Rhythm of the Road

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Porn and pigs. Sounds like appropriate MC money earners,” Jigsaw deadpans.

  “Right?” Pants slaps his leg. “People gotta eat and jerk-off. We’re meeting basic human needs.”

  Jigsaw slides a look my way. “Can’t deny that.”

  “Opened a second tattoo parlor too.” Pants shoves his sleeve up over his shoulder, showing off an impressive swath of blackwork-style graphic art with pops of blues and greens.

  “Damn. How long’d that take?”

  “Couple sessions.” He smooths his shirt into place. “So fucking busy, they’re booking eight months out.”

  “That’s good.” I scratch my beard. “This new shop replace the one Vipers—”

  His stone-cold killer expression returns. “Ice told you about that?”

  “He mentioned it.”

  He leans in closer and grins. Somehow his smile is scarier than any other expression that’s flickered over his face. I’ve never doubted the story that he got his road name by making a guy piss his pants with just a look. “We have someone on the inside at the ATF now. So it worked out in the end.”

  I struggle to keep my face impassive. “He mentioned something about having them under control.”

  “Fuckin’ A.” He sits back. “Moving a few people into strategic places.”

  A few.

  “You sure you can trust ’em? Anyone working in that environment day after day eventually might be compromised.”

  “Ice has insurance.”

  Blackmail—yippie.

  “And the other’s a blood relation.”

  “No one can fuck you over more than blood,” Jigsaw points out.

  “Truth.” Pants raises his shot glass. “But in this case, we’re confident.”

  “That’s good, brother. Sounds like it will benefit the whole organization.”

  “Absolutely.” He reaches over and slaps my boot. “Virginia’s always looking out for you.”

  While Lost Kings has a decent presence across the US, we’re certainly not the largest outlaw club. Known for ruthlessly defending our territory and respecting the territory of other clubs, only the stupid or baby outlaw clubs ever attempt to fuck with us. Those challenges have always been dealt with swiftly and harshly.

  “That’s good, brother,” Jigsaw says. “LOKI East Coast needs to stick together.”

  “Amen!” Pants raises his shot glass, sloshing brown liquid all over his hand.

  Until more recently, our two New York charters have kept to themselves and weren’t real plugged in to what everyone else in the LOKI network was up to. Kicking up our percentage to National, sure. No one escapes that obligation. Keeping tabs on who’s getting raided and arrested is just common sense. Hell, until Sway’s shooting, the two New York clubs operated extremely independently of each other, so we sure as fuck weren’t sticking our noses in the business of charters outside our state.

  Maybe we should have.

  One thing Rock’s done that’s benefitted both NY clubs is cultivate alliances within New York State. No one ever talks about it, but we all know he’s well-connected to important people. Something he never abuses, which is probably why, with the exception of a few incidents, we’ve operated undisturbed.

  We’ve never had clout at the federal level. Everyone’s heard the rumors that larger clubs have infiltrated all sorts of important places and now it sounds as if our Virginia charter has found a way in too.

  I can’t decide if that’s reason to celebrate or piss my pants.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Rooster

  “What. The. Fuck?” Jigsaw whispers as he closes my bedroom door behind us.

  I press a finger against my lips. The way Pants oh-so casually mentioned the hidden cameras at the porno palace has me wondering if the clubhouse is rigged up too.

  Sure enough, after a quick search, I find a camera pointed at the bed.

  Classy.

  To be fair, I’d have to be an idiot not to see it, but still.

  Shutting it off will only raise Ice’s suspicions. He’ll either think Jiggy and I want some alone time or that we’re in here conspiring against him. Neither are real helpful.

  “You want to ride down to the store with me?” I ask, tilting my head toward the camera.

  “No, I want to get my dick sucked. You offering?”

  “Not if you were on your deathbed, brother.”

  He lets out a big, dramatic sigh. “Yeah, I’ll go with you, ya big, needy bastard.”

