DESERT KING: RB MC

by Jax Hart

  “I need a drink, too.”

  The air is thick with tension. I cut right through it. But I wasn’t expected the sparks from my left and right. Edge’s eyes promise murder and the man, Tarak’s sparks with interest. But that can’t be right. Who would be interested in a brown, little mouse?

  Finally, exhaling, I sit next to the ogre of a man, Rog or something and tip back my glass. The ice has melted, and the tequila goes down smoother. A smirk plays across his full lips. “Whatcha doin’ here, sugar? Got a death wish?”

  “Nah. Death already came for me and left empty-handed.”

  He lifts a brow and signals Viv. “Next rounds on me. What did ya’ beat? Cancer?”

  “COVID-19.”

  “No, shit? Good for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Rog? Are you done, making new friends cause still have an issue over here?”

  “Boys,” the older, hot guy rolls his eyes.

  “I know,” I wink, suddenly seeing the band of gold around his finger, which is too bad because this hot silver fox has presence in spades.

  “Name’s Roger.”

  “Amber.”

  “Nice to meet ya, little lady. Hold my spot. I’ll be right back.”

  Viv grimaces, twisting a rag in her hands. “Did you really invite Edge’s rivals?”

  “Club business is always complicated.”

  “I’ll bet. I did watch Son’s on FX.”

  “I fucked up.”

  “So? Fix it.”

  She bites her lip. “I don’t know how. These boys’ tempers flare hotter than the desert in July.”

  “So? Dump ice on it? Douse that shit.”

  “Yeah, I doubt that will work.”

  “Boys!” Viv stands on the bar, cupping her hands to her mouth. “Please! The nights on me. Free lap dances, extras, beer—I just can’t have the cops here again or file another insurance claim if my place gets trashed. If you can’t settle this now please go out back, okay?”

  “Please, as if I’d even stay for free to see her strip.”

  All eyes move to me since I’m the only woman left in the place besides Viv. Tarak’s gaze falls on me, roaming over my tank, undressing me. His lip curls as if he’s sucked a lemon.

  My chin lifts. “You strip. I’d like to see you get up on that stage so we can all see if your dick’s as big as you pretend it is.”

  “Burn!” Hoots and hollers erupt. There’s a proud glint in Edge’s eyes.

  “You tell ‘em, mouse.”

  The muscle in Tarak’s jaw moves. “I don’t take my dick out for sweetbutts. Especially, Bloody Scorpion sweetbutt whores.”

  Anger seethes through me. I dump the bucket of beers on the floor, lift a glass long neck and bust it against a table—beer foams over broken glass. Marching up to him, I wield it like a weapon. “I’m no one’s whore. Got that? Get the fuck out. You obviously don’t belong here.”

  Something flashes in his dark gaze, but it’s gone before I can decipher it. “I think you’re the one who’s lost, pale skin. Dead eyes.” His words cut to the bone. How can one look destroy a person? He’s a judging god as he sneers down at me.

  Edge lunges forward. But his men hold him back.

  “Ah, this brown mouse belongs to you? Shall I take your toy just because I can?”

  “I’m no one’s toy!” I get ready to lift the jagged glass to his skin. What the fuck am I doing? Who am I?

  “Easy now,” Roger steps in, taking the broken bottle from my shaking hands. He must see the crazy in me, how I’m about to snap. Being called a whore is a hot button of mine. My very first boyfriend my sophomore year, broke my trust when he told his friends how he popped my cherry. I was in high school hell after that. The joke was that me, the mouse, was a closet whore. Made no sense but then again high school bullying never does.

  “Let’s go.” Rog gestures to his group.

  “No.”

  My eyes shift to the biker with the letter’s F.O.C.U.S. embroidered in his leather cut. “What’s that stand for?”

  “My name.”

  I shake my head. “You all are weird as fuck. I’m out.”

  But I don’t get far. Edge grabs my elbow. “Not so fast, mouse.”

  “Look. I’m over this bullying bullshit. I have real problems that don’t involve strippers and bikers, okay? I need to get my car towed and get to my job. Someone’s depending on me.”

