Rhythm of the Road

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Yes. Fuck. I’m fine.”

  Jiggy crosses his arms and rests his chin in one hand, tapping his fingers against his jaw. “You worried she’s meetin’ up with her Ohio boyfriend next? I mean, she could be like most bikers we know and have a stud stashed in every state.”

  “Fuck this.” I give him a quick shove and head toward the hotel. “I’m gettin’ a coffee for the road.”

  Behind me, Jigsaw’s laughter rings out, then there’s an, “Ow! What’re you hittin’ me for?”

  Dex’s heavy steps thud over the pavement until he catches up to me. “How have you not killed him yet?”

  “I ask myself that every day, brother.”

  “I’m sorry!” Jigsaw shouts as he hurries to my side. “Didn’t know you’d get so bent. I like Shelby. Any asshole can tell she’s into you.”

  “And yet…”

  “I’m not just any asshole.”

  “Amen to that,” Dex mutters. “More like a special kind of jackass.”

  The hotel clerk doesn’t look thrilled to have us in his establishment again. Ignoring him, I head for the snack bar and fill an extra-large coffee cup to the top. “You wanna stop for breakfast on the road?” I ask Dex. “Or wait ’til we get to Johnsonville?”

  “Who’s riding my johnson?” Jigsaw quips.

  “Did you strike out with the Demons’ club girls last night?” I ask. “You seem awfully frustrated this morning.”

  Dex smacks Jigsaw’s shoulder. “The scary thing is, he didn’t. He terrorized…I mean, romanced at least two from what I saw.”

  Jiggy scowls at him. “I don’t romance, bro.”

  I let out a long, irritated sigh. “I honestly don’t care.”

  “Sure, now that you have a steady supply of p—”

  “Don’t,” I warn him.

  “Pleasurable communication,” he continues, “you can afford to be smug. Don’t judge me. I’m a healthy young man. I need frequent release with various females as often as possible.”

  “Christ, you’re disgusting,” Dex mutters, handing the scandalized cashier a couple of bills and telling her to keep the change.

  Outside, I stop to sip my coffee and notice the other tour buses. Guess Dawson didn’t get an early wake-up. What the fuck was the rush for Shelby? I glance back at the hotel…

  “You thinking of finding Dawson and pounding on his door?” Jigsaw asks.

  This fucker knows me too well. “No. What are you, eight?”

  “More like nine, nine and a half inches.”

  I roll my eyes. That ride in the car is looking better by the second. “Shut up.”

  We stop at our vehicles and I check my phone. “Texting Murphy to let him know we’re on our way back. See where he wants to meet up before we head to Zips.”

  Dex takes out his phone, flips through a few screens. “We should hit Exit 28 in about three hours. Four if we stop for breakfast somewhere. Have him meet us at the gas station right off the exit.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “How’d you leave it?” Jigsaw asks.

  I finish sending the text before glancing up. “Leave what?”

  “Things with Shelby.”

  “None of your fucking business.”

  “Seriously?”

  I blow out a breath and squeeze my eyes shut. Why am I even bothering? “We’re gonna meet up in Virginia next week. Z’s got a few charters he wants me to visit and that one was on top of the list.” I lift my shoulders. “So, it works out.”

  “Aw, fuck.” Dex groans. “Priest’s still poking around?”

  “Apparently.”

  Jigsaw frowns at me. “You can’t go alone.”

  “Why not? It’s one of our charters.”

  “Yeah, but unless you’re planning to take some long way around, you’ll go right through Viper territory.”

  “And having you with me will help? Pass. I’ll go through Harrisburg. Done it before. Only adds an hour or so.”

  “You still need someone to help you out backstage. Fuck, I’m surprised you let her go as it is, knowing the shit she puts up with.”

  “He’s got a point,” Dex adds.

  “You think I’m an asshole too?”

  “No, brother. Just sayin’. It would drive me nuts thinking she’d be unprotected at those shows.”

  “Her schedule says she only has one meet and greet coming up.” I take out my phone and scan the schedule Shelby sent me.