  We move through the clubhouse slowly, invite a few brothers to come along with us. Everyone’s shitfaced so no one bites but at least we’ve made the offer.

  Outside, we’re quiet. We nod hello to a few people hanging around the parking lot. Thank the prospects for looking after our bikes. Then get the fuck out of there.

  Jigsaw follows me down the mountain road into town. We pass a few other bikes. Probably headed toward the clubhouse. Flash a two-fingered hello at each one. A cloud of paranoia clings to me as we escape the clubhouse.

  Finally we reach the closest town. I pull into the only place open at this hour, a small gas station. No doubt Ice has his hooks in everything around here, so I search for a spot away from prying eyes and big ears.

  My gaze lands on an ancient playground across the street. Large, swaying willow trees provide privacy.

  “Want me to push ya on the swings, big buddy?” Jigsaw asks as he follows me.

  “Sure, then I’ll spin you on the merry-go-round, dick.”

  Except for a few empty brown bags fluttering over the grass, the park is clear. I stop and peer up at the large metal frame of the industrial-size swing set. The contraption lets out a long metallic groan as I throw myself into one of the soft, black seats.

  “Aw, it’s like the day we met all over again.” Jigsaw squeezes himself into the swing next to me, digging his boots into the dirt and launching himself sideways. “You feeling nostalgic?”

  “You want me to break your arm so we can find out?”

  He stares at his right hand. “No, I’m good.”

  “What the fuck did we step into here?” I ask.

  “I don’t fuckin’ know. But I’m thoroughly creeped the fuck out that he has cameras in the bedrooms. That seems like very un-bro-code behavior.”

  I snort. “We’re way past worrying about bro code. You hear what Pants said?”

  “Uh, that Ice is probably blackmailing some government officials? Yeah, got that.”

  “That ain’t gonna end well.”

  “No shit.” He twists the swing around and lets it spin him a few times. “Who do you think the blood is?”

  “Could be anyone. I don’t know a lot about Ice’s family.”

  “Think Z does?”

  “Texted him earlier. But fuck, I can’t call him with this. I gotta tell him face-to-face.”

  Jigsaw shivers. “Christ, better not piss off Ice. He’ll have fuckin’ Pants feed us to his hogs.”

  “Guessing that’s where those Vipers ended up. Maybe an ATF agent or two?”

  He’s quiet for a few blessed seconds. “Not a whole lot we can do if Ice has already set it into motion. At least, until the warrants for all our arrests start coming when the mole gets caught and the government wants to set an example.”

  The hairs on my arms prickle and stand up. Jigsaw nailed every one of my concerns in a few sentences.

  He grunts and stays silent for a few seconds. “I get why you didn’t want to turn the camera off with me in your room, but I think Ice will understand why if Shelby’s with you.”

  “Fuck,” I groan. “I didn’t even think of that.”

  “He’s not stupid. Creepy as fuck, yes. But not dumb. You know how to find hidden cameras and shit. And by the way, you’re coming up to my room with me to do a search when we get back. Just FYI.”

  “Any sane man’s gonna shut it off.”

  “Yeah, well it’s a dick move for him to have ’em and not warn a brother, anyway.”

&nbs
p; I’ve certainly never worried about shit like that in either of our New York clubhouses.

  Chapter Forty

  Rooster

  Ice never said a word about the cameras I disconnected in our rooms. Maybe I’m overthinking the whole thing and they’re only there as some extra insurance when people outside the club visit.

  The irony of it is Jigsaw and I have been spending all week setting up cameras and lights at the house during the day. At night, I’ve been working on the website. Anya wants everything operational before some radio interview she has scheduled. And I’m eager to finish so I can get the fuck out of here.

  “You sure you don’t want me to ride up with you?” Jigsaw asks after breakfast the morning I’m leaving for Baltimore.

  “I’ve ridden by myself before, you know.”

  He slaps my hand away.

  “Seriously,” I add. “I have more boxes arriving today. I’ll feel better if you’re around to accept the delivery.”

