“Can’t say I’ve any experience of kids, let alone teenagers, but I’ve dealt with more than enough prospects in my time. Doesn’t sound much different, except for the mood swings, perhaps. They are all youngsters who think they know it all and won’t be guided.”
Again, he makes me chuckle. “Got any tips?”
He snorts loudly. “Well, telling her she won’t get her patch probably won’t work, and my second go-to if that doesn’t get results is using my fists, so I think you’re on your own there.”
“You sound like you’re quite the violent man, Grumbler.” It’s something I wouldn’t say to his face.
He takes it as though I meant it as a compliment. “I’m the sergeant-at-arms, Mary. That means I need to make club members stick to the rules as I’m responsible for the safety of the club. If someone steps out of line, they need to be educated, and if it’s a situation where words aren’t going to do the trick, then the point needs to be driven home some other way. Wouldn’t be in the role I am if I weren’t prepared to back up what I say with action.” I ponder that, but it’s so far removed from my existence, it makes me shiver. If someone does something wrong where I work, they get a reprimand. If it’s serious, they might get suspended or fired. I try to picture Art using his fists and know he’s incapable.
“Mary.” All mirth has gone from Grumbler’s voice. “I have never, ever hit a woman, or a man who didn’t deserve it.”
I’m driven to ask. “What if a woman deserves it?”
“I’ve never had a woman to call mine, but if I did, and she did something way out of line, I’d cut her out of my life. I’d never raise my fists to her. That answer your question, doll?”
I suppose that it does.
“I’m being called, I have to go. I’ll text Alicia the book titles and authors, and I’ll catch up with you when there’s news. Oh and get my number from Alicia and text me with yours. I’d prefer to call you direct.”
“I will. Thanks, Grumbler.”
He stays on the line. “Mary, um, if Alicia’s being a pain and you want to vent, I’m happy to give you sergeant-at-arms tips for dealing with it.” Now he’s chuckling again. “You’ll have my number. Don’t be afraid to use it.”
I end the call and return the device to Alicia. As predicted, her face lights up when she hears she’s on more covers. The phone pings with a text as soon as I’ve handed it to her. Leaving her in her room, I return to the kitchen while musing over what a strange conversation that had been.
Taking a cut of beef out of the fridge, I begin to prepare dinner. Working on automatic pilot, thoughts go through my head. When I’d lost Dave, I thought my world had come to an end, but I had to go on. I had Alicia to care for. At ten, she’d been devastated by the sudden loss of the only man in her life and focusing on easing her pain had helped me deal with my own.
The first couple of years had been hard. Who would have expected a forty-year-old, seemingly healthy and fit man to be struck down by a brain aneurysm? One day he was there; the next, he was gone. Without Alicia, I don’t think I could have survived.
My life wasn’t exceptional. I’d gotten a degree and had made the most of my time in college. I hadn’t been a virgin when I’d met Dave, but then, neither had he. It wasn’t something either of us had expected. But once I’d met him, all my previous lovers had faded in comparison. Dave and I had just fit, both mentally and sexually.
I’d been twenty-seven when I’d met the love of my life, coincidentally the same age as he. We’d married within a year, then waited another couple to start a family. It hadn’t taken me long to fall pregnant, and Alicia had been enough to make our family complete. We’d had a good marriage. Of course there’d been disagreements along the way, but we’d always made up and found some middle ground. I’d had no thought in my head other than we were going to grow old together. We’d had plans, dreams. All shattered when that massive bleed on the brain took him away from me.
My bed had felt empty with no one to cuddle me, no one to share my triumphs, or steady me again when I’d butt heads with my daughter and no one to take the burden from me. Sex? Well, yes. I missed that as well. Though we’d settled to being intimate on a weekly schedule rather than the spontaneity of the earlier days of our relationship, it was enough to satisfy me.
