Rock point collection, p.59
Rock Point Collection, page 59
“Don’t you dare…” Her voice is low, almost a growl, as her eyes suddenly light up with fire. Good. Fucking better than that dead stare I got earlier. “…kiss me to prove a point.”
I hold up just shy of her lips, my nose almost touching hers, as I take stock of all I see swirling in her eyes: challenge, anger, frustration, longing, hurt and…fucking hell. She tries to hide it, but there is definite fear there. I instantly let go of her head.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” The words feel alien on my lips. Guess I don’t use them a whole lot.
“No, don’t. Let’s…” Her eyes flit away before they come back to mine. “You’re right. I’m…I’ll be fine. Let’s just go.” I’m surprised to hear her stumble over her words, and I’m itching to dig in and find out what the fuck is going on in that head of hers, but she’s right, we should make tracks. We’ve got guys waiting to get going on this three-day party.
With a simple nod, I slide back on my bike and wait for her arms to circle me.
-
It’s near the noon hour when we pull onto the large parking lot of the Harley-Davidson store. This is where clubs congregate. There’s stuff going on in other places, but we always start out here.
I help Luna with her helmet and with an arm slung around her shoulder, I walk her in the direction of the beer tent. Halfway there, I feel her arm snake around me and her small hand tuck into my back pocket. Perfect.
“Pint?” I ask her when we sidle up to the bar.
“A bottle of something if they have it.”
“Ale okay? They should have some Brewer’s Blond.”
“Sure. Isn’t that a local micro-brewery? I think I’ve had it before. Pretty good.”
“It better be.” I grin at her. “Belongs to the club.”
“The brewery?” She seems surprised.
“The brewery and the restaurant.” Of all our local investments, that one provides the best return.
I guess my pride shows because she smiles back at me. “A gym, a yoga studio, and a restaurant. That’s pretty impressive.”
“We also own an apartment building along the river, but Brewer’s Pub is our main source of income. Every year since the club started sponsoring this event, as well as the annual blues festival, our market has almost doubled.”
“Clever.”
“I wouldn’t believe a word out of this sonofabitch’s mouth.” The voice belongs to the president of the Amontinados MC who walks up behind me, throwing an arm over my shoulder, his eyes sharp on Luna. I’m tempted to ignore the bastard, but a slight lift of her eyebrow reminds me she’s here for a reason.
“Luna, this asshole is Mico—”
“Manny,” he interrupts.
“Right, Manuel Salinas.”
“Manny to beautiful women,” he says, leaning in to offer her a hand, but instead of shaking it, he pulls her closer, pressing a kiss on her fingers. I know what he’s doing—it’s nothing new—but for some reason now, with Luna, it makes my blood boil. I would’ve jumped in if Luna hadn’t jerked back from his hold, immediately stepping close to my side.
“I’d say I was pleased to meet you, but I’d be lying,” she says with a saccharine sweet smile for him. “Not a fan of strangers putting their lips on me. Asshole move, especially with my man standing right here.”
“Oh, don’t be like that, beautiful. Him and me don’t mind sharing, do we, brother? Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“That’s enough, you cocksucker.” I shrug his arm from my shoulder. Every fucking chance he has the bastard brings that incident up. That was two decades ago and both of us were drunk out of our brains. I can’t even remember the chick.
“I may be, but I don’t remember you complaining.” I don’t miss Luna’s sharp intake of breath, as Manny throws me a wink.
Just fucking great. The little bit of headway I made since picking her up is gone as I look into her stone-cold eyes. She quickly hides them with a little smile, and I’m relieved when a group of the Amontinados calls Manny over.
“Catch you later, hermano,” he says, punching my shoulder and wiggling his eyebrows at Luna. “Later, beautiful.”
The moment his back is turned, Luna steps away from me, but before she can get too far away, I take her hand, walking with her in the opposite direction to where a bunch of vendors have stalls set up. Some sell clothes, some leather goods, memorabilia, and of course food. We kill some time checking the wares and I end up buying her a Harley T-shirt, ignoring her when she argues.