  “She’s filming, you know.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

  “For fuck’s sake, please behave. Don’t be a leering creep. Keep your mouth shut and stay out of the shots.”

  “I’d be offended but—”

  “Yeah. Exactly.” I slap his shoulder and walk down to Ice’s door, then rap my knuckles against the wood.

  “Come in,” he hollers.

  “Hey.” I poke my head inside. “I’m runnin’ up to Baltimore for a bit. Probably be back tomorrow afternoon.”

  He stands and walks around his desk. “You don’t have to check in with me. Appreciate everything you’ve been doing around here.”

  “Not a problem.”

  He leans his ass on the desk and crosses his arms over his chest.

  A muscle in my leg twitches. Really wasn’t planning to settle in for a chat. “Things going okay with Anya at the house?” he asks.

  “I think so. I’m waitin’ for a few more packages, so Jigsaw’s headed over there to handle it while I’m gone.”

  “Appreciate that too.”

  “You need something or have any questions, call me or ask Jigsaw.”

  “All right, brother.” He steps forward and shakes my hand. “Shiny side up.”

  “Thanks.”

  I haul ass out of the clubhouse before anyone else delays me.

  Finally, I’m on the road on my way to Shelby. Can’t wait to get my hands on her.

  It’s early enough that traffic isn’t awful until I get near DC. It thins out enough that I’m turning off I-295 sooner than I expected. The arena’s in the city, and my inner country boy shudders.

  Shelby had sent directions this morning, telling me where to park. I miss the turn for the one-way street leading to the loading area. Muttering a bunch of curses, I circle the block and finally pull into the lot.

  The knots in my chest unravel when my gaze lands on her van. My girl’s here somewhere.

  I tuck my bike into a spot near her van and trailer. No signs indicate you need permission to park here.

  I better not get fucking towed. I briefly study the trailer. Doesn’t look big enough to haul my bike. Probably at capacity with all of her equipment and stuff anyway.

  My gaze searches the area. Plenty of roadies moving instruments and boxes inside. Dawson’s fleet of buses and trucks. I recognize a few people, but not enough to ask them where to find Shelby.

  “Logan?”

  My eyes narrow as I search for whoever called my name.

  Trent.

  I lift my arm in a half-assed wave. What is it about this kid that bugs me so damn much?

  As if I don’t know. He’s a guy who spends a lot of time in close proximity with Shelby. That’s more than enough for my inner grizzly bear to wanna shred him to pieces.

  “Hey.” He holds out his hand as I approach. “Shelby asked me to come meet you.” I shake his hand and he gives me a pass. He leans in. “They’ve been dicks here, so keep that on you.”

  “Thanks.” I slip the lanyard around my neck.

  “This, too, for your bike.” He hands me an orange tag with the name of the tour and “guest” in black ink. Someone punched a hole through one end and tied a hair elastic through it. My lips twitch. Had to be Shelby. I wrap the tag around the handlebars, not feeling reassured that the flimsy piece of orange cardstock’s gonna keep my bike from getting towed, and return to Trent.

  “Where is she?”

  “Follow me.” He jerks his head toward the glass doors and pushes his way inside. “How was traffic?”

  “Not bad.”

  It’s early enough that none of the concession stands are open—something my growling stomach doesn’t appreciate. The only people milling around seem to work at the arena.

  “We’re in the basement,” he says, leading me to a set of wide metal doors. “Caught her talking to some sweaty creeper fan the other day. Didn’t want her wandering around here while she was waiting for ya.” He jabs at the elevator button.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She does it all the time.” He lifts his shoulders. “Afraid she’ll offend someone and they’ll rip her apart online. But shoot, people are gonna do that anyway.”

  “When’s Greg gonna hire some security?”

  He shrugs again. “We keep an eye on her.”

  The air’s cooler when we step out of the elevator. It’s not really a basement. Just a lower level that isn’t accessible to the general public. Trent moves fast but it’s still not enough. I’m ready to come out of my skin with the need to get my hands on Shelby.

