DESERT KING: RB MC

by Jax Hart

  Sighing, I ditch the rentals and pull up a new search for homes instead. Scrolling past the first few pictures, I save a few that look decent and re-route my nav app.

  The drive takes me further away from town and deeper into the shadows cast by the mountains.

  I slow, passing by the first house for rent. It had dirt for a yard, a rusted mailbox, and piles of broken lawn furniture stacked by the garage.

  “Florida is looking pretty good right now.” My jeans are stuck to my sweaty butt, but I don’t dare open the window out of fear of the desert dust. The truck has AC but barely any cool air blows out.

  I drive aimlessly for a while, basically just exploring and blasting old country songs. I drive further northwest, intrigued by the black shadows of the mountain range. A for sale sign sits at the end of a dirt drive. “Fuck it,” I turn down and follow the windy, dusty road.

  “Whoa.”

  I put the truck in park. Who knew I’d find paradise here? A few trees grow taller than the roof. There’s brush, greenery, a rock wall. There’s peace.

  It’s a home made of wood instead of the stucco that’s so popular. It’s a wood cabin of sorts but has two levels. The wood is a rich, red brown. I grab a handkerchief and tie it around my nose and mouth before stepping out of the truck.

  I spin in a circle. There are mountains everywhere. Behind me, in front of me—to the side. The range behind the house is in the distance, nothing but desert brush and sloping hills in-between. There’s no neighbors. No houses in view, just open land, and sky. I cautiously walk around back. There is a hot tub, an outdoor fireplace with a few chairs and nothing but view for miles. It’ a flat view of the ends of the Earth with nothing but desert and sky for company.

  I tentatively step up to the porch that wraps around the house, press my nose to the glass window and look inside. The wide-plank floors are inviting, the kitchen has stainless steel and granite counters.

  Taking out my phone, I Google the address and find the listing. It’s $325,00. I have no job I can show on paper and no way to qualify for a mortgage that large. But what I do have is $250,000. Everything my father left me for college. I never touched it. Thought using that for a piece of paper with words on it seemed like a waste.

  Biting my lip, I tap the number for the realtor on the listing. It’s about time this mouse grew some balls.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, I’m at your listing at 2 Camino Tres…”

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to make a cash offer.”

  “Is this a prank?”

  I laugh softly. “Not quite. But my best and final is $250k. No inspection. Cash. Close on Monday.”

  “Well, hells bells, sweetheart. You are a real ball-buster,” he replies in a heavy Texan type accent.

  I grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “I’ll dial the inheritor. The previous owner moved on. Died in a nursing home in Florida a few years back. The property’s been maintained by the son who comes by a few times a year. The roof is solid. The structure sound. I can’t vouch for much more than that. It’s low but I’ll see what I can do. I’ll need proof of funds.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll screenshot my bank balance. You’ll see it’s every penny I have.”

  He whistles low.

  “I just fell in love. What can I say? When you know. You know.”

  “Amen to that. I’ll ring you back, doll.”

  My soul feels lighter the more I walk around the yard. It’s hot but there’s quite a lot of shade under the canopy of the trees. It almost feels as if time stops here and I’m in a bubble. Turning toward the horizon, I half-expect to see cowboys on their mustangs riding with big-brimmed hats through the brush. I feel connected to the Earth here. I feel as if in the quiet spirit of the nature all around me I can be still and listen to my soul, unlock the secrets hiding there and finally find the purpose that’s been eluding me. Two-hundred and fifty thousand is cheap when I’d pay any price to feel this way.

  The phone rings in my hand. I tap, answering quickly.

  “Mouse. It’s time to collect.”

  My heart hammers. My palms sweat. The sound of his low voice skates down my spine.

  “Edge.”

  “I still taste you.”

  “Mouse must taste good.”

  “I wonder if your pussy could taste sweeter?”

  “You’ll never know.”

  He chuckles low. “I bet you’re wet just thinking about my head between your thighs.”

  “My eyes are rolling.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I need you to gather some intel for me…”

  “Me? That’s funny.”

  “You owe me three, I’m collecting one. Tarak and a few men are riding out this weekend. Find out where and why.”

