by Brook Wilder
“Carla, I…” Joel trailed off, not even knowing what the hell to say. He rolled his eyes at himself in disgust but when his gaze fell back to her he noticed her trembling. “Hey, you cold?”
She tilted her head to one side as if evaluating, “Yeah. I think so. The alcohol’s helping, but–”
Before she could even finish her sentence, he was sliding off his leather and swinging it around her shoulders like a cape. And then he froze. What the fuck was he doing? Letting a girl wear his member’s jacket was a big deal. It meant something, at least to all the bastards still drooling over her inside. It meant something to him. He looked into her eyes, and she had the same grin on her face, but he didn’t think she realized the meaning of what he’d done, and without even thinking about it. A part of him was relieved, he didn’t need the extra complication, but another part, a small distant part, had hoped she might.
“Listen, I should probably get going. It’s late and if I go back in there, Hot Wheels will drag me around to another ten tables and my head is already spinning with all the names I won’t be able to remember.” Carla shifted from foot to foot as if wanting to say more, and he took a step closer, all confidence again as he held her chin in his hands, marveling at how much smaller she was than him, and tilted her face up to meet his. She had no choice but to meet his demanding gaze.
“What is it, Carla? Tell me.” It was less of a question, and more of a rough command and she responded instantly.
“I can do this, you know. With Maurice. I just need you to know that. I can handle this.” It seemed so important to her, and he wondered why for a brief moment before replying.
“I know. I saw the strength in you from the first time I opened the door of that truck and found you sitting there instead of a big burly driver, or an armed guard. You were surrounded by bikers, had no idea if you would get hurt or not, but you didn’t panic or start crying. You were strong, and brave.”
“I…I trusted you,” she said then, and he felt the shock of her words explode inside him, in that tiny part that he had thought had died when he was five. “You promised I wouldn’t get hurt, that I would be safe, and I trusted you.”
Joel searched for the right words, but she had him tongue-tied. He stared into her blue eyes, remembered her funny middle name and it echoed in his mind. Bluebird. It really did suit her, more than she realized. He knew his thoughts were rambling and he drew himself up, trying to regain some semblance of control but she seemed to wreck it so easily. And she didn’t even realize what she was doing.
“Good night, Carla,” he finally said, his voice like rough gravel and she smiled up at him, making it impossible to breathe, impossible to say anything else.
“Good night, Joel.” Then she turned and walked back to her truck. It wasn’t until she’d driven off that he remembered she still had his leather.
Chapter 8
Carla scrambled out of the door, fumbled with the keys to lock it behind her and held her head as a horn honked two streets over. Today was the day she was supposed to convince Maurice that the shipment was lost forever and to get him to push the gas pedal on the next one, and she was going to be late. Great, just great.
“Hey, Carla!” a friendly voice called from the driveway next to hers. “You okay? You don’t look so good.” She turned to face Elle, and instantly groaned at her bright eyed and bushy tailed friend.
“It was a late night last night. I may have had one drink too many.”
“Oh, hungover?” Elle said with sympathy, but Carla could see the censure shine in her warm brown eyes. She didn’t take it personally. That was just part of who Elle was. “It’s okay,” she waved it off and climbed bleary eyed into the truck, “I’m fine. See you later!”
Elle gave her a return wave but Carla didn’t see it.
Damn it. It wasn’t that she’d had too much to drink last night, it was those sugary sweet cocktails that Hot Wheels had insisted on ordering for her instead of her customary whiskey. It didn’t matter how much of them she drank--and she’d only had two--they still left her with a pounding headache and a roiling stomach.
That’s not the reason you overslept though, a tiny voice whispered and Carla tried to silence it. But she knew it was the truth. She had spent most of the night tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep because of him: Joel. Thoughts of him had tormented her until dawn had first started to peek above the horizon and when she had finally fallen asleep, he’d been there in her dreams. Kissing her, holding her, and doing a whole hell of a lot of other things that had her wet and wanting when she’d woken up an hour after her alarm had gone off.
She drove as quickly as she could, grateful that the farm wasn’t far and, within thirty minutes, she pulled into the long drive. Carla glanced down at the clock and gave a mental cheer. She still had five minutes to spare.
She quickly parked, ran to clock in, and was surprised to see Maurice already standing there, tapping his foot impatiently, obviously waiting for some information from her.
“You’re late,” he snapped, and she glanced at the clock on her phone again just to double check.
“Actually, I’m right on time,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. If she was going to pull this off she knew she needed to keep her emotions in check.
“Well, you’re usually here earlier than this.”
“I know. I had some errands to take care of this morning,” she said casually, refusing to give him any more excuses, and she sure as hell was not about to tell him that she’d been running late because a certain sexy biker had haunted her dreams all night.
