A prospect is about to jump out when I stop him. “Leave it on. Got to get on the road.” Hanging my towel, I wait for him to move and I take his place. “Bro, I got a broken bottle and chicks’ clothes that need to be picked up.”
“Sure, Cowboy.” I can hear the distaste in his voice, but he does his best not to argue. It’s not the first time or last that I’ll ask, so he may as well get used to it. I’m not that much of a dick, so I’ll throw some cash his way when I get back.
As quickly as possible, I wash and get back to my room. With my boots on, my t-shirt and cut in place, I’m ready to rock-n-roll on out of here. Fuck, my boots skid across the floor and I backtrack. In my room, I snatch my hat off the bed post and slide it on. I grin and wink in the mirror as I saunter out in my Wranglers.
To my surprise, Blade isn’t waiting for me, so I wait in the kitchen for him while a fresh pot of coffee brews. I prop my feet up and lace my fingers behind my head. I know he’ll be back soon, so I lean my chair back and relax, closing my eyes for just a minute. My body jerks and my hands fly forward, landing on the table. Blade stands above me, scowling. The dick shoved my boots off the kitchen table knowing I was half asleep. He might be my Prez, but he can be a fucking asshole at times. Pushing my hat back on top of my head, I give him my attention. He slams a cup of coffee in front of me, drops splatting around the table, and I run my hands over my face, trying to wipe away the exhaustion and wake up.
“You’re good to drive?”
“Of course. I was just waiting for the sun to come up.” It’s probably closer to noon, but who’s in a hurry?
“I swear you could sleep anywhere,” he grumbles. “Cowboy, you’re hauling a load of shit across fucking state lines. I need you awake, aware, and on your game. His hard as stone eyes are set on me.
“I get it, Prez, it’s an important load. I know I party hard, but have I ever let you down?” My eyebrows bounce high, waiting for him to dispute that fact, but he can’t. “Never have, never will. It’ll get done.”
“Good. You’re hauling our drop and picking one up for Fuego to bring back.” Blade finishes giving me the details and rants about how Fuego, the Sacramento Prez, has been blowing up his phone, wanting the drop made. The best part of all this, wait for it, is I own the trucking company. That’s right, I have a deal with the club where they get a cut of profits and Spider brokers my routes according to where or what I’m haulin’. Sometimes it’s a legit transport of goods. Sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s both. Like today, I’m haulin’ produce over to a major grocery store and, on my way, dropping prescription pills off, and in trade, Fuego is giving us bricks of cocaine.
Picking up the thermos filled with black coffee, I set my mind to get to work and walk outside. My black semi-truck is exquisite. She has a sleeper in the back, and the best captain chairs and speakers. She is outfitted to perfection and always washed. Parked next to it is my black four cab pickup truck. My girls shine in the sun with fresh wax.
Placing my thumb and pointer to my lips, I rip a shrill whistle to call Lucky. My black pit bull jumps the fence and runs over to meet me with her tail wagging. “You ready to ride, girl?” She licks my hand as I try to pet her. To work out her energy before we leave, I instruct her to sit. She does and grows more agitated before I come back with a ball from the truck. Tossing it a few yards, I command her to go when the ball hits the dirt. We do this a handful of times before I holler, “Load up.” I never leave home without her.
Trucker legend states that right before an accident, a driver sees a black dog with red eyes running toward the truck. Either the driver is about to fall asleep and the dog wakes you up, or if it’s too late, the dog is the reaper coming to take you. I’ve heard some say the dog has even saved the lives of truckers like me. I learned everything there is to know about driving from my old man. We had a ranch growing up and, to help pay the bills, he hauled when times were tough.
I climb up right behind Lucky and turn the engine over. Her hum is comforting. “That’s it, girls, it’s gonna be a good ride.” After her purring response, I pull out of the clubhouse and pick up my load from a large farming company before I head over to California. Blade informed me our cargo is secured in the hidden compartment under the sleeper bed behind me. Another reason Lucky comes with me—she’s been trained to guard our truck, so she sits on the bed right behind me. My backup, my ride or die, Lucky.