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll just ring his doorbell and get back to you. He threatened me…wants me out of Santa Fe.”

  “Are you going to let him run you out?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good girl,” I hear the pleasure in his voice as he praises me.

  “I’ll expect to hear from you by sundown.”

  “What? That’s impossible. I can’t—”

  “Don’t disappoint me.”

  “Or what?”

  “I’ll collect much more than a kiss, sugar.” A shudder rips through me. “Or maybe, you want that? I break girls like you then hand them over to F.O.C.U.S. I have a good side-business going partnering with him. Fresh girls are always a hot commodity and your kiss was the freshest I’ve had yet.” He taunts.

  “You’d take me, just to trade me?”

  “In a flash, doll. Don’t get any crazy notions about me. I told you from the start, I’m no angel.”

  “And yet you kept saving me.”

  “Saving you for a purpose. Sunset, doll. I’ll be in touch.” He ends the call and I’m left breathless and bewildered. I have a small crush on him. Like very tiny. Damn hormones. How else can I explain why the sound of his voice and the remembrance of his kiss makes my heart feel like tripping off a cliff? My nipples are pointy and swollen. Damn. I need to get laid. Repeatedly. I was never one to want sex in my old life but maybe that’s because my experiences were all with high school boys who were clueless. While Edge has so much experience it borderline grosses me out.

  My phone rings again.

  “Hello.” I’m deflated. Flat. A balloon who just had a pin stuck in it.

  “Mystery woman. The house is yours.”

  “Seriously?”

  “If that screen grab isn’t faked.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Well then, little lady we have a deal. Get your butt to the lawyer in downtown Santa Fe by noon. He’s expectin’ ya’. I’ll meet you there with the paperwork. If you don’t mind, I’ll represent you and the seller.”

  “I don’t mind. But if you play me, I will bust your balls.”

  He laughs heartily. My eyes narrow. Edge put me in one hell of a mood. But knowing this slice of heaven is about to have my name stamped all over it helps me feel better. I walk over to the hot tub, inspecting it. It’ll take some work, but it seems to be functional.

  I wonder if I can garden here in the shade. Heck, I’ve got a truck now to haul soil. In my mind’s eye—my future takes shape. The future I’m self-creating.

  Humming under my breath, I make my way back to the truck. When I reach the main road, I unhook the for-sale sign, taking it down from the post. This bitch is sold.

  My hand is cramped from signing so much paperwork. My bank account is about to be down to a penny, but I feel like a million bucks.

  I’m planning on going back to my gloomy rental, piling all my bags and boxes back in the truck and camping out in the yard of my new home this weekend. Jenny will pay me at the end of next week in cash, so I have about eight dollars to use on coffee and tacos until then.

  Placing my stack of papers on the seat, I pull out. There
are about four cars in front of me waiting for the light. The sound of familiar engines rumble from my left. One by one, six men on bikes zoom across the intersection. The glint of the sun bounces off the chrome, almost blinding me.

  My hands clench on the wheel. I didn’t miss Tarak’s bronze skin and broad shoulders as he raced past.

  My fingers tap the wheel. Instead of going straight like I should, I turn right, tailing them. I keep a discreet distance. My tanks on full. Fuck it. I follow them simply because I can. Heck, my new home is in the direction they’re going anyway…. Out of town. One of the rider’s pulls over to the shoulder as the rest keep going. I sink in my seat, hoping I’m not made. When I pass, it shakes me when I see it’s Tarak. The man looks utterly broken. His face is etched in pain. His biceps are two huge bronze works of art, decorated in bright turquoise tattoos. He’s too busy staring at a white cross to even pay attention to me gawking as I roll by.

  I’m confused. I can’t stand the man but I of all people know that every person has a story. His chapters aren’t all good ones either. I pull over at an RV park, parking my truck behind a row of campers.

  RV’s have soared in popularity since COVID. People can travel and see the states while staying in their own traveling hotel room.

  Eight minutes later, Tarak races by. I hold my breath, count to fifty, and pull out of my hiding spot.

