Bleed Me (Haunted Roads Book 3) Page 7

  My teeth were smashing together as I begged myself not to cry in front of the toughest men I’d ever know. My nostrils fought to open wider in order to get enough air in my lungs so I wouldn’t crumble to the floor. This was it. What I believed to be my final goodbye. Her sending my ashes down a river.

  I looked to Art, who had yet to have the balls to face me. I growled, “You get her through this.”

  He chose to stare at the opposite end of the hallway instead of replying.

  Neither VP nor Redemption Prez stopped me as I charged Art, grabbed his vest, and got in his face. “No. You don’t get to puss out. Get. Her. Through. This.”

  His blue eyes glared at me. “Like you did?”

  Up close—no room between us—I stared into those blue eyes and suddenly realized he had more than biker brothers to count on. He had family. Considerably younger, I was betting one of the men watching me was his father.

  Not releasing Art, I glared at Dagger and Diesel. Their eyes were wide when realizing I had discovered… a lie.

  Art may not have known it yet, but he was not only getting to go home. He had kin on this earth. That pissed me off even more. He may have given me a beat down while I was strung up at the barn, but it was different when my hands were free. Dagger and Diesel stayed back and let the violent tussle take place. It was bound to happen. We were both in love with the same girl.

  As we took turns slamming each other’s backs into the wall and landing fists on each other’s faces and guts, we gained an audience. They didn’t interfere either. No one did until a deep voice boomed, “Hey! Knock it off!”

  The Prez of the Steel Stallions.

  Art and I stopped moving but refused to unlock from the hold we had on one another.

  Prez laughed at Dagger and Diesel. “Can you two knuckleheads get your boys and save my goddamn hallway?” Dagger and Diesel chuckled as they moved in to untwine the two angry young bulls. Prez instructed, “The rest of you grab some chow. Breakfast is ready, damn it.”

  With his arm loosely around my neck, Dagger guided me down the hallway. “You’ve given the boys so much ammunition in such a short time, I’m a little nervous what your road name will be. Pukey? SlipDick? FatLip?” He studied Art. “FatLipGiver?”

  Once in the large room I had partied in the night before, Dagger gestured his finger about. “We call this the Barn.” Then we walked down the hallway to the left of the bar. As we passed an open door that had a big table made out of wood and rock, Dagger said, “The Stables. Where decisions are made. Only Patched may enter. No Prospects permitted.”

  I nodded.

  When we passed another open door, I saw a big dark wooden desk, a brown leather couch, and some green leather chairs. Dagger explained, “Prez’s office. Only enter if the door is open. If it’s shut, come back later. If it’s an emergency, knock and wait for permission.”

  I nodded again.

  Then we entered a room that looked like a badass cafeteria. It wasn’t all white and clinical though. It was warm like the Barn. No windows, but again, it had that comforting ‘in hibernation’ vibe.

  Not mentioning all the eating tables, there were a bunch of stations; a soda fountain, a snack bar, a glass-doored beer fridge that was fully stocked, to-go items of every kind, a station for napkins, plates, both plastic and silver utensils, a cereal bar…

  When I noticed the highchairs and booster seats, I started understanding this wasn’t all for the bikers. Dagger smiled. “When the families are here, we try and make it legendary.”

  I figured that was why the waiting bikers weren’t paying the stations no mind. Men had grabbed plates at the utensil station and lined up, all calm as if this “mealtime” was a regular occurrence.

  I followed their line of sight.

  Out through two swinging doors that matched the ones by the bar in the Barn, came a huge silver buffet food warmer on wheels. This thing was loaded down with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes and onions, biscuits and gravy, grits… You name it.

  I was in heaven. “I’m never leaving.”

  From behind me, Dagger happily grabbed my shoulders and jostled. “There he is! Who says you can’t buy a teenager’s love with food?”

  With every comment like that, I had to keep reminding myself I was only seventeen. It was crazy. I had already been through so much, I felt at least twenty-five.