The drop-off for the paid produce load goes off without a hitch. Lucky whines, alerting me she needs out, and it’s coincidently the same time I pull up to the Battle Born compound in Sacramento. In their oversized garage, I park the truck and we lumber out, ready to burn off some steam.
The garage door shuts, and Snake, Fuego, and Ghost are inside waiting for me. Snake knows the drill and calls for Lucky, taking her outside to do her business. I’m sure Abuela, his grandmother, has a snack waiting for us both.
“¿Que pasó, Cowboy?” Fuego starts in on the lecture I’m sure is coming. “¿Que hora es? I called last night to confirm an early drop. ¿Sabes que es eso?”
With a tilt of my hat, I respond, “Yes, sir, you did. I got it here for you.” Of course, I don’t address that I’m late and should have been here earlier.
Hopping up into my rig, the CB radio pops off. Axl comes in loud in clear, “You make the drop?”
Picking up the mic, I answer, “Rodger that, bro, both loads delivered. About to pick up a short stack for the ride back.”
“We got another call. Spider needs you to bring back a passenger.” When he says that, I figure it’s a bike and one of the brothers. The Sacramento clubhouse builds custom bikes along with its not so legal dealings.
“What’s the haul?”
He snickers and pauses for dramatic effect over the radio. “Some needy chick.” Axl hollers to whomever is close by, “What’s her name again?” It’s silent a second before he answers, “Bring back Angie, Jazzy’s friend.” Oh, I know who that is. Today just got that much more interesting. My little wedding partner needs a ride back to Reno. I wouldn’t mind giving her just about anything to get my hands on her fine ass again.
3
Angie
I see Cowboy before he sees me at the bar of the clubhouse. My spine jolts with flashbacks of him going down on me in the dark in the back of his truck, his soft dirty blond hair between my fingers. He is a snack in boots and a hat. Those strong, sexy arms I want wrapped around me all over again. I lock that shit away, because he would not want a girl to pawn all over him, no matter how thirsty I am for him.
Anyway, I have a basket full of crazy going on and my life is in the toilet. After my meltdown with Jazz on the phone, she insisted I come home. Home, meaning to her house. I love the fuck out of her for saying that. After I hang up, realization hits just to top off my shit-tastic day—I don’t have a car. I swear, it’s like getting a one-minute-man fuck with no lube. This is the clusterfuck that’s my so-called life. Right after her party months ago, my car was stolen. I’ve been waiting this whole time for an insurance payout to buy another one. It will be difficult to look for jobs without one. And that brings me to how do I get home then?
If there is a way, the club makes it happen, apparently. And the way is a ride from Cowboy. Here I thought I could get away with not seeing him again, or at least allow a year to go by. He has that happy-go-lucky appearance that is easy for him. I resent his happiness and his luck and my mood sours even more, if that is even possible. Have I ever had a day like him in my life?
“Here we are again. You, drinking alone at the bar, with an unhappy look on your face. Life can’t be that bad, darlin’.”
“First off, this is club soda. I’ll hit the hard stuff when I land where I’m going. Second, my life is that bad today, Cowboy. Let’s get moving.” The stool screeches across the floor when I stand and push it back, anxious to get out of the center of attention and to get to Jazzy.
“Now, that would be rude. Abuela always makes me my favorite when I haul o
ver this way. Take a seat, we’ll leave soon enough.” He can’t be serious right now. He reaches over the bar for a glass and pours a draft while winking at me without a care in the world. “You want something a little stronger than soda? It could help remove that brick off your shoulder.”
My teeth grind and heat floods my face. “Brick?”
“Yeah, I would say chip, but I’m pretty sure your attitude is the size of a brick at the moment. Lay it on me, darlin’.” He winks again. “What happened?” I’m not laying any part of my body on him. I would punch the asshole, though, because it would make me feel a lot better.
My eyebrows pinch together and I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m going to be homeless if I don’t find another job. My best friend moved to another state. I have no family to fall back on. My car was stolen, and I don’t have money to buy another one. You could say I have had the worst luck.”
“So?”