  I follow the men from a distance again. They pass my dirt road, driving between two mountain ranges and enter the Interstate. It’s hard to keep my distance and not be caught out. But luckily a few truckers are on the road. I let a Walmart truck slip past me and then one from Costco. A few cars enter the highway.

  The sun is getting lower and lower. I won’t trail them much longer but maybe if Edge thinks I’m doing what he wants he’ll back off until I can make it to my hideaway home. I’ll lie and tell him and Tarak I’m going back to Florida. But I do need a new ride. One that isn’t stolen or belonging to some pimp from an MC. When the time comes, I’ll leave the truck with the keys in it at the Triple X for him to fetch.

  Up ahead, I see them pull off down a dirt road. My foot presses the brake. I pull over and wait ten minutes. I’ll be caught out for sure with no buffer between me and them. I shake my head at their arrogance. They have no idea the prey has been hunting the predator for over an hour.

  Finally, I dare easing back out onto the highway. I turn off past the mile maker, gingerly inching the truck forward. They’ve already gone past the straight away. The road narrows. Nestled between huge rocks and boulders. My head hits the top off the roof as I go over a huge bump followed by a crater. I need to stop or risk blowing my tires.

  I pull over to the side parking the truck parallel to a large cluster of rocks. There’s nothing out here. He’s up to something. I know it. Maybe if I bust him doing something, I can use it as leverage to get him off my case.

  The sun’s almost setting. I grab my water bottle and the old flashlight I found in the glove box. I follow the trail, seeing the tire marks from their bikes.

  “Bingo,” I breathe, hiding behind a tree. Six bikes are lined up, parked against the rocky base of the hillside.

  Crouching low, I dart between rocks and clumps of trees until I reach them. They still feel hot to the touch. The low sounds of men laughing floats down from above with a waft of cigarette smoke.

  “What are they up to?” This is a weird ass place to have a road break. Biting my lip, I creep forward into the darkness toward where they are.

  I creep up the hillside, crouching low and praying no rattlesnakes are near. I recognize Roger stoking a fire. The other men pass out beers while their backs rest against rocks. Bedrolls are spread out.

  “What they fuck are they doing?” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, my nails scrape into the ground. I try to bite back the moan from escaping but can’t. My eyes are glued to Tarak as he takes his shirt off. Next, he unbuckles his belt, shucking off his jeans. He’s a warrior. All bronze skin covered in ink… some tattoos—ancient symbols…maybe Apache words inked across his heart. His torso is thick and broad his stomach flat and the V between his groin is deep. His legs are huge and hairless.

  Only in boxer briefs, he erects a tent. A buckskin tent, then uses an iron shovel to pick up rocks that glow from fire and places them inside. Then he carries a gallon of water and pours them over the rocks. I hear the hiss of steam from my perch just below the rise of the hill.

  He says something to the men, flashing his white teeth as he turns, peels off his boxers, giving me the sight of his perfectly muscular ass, which is just as bronze as the rest of him. I take out my phone daring to hold it above my head and open the camera app. I rapidly click then bring it down. Tarak disappears inside his makeshift tent and the men roar with laughter.

  A drum beats. Another man from his MC taps his palms on a small drum and starts chanting. Tarak’s deep voice joins from inside his sweat lodge.

  I’m utterly mesmerized. I take out my phone, open the video app and crawl closer. By now the sun is going, a trail of stars glittering like diamonds emerge from the blue/black sky. The hairs on my arms rise. There’s something mystical out here. The Earth is still warm from the sun even though it’s gone. The drumbeat gets faster as does their chanting in a language I can’t understand.

  Tarak comes out twenty minutes later, gone are his boxers. Instead he wears a buckskin loincloth. Chanting and dancing around the fire to the beat of the drum, he’s magnificent. Sparks from the flame shoot up into the sky. He suddenly stops. Turns his face to the sky and bellows the last line of his verse.

  I’m awed. The men are silent. Tarak sits with them and he takes out what looks to be a joint. He smokes it all then goes back inside the tent.