  “You already have a job lined up?”

  “I do.”

  “Doing what? Cataloguing library books?”

  “Fuck off, Edge.”

  I jerk my elbow back.

  His eyes shift over my shoulders at the Royal Bastards then he leans down in my ear. “I can hook you up with a ride.”

  “No, thank you. That’d make me what? … owe you three?”

  “Listen, doll. Your car’s shot to hell. It ain’t worth the repair. You need a new ride.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  His face remains stoic, but his eyes twinkle just a bit. He points to the bar. “Go, sit your ass down. When I’m done kicking these Royal Bastards outta here. We’ll talk.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t patronize me.”

  “Whose ass you gonna kick?” Edge turns and Tarak’s fist clips his chin.

  “Fuck, no!” A few men from the Scorpions throw down.

  It’s an all-out brawl and I’m square in the middle. A strong pair of arms grab me by the waist. I’m thrown fireman-style over a pair of wide shoulders. “Time out! We got a lady coming through!” It’s Rog, carrying me. I’m upside-down gaping like a fish when they all pause, waiting for him to carry me to safety.

  “Is this a joke?”

  “Nah, it’s a real fight. Tarak’s out for blood.”

  “That’s so juvenile.”

  “If you knew the back story, maybe you wouldn’t think so. Neither of them are gonna be happy until the other is dead and gone. That’s why I’m sittin’ this one out to have a drink with you.”

  “Won’t your wife mind?”

  “Dev? Not unless you plan on being inappropriate with me.”

  “Me? Inappropriate? That’ll be the day.”

  “Maybe you should be? You got a second chance at life, doll. Live it.”

  “I’m trying,” I grimace. “But my damn car gave out three hours south on I-40.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “And they brought you here?”

  I nod.

  “Well, shit. Me and the boys will take ya’ somewhere proper and help you get everything sorted.”

  “Thanks. But I doubt your friends will be much help. I doubt they’ll even be able to see.”

  “You haven’t seen Tarak fight. That boy has Apache blood. No one fights fiercer.”

  “It’s dozens on three.”

  “No, it ain’t. Turn and look, sugar.”

  Stunned, I turn. They cleared the tables and chairs and formed a circle. It’s fight club in the Triple XXX. Edge vs. Tarak. Both have taken their cuts and shirts off.

  A few working girls stand in stilettos, cautiously coming back inside. I guess the lack of gunshots or screaming sirens had them coming back for the dollar bills.

  The music turns back on and a few take the stage, gyrating their hips and shaking their tits but no one cares. The new entertainment is the two men.

  “My money’s on Edge.” Viv eyes his rock-hard abs appreciatively.

  “I hope they both kill each other,” I murmur.

  “This is some shit,” Roger smirks amused as one of the strippers holds up a card like in a boxing match and prances in-between the men in nothing but a G-string and high boots.

  But I only have eyes for the two men, circling each other with murder in their eyes. One dark. One Light. Both dark in their own way. Their muscles shine with a light coat of sweat. Tarak’s torso is bronze and hairless. His pecs are big, but hard. Edge also has a smooth chest, but he has a small trail of fine hair that trave
ls down his abs, disappearing under the waistline of his jeans. They’re both fantastic male specimens. My hands are clammy. My eyes wide. My mind starts imagining all kinds of dirty things. Dirty things a plain girl like me never thought once about before.

  Disgusted at it all and myself for being so intrigued I turn back to the bar, help myself to a water and slip out unnoticed while punches and kicks are being thrown.

  Sure, I could’ve stayed and gotten help. But wasn’t the whole point of leaving to stand on my own two feet? Literally and figuratively?

  Night’s fallen. I open my UBER app and wait. I decided to stay at a hotel at least ten miles away even though there were some closer.

  Forty-five minutes later, I arrive at the Courtyard Inn. It’s ninety-five a night but has free Wi-Fi, breakfast—with a promise that every blanket, towel, and piece of bedding has been thoroughly washed between guests. They also ripped up all the rugs and replaced them with wood flooring so everything can be bombed with disinfectant sprays.