“Well?” he said again, this time a question as he stared at her with those beady, lifeless eyes of his that made her skin crawl.
“Well, what?” Carla said, trying to keep it cool as she walked to the nearby growing table, full of its precious seedlings. It made it easier when she wasn’t looking at him. When her hands were busy.
“Don’t play games with me Carla! You won’t like the outcome. I told you to get the shipment back, or else…” he trailed off, once more hanging the ambiguous threat over her head.
“I…I think the shipment is gone, Maurice. I tried to track it down, but…I’m pretty sure it’s already across state lines.” Her lie made heat sweep up into her pale cheeks, but she kept her head down.
“Fuck that. I don’t believe you. You’re lying to me, Carla, and I don’t like people who lie to me.” He was suddenly so close that she could smell his fetid breath as it sawed in and out. Rage and impotence muddled his expression, twisting into something even more terrible. “You know what I think? I think you were in on it. I think you were in on the whole thing. You sold me out and I’m going to do everything I can to prove it. You’ll have a lot of fun in prison, Carla. People don’t take no for an answer in prison.”
She jolted back in shock at his words, but it was the venomous look in his eyes that had true fear running like ice through her veins. She opened her mouth to say something, anything to defend herself, but her vocal chords were frozen.
“You still have a chance. I’m a reasonable man, Carla, I really am. But the cops are involved now. They’re investigating the missing shipment and they’ll find it, but you still have a chance. Just get it back and all of this will go away. Do you understand?” he asked, still so close that she could see every broken capillary on the ruddy skin of his face, could see the way his pupils dilated at the fear and pain he had caused, mixing with a sick lust that made her stomach knot.
“I’ll just…I’ll keep trying. I’ll keep trying, Maurice,” she stuttered, hating the stammer in her voice, hating that he could make her feel so out of control and ,as he nodded, moving as if to take a step closer, she ducked around him and headed straight for her truck. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t look back. Carla just got in, started the engine, and drove. It wasn’t until almost an hour later that she realized she wasn’t driving home. She was heading straight for the clubhouse.
*
Joel looked up as the door opened. It was still early enough that most of the crew was passed out, sleeping off whatever copious amounts of alcohol had been consumed the night before. But not him. He had to oversee flipping the weed and he had to do it with a clear head. He cursed because that clear head seemed to flee the moment he saw Carla walk in to the clubhouse.
“Carla?” he called out and she practically ran towards him. It was apparent that something was wrong. It was written all over her pale face, the tear-stained look in her blue eyes, the way her lips trembled as she came near. She didn’t stop and shock made him throw his arms around her as she barreled into him. He held her for a long moment as she drew in deep, shaky breaths and, despite himself, he nuzzled into her hair, feeling the silken strands tickle his face as her scent wound around him. It was unique, rich and earthy and edged with something sweet, like caramel, so much like her it made his chest ache. Finally, back under control, she pulled back and he instantly regretted the loss.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go,” she said, her voice full of unshed tears but what sparked his anger was the fear he saw lurking behind her sapphire eyes.
“Tell me what happened,” he commanded, leading her to a chair and he could see her transform as he took control, could see the way she calmed even more, the fear receding just slightly. It was enough, for now.
“I went to work, like we planned. I told Maurice that the shipment was lost. That we would have to send out another. He knew,” she looked up at him, her blue eyes drowning and lost, “somehow he knew I was lying. He told me…he told me that the police were investigating, and that I would go to prison. He said–”
“Fuck.” The word shot from his mouth, interrupting her as he slammed to his feet. If the cops were looking for the shipment it would only be a matter of time before they tracked it back to the Cruiser’s. This changed everything. All their careful planning. All the preparation. It was all shit now.
“I’m sorry, I…I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do. He threatened me, he said if I found it first he would just forget everything, he would call the police off. I’m so sorry.” She bit her lower lip hard to keep them from trembling and her eyes were squeezed tight against the onslaught of tears that threatened when Joel turned back to her. He was by her side in an instant, kneeling down until his face was even with hers.
“Open your eyes,” he ordered, but she shook her head. “Open them. Now, Carla.” Finally, she did as he commanded and he felt her tear-stained look shatter through him.
“This is not your fault. I’m pissed that the cops are involved, it complicates things, but I’m not angry at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I told you that I could do it. That I could handle it, and I couldn’t. I failed.”
“No, you didn’t,” he said, forcing himself to soften his tone, and wondered for the hundredth, for the thousandth, time why her feelings mattered so much to him. “You did everything right. It just didn’t work out. Shit happens. We’ll just have to adjust.”
“But, I–.”
He stopped her words with a finger against her lips.