  “She really does need a security team,” Dex says.

  “Can’t afford it yet. Fucking pisses me off no one will do shit for her.” I hold one hand about chest level. “She gets to this point of fame but she ain’t making this level of money yet to afford the shit she needs to stay at that level or go any higher.”

  Jigsaw bounces up and down in a circle. “That’s where knowing some bikers will come in handy.”

  I aim a cool look his way. “Some bikers?”

  “Sounds like Jiggy’s itching to hit the highway,” Dex says.

  “Fuck yeah.” Jigsaw punches his fist in the air. “We used to have the most epic time on the road back in the day.”

  “This is my girlfriend’s tour, not a road trip.”

  “Close enough.” Jigsaw stops his manic dancing around and shrugs. “Just has a stricter schedule than we used to keep.”

  “Bro, it’s fucked up for me to ask you to do that.”

  “Why? You like Shelby?”

  I tilt my head. As if I need to answer that.

  “You thinking you might patch her one day?” Dex asks.

  Patch Shelby? I can’t fathom what that would look like.

  Fuck, who am I kidding? I’ve been picturing Property of Rooster on her back since the first time she hung out with my club.

  “Maybe.”

  “Coming from you, that’s as good as a yes.” Jigsaw grins.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Rooster

  The ride east drags. Maybe it’s because my body knows I’m moving away from Shelby. No amount of internal rationalization that I’ll see her soon seems to lessen the nagging pull.

  As promised, Murphy’s waiting for us by the gas station off Exit 28. I signal to Dex and Jigsaw as I change lanes. Murphy nods at me as I roll up next to him.

  “’Sup, brother?” he asks, clutching my hand and pulling me in. “How’d it go?”

  “Good.” Although, I doubt Murphy would make a joke about it, I’m not in the mood to whine to him—or anyone else—about how much I’m already missing Shelby.

  After a quick run inside, we pull out of the parking lot and head to Zips. I’ve only been to the racetrack Eraser owns a handful of times. Racing doesn’t interest me all that much. Seems more like an excuse to piss away money on car parts and betting to make a guy feel better about his dick size. Since I’m pretty confident in the dick department, the whole posturing, trash-talking, and gambling scene bores the shit out of me.

  Beyond my lack of interest in racing, I’m not as convinced as Murphy and Z that we even need a support club. Support clubs have always been more trouble than they’re worth in my experience. The thought of having to ride out here on a regular basis to “mentor” these little punks couldn’t be more unappealing when there’s a certain little sassy singer on the road I’d rather visit.

  But I’m here to observe and assist my brothers, so I’ll keep my opinions to myself. For now.

  When the time comes, though, what’s right for the club will have to be my priority whether it fucks up my plans or not.

  We take the turn down the long-forgotten road leading to Zips. I’m guessing back in the sixties or seventies, this place was rockin’. Eraser’s maintained its charming overgrown, neglected appearance on the outside. Cracked asphalt, wild grass, trees in desperate need of pruning almost obscuring the entrance. No one finds their way here by accident or without an invite.

  Inside’s been maintained better—hard to convince people to drop hundreds of dollars a night if they’re worried they’re go
nna break an axle on the track.

  Eraser’s the first one to greet us as we make our way over to the snack shack. “How you been?”

  I shake his hand. “Can’t complain.”

  Remy and Griff follow to greet us and bump fists.

  Eraser reaches for Murphy next, pulling him in with a quick slap on the back. “How’s the head?”

  Murphy knocks on his skull. “Harder than ever.”

  “Good.”

  Ah, nice little reminder. These three had our backs when it counted. Without them, we might still be wasting our time tracking down the asshole who whacked Murphy upside the head with a baseball bat and put him in the hospital.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the support club idea after all.

  While Murphy and Remy pull away to gossip about underground fighting, Griff hooks his thumbs in his pockets and lifts his chin at me. “Was I mistaken or was that Shelby Morgan at the clubhouse the other night?”

  I knew he recognized her. “Surprised you know who she is.”

  He shrugs and tilts his head Remy’s way. “Molly’s a big fan.”