  I help myself to a wipe and tap the kiosk after scanning in my confirmation code from my cell. The virtual display shows me all available rooms. I pick a corner one facing East and hope for the best. The kiosk spits out a keycard and I browse another dispenser sales machine for toothpaste and a toothbrush.

  I grab another wipe and use it to push open doors and turn the handle on the one to my room. After using it to flick on the lights, I carefully wipe down every knob I can. Hell, I have antibodies now but that doesn’t mean my lungs, or my spirit want to go another few rounds with the damn disease. Even though they say it’s gone I still have PTSD from what I lived through. Hell, the whole world does. After taking a long, hot shower, I crash. My dreams are filled with low constant drone of motorcycle engines, the taste of Edge’s lips and the dark, enigmatic eyes of the rugged man who looked at me like I was nothing…yet everything.

  2

  Amber

  I’ve pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I won’t be able to recover my car or hope that any of my things are still inside. I called several towing companies, but no one want to waste three hours one way for a tow in the middle of nowhere. The charge just to retrieve it is more than the car and everything inside it is worth.

  But still. My things: my memories of life are worth something aren’t they? But I just can’t justify spending eight hundred cash.

  Sighing, I grab some toilet paper using it to touch every surface while leaving the hotel.

  “Morning, mouse.”

  He’s so big he blocks out the early sun.

  “What the…?”

  “You didn’t think you could just leave, did you?”

  Shifting my weight, I refuse to be cowed. “Yeah I did. It still is a free country.”

  “You owe me.”

  “You came to collect?”

  He rips off his shades and pulls down the handkerchief covering his face. “I need a nurse. Are those tiny hands good for anything?”

  His left eye is swollen shut. Dark, bruises cover his cheek. I think his nose is busted again. “You lost?”

  “It was a draw,” he shrugs seeming unfazed.

  “I don’t have time for this. I need to be somewhere.”

  He turns, swaggering toward a blue Ford truck. The paint’s faded but the chrome finishes shine. “All your shit’s in the back.”

  Stunned, I slowly walk forward. In the back of the truck, tied down by rope cords are my suitcases, plastic bags full of old, loved books, CD’s, and knick-knacks from my old life.

  “I-I can’t… I have no way to repay you for this.”

  “And I already told you, I don’t collect money.”

  I swallow hard. The past twenty-four hours were surreal. It was like I stepped into the middle of a movie and walked off the set. “What do you want from me?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  He presses a key into my palm and raps his knuckles on the hood. “She’s solid, with some years on her, but still runs strong.”

  “This is yours?”

  He shrugs noncommittally. “You could say so.”

  “I’m not taking a stolen truck, Edge.”

  “Title’s on the seat. The least you could do is utter a thank you, mouse. But maybe it’s not words from you I want.”

  My brow furrows as he invades my space. His meaty hands grasp either side of my hips as he pushes me back against the driver's door. His swollen lips close in on mine. My hands rest on his forearms. I’m not sure if I’m attracted to him per se, but I’m curious to find out if I’ll feel anything at all or if yesterday was just a fluke. He smells of fresh soap and coffee. One hand cups the back of my head as he opens my mouth with his and his tongue searches for mine. Searching for my acceptance. His other hand moves up, slowly rubbing over my tiny breasts. I hiss into his mouth as my nipples harden at his touch. He moves over them lazily in broad daylight. His hand circling, his fingers pinch me lightly. A wave rolls through me. My hips buck forward. His kisses and touches are long; lazy. He’s in no rush to take more but won’t let up either. I kiss him back because I can. Because I’m alive and free and never made out with anyone in a hotel parking lot just for the hell of it.

  He grunts, angling his hips closer. I free myself from his mouth, my hand cups his bruised cheek. “Who knew only a little mouse could satisfy the beast? Especially when he had a full course of tits and ass at the buffet but still left hungry?” With that, I push forward making him move back and open the door to the truck, quickly inserting the key into the ignition. Our eyes lock through the glass. His are wide. I wink, blow him a kiss then reverse, leaving him stunned and horny in my wake. In the mirror I glimpse my flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, and mussed up hair. Damn, if I don’t look just a little bit hot.