“Stop,” he said, his tone shifted, growing harder, firmer, more dominant and not brooking any arguments. Her eyes widened over where his finger was, but she remained silent and he felt that familiar thrill flash through him. “Listen to me, and listen good because I’m not going to say it again, and I don’t want to hear another word of it come out of that sweet mouth of yours. It’s not your fault. Shit just got fucked up. And now, we’ll deal with it.”
Joel stared into her eyes, refusing to let go, refusing to drop her gaze, keeping it trapped in his. Slowly, he slid his finger away, unable to resist the small caress as it passed her bottom lip, slightly swollen from her teeth marks.
“Now, repeat what I just said.”
“It’s not my fault,” Carla said, tentatively, and, with a deep breath, continued, “Shit just got fucked up. And now, we’ll deal with it. Together.”
He had just gotten over the instant heat that flashed through his body when she’d said the word ‘fucked’ but as her last, extra word registered, that heat changed and spread through him with a warmth that wrapped around his chest and squeezed.
He gave her a piercing look, fighting to get his body under control, but finally he nodded. “Together.”
Chapter 9
“Wait, what do you mean we have to change the plan? Everything is set!”
“No, we can’t. We don’t have enough time. It’s too late.”
“What the fuck happened? What are we going to do?”
Joel listened to the tirade with as much patience as he could muster. Tucker, Hot Wheels, Viper, and Honey all stood in a unified line of disbelief and anger, and he couldn’t blame them. He spared a brief moment wishing that the Cruiser’s president, Carrigan, was back and could deal with this shit but he was halfway across the country dealing with his own, and so it fell to him.
“Enough!” Joel said, not loudly, but hard and sharp enough that it cut through the others’ words and they fell away like wisps of cobwebs. “Enough,” he repeated, a little softer. A little. He spared a glance at Carla who was still sitting where he’d left her, her arms crossed in front of her chest in a protective gesture, her face still white, but at least there was a little more fight in her blue eyes, and little less fear.
“Carla just tipped me off. The police are investigating the missing shipment.” He could see the sudden relief in her face and his anger tightened as he realized she’d still been worried he would put the blame on her and call her out for failing. He gave a mental shake of his head. She would learn soon enough, but now wasn’t the time. They had to hustle if they were going to have any chance to save this operation.
“We need to flip the shipment. Now.” There was an instant reaction at his words.
“What? That’s impossible–”
“There’s no way, boss–”
“You’re fucking crazy, man. That’s not gonna happen–”
Once again, he let it wash over him. They knew the stakes just as well as him and he let them vent for another moment before reigning it back in.
“Listen, we need a new plan. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s what we’ve got to work with. You should be thanking Carla for tipping us off. Without her we would still be flying blind.” He’d thrown the last in at the end, just to see her eyes widen in shock on him but he couldn’t let it affect him. He was serious. They were out of time, and they needed to move now.
“Any ideas?” he said, and the members looked at him solemnly but silently and the minutes ticked by intolerably. “Fuck, anyone?” He finally snapped, the frustration of the situation getting to him and he immediately regretted it as he saw Carla flinch in the side of his vision.
“Well, it’s a stretch, and we’d still have to get it across state lines, but I know some people that could buy. It might not go for as much as we hoped but at least we would make a profit and get it off our hands. I’ll reach out to my contact,” Hot Wheels suggested and everyone nodded eagerly at her plan.
“Do it,” Joel said, “Tuck, you make sure everything is in order to get across the state line.” Tucker gave a two finger salute and walked stolidly away after Hot Wheels. “Viper, I need you to check the shipment. You know where it’s being held. Make sure everything is ready, we’re gonna need to move as soon as we can.”
Viper grinned with sudden excitement and ran out next as he turned to the last man in the room. “Honey, I need you to keep things quiet. Make sure none of this gets out and if it does, spin it. Say we hit the jackpot and the plan is moving ahead early. Say whatever you need to keep the peace. Got it?”
“I got it, boss,” Honey said, as he turned away as well. He was the bartender at the clubhouse, but he was also a lot more than that. Informant, spy--he had the ear of everyone in the gang and he could use it turn them whichever way Joel needed.
Finally, with a new plan at least set in
motion he felt like he could breathe easy for the first time since Carla had burst into the club house to announce that the police were involved and that their original plan was suddenly shot to shit.
The thought of her had him turning, she was still sitting there, her hands still trembling from the aftermath of her confrontation with Maurice.
“Hey, why don’t I give you a ride home,” he suggested suddenly. It was obvious she was in no shape to drive.
“But, my truck?”
“Don’t worry about it. I can have someone drop it off later.” He reached out a hand and reacted fiercely when she slid her palm against his with no hesitation, trusting him completely. He grinned suddenly. “Have you ever ridden on a bike?”