  Remy glances over and scowls at the mention of his little sister, which Griff ignores.

  “Tried getting tickets but they sold out quick.”

  “Shit, I wish I’d known. I would’ve tried to get you in. We just came back from her show in Kodack. Should’ve had you ride out with us.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “You’re with her, with her?”

  “Why are you probing into my love life, son?” I reach out and pat his cheek.

  He swats my hand away, flirting with the thin line between not taking any shit and maintaining respect. “I ain’t young enough to be your son. Just curious.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Jigsaw’s mouth twisting with the effort of holding back his laughter. He won’t rib me in front of these guys but he’s definitely storing up ammunition for later.

  “How’s that work between you two, with her on the road all the time?”

  “You looking for dating advice or something, Griff?”

  He shrugs off the taunting question. “No, I’m all set.”

  I decide to ease up since he doesn’t seem to be asking for dickish reasons. “Don’t know yet. Haven’t been with her long. Headed down to see her in Virginia next week.”

  Jigsaw swaggers closer and slaps my shoulder. “We’re also headed to Virginia to expand our porn empire.”

  I shoot a glare at Jiggy.

  “Now that’s a venture I would be happy to help support,” Remy volunteers.

  Murphy gives Remy a quick shove. “You’ll need to earn your way up that particular ladder.”

  Eraser’s gaze darts between them and he backs up a step, like he’s questioning his choice in friends. “That’s what your club’s into, Murphy?”

  Murphy’s face settles into a more severe expression. Yeah, we’re looking to form a support club out here, but it’s still not their place to question club business. Although, I don’t blame the kid for wanting to be clear about what he’s getting into.

  “It’s mostly downstate’s action.” Murphy puts one hand on my shoulder and the other on Jigsaw’s. “But we always help each other out.”

  Remy grins at me. “You ever need someone to chauffeur your stars around or maybe fluff ’em up before a shoot, I’m your man.”

  Griff side-eyes his best friend. “Don’t you get enough fluffing around here?”

  “I’ll keep you in mind.” My flat tone should make it clear he’ll be at the bottom of the list.

  Murphy’s got his chin to his chest, silently laughing.

  Jigsaw slaps Murphy’s arm. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. We got Rock and Z trying to pass off overseeing the porn biz like a hot sack of shit and Remy here’s all, ‘Pick me! Pick me!’”

  “Uh, to be fair, I’m also in the ‘pick me’ camp.” Jigsaw elbows Murphy’s side.

  Eraser’s gaze moves to Dex. “You compensate for that help or do you treat it like asking a buddy to come move some furniture?”

  “If you’re asking if we pay in pizza and beer, the answer’s no.” Dex crosses his arms over his chest. “Vapor can tell you that. He’s always been paid for any work he’s done for the club. Everyone gets taken care of so it’s worth their time.”

  Remy raises his hand. “I’m cool with being paid in pussy.”

  “And that’s why we’ll never ask you to help out in that area,” Dex shoots back.

  “Well, fuck.”

  “Upstate has the strip club?” Eraser asks, ignoring Remy.

  “Along with some other businesses,” Murphy answers. “We like to maintain diverse revenue streams.”

  “Smart.” Eraser nods at Remy and Griff. “We’ve been talking about that. Besides the bar Remy owns, none of us have any other legit income to show.”

  “You wash your cash through the bar?” Murphy asks.

  “Yeah, but you’ve seen the place.” Remy stands up straighter, dropping the horndog act. “Where it’s located, it’s hard to claim it does that much business with a straight face.”

  “Another legit business wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Murphy encourages him. “What else interests you?”

  “I’m saving to open a garage for classic cars,” Griff says.

  “You’ve seen the work he does.” Remy slaps Griff’s back. “Even Eraser’s wife plans to help out at the shop.”

  “Ella’s getting her welding certificate,” Eraser explains. “So, we’ll have that base covered.”

  Murphy nods. “Good idea. Keep it in the family.”

  Aw, look at Murphy. He’s like a legit mentor now.

  “That’s the plan,” Griff agrees.

