Cuffed: Pharaohs MC

by Brook Wilder

  At the thought of Carla’s old boss, suspicion once more filled him. There was something going on there, something he was missing, something important, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Whatever it was it had first struck him during that first encounter with Maurice somehow trailing them, and then he showed up again, now, not only across the state border, but with cops this time.

  Joel shook it off. He had a deal to barter. He had to be in the right mindset, and letting his worry for Hot Wheels distract him definitely wasn’t going to help. Carla was still clinging to his back so tightly it was hard to draw a breath, but he didn’t complain. In fact, there was something about the trusting gesture that gave him strength as he started to slow the bike and he finally stopped next to where the other two bikes were parked and threw down the kickstand. He inhaled as deeply as he could. Thoughts of Carla weren’t going to help him here either.

  He waited a moment for her to unclench her hands from one another and let go, but when she didn’t he reached up and did it for her, sliding her fingers through his own and squeezing for a brief moment before sliding off.

  “Why don’t you just sit tight here for now, okay? I’ll go talk to Sparkplug’s contact and this will all be over,” he said softly while he looked down into her face. His chest tightened at the sight of her eyes, so big, so blue, drowning in worry of her own, clearly reflecting his thoughts about Hot Wheels and what would happen next.

  “Just…stay here,” he finally said, repeating himself, but this time she nodded slightly before tilting up her chin, a little of her spirit returning. He cast her a smile, happy to see it. Only when he was sure Carla would stay put did he unhook the saddle bag from the back, still packed full of plastic-sealed weed, slung it over his shoulder and sauntered over to where Sparkplug and the newcomer were waiting.

  The meeting place was an overlook, old and run down now with nothing but a rusty railing between the men and miles and miles of clear mountain views on each side. But Joel didn’t see the beauty or the wildness of the nature surrounding them. All he could see was the image of Hot Wheels being forced to the ground by uniformed officers, being handcuffed and arrested. They would find the weed in the car. It was inevitable. But he couldn’t do anything about it now, he reminded himself harshly, and forced his attention to the task in front of him.

  Sparkplug looked around curiously, obviously looking for Hot Wheels but Joel gestured for him to get on with it. He couldn’t say anything in front of the contact. He didn’t want to spook him. It could wreck the entire deal.

  “Joel, this is Crank,” Sparkplug finally said as he pointed to the man next to him, shorter than either of them but just as heavily muscled in a black leather jacket emblazoned with the image of a snake inside a circle of flames. “Crank, this is Joel, VP of the Dirty Cruisers.”

  “You got the supply?” Crank said softly, shortly, and to the point. Joel could tell this guy wouldn’t bullshit, and wouldn’t appreciate it either. Something that made him breathe a little easier. He didn’t think he had it in him to try and charm someone at the moment.

  “We got it. Tucker, grab the weed from your car,” he said brusquely, pulling the large bricks from his own saddled bags and lining them up between them. Crank looked over the weed with a critical eye.

  “It looks like quality smoke but it was supposed to be more, no?” he finally said, staring now only at Joel. He could only shrug.

  “This is what we have–” Joel paused abruptly, seeing Sparkplug from the corner of his eye start to open his mouth, start to ask questions about Hot Wheels and the rest of the weed that he couldn’t answer yet. “This is all we have. I’m sorry if you were misinformed,” Joel continued with a quick, razor sharp look at Sparkplug that shut him up on the spot.

  “Well, not as much weed, not as much money,” Crank said, spreading his hands in a shrug of his own. “I’ll pay you a third of what was offered.”

  “All of it,” Joel shot out.

  “A half.”

  “Three quarters. Final offer,” Joel said, sticking his hand out with a prayer and wish that this whole thing would just be done. Crank stared at it for a long time before slowly, agonizingly slowly, reaching out his own and shaking.

  “Three quarters, then.” He reached into a bag at his feet, pulled a few stacks of cash from it before shoving it under the back of his jacket and tossing Joel the rest.

  “Viper, help him load,” Joel said, catching the bag with the money, not even bothering to count it as he walked over to Carla and strapped it on to the back of the bike. He gave Carla one brief, but reassuring, smile before turning back and by the time he’d walked to where the men were waiting, the weed was loaded and Crank was getting on his bike. He turned to Joel with a mock solute.

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” the biker said before turning the engine over, it’s sweet purr loud on the nearly silent overlook and drove off down the highway. It wasn’t long before he was lost to the twists and turns of the mountain road.

  “Hey Joel, what the fuck took you so long. And where’s Hot Wheels?” Sparkplug asked suddenly, looking around as if expecting her to drive around the bend at any moment. Joel’s expression hardened as he faced the man head on.

  “Hot Wheels got caught. Maurice had cops with him and he surrounded her before I could do anything. They arrested her.”