“You hungry? We should probably eat something since alcohol will be flowing all damn weekend.”
“I could eat.”
I lean in to whisper in her ear. “See those picnic tables over there? Those are the Shiprock guys. I’ll introduce you and you can do your thing while I grab us a bite.”
Wheels, the big burly president, observes us closely as we approach. “Have a seat,” he rumbles in his deep voice after I shake his hand.
“I’m just gonna grab some food. Be right back,” I tell him, but motion Luna to sit down. “Keep an eye on her for me.”
“Not gonna be a hardship.”
Luna
This guy is as wide as he is tall, and probably in his sixties maybe even seventies.
I’m surprised to find he’s still riding. The Shiprock MC President just finished telling me about the annual Rocky Mountain ride. He’s a chatty guy once he gets going, which is probably why Ouray put me at his table. That, and the fact Wheels is apparently a family man. Devoted to his wife of more than forty years. His daughter married a stockbroker and lives in Denver, and his son is Road Captain for the club. He even has two grandsons who are part of the MC. A real family affair.
“So is the plan for you to eventually retire and hand off to your son?”
He regards me from under his bushy eyebrows. “You always this nosy?”
I guess I hit a touchy subject. “I’m just curious. I don’t really understand the life. I mean, I haven’t known Ouray that long, and I’m still learning. Besides, from what I gather, most clubs are not like Arrow’s Edge.”
“That’s for damn sure. Gotta hand it to the kid, he vowed to take the club clean, and fuck if he didn’t do just that. Wasn’t a popular move either.” By the kid I assume he means Ouray, who seems to be taking an awful long time to get some food.
“How so?”
He leans back, folding his hands over his belly. “It wasn’t just some of the members who didn’t much like it. The move impacted more than just the Arrow’s Edge. Fucked up some longstanding business arrangements made back in the seventies and eighties between clubs. Loyalties broken. Wasn’t pretty then and some of that still festers, but Ouray, he stayed his course. I admire him for that.”
“Alcohol makes you loose-lipped, old man.” A gray-haired man, wearing a clear family resemblance, clamps a hand on Wheels’s shoulder, who doesn’t even turn around to acknowledge the newcomer. “Who’s the fresh pussy?”
I try hard not to flinch at the crude descriptive as father and son both seem to scrutinize me.
“She’s on Ouray’s bike, which means hands off, kid.”
The younger one has a calculating glint in his eyes. “Ouray don’t put bitches on the back of his bike. Not fucking ever.” His voice is raised and he’s drawing attention from a couple of other tables around us. I can feel the curious glances on me like tentacles.
“First time for everything,” I offer with a shrug.
“You’re not his type,” he fires back.
“How do you figure?”
“I’ve got eyes,” he says, pointing over my shoulder.
When I turn around to see what he’s talking about, I see a familiar tall blonde draped all over Ouray against the side of a food trailer. I have a fraction of a second to decide what an appropriate reaction would be: storm off and jeopardize the assignment, or make a stand and maybe gain credibility.
I pick the latter, as I get up and stalk over to where Ouray seems to be in the process of untangling himself from the woman’s hold. He sees me coming, and with a bemused twitch of his lips watches, as I grab onto one of the girl’s arms and pull her back, sliding myself between the two of them.
“What the fuck?” It’s the woman from the yoga studio.
“My man you have your hands on.” I pull myself up to my full height, still inches short of being able to get in her face.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffs, looking me up and down, clearly finding me short of measure. It was mostly for show before, but my real temper is flaring as my hands curl into fists. “I know enough to know he belongs to no one.”
“Down, Sprite,” Ouray mumbles behind me, curling an arm around my waist, before addressing the other woman. “Like I said, Heidi, caved once, and as you fucking well know—I never showed my face for seconds—‘cause it never shoulda happened in the first place. I’ve got me a good thing right here.” He tightens his arm around me for emphasis, and for a moment I let myself imagine this is real.