“So . . .” I repeat, irritated, and tap my nail on the glass. “Are you fucking kidding me? Not a big deal at all? Maybe it isn’t to you because you have a whole clubhouse of brothers to back you up, Cowboy. I only have Jazzy. I can’t walk around and call up for favors like you.” I didn’t notice at first how loud my outburst was until I stopped, and the dead silence spoke louder than me. Well, shit, add that to my very fucked up day. I lower my voice and harden my tone. “Cowboy, it may not seem hard for you. To me, it is. It would be nice if you could not jab at me.”
“Hmm. Well, it looks to me like you have a whole set of brothers right here who would help if you would stop acting like a cold woman. Sit down and calm your tits and think on it before you say something else you’ll want to take back tomorrow.”
Regret is karma’s ugly cousin. I’m not good at accepting help or patience. I was taught asking meant weakness. Life was a business deal, an arrangement of power. I feel stripped bare and they all can see how weak I am in this moment. That feeling wars with what I said. Jazzy reminded me that I could have called Snake or her uncle.
Speaking of him, her uncle, Fuego, walks through the crowd. He’s dressed in black jeans, boots, and his cut, with a black goatee that’s starting to gray. Fuego is caring as much as he is lethal. A few more steps and he wraps me in his arms. “You okay, mija?” My lip trembles and I suck it back between my teeth to hide the pain, stress, and loneliness from it all. I want to wrap my arms around him, but I can’t. I won’t allow myself to open up. “Sientese y come. Sit and eat, then you leave.” He pulls out a wad of cash and places it in my hand.
“No, I can’t, thank you, Fuego. I can’t take your money—”
He halts my rant with a quick raise of his hand, his palm facing me. Slowly, Fuego confirms, “You, little girl, need to bury that pride from however you learned it. I don’t give you anything because I pity you. I give because I can help. Tu eres mi familia. Now, cálmate y come.”
“In other words,” Snake taunts at my left, “sit your little bratty ass down and eat, because family takes care of their own. You call when you need us. No questions asked.” Next to Snake is a beautiful black dog with a pink spiked collar. She looks fierce with her block head, but her tail wags and her tongue hangs out the corner of her mouth. She is stunning.
“Lucky, come here, girl, and meet Angie. Shake.” To my astonishment, the dog steps forward and raises a paw to me. I freeze on the spot and hesitate. What do I do? “Shake her hand, Angie. Don’t be rude to Lucky, now.”
Snake snickers, “You have petted a dog, haven’t you, Angie?”
“Fuck off, asshole.” I glare for good measure before I hold my hand out to grasp her paw in mine. She uses my grip as leverage and, before I know it, Lucky is standing, using my body to hold herself up, licking my chin. I pet her soft fur as I sweet talk her. “You are just a sweet baby girl, aren’t you, Lucky.” I have never really been around animals in my life. The city life is different, I never had a yard to play in, let alone parents who would have allowed me to have a pet. Lucky is sweet and affectionate. Rapidly, she calms some of the anxiety swirling inside of me. I’m happily distracted with her sweetness.
“Get down.” Cowboy’s voice drops to a low growl and Lucky drops to sit on her back end. That low timbre triggers a flashback, and my body overheats instantly as the memory plays like a quick stream flowing through my mind.
“You want another beer, Ange?” Cowboy slams the door to his pitch-black truck. The beast of a machine fits him and it’s sexy watching him drive it. Who would have thought? A country song blares in the background of the star-filled night. For the last hour, we’ve acted like careless kids, drinking and hitting mud puddles in the mountains. With the windows down and the music blasting, it was the best date I ever had. We tossed our empty beer bottles out of the windows, hitting any marks we could find as we drove. Cowboy could time his just right and hit even the smallest targets, like small boulders. He full-on laughed at my pathetic attempts and I didn’t mind at all. I’d never seen the rocky and sandy terrain of the Northern Nevada desert. Sagebrush is a new smell to me, and one that I will always associate with this day.
My arms hold my middle tightly as I turn around to greet Cowboy. “No. I’ve had more than enough.” He makes it fun and easy. The whole night, I could be someone else entirely. Not the closed-off Angela from the city, but Angie, his woman.
Cowboy tosses a blanket around me and lassos me in tight to his broad, chiseled chest. My fingers roam over the firm muscles there. “What’s your real name?” My eyes look up into his. It seems there is a twinkle there, but that could be the stars, alcohol, or lust.