  I roll over against the hill breathing hard. I might hate the man, but he’s out of this world both in beauty and spirit. He’s a warrior but so much more I can barely understand. I’d like to read his book, devouring the chapters all from the safety of my bed. I could sigh over him, crush on him and learn all his secrets without risking any part of myself.

  I should go. It’s pitch-black behind me and I need to make my way down the hill without falling. The flashlight is in my left hand. But I want to stay. I want to discover more of his secrets.

  “Shit,” I mutter, noticing the bikers standing. They gather their things preparing to leave. Only Tarak stays behind. I’m so screwed if my truck’s spotted. I did park it down from the bikes, parallel with the rocks, tucked neatly under a ledge by the base of the hill. Hopefully, they’ll just ride off never looking that way. I’ll have to stay here and wait it out.

  I turn back over on my stomach, inching closer to the top of the hill. The roar of the bike engines starting up come from below. One by one, their lights shine when they reach the trail to the main road. I’m safe for now.

  Tarak’s back is to me. I decide to leave my spot and try to follow the rim of the hill to the other side. But the rocks are too much, I end up easing myself lower, climbing down slightly while carefully navigating the rocky terrain in the dark using the light from my cell. Finally, I’m on the front side of the hill and inch back up. But my foot gets caught between two rocks. My cell falls from my hand and I tumble. My hair’s in my eyes. My knees are scraped but I’m unhurt. I gingerly look around for my cell only finding it because it’s still lit up and tuck it into my pocket. I hear him cursing as he crashes down the mountain to me. I keep my head lowered, hiding behind my curtain of hair.

  “Mandy?” He breathes. “Baby? I knew you’d come. You came from the stars tonight… on our anniversary. What would have been our anniversary.”

  I swallow hard, not daring to meet his burning eyes. He leans down, takes my hand, pulling me up. The hair falls from my face but it’s so dark, I half hope he won’t recognize it.

  “Baby,” he breathes, cupping my cheeks as his lips land on mine reverently. He kisses with his whole soul. Light, love, and passion infuse me. Passion meant for someone else. Stolen lo
ve that’s not mine. But I crave it anyway. I revel in this tender warrior’s kiss. I know he’s high. I taste it on his tongue. He might be hallucinating I’m his lost love, but he feels too good to quit. Just for one stolen moment, me, mouse gets to know what the word cherished feels like when it washes over you. I kiss him back, my tongue dancing with his under the stars. He moans, angling his hips closer. I feel him straining against my jeans. His loincloth does nothing to stop his body from demanding his love’s hips cradle his.

  But I’m hardly his love.

  I’m just the little brown mouse, still metamorphizing.

  I gasp as my legs are swept out from under me as he picks me up, carrying me like the bride he’s mourning. We break for air. My heart cracks wide open for his tears to seep in. The strong bones of his cheek press against my softer one. His is wet from tears of joy at the reunion he’s having in his head. My heart lurches. I can’t do this. As much as I hate how he’s bullied me. Belittled me. I can’t sink so low to steal his soul like this. It doesn’t belong to me. It’s hers.

  But his hands shake as he sets me down by the fire. His skin is hot to the touch. He’s on fire for the woman he thinks I am. My head falls to the side as his lips find my neck. His hands skim down my arms, one wrapping behind my lower back. “Touch me baby. Take me baby, I’m yours. Only you bring this desert king to his knees.” His plea is soft. If you could put imagery to passion, it’s reflected in his eyes as he looks at me.

  But I don’t dare touch him. His kiss alone is making me wish I was a dead girl; the one he loved. His stolen passion reminds me so much why I need to live.

  He groans, taking my mouth hostage. My tears mix with his as he lays me down on the bedroll. His large palm is up my shirt cupping my breast. I lose all thought. I’m lost in his touch. In the way his big, warm hands feel on my skin. I stuff the guilt down until it fades behind the burning need his touch arouses. His hands roam over my skin. He lifts his head, pushes my shirt up to my shoulders and I breathe in hard as his mouth skims my breasts, savoring them both one by one. I clutch the top of his silky head, my eyes moving up to the heavens looking down at us. “I’m sorry,” I murmur to the stars looking down. It’s one of the most magical, mystical, romantic moments of my life and I stole it.