  After filling my plate with goodness to help soak up my hangover, I picked an empty table off in a corner. Sitting, I was surprised to see a female hand reach over and place a glass of water in front of me. She had blue nail polish. I quickly looked over my shoulder.

  A young woman, no taller than 5’2”, with a full tray in her hand, was already walking away. She had come to me first. Little jean shorts swayed, and long wavy blonde hair tumbled down her back, almost to her butt. Her firm legs were slightly tanned, and she was wearing biker boots with no socks showing. That is all I knew of the girl who was to care for me.

  Art grabbed a chair at my table while checking out my ‘bunny.’ “Damn, she’s cute.”

  I was instantly pulled from a peaceful moment and dragged back into thinking of Delilah because that’s who he was going to get home to to admire.

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  “Do I actually have a say with something in my life?” Frustrated, I stared at him, because he was already sitting and eating. “Guess not.”

  “I’m only here to give you tips about being a Prospect and to say goodbye.”

  “Skip one. Do the other. Move along.”

  “She rejected me.”

  Delilah.

  Was he hoping for pity? I wasn’t sure. My eyes snapped to his. “I know that. I know everything about her.”

  After Daytona, Delilah decided not to be with Art. Not that they had become official, or were ever together, but after meeting Artist at Daytona, she was considering it. They had problems, including her age, hence the nickname Jailbait. But in the end, Tucker had shared wise words with his little sister, helping Delilah decide to have a younger person be her first relationship.

  Now, she may never want another relationship again.

  Art argued, “Then why are you all over me about her?”

  I had to think for a minute because I wasn’t sure.

  He balked, “Is it because I get to see her fall for someone else someday?”

  I set my fork down because my situation, as disheartening as it was, was starting to seem like the better option. As far as I knew, I never would have to witness her love someone else and wasn’t sure I could stand it if I had to.

  “FYI, I’ve already done that.” He glared as if to insinuate he was speaking of me. “Twice may kill me. So, go ahead. Keep being a dick.”

  Incredibly twisted up inside, I grabbed my water and gulped it down. I was taking the last sip when a little hand reached over my shoulder to set down another. Blue nail polish. I watched her arm as she set it down, then took the empty from my hand. I didn’t even try and get a glance. I knew she was already walking away.

  Noticing the strained silence between me and her, Art watched her go. “Did you already fuck that?”

  “That? She’s human, ya know. And no, I haven’t. I don’t even know if it’s,” with regret, I whispered, “safe to have sex with me.”

  Art’s eyes closing told me how much he pushed what I was from his mind. It was the only way to survive it. We loved Delilah so much. He must have fought the devil daily to let me live. “Do you have any actual memories of what happened yet?”

  I answered, “No. V giving any more deets?”

  “Nah. Tight-lipped as can be.”

  Feeling like I was once again in an alternate universe, I exhaled. “Okay, gimme some pointers.” I picked up my fork and stuffed my face with food. There was nothing else to do but move on. So, I decided to do just that.

  It’s amazing what you finally see, right in front of you, when you surrender. The room I was in was full of conversation, joy over present c
ompany, and the delicious meal, but many eyes rested on me. I had been so lost in my own misery that I was missing all the souls waiting for me to join them. As I stared back at them all, I silently promised to do my best to fit in and be worthy of their wait.

  The sun beating down on my tired neck was only worsening my hangover. My head felt as heavy as a bag of dry cement when Diesel approached, his head appearing just as heavy. Next to me was a row of motorcycles I soon would be instructed to wash as punishment for puking on my Sergeant at Arms’ shoes.

  Diesel’s eyes squinted behind his dark sunglasses. “This,” he gestured about, “was the best I could do to give her your freedom.”

  The sun beat down on me… “I meant what I said. Thank you for trying.” I gazed around to see the barbed wire gate rolling open, preparing to let Diesel drive off into the late afternoon sun. “It ain’t the first time I’ve needed to adjust to a new home.”