But most of all, I missed his company. Missed having someone to talk to. If I had a bad or good day at work, if Alicia had scored highly on a test, or, if she was challenging me, there was no one with whom I could share. Oh, I had friends, good friends too. Women who’d be there for me, who’d come around when I was at my lowest point, bringing a bottle of wine to pull me out of my misery, but it wasn’t the same.
Encouraged by said friends, Terra and Kristen, I eventually dipped my toe into the dating pool again. But I’d never found anyone to fill the hole Dave left in my life or come anywhere close to it.
Having Alicia in my life is a blessing, or so I remind myself, but her existence had definitely turned off a few men.
It’s been a year since I last dated. I thought I’d made a good choice—he was a banker, good-looking, clever and kind. The type who’d send me flowers and chocolate. I’d felt spoiled by his attention. If it had just been me, we might even have made a go of it. After a few dates, I’d been confident enough to introduce him to my daughter. What a disaster that had been.
A childless man, being confronted with a then sixteen-year-old girl who was comparing him to the image of the father she carried in her head was something he couldn’t cope with. Of course, all her defiant behaviour caused by her perfectly normal hormonal mood swings were down to bad parenting by me. Something, on the few occasions they’d met, he’d tried to correct.
Raising a teenager is give and take, and of paramount importance is her safety. I’ve learned to pick which battles to fight. He’d want to take on every one. Alicia had hated him.
We’d parted ways.
In all, there had been three failed attempts at dating since Dave had been gone. None could hold a candle to him. What I’d never found was a man who’d shown any understanding of what a teenage girl could be like. In fact, one man had refused to even meet her. He’d thought I could be his booty call without him getting involved in my life. I made sure it hadn’t gotten as far as that.
The gruff tattooed biker who’d never had kids of his own had shown more understanding in one phone call than any of the men from my failed relationships.
Not that I’ve got any interest in Grumbler. It’s hard to imagine a man who lives in a sphere so far removed from mine. Anyway, once he’s located the photographer and got Alicia’s money for her, our paths will divide and never cross again.
While I’ve been in my reverie, I’ve finished the pot roast. I place it in the oven just as Alicia comes out of her room.
I watch her approach, seeing her do a little dance on the spot. “Everyone’s so excited for me. I’m going to be famous. I’m a real model, Mom.”
“I wouldn’t go as far as that.” I let her down gently. “It does mean, as long as the photographer pays up, that you’ve made a thousand dollars. That’s good going, girl.”
She’s in such a good mood, I’m immediately suspicious. “You can’t go out tonight,” I remind her, thinking she might have thought I’d forgotten.
She tosses back her hair. “I don’t want to anyway. I’ve still got people to tell, and I’m waiting for replies on my Facebook post. They’re going to be sooo jealous.” Her tongue licks her lips as though she can almost taste her success. “I might ring Devon to see if he wants to photograph me again.”
“No,” I say quickly, knowing that’s the last thing we should be doing, letting on that we’ve found him out. “Don’t do that. What’s the point if he’s not going to pay you?”
“But someone might spot me.”
“Let Grumbler try to find out more first.”
She grimaces. “Oh, alright. But Mom, I’m going to be a model! Maybe go to Hollywood?”
&nb
sp; I don’t think that’s how this business runs. But our fight’s been put on hold for now, so I’ll count that as a win.
It’s such a plus that Alicia’s mood is on the positive side that I don’t want to send her back the other way, so I avoid returning to the subject that I know I ought to raise, knowing even if I do, it’s doubtful any of my warnings would sink in.
I’m worried she’s still got Owen’s contact details on her phone when I’d have preferred for her to delete them.
When I’d grounded her, I admit I’d blown my top, explaining in detail what could happen if she shared half-naked photos of herself. I hope that I’d gotten through to her with the explanation that while she felt she could trust him now, if their friendship ended acrimoniously, things might be different.