“Your loss,” she counters, tossing back her hair in dramatic fashion. “Wouldn’t have wasted your time had I known you were into boys.”
Good thing Ouray is keeping me tight against his front, or I might’ve gone after her. “Easy.” His breath feathers against my ear and a responding shiver ripples over my skin. “We’ve got eyes on us,” he says when I start to break away from his hold. “Better make this good.”
He swings me around so my front is pressed against the side of the food truck, my hands braced on the warm metal. Fingers tangle in my hair, pulling my head back and to the side, so he can reach my lips. I instinctively open, every sense on sharp when his tongue sweeps in, claiming my mouth, as his hot hard body presses up behind me. Instead of panic at being confined, I relax into it and reach back to curl a hand around his neck. It’s not until I feel his touch slipping low on my stomach, fingers dipping into the waistband of my jeans, I freeze and my muscles tense up. Immediately his hand stills and his lips leave mine. “Easy,” he says again. “Got carried away.”
We manage to stay away from any additional confrontation the rest of the afternoon, and I’m able to learn a little more about the various clubs as I tag along with Ouray while he mingles and mixes.
It’s probably four when we roll out. The only other person joining us is Paco, with the rest of the club hanging behind. Ouray says he wants to get back to the clubhouse to check on the boy before tonight’s festivities, so I just tag along.
“I can drop you home for a bit, if you want,” he offers, twisting his head back when we’re stopped at a light.
I glance over at Paco to see if he’s watching, but he seems distracted, looking off in the distance. “I’m okay. Don’t like to advertise my address.”
“Gotcha. Momma will have something ready on the stove. Some of us older guys don’t wanna go all day like we used to.”
“I’m not real good in the party scene myself,” I admit. “Swore it off many years ago.”
“You wanna catch some of the music after? I usually drive out with the truck so Nosh can come out for a bit. He can’t really hear the music, but he likes to stand by the speakers and feel the vibrations.”
I don’t get a chance to answer because the light turns green, but it would’ve been yes. I should probably be concerned that the more I learn about the man, the more I warm up to him—despite his apparent sexual proclivities. I should be running for the hills instead.
SEVEN
Ouray
How old are you?
The boy looks at me and then back at Luna, who asked him the question.
Twelve. Christ. Did you ever shoot anyone?
They’ve been at this for the past ten minutes, exchanging questions. It was Luna’s idea when we found him sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. She ignored his blank stare and plopped down beside him, chatting up a storm with her hands. Initially he barely responded, but when she suggested he ask her anything he wanted, his interest was perked.
The kid seems to have a healthy fascination with Luna, which she doesn’t seem to mind exploiting to get information from him. The rapid-fire questions have been revealing, even though she’s been careful to mostly keep it light. She’s been asking things like favorite food, favorite color, favorite action figure, with only an occasional personal question slipped in. He barely notices that she’s doing a bang-up job of drawing out pertinent information. We know he’s an only child, we know he doesn’t know his father, and that he lived with his grandparents. And now we know he is twelve years old. It may not look like a whole lot, but it helps us narrow things down.
Yes. I didn’t like it though. Do you go to school?
Not anymore. When will you teach me to fight?
Maybe we’ll have some time tomorrow? Luna throws me a look and I shrug my shoulders. We’ll make time. How long have you been living on the streets?
The boy throws me another look, and sensing my presence may be what’s holding him back, I get to my feet. “I’ve got some shit to look over before dinner,” I lie, and I can feel his eyes following me out of sight.
Fifteen minutes later, Luna sticks her head around the door of my office. “Momma says dinner’s on in five.”
“Good. We’ll head back to town after, if you don’t mind being squeezed between me and Nosh in the truck.”
“Sure.”
“Any more luck with the boy?”