  From across the gravel yard, a building stood with large garage doors. In a couple of car bays, bikers worked on bikes, quietly, watching me. Others pretended to be in conversation while smoking cigarettes, but eyes still rested on me. I wondered what they saw. At the time, I was too naïve to comprehend what a gift Diesel had given me. There may never be another Prospect to waltz into a club at the level I was entering. Very powerful men were watching over me. Surrounding patches were wondering if I was worth it.

  Diesel pulled me into a rugged embrace. In my ear, he whispered, “Make her proud.”

  I grabbed the leather on his back, silently begging him to not go… then with my breath held, holding in everything crashing inside me, I let go.

  Yes, I would see him again, but I would no longer be Kenny in his eyes. Most importantly, I wouldn’t be in mine either.

  Scorch shook my hand. “Hang in there, kid. We’re rootin’ for ya.” Then he loaded into the SUV.

  Even though we both had busted lips, Art hugged me. Pulling away from me, he was smiling and bitch-slapped my face. “I hope you like your new road name.”

  Just then, another bike roared into the compound. Though Art’s eyes were locked on the bike, the driver with a full helmet and dark visor didn’t glance at him once.

  I watched him back away toward his ride home, still not looking at me, and asked him, “How do you know what my road name is?”

  He slipped into the backseat. “Because I came up with it.” He shut the door and tapped the headrest in front of him.

  Not one of the three men who dropped me off looked back as they pulled away. The gate rolled shut, and the dirt from the gravel road floated into the air to cover their tracks I wasn’t meant to follow.

  Talk about your gut doing flips. I think my soul was doing flips, too. It was hard to tell which way was up or down. Was the earth at my feet? Or was I completely upside down?

  In a circle, and in shock, I turned to try and understand where I now stood. The garage… Trees… Hills… Hard rock dirt… Trees… Dirt… More bikes… Gravel…

  I kept turning, even facing the building where I now lived. It looked like an old Spanish fort. Light beige stucco walls had arches in front of the doors. There was a sitting area with concrete tables that resembled ancient versions of picnic tables in the front of the big building.

  I kept turning…

  The rest of the sitting areas were in the back for protection of possible retaliation. There were no neighbors that I could see beyond the compound’s confinement, but there were houses off in the distances. All fenced in.

  I kept turning…

  Everyone watched…

  Including the biker in the dark helmet.

  As if a beacon, I stopped and stared back. I had a hunch—a strange, undefined feeling of recognition that could only be answered by the divine, but I knew this person was the epitome of strength as she finally took off her helmet.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As she lifted her helmet, long dark blue-tipped hair fell to shine in the sun that had been so blistering seconds earlier. Now, the rays were pointing to a courage I needed to learn from. But everything takes time…

  This woman, somewhere in her mid to late twenties, straddled a Harley with an expertly painted blue version of the Stallion MC’s symbol. After she hung her helmet on a handlebar, she whipped her hair into a messy ponytail, exposing that she was shaved from above her left ear, around the back, to above her right ear. Both ears had many tiny silver earrings. Full matte red lips never smiled, nor did her large cat-like grey eyes as she removed her dark aviator sunglasses.

  How many minutes passed, I’m not sure, but we stared. All there was for her to see was the tragic leftover of a life that no longer wanted this man who was no longer a boy. What she saw was so much more.

  Of course, she wasn’t going to indulge me. “Have you ever washed bikes before?”

  I gazed at the empty bucket at my feet. “Never.”

  Her upper lip curled, displeased. “Ever been on a HOG, Prospect?”

  Examining the bike between her thighs, I replied, “Nah. But willing to give it a go.”

  Surrounding laughter had her instantly annoyed for reasons unbeknownst to me. She eyed the bikers with a silent snarl, exposing white teeth, then was off her bike and marching toward me. I stayed put as she angrily got all up in my space. “You want what’s between my thighs?”

  What? Here I was thinkin’ we were having a moment. I took an annoyed step back. “Why the fuck does everyone think I want or need to fuck?”

  Her eyes widened before she recovered to sneer, “Because you’re a biker, dickhead.”

