DESERT KING: RB MC

by Jax Hart

  I pick up the spoon, using it to slowly stir the coffee. “I’m fine. I was just tired from all the driving and crashed at a hotel for a day.”

  “Did you sanitize everything? Please tell me you didn’t touch the comforter.”

  “The pandemic is over, Mom.”

  I hear her shudder through the phone. “We almost lost you and now I feel I’ve lost you anyway…”

  “I need this for me.”

  She sighs. “I know. But it still kills me. I just want to hold you tight and never let go.”

  “I’m twenty-four—not four.”

  “You’ll always be my baby.”

  My eyes roll as the waitress returns placing three plates in front of me. “I’ve got to go. My food just arrived.”

  “Come back. Please.”

  My fingers clench on my fork. “I-I can’t. I’m sorry. This is my second chance. My time to figure out what I want to do with my life.”

  “I still don’t understand why you had to leave Florida to find that answer, Amber. It’s not going to appear in the blue desert sky like some miracle.”

  “I don’t expect it will.”

  “Well, when you figure it out, come home.”

  “I can’t promise that.”

  “Are you almost to Santa Fe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you call me and let me know you got there in one piece?”

  “Sure.”

  “You better, or I’ll get on a plane and check myself.”

  “Ha! You on a plane? Even before COVID, you were too terrified.”

  “I don’t trust it. That boy and his cure…I’m telling you Amber, it’s not gone.”

  “It is. Besides, I’ve survived it.”

  “Barely. Your lungs won’t win a second time.”

  “My food’s getting cold… I’ll call you later.”

  I disconnect, my appetite gone. I force myself to nibble at the toast. I know the virus is gone, but my mother much like many—suffer from PTSD from lockdown life, all the death and food shortages but most of all—from missing the people who didn’t make it. I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ll live for them all.

  I turn the napkin back over. My goals are all so superficial. But part of feeling good on the inside is knowing your outside is on point, right?

  The food is bursting with flavor and despite not thinking I could—I polish off just about every bite. Despite the waitress insisting she treats me I open my wallet and take out forty dollars. Taking another napkin, I write her a note:

  Just as I finish drawing the smiley face, the roar of motorcycles has me looking out the window. I swallow hard. Four men on bikes, wearing aviators and bandanas cruise in the lot.

  I gasp as the helmets come off and the cloths lowered. No one could miss that sexy beast, Roger and Tarak wouldn’t be recognizable without that swagger and arrogance that comes off him in waves. One eye is swollen shut. His face is covered in swollen bruises much like Edge’s. But he walks like he could give two fucks.

  I gather my purse and phone. A smile is ready on my lips as they enter the small diner. They immediately look to the back where I’m sitting, I raise my hand to wave as four sets of eyes move past me to the last booth. Not a flicker of recognition came my way.

  My hand drops.

  Heat fills my cheeks.

  The men walk right by me. I swallow the lump forming. Am I really that invisible? Am I really such a plain Jane that a man I thought shared a good conversation with me yesterday would so soon forget? It stings that not even Roger remembers me.

  I wipe the corner of my eye and make a dash for the ladies’ room. Pushing back my hair, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’m not that bad for a living ghost. I swipe my eyes feeling the tears waiting at the dam, wanting to spill over.

  “Don’t you dare cry. Especially over a group of bikers, Amber.” Turning on the taps, I splash some cold water on my face.

  In a few more hours I’ll arrive at my new life. I won’t be passed by ever again. I will be somebody, dang it. Somebody worth noticing.

  The bathroom door opens with a bang as I stride out. My head doesn’t even turn in their direction. I practically jog over to the old, blue truck and climb in throwing my purse on the passenger’s seat. It’s then I notice the paper that drifts to the floor. I reach over, retrieving it. The title. After briefly, scanning it, I crumble it up and toss it back to the floor. I must be in a stolen truck. There’s no other explanation for a seemingly legit title complete with notarized stamp that claims the owner of this blue Ford is none other than: Little Brown Mouse. Address Unknown.