  “Fuck! What the fuck, man?” Sparkplug shouted, his eyes growing wide in rage and he took a threatening step towards him but suddenly Tucker and Viper were both there, blocking the man. He was big, but he had nothing on Tucker’s sheer size and eventually he backed off a little, but the heat in his eyes didn’t die. If anything they burned even brighter as he turned and stalked towards his bike.

  “Sparkplug!” Joel called out and the man stiffened at the sound of his name, but he didn’t turn to look as he threw one leg violently over the seat and lifted the kickstand. “Hot Wheels asked me to tell you…” Joel paused for a minute to make sure that Sparkplug wouldn’t ride off in a rage before he could finish, “Hot Wheels said that she didn’t mean what she said before. She didn’t mean any of it. And…she was wrong.”

  Sparkplug stiffened like a statue as he sat there for a long moment, silent, unmoving, as if he was suddenly carved from marble and just as brittle. He looked as if one good wind would shatter him completely and the as he looked at Joel the expression on his face was pure torture, all agony and uncertainty.

  “Don’t worry,” Joel added, needing to ease the man’s pain, if only for Hot Wheel’s sake, “We’ll get her out of this. We take care of our own.”

  Sparkplug stared at him for a long, heavy moment before spitting loudly on the ground in his direction. “You fucking better, Joel. You fucking better.”

  With those last words he revved the engine of his bike, and like Crank, disappeared down the mountain valley like a ghost, as if he’d never been at all.

  “What do you want us to do now boss?” Tucker asked, all seriousness as he watched the path that the riders had just disappeared from. Joel took a deep breath, shaking off the moment before turning to his right hand man.

  “For now, you and Viper head back to the clubhouse. Make sure everything is clean there. Do a full sweep.” He walked over and grabbed the sack of cash, tossing it at Tucker. The big man caught it out of mid-air and held it cradled under his arm. Joel knew he could trust Tucker to deposit the cash where it needed to go.

  “After everything is settled there,” Joel continued, “lay low for a little while. Something’s going on, something suspicious, but I’m not sure what. Not yet.”

  “I know what you mean, Joel,” Tucker said thoughtfully, “It’s like an itch between my shoulders that I can’t scratch.”

  “That’s what ladies are for, big guy,” Viper chimed in, his mind, as usually, only on one thing.

  “Shut up, Viper,” Tucker said, but there was no heat behind the words, “Joel is right. There is something going on.”

  “Well, we’re not g
oing to anything about it standing up here,” Joel finally said, “You two take off. We’ll head back to the safe house. Alert me immediately if anything smells funny.”

  “You mean besides Viper?” Tucker joked and Viper elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Hey, very funny, listen here you giant, I–”

  Joel turned back to his bike, already tuning out their banter as they got into the car, cash in hand, and drove away. Carla was still sitting there on the back of the motorcycle, his spare helmet now clenched in her hands instead of on her head and her light brown hair was tousled from the ride and the wind. He ached to run his fingers through it. To lose himself in the sheer pleasure of her but the real world called him on, and the real problems that they still faced. Because even though the weed was finally out of his hands, he still had to figure out how to deal with Hot Wheels.

  He threw his leg over the bike, his banked anger flaming high once more at the thought of her arrest. He didn’t know what he was going to do yet, but he just needed time to figure it out. Time he desperately wished he had. He cursed silently and profusely to himself as he started the engine, and drove away.

  *

  The ride back to the safe house seemed so much shorter to Carla she was surprised when they turned down the familiar road and down the long driveway. The drive had been completely silent, both of them lost in their own thoughts as the Utah landscape slowly shifted from red rocks and canyons to the blues and browns of Colorado.

  As Joel slowed the bike to a stop just in front, Carla looked over the cozy cabin that he had built. She could see him in it now, in the careful details and meticulous plans. But it was also there in the wild spray of flowers growing all in a raucous bunch and the stained glass window that should have looked out of place amongst the rustic landscape, but instead made it feel almost sacred.

  Joel slid off the bike first, reaching out a hand to help her down and then stalked towards the cabin to throw open the front door and then slamming it after they walked inside.

  “Fuck!” he said, finally breaking, finally letting loose all the pent up rage and anger and frustration since Hot Wheels had been arrested, hell, even before that. Back to the first moment when things had started to go awry.

  He clenched his hands into fists so tight his knuckles went white as he stomped to the fridge and pulled out two beers. After he opened them he handed one to her, and she was struck that, even full of rage, he thought of her first.

  Only when she took it did he put the bottle to his lips and take a long pull before slamming it down on top of the large island that dominated the kitchen space.

  “Fuck. I fucked it up. All of it. And now Wheels is paying the price. It should be me. It was my fault. I should be the one behind bars. Not her!” Joel ranted, finally stopping to take another gulping drink. Another sip later and his beer was gone, while Carla had yet to touch hers. She just stood there for a moment, letting him vent, letting him say what he needed to get out before taking a step towards him, and then another. She didn’t stop until she was standing toe to toe with him and, as she put her full bottle of beer next to his empty one, she reached up and took his face in her hands instead.

