Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1) (14 page)

MY HEAD WAS A CHAOTIC
ocean of thoughts. Mexican gang bangers stomping around the MC’s area of operations caused turbulent seas. Every now and again a rogue wave of pale blue eyes wantonly stared into my own. As I tried to focus on the body behind those pale blue eyes, red stains slashed onto her clothes then flashed away.

A coping mechanism I’d learned to use in times like this is to focus on the positive to calm the rage. It took me hundreds of dollars’ worth of drywall to get the technique down. Something was not working with it now, the rage demon was winning the battle. The more I tried to suppress my fury stemming from people in my town dying because of some junkies after puppy pills, the more that positive image of Gracie was tainted.

I tried again, as I whipped my forearm up and down like a madman.

Gracie appeared in a white dress that was mostly see-through. She was walking towards me in the middle of a desert as I sat on the tailgate of my truck, palms downward, and kicking my legs back and forth like a kid. Gracie was strutting towards me. She stepped with her left foot and swung the other heeled foot directly in front of it like she was walking on a tight rope.

I took note of her hips as they swung. On closer inspection, I could see garters underneath her white dress as I traced her hips with my eyes. A dot of red appeared. She stopped strutting and slowly put her hand over it. Red flowed around where her hand was on her hip. She pulled her hand away and looked at it in horror.

She went back to the hole with both hands, index and middle finger extended and joined, then jutted them into her hip at the epicenter of the red ink. She pulled her hands apart sharply and a squirt of blood caused me to squint and shy away slightly. She peeled flesh and dress away from the red then let out a bloodcurdling scream.

I jolted up and dropped my cock. I was back in the office of the shop and I had destroyed any chance of rubbing one out with that imagery. Before I could think straight, I slammed my fist through the glass separating the office from the shop. Why was I so fucked up? I tucked myself away, guaranteeing blue balls the size of an elephant.

“God damnit!” I shouted.

I regained composure and pulled my hand back towards my body. Squeezing the forearm of that hand tightly with the other, I inspected the blood and glass that sullied my hand.

“Motherfucker,” I whispered as I headed towards the washing station of the shop.

The cold water made me wince slightly, but I welcomed the numbness that lay in its wake. I pulled out the shards one by one. More than one piece of glass had solidly connected with bone and wouldn’t come out easily. Once satisfied, I disinfected then wrapped the hand before clutching the sides of the sink with my head hung low. I lifted it enough to make eye contact in the mirror.

“What am I going to do with you, shit bag?”

I was ashamed. Not because I was day-time masturbating in my office, but because I failed to keep my rage demon in check. Now my jacking hand throbbed and I had uncomfortably huge balls, my favorite combination for misery.

I was cursing at myself all the way to the saloon. I opened the door and the beam of sunlight shooting from over my shoulder highlighted the dust and smoke-filled air. Royal was at the bar and Gracie was handing him a beer. She turned to me and smirked. She gave me a shy wink, but with the memory of all the blood covering her, I could only muster a half-smile in return.

A puzzled look crossed her face as she let go of the glass in front of Royal. I approached him, still watching her go. She was in normal, clean clothes, looking like her regular sexy girl-next-door self. She shot me a look over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised, like I was acting weird. I plopped down in the stool next to Royal.

“Can I get a beer, babe?” I asked her.

“Sure,” she replied with an uneasy look plastered on her face. I left it alone until I was in a better frame of mind.

“What’s up, bro?” I nudged Royal who was paying no one any mind and giving all his attention to his electric leash.

“You gotta hear this shit.” He pushed a few buttons on his phone and set it down between us. “It’s the sheriff on my voicemail, calling from his issued phone. Apparently, he didn’t like us getting there first.”

“Listen up, you goddamned biker punk. You may have the folks of this town fooled with your good ol’ boy charm, but your cut don’t mean shit to me. You ain’t the law around here. I am. You don’t investigate a crime. I do. You don’t do a goddamned thing at a crime scene unless I’m there and I ask you to help, you got it? While I hold this office, you will not fuck up my town, and if I catch y’all doing it, or causing it, I’m going to fucking fry your asses.”