  He stares after my taillights with his hands fisted by his sides. I know I haven’t seen the last of him, but I needed to get the hell out of there before I let some Bloody Scorpion biker make me want for things I know he can never give. I’m not delusional into thinking I could be a woman to make a man like that change. Edge is bad with just a hint of good. I came here to start a new life. Getting involved with an MC man was never on my horizon. Besides, Edge has a different woman by the hour for all I know. He thinks nothing of pleasuring one woman than another, if last night is anything to go by.

  Using, the navigational app on my phone I set my new destination. “New life, here I come! No more, being a mouse, Amber. It’s time to change.” With that vow, I start making a new list. I’ve been given a second chance. It’s time to truly be re-born. I turn on the radio, blasting a country station. As the truck rolls down I-40, I even do something risky like open the windows. The air whips through the cab, blows my hair back and I’m relieved when no dust particles cause my lungs to clench.

  I’m making good time to Santa Fe and my foot presses the gas pedal to the floor. The truck doesn’t cough or protest like my Subaru did. Instead, it accepts the challenge. I laugh out loud.

  I’m free.

  I’m flying, still high from the bad boy biker’s kiss.

  But my grumbling tummy wants more than the butterflies. I need coffee and food. Phase one of my new plan is to gain the weight I lost and add some. I’m going to have a curvy body. Somehow. Someway.

  I pull off an exit and sail into the lot of a diner. No one glances my way once as my skinny chicken ass glides into a corner booth. But that will change. I sense it. I’m not running from any sordid past, brutal ex, or broken-down family. My past is as boring as my mud-colored hair and that’s the problem. It’s time to paint my life with bold, fresh color. It’s time these sexy, beastly men stop categorizing me as a plain Jane. I don’t have a pug nose or thin lips. I don’t need plastic surgery. I need to change the inside as much as the out. I just never cared or bothered to paint my canvas. It was easier just to stay invisible for so long.

  But I don’t want to be an unseen ghost floating through life anymore. I want to be the desert rose.

  It’s no
t about a man either. It’s about letting myself feel sexy, womanly and in charge of my own narrative. Taking a pen out of my purse, I get started on my new to-do list:

  “That’s quite a list.”

  I drop my pen, flip the napkin over, quickly looking up feeling so exposed. “Uh, I’ll have a coffee with full cream and sugar. A toasted blueberry muffin, buttered toast… white not—that whole-wheat crap, and a fried-egg sandwich with bacon and cheddar cheese.”

  The waitress cocks a hip, “Girl? Now where are you going to put all that?”

  I smile faintly. “I’m famished.”

  “Clearly. You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, then. You’re a tiny thing…and we hate wasting food after what we’ve been through…”

  “I know firsthand. Please don’t preach to me.”

  “You a survivor?”

  My chin lifts, “damn straight I am.”

  “Good for you, honey. Eat up. It’s on me.”

  “No, really I can pay.”

  She places a hand on my arm. “My cousin didn’t. Please.”

  “I guess, I’ll have to eat every last bite now.”

  She smiles with her eyes as she walks away to grab the pot of coffee on the burner behind the counter. My eyes look out the glass window to the horizon. Life’s almost returned to normal after years of intermittent lock downs and death. Trillions of dollars and so many leads touted by major pharma companies—and yet it was a high school genius working in a lab at a local community college who broke the viruses genetic code and found the cure. The boy is nineteen now and has more money than Mark Zuckerberg and that guy who runs Amazon.

  The waitress brings over my coffee and after adding a generous dollop of cream and three packets of regular sugar, I raise the mug to my lips, close my eyes and savor the taste. “To backyard geniuses,” I murmur.

  My cell buzzes on the table causing me to grimace. I debate ignoring it for the tenth time but after what my family went through, I know I can’t.

  “Mom?”

  “Where are you, Amber? I have not been able to sleep. I kept picturing you lost on the road somewhere.”