  “Stop. Stop it Joel, right now,” Carla said suddenly, and her tone, gentle, but with steel behind it, made him open his eyes and look down at her. They flashed from bright, pained silver to a turbulent stormy grey and back again but she kept talking, “Do you remember?”

  Joel looked at her blankly for a moment before shaking his head and she bit back a small smile. “Do you remember what you told me? What you made me say every time I tried to blame something that I couldn’t control on myself? When I said it was my fault?”

  His grey eyes cleared a little at her words, but again he shook his head. “You don’t understand, Carla. It really is my fault. It was my plan. It was my idea to use that route. It was my order–”

  “Was it my fault when Maurice called the police and started the investigation?” Carla asked, interrupting him. She waited until he shook his head ‘no’ before she continued. “And was it my fault when he followed us? When he caught up with us trying to move the weed the first time?”

  “No, of course not. But this is different, Carla.”

  “No, it’s not, Joel. It’s not different. What was it you made me say? Shit just got fucked up. And now, we’ll deal with it. You had no way of knowing what route if any the cops would be searching, and I’m finally not taking the blame for Maurice’s actions, or anyone else. And neither can you.” Carla stood up as tall on her tippy toes as she could, pulling his face down towards her until they were almost touching and she could look at him eye to eye. “Now, you say it Joel. You say it right now or everything you told me was a lie.”

  Joel just stared back at her for a long moment, finally resting his forehead against hers with a massive sigh.

  “It’s not my fault,” he growled out the words, but at least he was saying them, “Shit just got fucked up. And now, we’ll deal with it.” Joel paused again his silver eyes flashing molten, trapping her gaze with his, “together.”

  He shot the last word out and it hit her with all the force of a bullet, sinking deep, penetrating all the years of loneliness and hardship, spreading warmth from that spot in her chest and outward to fill her whole body.

  “Together,” she repeated softly, wonderingly, and the word was barely out of her mouth before his was there. His lips slanted over hers, nibbling and licking and biting. With a groan, he captured her bottom lip between his teeth and Carla moaned right along with him at the exquisite sensation that rolled through her body at his kiss.

  She could feel it in his touch, hard, searching, looking for something real, something deeper and she felt her body respond. His anger had morphed into something else, pure desire fired with a heat that threatened to burn them both up completely but Carla knew she was safe with him, that she would always be safe.

  With another growl, a different type this time, he swept her up into his arms and surprised a husky laugh out of her as he held her close and carried her towards the back stairs, and the direction of the bedroom.

  Chapter 23

  Joel hissed in a harsh breath as Carla nibbled teasingly at the curve of his neck.

  “If you keep that up, I just might drop you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” she said breathlessly, looking up at him those big blue eyes so full of trust, wonder, heat and something else that he dared not name, “You would never hurt me.”

  Well, she had him there. He would rather chop of his own goddamned arm than see her in pain and he rolled his eyes at the uncharacteristic softness.

  “Ugh, sugar, you’ve made me soft,” Joel said the thought out loud, resigned but not all that upset by her surprising effect on him. Not if it meant she kept doing that thing with her mouth.

  Holy hell, when did she learn that? he wondered with a groan.

  Carla answered his words with a husky giggle that rolled across his skin like ice sending chills right along with it. “Oh, I don’t know. You feel pretty hard to me.”

  Joel stopped in his tracks at her teasing words, a pained sound torn from his throat as her delicate little hand swept over the front of his jeans and grabbed.

  “Sugar, you’re in trouble now.”

  Carla just smiled again, mysterious and feminine, and uttered one word that threatened to bring him to his knees then and there.

  “Good.”

  Joel slammed his lips onto hers, licking at the saucy grin, tasting her sweetness and damned if he didn’t want more, so much more. As much as she would give him. The need to taste all of her was like an addiction pulling him on, pushing him forward as he used his shoulder to knock open the bedroom door.

  His momentum carried him further into the room and he kept going until he reached the bed, laying her gently on it before following her down. His mouth never left hers as he tore off her shirt and bra, her jeans following along after her shoes and socks. Only when she was stripped near
ly bare did he pause for a moment, just a moment, to look down at her, to drink in the delicious sight of her writhing beneath him.

  She was already so wet and ready for him it wouldn’t take much to have them both panting hard, screaming out as they came, but he wanted--needed--something more. He wanted to give her so much pleasure she begged for mercy. He wanted to show her with his mouth, his hands, his body what he couldn’t yet say in words.

  He bit back a moan as he slid down her body, all creamy skin and lush curves, until he finally stopped just at the cradle of her hips. Carla wiggled restlessly beneath him but he reached out patiently to curl his fingers around the edge of her panties, barely a scrap of fabric anyway, and pulled them slowly down her thighs to throw them in a haphazard pile with the rest of her clothes. Finally, blessedly, she was naked, spread out in front of him like the most exquisite feast. And boy, he couldn’t wait to dig in.