  “That fucker!” My fist slams down hard on the dash. I pull out of the lot faster than I should, leaving a cloud of desert dust in my wake. My anger fuels me. It’s better than the bitter taste being invisible left in my mouth.

  Instead of pulling back onto I-40, I keep going on the access road. There’s a super Walmart not far ahead.

  I don’t waste time parking and going straight to the health and beauty section. I never bothered with shit like this before and barely know where to start. But I do know I want my face to look fierce and my hair to have just… more. I don’t even know what colors go with “white as shit” skin, so I just pick a bunch of bronzers dumping them into my cart. Next is ten different shades of lip gloss and a few tubes of mascara promising “lashes so long he’ll drop to his knees.” The picture on the box shows a diamond ring. A snort escapes me, but the box goes into my cart.

  Next, I hit up the hair care aisle. “What goes over mud brown?” I pick up a box of pink, thinking my tips would look cool this shade but after scanning the box realize I’d have to dye my tips platinum first. I peruse a few boxes and dump three in. I use the self-scan and get back to my truck but not before I use my hand sanitizer and use an antibacterial wipe on my face. My mother’s words haunt me like a bad sex-ed talk. “You will not die. You will not catch it again,” I murmur to myself like a mantra. The world is slowly healing but will never be the same and I realize I won’t be either. But that’s okay. Because the version 2.0 of me is going to kick the shit out of the first.

  3

  Tarak

  I made her the second we came in the door. Even with only one eye working, she wasn’t hard to miss. Not because she’s some great beauty either. I watch people. Study them. Life in the MC is a game of poker. You win by reading your opponents. I was voted Prez because of my instincts. My ability to read people has saved more than one brother in my MC. Meets have turned sour and I was always the first one to get the read; drawing first and protecting my brothers from fatal blows.

  This girl, she’s full of tiny tells. Sometimes it’s a tooth nibbling a lower lip, nervous hands, or haunted eyes. The girl has a story. She sticks out like a bright flower against miles of desert. Only her petals haven’t bloomed yet. She needs watering, tending—a shit ton of TLC. Something or someone put the shadows in her eyes.

  I used to be a man who did those things for a woman. Especially the broken, haunted ones. They always called to me. I see all the jagged, fucked-up pieces of myself reflected when I look at them. Some, romantic stupid part of me thought that if I just found that one other jagged-edged soul, I could line up mine and make it whole again. It’s my Native-American blood. My ancestors were fierce warriors. But we also had passion. Deep-seeded passion for Earth, the cosmos, the stars, and our women.

  But I’ve been singed; utterly destroyed by the power of love. The scars are so thick around my heart, I know I’ll never love like I did once ever again in this lifetime.

  When we walked past her booth, I stared straight ahead. Nope. There’s no way that broken, pale mousey-brown haired girl who got in my face yesterday was gonna take one more second of my time. The other guys didn’t recognize the brown-eyed girl in the least. So, I didn’t bother either.

  I heard her quick intake of breath; watched her tiny trembles. And when she fled to the safety of the restrooms, my eyes happened to fall on the napkin cov
ered in purple ink she left behind.

  I’ve read it a dozen times.

  And it got to me. Her inner desires, her need to be sexy. Desirable. She already was and she doesn’t see it. Hell, she’s fresh meat in a small corner of the vast desert. That alone will get her second looks. She’s also tiny. The kind of woman that makes a man instantly feel the need to protect. I mean even a slight gust of wind could knock the petite thing over.

  Besides, I have more problems than a briar from a rose sticking in my side. The Bloody Scorpions keep pushing us…wanting to expand their territory farther north. My blood will seep into the Earth staining it red before I let that happen. The black mountains of Santa Fe are mine. The chapter of the Royal Bastards kept shit locked down and safe during the time of Corona when people were scared, and the cops and first responders were sick themselves. We kept people safe. Our MC was the law. My leadership cemented our power and now, even though the world is almost back to pre-COVID days, our MC remains in power. We are the law, which means I’m the law.