I don’t believe Alicia has done more than exchange texts and messages with the guy who I believe is far too old for her. She hasn’t had much of a chance. Like any mom, I try to keep track of where she is at any time. She’s well aware I can use the location feature on her phone to locate her. It’s a fair bet she’ll always have the device with her, it’s never not in her hand or close by.
It’s not that I don’t trust her, but I was once, though she might find it hard to believe, a teenager myself. I’d used every trick in the book to do what I’d wanted, even if that meant telling my parents what I thought was a white lie. Well, what they didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt them, would it? Alicia probably feels the same way.
Like Kristen, I’d made my own mistakes, though maybe not as dire as I suspect hers are.
Unlike my parents, I have technology I can use to track my daughter, and therefore, it’s so much harder for her to disappear off the radar.
I hope my lecture sunk in, but if it hasn’t, I’ll be watching her like a hawk. Any unusual request to meet a friend somewhere or at a time that rings a warning bell, well, I’ve already decided to check that by ringing said parent of the person she’s due to visit. And if I do check up on her phone location when she’s out, who can blame me for that.
Alicia can’t tell Owen’s a player, but I can. I didn’t need to meet him more than once to know he’s cocky and far too sure of himself. He didn’t try to hide he thought he was God’s gift to women. A man like that would only want Alicia for one thing.
The request for a sext from her? He’s pushing his chances, seeing how far he can go. The fact she was willing will only encourage him, whether or not the picture was actually sent.
Chapter Eleven
Grumbler
“Pimped your ride out again?”
“Hey. You going to model with it this time?”
I walk into church ignoring the comments coming from one side and another. Everyone knows now. As Niran had pointed out, had I told them what I was up to from the beginning, they would have probably slapped me on the back and wished me good luck. It was because I’d tried to hide it that they were getting so much fun out of it now.
Honestly, I’ve been giving the bird to so many people this week, I’m starting to worry I’ll get repetitive strain injury. I was hoping that I’d have found the photographer, taught him he shouldn’t mess with a biker, and be done with all this by now. But Friday’s come around, and Token has repeated that Devon Starr is a man who doesn’t want to be found.
He’s done what he does best, and I’ve contacted authors. I’d tried to call him again, only to find his number is no longer in use. I think we may have made him suspicious when Mary rang him last weekend, or maybe it was my subsequent call to Owen.
Mary, I’ve spoken to her a couple more times. Strangely, our conversations veered off the subject of models and photographs, and I’ve discovered more about her and her life, finding much to admire about her seeing as she works a full-time job as well as bringing up her child. Alicia, well, she’s a handful, but I hadn’t lied when I compared her to some of the prospects I’d seen during my time. Those that joined when they were eighteen had been know-it-all brats who needed to have common sense knocked into them.
Our phone calls had all lasted some time. Even when we got onto a topic where are views didn’t coincide, I’d enjoyed having an adult discussion with her, without coming to verbal blows. In truth though, most of her thinking aligns with mine. I can’t remember when I last really talked to a woman and enjoyed it for what it was. I’m a grumpy old fucker who’s lived and played in the company of men for years, but I find talking to her surprisingly refreshing.
I take my seat, knowing I’m going to be the butt of more jokes when I call up the other business I need to discuss.
Lost kicks it off. Salem gives a report about how the custom workshop is doing. It’s unsurprising that with the extra space, Salem’s been able to take on more jobs.
“Connor’s doing well,” Salem finishes up. “He’s picking up a lot and putting his college education into action.”
“He need a stint at the auto-shop?” Pennywise, who still manages our main shop in town, asks. “Get some of the basics down?”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” Salem agrees.
Blaze is next to raise his hand. “Had a local paper want to do a piece about the tattoo shop. Apparently, we had some good recommendations for our work.”
“I hate to bring up something not so good.” Deuce gets our attention with his words. “There are a few bikers that have been coming to the bar. I’ve seen little baggies changing hands.”
“Dealing?” Lost asks, sharply.
Deuce sighs. “Yeah.”