His deep timbre reverberates under my palms. “Colton. My momma named me after my grandfather.”
“Mmm. Will you kiss me, Colton?” Just the sound of his name on my lips feels perfect for this man.
His cocky smile lifts and his hands roam over my back, wrapping me into him impossibly tighter before his lips take mine.
“You lost up on the mountain, darlin’?” Cowboy jokes and it pulls me out of the reverie I was stuck in. My eyes blink and he comes into focus, laughing. “There she is. No way I could forget either. Some moments, I swear I can still hear your whisperings in the wind.” His gaze trails over my entire body, a shiver of lust traveling along with him.
“Really?” Snake snickers and tsks his tongue at me. “Sounds like a story I want to hear all about—”
“No,” I abruptly cut him off. Snake’s eyebrows hit his hairline, amused with my outburst. “Cowboy, I’ll wait for you outside when you’re ready to leave.” My throat is tight with emotion. Just what in the hell is wrong with me? Once I’m outside, I focus on the fresh air and calming my nerves. “I got this. I can go see Jazz and sort my life out. I just need time to figure out what I’m going to do next.” As much as I want to coax the strength into my spine, for once, it’s a struggle. My life has been slowly crumbling and it sucks. I hate feeling weak or soft, it just makes me more resentful, and I all but demand my walls go back up. No one affects me, sure as hell not a one-night stand.
4
Cowboy
On the way to my rig, I watch her ass sway, then I help her up into the cab right after Lucky. “Are you ready to hit the road?” I ask, and she gives me a ‘what do you think’ look.
“Yes. Please, let’s get this moving, thank you.” Giving her a tight nod, I get in on the driver’s side. “Hey, Cowboy, do you think Spider will be okay with me staying with him?”
Buckling my belt, I inwardly groan. “Yep, I think it would be best,” I clip and start the semi. She better not think she’ll be staying with me.
She rolls her eyes at me dramatically. “Never mind. I’ll check with him myself.” Angie sits awkwardly in the truck, stating she isn’t feeling well, and mumbles that she needs to ‘rest her eyes’ and ‘like hell she would ever stay with me’. I leave the music low and wonder over what has changed in her life that’s making her act like a caged animal. Usually, chicks are all about letting someone take a load off them. Did someon
e hurt her? Is she on the run? If that’s the case, the fucker is as good as dead with the men who run in her circle. I want to poke my nose in her business, but I think better of it. It wouldn’t go anywhere, and I can’t have her reading into it.
Earlier while I ate, the Sacramento crew loaded the drugs I’m transporting back to Reno. I wonder how upset Angie would be if she knew what was sitting just behind her. Best not to poke the bear, so to speak. This chick beside me is a completely different woman than the one I spent that night with. Something has gone and crawled clear up her ass and died. That’s none of my business though and I keep remindin’ myself of it. We all have stories and places we’ve been. I’m perfectly happy to ignore her drama and drive. The country music station blasts through the speakers and I concentrate on the road ahead, not the long, lean legs sitting next to me, giving me a half chub. Nope, I’m not into attachments or crazy chicks. Best to leave this crazy one be. This little wild pony would be fun to tame though, if I was in a place to do it.
At the Reno clubhouse, I park my truck in the garage for the brothers and myself to unload. “Here we go, princess, your station to jump off.”
She looks around confused. “You’re not taking me to Jazz?” I did save her, so I can see how this is confusing, but it’s time to cut ties.
“If you need a ride, ask a prospect. My job is transport. Done.” I tap her leg to get her moving. I’m being cold for a couple of reasons. One, we need to unload, and the other, I don’t need her getting attached to me more than she is.
“My, my, my,” she scolds, shaking her head at me. “Not surprising how much you have changed. Shoulda known better. Thanks, Cow-boy.” Angie’s voice drips with disdain as she kicks opens her door. “Not such a gentleman now, are ya? I was just wondering where my friend was. I’m not latching myself onto you.” Angie slams my door shut and her purse scratches along the paint. There are some things I can tolerate, but not fucking with my rig.
Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Page 61