  “Well, if you want, I can have Teller talk to you. Maybe help figure out some of the financials,” Murphy offers. Sounds like upstate will be investing in a classic car garage in the near future.

  Maybe now isn’t the best time to consider going on the road with Shelby.

  Because it looks like a Lost Kings MC support club is inevitable.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Shelby

  I yawn and stare at my face in the mirror on the wall of tonight’s dressing room. “Sure wish I’d had more sleep this morning,” I grumble at Greg. “Hope you’ve got extra concealer in there, Cindy.” I tap the top of her rolling makeup case.

  “Don’t worry about a thing, sweetheart.”

  Behind me, Greg flicks a look at the ceiling.

  “I saw that. Why’d we have to get here so dang early, anyway? Dawson didn’t roll in until an hour ago.” Six hours on the road hasn’t made me any less crabby about missing Rooster.

  “They needed you early for sound check. I wasn’t going to argue with the venue.” He shrugs and pats my shoulder before walking out.

  Cindy squeezes my upper arms. “You’re going to be fine tonight.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Where’s your man?”

  “He had to go home. We’re going to meet up next week.”

  “Oh. Sounds serious.”

  My cheeks warm. “It could be.”

  “I like the way he treats you,” she says softly. “Attentive and protective.”

  “That’s Logan.”

  We chat about the tour. Actually, I listen while Cindy gives me the scoop on Thundersmoke and Dawson’s ex. “Rumor is, she’s been pitching one hell of a hissyfit after she saw the video of you two singing their song together.”

  “Aw, shit. Really?” Why didn’t it occur to me that the woman Dawson wrote and originally recorded the song with might get a bee up her butt seeing him perform it with someone else? “Damn, I never thought of that. I feel bad.”

  “Don’t you dare feel bad. She knows this business better than anyone.”

  A worse thought occurs to me. “He’s using me to piss her off, ain’t he?”

  She sighs and gives me a sympathetic shoulder squeeze. “Yeah, probably. She cheated on him with his bes
t friend, so give him a pass.” In the mirror, I watch her bite her lip. “You did not hear that from me.”

  Holy smokes. “Surprised Sippin’ on Secrets hasn’t spilled it yet. Guess they’re too worried about posting fuzzy photos of every guy who stands within five feet of me,” I grumble. Another unflattering piece had posted to their site earlier today.

  “Well, she doesn’t need the bad press and he doesn’t want his manly-man image tarnished, so it’s in both their interests to keep their yaps shut.”

  “But he’s using me to needle her.” I’m startin’ to think everyone in this business sucks.

  “Yeah, it’s not great,” she agrees. “But it’s still good for you. Honestly, that’s why I don’t think Sippin’ on Secrets posting those stories about you and Logan is so awful. Shows everyone you got a fine man of your own. You don’t need to chase after her sloppy seconds.”

  Laughter bursts out of me followed by a wave of guilt. Whatever the reasons, Dawson’s treated me well and I’m lucky to even be on this tour. Singing with him has brought me a lot of attention and boosted album sales.

  My phone chirps and I happily reach for it, hoping it’s Rooster.

  Rooster: Just got home.

  Me: Are you in your sexy gray and blue bedroom? Because that’s where I’m picturing you.

  Rooster: In the parking lot.

  I close my eyes briefly. He took me a lot of different places during my visit but I can imagine his clubhouse perfectly. I just need to mentally clip Tawny the hyena out of the picture.

  Me: Will you send me a pic?

  Rooster: Dick or regular?

  Me: Well, Cindy’s working on me at the moment so…

  A picture of his serious face framed by the evening sky pops up next.

  Rooster: Your turn.

  Cindy chuckles and steps clear of the frame while I stick out my tongue and snap a picture. It’s goofy as all get-out. My hair’s all half-up, half-down and my face a clean canvas of primer that gives me a ghostly appearance.

  Rooster: Beautiful. I miss you.

  Me: Miss you too.

  Rooster: Gotta go.

  I set the phone in my lap.

  Behind me, Cindy sighs. “Missin’ him?”