“We don’t want their types around,” I say sharply. There are good reasons why we don’t deal in drugs and don’t want that business conducted on our premises. Not to mention, it might bring us to the attention of the cops. While we’re not the ones doing it, we’ll find it hard to defend ourselves. Feds are always looking for a reason to take an MC down.
“What d’you need, Brother?” Prez asks.
“Couple of brothers coming to help me sort them out.” Deuce responds quickly, as though he’s already thought about it.
“Who are the bikers?” I ask. “Another club?”
“They’re not flying colours.”
It still doesn’t rule it out. We don’t hide that the bar is owned by the Satan’s Devils MC. The clientele we attract are often weekend warriors who like chewing the ear off anyone who’d listen to them talk about their rides, or members of the public feeling tough for taking a walk on the wild side. Local friendly clubs, including members of the dominant—the Wretched Soulz—are welcome as long as they behave themselves. But we’re always aware we might attract a criminal element.
“I’ll go,” I offer.
“Me too.”
I give the enforcer a chin lift.
“I’ll be there.” I’m unsurprised when Niran offers.
“Anymore?” the prez asks. “If we’re going to nip this in the bud, we want to make sure we’re not outnumbered.”
The VP raises his hand. “I’ll be there.” After cracking his knuckles together, he adds, grinning, “Been a while since I knocked a few heads together.”
“Put like that, count me in,” Kink offers.
Scribe leans forward and points to him. “No naked pets.”
For some reason, that cracks us up.
Lost bangs the gavel, as much calling for quiet as anything else. “Sorted.”
Brakes reports the strip club hasn’t any problems, and his suggestion that we might want to go along the following weekend to see a new dancer is met with unanimous support.
Bones, after sniffing loudly, says the finances are fine, and then, at last, we’re onto other business.
Token stares at me. I clear my throat, and then I start. “You all know that my bike was used in a photoshoot.”
“And that you’re missing out on at least a grand,” Token puts in, staring around the table, letting the brothers know how serious this is.
Brakes, one of the brothers who’s given me the most shit this week, widens his eyes. Up to now he’d thought i
t too much of a hoot to pay attention to the details. “So you did what, stood and watched someone take pictures of your bike and that earned you a fuckin’ grand.”
Token supports me again. “They’re the ones we know of. More photos could have been sold, but the covers haven’t been revealed as yet. So yeah, Grumbler pimping his ride earned himself at least a thousand bucks, maybe more.”
Bones snorts. “Well, there you go. Grumbler wasn’t as crazy as we assumed.”
“Er, any chance I could get in on this gig? Mine’s a good ride.”
“Best get the prospects to give it a shine first, Snips.” Keeper laughs.
I rap my knuckles on the table. “Sorry to disappoint you assholes, but you seem to have missed me saying the fuckin’ photographer has disappeared, and unless he’s found, I won’t be getting shit for,” I raise my hands and use air quotes, “‘pimping my ride.’”
“How we going to find this fucker?” Salem looks disgusted on my behalf. “You don’t steal from a Satan’s Devil and get away with it.”
Prez has been closely following the conversation. He looks down the table at Token. “You couldn’t find him?”
“Nah. I couldn’t track his phone as he’s clearly ditched it. I suspect Devon Starr might not be his real name, as he’s not registered with any of the utilities. He’s like a ghost. He appeared, took photos and went.”
“You sure he’s local? Could be he just flew in for the day.”
“First, Alicia, the female model, had another photo shoot with him about three weeks ago. Second, I’ve spoken again to Owen Leesom, the male model that day.” I pause to wipe my hand over my brow, considering what to say. “My gut feel is that he knows a fuckload more than what’s coming out of his mouth. I asked him if Devon was local, and he jumped too fast to say he didn’t know where he was located.”
“Can we find this Owen?”
Token nods at Lost. “That we can as long as he doesn’t ditch his phone. And as long as he isn’t using a made-up name.”
Grumbler's Ride: Satan's Devils MC San Diego #2 Page 9