  “First of all, I ain’t shit. Second of all, how the hell do you know I’m a dick when these are the first words we’ve ever shared?”

  She growled, “Watch how you speak to me.”

  “Me?” I threw my arms wide. “Ya, leading by example?”

  Her chin jerked back as if I had punched her and pissed her off, simultaneously. “I fucking outrank you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “The toilets outrank me at this point.”

  Even though I was slightly taller and definitely wider than her, the back of my hair was in her grip so fast it was surprising. So was the fist she had every intention of landing on my bruised face.

  I knew I could outpower her but was beyond giving two fucks. “Go ahead. Do it. It’s not like I haven’t had the shit kicked out of me this whole week or am hurting due to whatever knocked me out yesterday, right where you have a hold of me, by the fucking way. Please. Be one more asshole who demands respect yet is so unwilling to give any.”

  Not releasing my tender scalp, she stared up at me. “Give?” As if the mere thought was asinine.

  Since my head was forcefully tilted to the sky, I stared into the sun, hoping to go blind. “Yes. Give.” Delilah… “To give can be a beautiful thing. That’s why I don’t want to take anymore, including all this bullshit.”

  Her fingers tightened. “I’m your Road Captain. I can hand out any bullshit I want.”

  “Great. Why don’t you start by telling me what a Road Captain is so I can start actually giving a fuck about your title and not your undeserved attitude.”

  A large shadow suddenly hung over us both. “Enough,” announced the President. “Let him go, Justice.”

  A smile crossed her face as she released me. “He did good. Got pissed but didn’t try me. Even with that egg on the back of his head.”

  As my head came back to sit on my shoulders normal-like, I tried to understand what had just happened. I was now surrounded by bikers, including Dagger, who was smiling. “Did good, kid.”

  I just stood there, blinking, trying to catch my breath and rein in my anger.

  Prez lifted his chin to Justice. “You got him fired up. Take him to a bag.”

  Her smirk over her shoulder as she walked away told me Justice had no regret for pushing my buttons. “Come on, Prospect.”

  I looked to Dagger for approval. I had no idea of the rules. Was I free to roam? Did I always have to be escorte
d? I didn’t even know but two names: Dagger, and now Justice. This group wasn’t exactly forthcoming. They were accepting, clearly, because I was there, but they were most definitely guarded. Understandably. I was a hybrid Prospect.

  Prez followed my questioning eyes to Dagger. With respect, he claimed, “This kid may not fuck you over, after all.”

  Dagger’s one blue eye studied me as he waited.

  My blood ran cold. “You’re the one who vouched for me?”

  His nod was slow, steady, and cautious.

  Determined to be heard, I turned to my President. “If I ever fuck him over, I won’t have meant to. Please, let me carry my own weight and take any punishment deserved.”

  “Ain’t how it works, kid.”

  “But-But… I’m screwed up,” I tapped my temple, “here.”

  He blew me off. “There’s not one man or woman here who ain’t.” He gestured to Justice, now about twenty feet ahead of me. “Now, get gone.”

  Frustrated, because I wasn’t sure Prez understood how serious I was and because I didn’t trust myself for shit, I left the men to catch up with the Road Captain, believing they were dumb as fuck to leave me alone with a woman. When my eyes locked onto her ass that was owning those tight jeans she had kickin’, I was even more convinced this was a mistake. But what does a seventeen-year-old know?

  Barely. Shit.

  Not a word was spoken as we walked across the back field to a standalone warehouse, but I noticed a tattoo at the bottom of her neck. It read one simple word: found. She opened the door and went inside. When I didn’t follow, her head peeked back out. “Problem?”

  I looked back to the courtyard where bikers should’ve still been carefully watching me, but weren’t. I exhaled, then pointed to what waited behind her. “Anyone else in there?”

  “My gun. Do I need anything else?”

  I wasn’t sure. I had myself built up in my head to be the worst of the worse. “Will you use it?”

  A dark manicured brow lifted. “Want me to shoot you in the foot to prove it?”