a signal from that remote location.
They’d chosen it carefully, after weeks of watching all the routes in and out of the state because it was the least manned and rarely checked. But they had to be ready just in case. He hadn’t become vice president of the Dirty Cruisers because of taking stupid risks. No, he did take risks, plenty of them--that was the name of the game--but each one was well thought out, weighted and measured, before putting any plan into action. Regardless, there was always a surprise. Always something that could go wrong.
Viper was still bitching at him about being sidelined from the pick-up job and Joel knew he needed some action soon or he’d explode, like a ticking time bomb. These weren’t men who were used to staying cooped up. It was part of the reason they had chosen this lifestyle. There was a freedom to it that they all craved.
The way it felt to have a steel engine purring between your thighs as you rode down an empty highway, the wind blowing away the scent of any shit in your life. That was all he’d ever wanted. And he’d found it, and his new family, with the Dirty Cruisers.
He’d never had much of a real family before joining the club. His father had been a drunk, and a mean one at that, willing to take his rage and feelings of ineptitude out on anyone: his wife, his five year old son, it didn’t matter. Joel could still see the look in his grey eyes, just like his, but red-rimmed from the alcohol and bloodshot from long nights gambling away what little money they had.
He remembered the night, that last night, burnt into his memory like a brand. Painful, everlasting. He’d been sitting at the kitchen table, it’s dingy pealing linoleum getting in the way as he tried to draw something on the scrap of paper in front of him. He was a quiet kid, had learned to be because the slightest noise could set his father off and he never knew when it was coming, or if it would be him, or his mom, that caught the brunt of his reaction. He’d only been five at the time, so he knew he couldn’t blame himself, but it didn’t stop the guilt that ate at him.
His mom had been cooking something at the stove when his father stumbled in at almost nine o’clock in the morning, drunk as sin, and had obviously lost whatever game he’d bet on. They could both see it, could read it in his silver eyes, once so clear, now clouded with anger and alcohol. He’d come in swinging and Joel had done the only thing he could. He had jumped up and ran in front of his mother, thinking to protect her, and his father had been enraged. A vicious backhand had his five-year-old body crumple to the ground but he’d still been conscious. He had been still able to watch as his father pummeled his mother, already frail and fragile under the years of his abuse and she had fallen backwards, reaching for anything to save her, and her arm had landed on the hot stove.
He could still remember the smell of burning flesh, the cry of agony as his mother had cried out and his father had stood there, watching through glazed eyes as if he didn’t even know how he’d gotten there. Then, he’d just turned and walked away, laid down on the couch and, a second later, was snoring loudly, sleeping off whatever drunk he’d come home with.
It had been young Joel that had grabbed the ice to wrap around her burn, him that had gotten her up on her feet and to the car to drive to the hospital. It had been the last straw for her, he could see it in her eyes, once so full of life and laughter, and after that, they were broken.
The doctors had treated her burn and, after they left, they hadn’t gone back to that house at the end of the street with the peeling linoleum table. They’d driven away, and scraped by as best as they could, and he’d never seen his father again.
But his mother had never been the same after that, and she had just…faded as the years went by. By the time Joel was sixteen, she was nothing but an empty shell and, a year later, she was dead. He hadn’t been surprised, or even sad. Just numb. She’d been gone for a long time before that. This was just her body finally giving up as well, unable to continue without her heart or mind to sustain it.
After that, Joel dropped out of high school, learned to wrench at a local garage and had fallen in love with motorcycles. He felt it from the very first moment, sitting on that soft leather seat, revving the engine and feeling it roar as it took off in whatever direction he wanted to go. He was in control for the first time in his life, and he’d absolutely loved it.
He’d been on his own for years before finding his way to Colorado, drawn to the vast open spaces and sprawling mountain ranges. To him, there was nothing more beautiful than that ink black sky strewn with stars with the black silhouette of the mountains that laid across it like velvet. Unless of course, there was woman with him under that inky black sky.
The thought made an image of Carla instantly appear in his head and he would have cursed if not for the way his heart melted, and then picked up its pace in his chest. Maybe he should have cursed because of it. He was the king of one night stands. Love em’ until they can’t walk straight and then leave em’ was his policy. So then why wouldn’t this one stay out of his thoughts? He was attracted to her, there was no doubt about it. He could tell just from looking at her that she was exactly the type of woman he loved in bed, innocent on the outside, wild on inside, with that submissive streak edged with challenge and strength that drove him crazy.
Joel had dreamed of her every night, waking up hard and needing relief, and, over the past few days, he’d been thrown from one problem to the next. The last thing he needed was to be hung up on this girl. No, he needed to focus on th
e job in front of him. The progress on their plan to move the weed across state lines into Utah was going smoothly, so smoothly it had him wondering what their next step should be and that brought him circling inevitably back to Carla again, and the plan that Hot Wheels had concocted.
In reality, it was a good plan, and if all went well, it could work out well for everyone involved, but it meant bringing Carla deeper into the job, getting her more involved and that meant she would be culpable if any shit went down.
He could picture so clearly the excitement on her face when Hot Wheels had made her suggestion, her idea of bringing Carla in to get another shipment of weed and splitting a portion of the share with her. It had been painful to see how much it had meant to her and he had wondered at the time if there was more going on than he knew.
A quick chat with Wheels after Carla had left had filled him in on the missing details, and almost sent him into a blind rage at the thought of her boss taking advantage of her like that. Hot Wheels had calmed him down, and he had told Carla to think about it for a few days before she decided anything. The truth was, he’d needed a little time himself. There was nothing he despised more than men who hurt women, and the thought of someone hurting Carla was more than he could take.