She slips into the office, softly closing the door before she sits down across from my desk. “Only kid, twelve years old, was raised by grandparents after his mother overdosed. He took off almost a year ago, from what I can gather. I get the impression he’s not from here, but he won’t let on how he got here. He’s a smart kid. He doesn’t trust though—something happened to him. He says he likes it here, but I get the sense he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’ll take time.”
“It’s more than we knew before,” I admit.
“If I could make a suggestion?”
“Feel free.”
“He doesn’t like his name. Doesn’t seem to like being reminded of who he was. We can push to find out more background, but I think you might accomplish more in the long run if you allow him to forget. For now. Give him a nickname like everyone else here has. Make him feel accepted without pressuring him. Give him a chance to trust he’s safe here. I have a feeling he’ll talk when he’s ready.”
“Not a problem. Maybe I should’ve bunked him in with the other kids instead of Momma’s spare bedroom.” Luna shakes her head sharply at that.
“No. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not yet anyway.”
I look at her surprised. “Why is that?”
She glances at her hands before eyes filled with sadness come up to meet mine. “Because I think he was abused. Momma says she can hear him slide a chair in front of his door every night.”
I have a hard time swallowing down my dinner after that. Especially with that skinny boy across the table, his big brown eyes glancing at me over his plate.
-
“Where are we going?”
Luna pulls against the hold I have on her hand.
The clubhouse is loud with the party that inevitably follows the Friday night concert in town. This too is tradition, with the various clubs in attendance. Some of these guys will go right through until we ride out for the parade on Sunday.
I used to be one of them, but since taking up the gavel a decade ago, I’ve changed my ways. Someone has to keep their wits about them. With alcohol flowing freely, often already short tempers tend to flare, which is challenge enough when it’s our own guys. Add members of different MCs together and you’re sitting on a goddamn powder keg. I’m surprised we haven’t had a blowup already.
It’s almost two when I decide to call it a night. The heavy partying didn’t start until after the young ones were hustled off to bed by Nosh and Momma, who left about an hour ago to their cabin behind the clubhouse. The moment they walked out, the lid came off the party. Out of respect for Momma, most guys keep things PG while she’s around, but in the hour since the door closed behind them, all restraint has gone out the window.
Fucking Britney has been spread out on the pool table like a goddamn smorgasbord for every horny bastard to sample, while Paco watched from a distance. Finally he grabbed one of the girls who shows up at every damn club party, planted his ass on the couch beside me, pushed her down between his legs, and whipped his dick out.
That does it for me. Luna’s tight little body has been playfully rubbing up against me all goddamn night, but at that display, she all but froze up on my lap. I’m guessing the lack of inhibitions is making her uncomfortable, which is why I’m calling it a night.
“My room.” I’m already pushing open the door to my office. These are my private quarters: office, bedroom, and bathroom. Through the office is the only access, on purpose.
“I should go home.” Luna stops just inside as the door falls shut behind her, and she looks like she’s about to jump out of her skin.
“I can’t leave,” I explain. “I’ve gotta be here in case shit hits the fan.”
“I can find my own way home,” she says defiantly, folding her arms under her breasts.
“And blow your cover?”
“How so?”
“You’re supposed to be my woman. No one would buy me letting you go off alone. They expect you in my bed. Especially this weekend.”
“I can’t sleep in your bed. Besides, I don’t have any of my stuff here.”
“Sure you can.” I grab her hand again and lead her into my bedroom through the door on the other side of the office. It’s nothing special: a king-sized bed, a dresser, and a recliner in the far corner. “You take the bed, I’ll take the recliner, and I have extra shit in the bathroom. Momma always makes sure it’s stocked.” I let go of her hand and walk over to my dresser, pulling out a T-shirt I toss at her. “You can sleep in that. Tomorrow morning when everyone is still sleeping it off, I’ll take you to your place and you can pick up some stuff for an overnight.”