  4

  Amber

  “Stupid, Amber. You’re so stupid.” My hair is orange, not the sexy shade of baby pink the box promised. I quickly braid my hair and pin the ends up underneath, dressing quickly. I have ten minutes to get to work and I’m actually really excited. Today is day one of my new life, orange hair fail and all—I’m determined to make it a good one.

  I didn’t just come out here blind. I did have a rough plan. After I was discharged from the hospital, I still felt horribly isolated. Anyone who managed to thwart the virus shunned me, even though it had left my body, people were still afraid of me. Like I would somehow still spread it.

  I spent days by myself in my room, watching the world go by, alive but still not living. I was over it. All of it. I needed a change, something new. Deep in the stillness of my soul I knew the answer was an adventure, a new life somewhere else. I knew my lungs couldn’t take the cold climate and I hate the freezing chill of anything under sixty degrees. I also didn’t want to get on a plane. I searched for jobs in Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico. California was a dream too far.

  Hours upon hours I searched the Internet. The pickings were a bit slim for someone like me. College never appealed to me. I didn’t see the point in spending a shit ton of money when I had no idea what I wanted to be. What I wanted to do. Then COVID hit hard in three waves. I caught it on the second wave. The economy came back. We started making everything in America again. Construction boomed. Factories were built. But I didn’t see myself working a shift job on an assembly line. Then I stumbled upon a job posting four Google pages deep. It was a position in Santa Fe, New Mexico. A mom was searching for a paraprofessional with experience working with autistic children. She would pay twenty dollars an hour. I picked up my cell and dialed immediately. After a two-hour phone conversation I knew I had found what I was searching for. Jenny’s son was seven and on the spectrum. He spent two years in intermittent lock downs and didn’t handle the transition back to school well, so she pulled him back out. I knew I could help the boy. When she texted me his picture, he stole my heart. His dark little eyes tugged at my heart strings. I yearned to brush back the lock of hair that fell over one side of his forehead. I might not have a degree, but I had four years of classroom experience outside of Tampa. I could reach him. I knew I could.

  I signed a month-to-month lease in a small apartment complex a few miles from Jenny’s home. Packed up my room in under a week and then broke the news to my mom.

  I lace up my sneakers feeling excited for the first time in forever over meeting a new boy. Who knew I’d lose my heart to him in a photograph? Edge and Tarak and all those beefy bikers don’t have a chance against seven-year-old Evan.

  I check my Waze app. Two miles. My fingers move the cheap, plastic blinds from the window. It’s sunny but still early. I’ll walk. I cross to the small fridge and take a bottle of water with me just in case. After all, I am living in the desert now.

  The sun feels good on my skin as I head out into the brand-new day in front of me. I can’t wait to meet Evan and Jenny. The streets of Santa Fe are gorgeous. I wasn’t expecting a tiny town nestled between the mountains to be so swanky, but it is. The shop windows are full of designer brands. The women milling about all carry expensive espresso drinks. I can’t help but notice their toenails match their brightly colored manicured fingernails.

  My shoulders slink just a bit. I can’t remember the last time I painted my toenails. I make a mental note to start.

  The smell of fresh brewed coffee and baking bread wafts from a small café enticing me to wander in.

  I order a small coffee heavy with cream and sugar then ask for a buttered croissant.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, gingerly taking the coffee and bag. “Shit! What the?” The sound of buzzing chainsaws startled me causing tiny drops of hot coffee to land on my skin.

  I shake my head. It wasn’t chainsaws but the buzz of motorcycle engines as about five of them race past. “So much for a peaceful morning,” I mutter. My eyebrows lift as I recognize the familiar patch on the back of their cuts. Royal Bastards MC. And of course, they slow down, cut their engines and park just up the street. I hate that I can’t look away. They’re just so huge. Manly. Their faces are covered but I recognize the leader, Tarak. He swaggers toward the bake shop as if he has the biggest set of balls the world has ever seen. My eyes roll. I’m sure my snort reaches their ears, but I don’t care as I turn in the other direction. These big ass men with their bruises and tats still have their vices just like the rest of us. Including coffee and sweets.