  A cluster of people blocking the hallway come close to getting a body-check from me.

  “Logan.” Dawson steps away from the circle to greet me. Which is nice and all, but…motherfucker, don’t slow me down.

  “Hey, good to see you,” I say, and we share a quick handshake.

  “I’m taking him to Shelby,” Trent says.

  Dawson backs up a step. “Don’t let me stop ya.”

  Smart man.

  Finally, Trent stops at a white door with a gold star smack in the middle. About time someone acknowledges her properly.

  He knocks twice and pushes the door open. “Catch you later.” He doesn’t bother sticking around. Not that I’m complaining.

  My gaze lands on Shelby. Hair in a half-up style, long curls spilling over her bare shoulders. Thin straps hold up a black dress with big blue flowers. Tight on top with a skirt that flares out. A wide, shiny blue belt accentuates her waist. Might as well be a sign announcing, “Rooster’s hands go here.”

  Her face explodes into a radiant smile the second our eyes meet. Her eyes shining brighter than the damn sun. Something shifts inside my chest. Thaws.

  I put that look on her face.

  “Logan.” She rushes forward, hitting me square in the chest and wrapping her arms around me. “I’m so happy to see you.”

  I squeeze her just as tight and move us out of the doorway, kicking the door shut. “Did I miss your pre-show yoga routine?”

  She laughs and hugs me tighter. “Sorry. Next time.”

  Shelby

  Rooster’s actually here. His warm, solid, comforting body. My heart’s all frantic, performing a happy two-step.

  After a few seconds, I step back and peer up at him.

  “Cindy’s coming back to do my lipstick later.” I blush and glance down. “I wanted to be able to kiss the hell out of you when you got here.”

  “Well, get kissing, chickadee.”

  I throw my arms around his neck, leaning up to press my lips to his. He meets me halfway, responding with the same intensity.

  He groans and draws back, resting his hands on my shoulders to hold me at arm’s length. “Let me look at you.”

  I glance down at my dress and wrap my hands up in the puffy skirt, swinging it from side to side. “I hope it looks more rock-country than square dance.”

  The corners of his mouth lift. “You look cute and sexy.”

  “That works.” I’m nervous an
d can’t stop moving.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “I’m anxious tonight. Don’t know why.”

  Actually, except for the shows in New York, I’ve been like this every night since the tour started. None of my yoga, meditation, or pre-show routines helps quell the storm the way Rooster’s presence does. But I can’t admit that. I don’t want to sound like a scared little girl who can’t handle her business.

  “It’s a big arena,” he says.

  “Yeah, that’s probably part of it.”

  “When is Cindy coming back?”

  “An hour or so, I think.”

  “Plenty of time.” He pulls me into the bathroom and locks the door. This one’s a lot cleaner and neater than the last few have been.

  “Time for what?” I really don’t have to ask. His smile is pure seduction, his eyes full of smoldering heat.

  A long mirror lines the wall. Rooster turns me to face it, slipping his arms around my waist and leaning down to kiss my neck and shoulder. “Missed you.”

  I sigh and rest my head against his chest. “Missed you more than I thought was possible,” I whisper.

  He slides his hands down my belly and over my dress, slowly lifting the skirt. Rough hands glide up my thighs.

  A smile teases over my lips. I open my eyes and peer up at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you relax.”

  His fingers skim the waistband of the little shorts I’m wearing under my dress and I jump. “That’s going to get me more worked up.”

  “Shh.” Warm breath skates over my shoulder. Beard whiskers tickle my skin. Lips kiss and suck at my neck. His fingers travel lower, and he rumbles with laughter. “Shorts and panties.”

  “You can never be too careful covering the goods.”

  He hums. “I approve.”

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  He rumbles with more laughter and slides his hand lower.

  “Oh!” I gasp, and my body jolts as he rubs the material directly over my clit.

  “These are already wet.” His voice drops to a seductive rasp.

  “Second I saw you.” My breathing picks up. “That feels nice.”