  “What’s so funny, Mouse?”

  My hand tightens on my coffee. No way, does he remember me.

  I pause, feeling him behind me. A huge presence. It’s probably the wind but I swear I felt his breath on the back of my neck. But he couldn’t be that close. Could he?

  Grimacing, I turn. “I’m surprised you even remember who I am.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Mouse. You have a particular shade of brown uglier than marsh mud.”

  I flinch. Words still hurt. “How did your fight go?”

  “I cut Edge down like a dog.”

  “Really?” I arch a brow. “Seems to me your face is more busted than his was.”

  “You saw him?”

  “The next morning.”

  Tarak’s fist clenches. Interesting… His lips thin as he looks me over. His eyes narrow to slits.

  “Get lost, Mouse. Leave. This is my turf and I don’t want you in it.”

  “Tough. I’m not leaving.”

  He comes closer. The tips of his snakeskin boots touch my sneakers. “I won’t ask twice. If you’re not gone by the end of the week. I’m coming for you.”

  “Ooh, I’m so scared. Trembling.” I roll my eyes at him and turn. But I don’t make it two steps before his large, tan hand covered in ink jerks me around. “You don’t know who your messing with.”

  “Funny, that’s the same thing Edge said. Then he hooked me up with a new ride.”

  Tarak’s nostrils flare. “Damn, Mouse. You must be hiding the sweetest pussy somewhere under skin and bones.”

  My hand cracks across his bruised face. He grabs it, leaning so close, his breath kisses my lips. “Get lost.”

  His eyes are a black hole filled with nothing but contempt. I swallow hard. Making enemies with him is hardly how I envisioned the start of my new life. But I won’t be cowed into leaving. Not when I’ve come so far. I decide to change tactics. Leaning closer, my breath lands back on his lips. “Why? Why do you hate me? We’ve hardly met…”

  He closes his eyes. “I know enough… see enough…,” he swallows hard, then abruptly turns. With his back to me he calls out, “End of the week.”

  I flip him the bird. He can’t really make me leave, can he? I mean he’s just the Prez of an MC. He doesn’t own this town. That’s just TV bullshit, right? He’s nothing but a grown-ass bully.

  I sip my coffee, trying to forget
how he looked at me like something he wanted to crush.

  5

  Tarak

  I watch her walk away while the smell of her sugary lips still lingers in the air.

  She’s too much like Mandy. Even her name’s similar. I don’t trust her. Not one bit. The way Edge looked at her got under my skin. For all I know she could be a plant. A way for him to get eyes and intel on what goes down in my turf. Edge knows I have a penchant for broken little things.

  That fucker really likes to stir the pot.

  “Tarak?”

  I turn, glaring at my second, Indé. “Find out where she lives. Who she is... Everything about her down to her blood type.”

  He nods, pulls out his cell and starts making calls. It won’t take the Royal Bastards long to find out every detail of her life. Our chapters span the States and across Europe. Soon, we will be the biggest syndicate on the globe. Fuck the Cartels. They’re too busy fighting one another to grab the ultimate power of a unified global network. That’s what we have in the Royal Bastards. The pandemic just further cemented our power. While governments wrung their hands worrying about PPE and the economy, we moved the merchandise and fed the hungry by partnering with the farmers. We are the ones who stepped up and saved lives. No one forgot either. This new girl is about to wish she never crossed my path. I don’t want her traveling down my road.

  I wave my guys ahead. “I’ll meet you at Church in thirty.” I stop in the florist three doors from the café and pick up Mandy’s favorite. Pink orchids and white hydrangeas.

  With the flowers wrapped and under my arm, I navigate the streets until I rise higher above the town. I throttle down, the engine revs as the altitude increases. There high above town, under a tree I nurtured until its roots grew, is a small cross bearing only her name.

  I take off my helmet, hanging it off the edge of the handlebars.