Royal chuckled. “This dude used to be chill, man. We could work with him. Now he’s too good for us, especially since we sponsored his ass when he ran for sheriff. What an ungrateful prick.”

“He sounded pretty fired up. Either he thinks we caused it, or we did it. When is his term up?” I asked.

“Next October is the elections.”

“Well, he better check the attitude. We aren’t the waiting types. And to threaten us? I hope he’s a man, Jesus!” I smiled at Royal as I raised my praising arms to the sky.

“Yeah, no shit. We’ll bring it up at the meet when Prez and the boys get back from this short run.”

“How’s that shit going, anyway? Did they make the last check in?” The church meeting was canceled today because Prez got a lead on an incoming illegal. Not something we’d ever done, and in complete opposition to everything we’d stood for as an MC for almost thirty years.

“Yeah, they’re good. They got some dirt bag from Mexico City and they’re taking him to Austin.” Royal stared at his beer for a moment, and I figured I’d steer the conversation before I lost him to thoughts of Kit and what it meant that her father was the one making this country less safe.

“What are we going to do about those Cholos who shot up our town?” I asked.

He snapped out of it and thought a second before answering. “We have to bring it up at church. I don’t have any ideas yet, other than setting up SKTs along the roads around here waiting for outsiders to waste. Regardless, shit like that doesn’t happen in our town.”

The small kill team idea poked at the homicidal maniac in me.
Fuck off, demons.

“Sheriff Douchebucket will blow us out of the water if we were setting up on the side of roads with thermals and heavy artillery,” I chided.

Royal chuckled. “He better hope we don’t set one up for his ass.”

I tried to hunker down and think of a way to filter the folks coming through our town. I wanted revenge for what happened at the vet clinic and the cherry that got shot, but that would just bring more heat. There had to be some way to ensure the town was safe from these druggies.

Suddenly, I had an idea. Not a very bright one, but it was a start.

“Checkpoints,” I blurted out.

“What are you talking about?” Royal asked.

“We set up TCPs along the routes just north of the border.”

“You want us to go in to church and recommend a bunch of PTSD’d out veterans to run a traffic control point in our backyard?” Obviously, Royal didn’t like the idea much, either.

“It’s a start. I’ll mull it around a bit and see what I come up with.” I finished my beer and patted Royal on the shoulder as I stood up.

“The hell happened?” He shot a look to my hand and back to me with a concerned look.

“Bah, nothing. Just a tragic masturbation accident.” The truth was always the best lie.

His face softened. “That’s a fuckin’ real travesty, apparently.”

“See you at chow,” I called over my shoulder as I made a beeline for the door. “Gracie, I’m going to pop your hood later if you’re interested.” I managed a wink to her over my other shoulder.

“Always,” I heard Gracie respond as I shoved the door out of the way.

Back in the shop, I didn’t pay any attention to the broken glass crunching under my feet. I had to swap a water pump and rewire an airbag sensor before I could get to my project car, and my project girl.

I used thoughts of Grace’s body as she came, the damp heat of her pussy on my thigh, and the taste of her sweet mouth as I worked on a piece of shit car for a distraction from today’s problems.

Thinking back to the voicemail Royal got from the sheriff, I couldn’t help but think of the irony that I was working on his mom’s car. He should be nicer.

After I finished that car, I pulled it out of the shop and brought in the ‘74 Camaro. I popped the hood of the car and was astonished again that it wasn’t that shitty. Someone put an LS2 in it along with a couple bolt on mods. Unfortunately, it was all junk now, as the previous owner had thrown a rod through the block. I detached the transmission and the motor mounts then hoisted the blown monster out. Once it was off to the side, I inspected other parts to see if anything was still useable.

The camshaft was. It was some light alloy cam. It made the car sound badass, but mainly reduced weight. The valves and headers were still good, but that was it.

I was sitting at the workbench with parts fresh out of the tank when Royal walked up and called my name.

“Tread, I got something to ask you.”

“Oh, great. You know that’s how every bad story starts?”

“Yup, this one shouldn’t be that fucked up, though. I want to take an overnighter out at the border. Talk to our BP fellas. Get a gist for what’s happening down there. Are you up for going?”

I thought about an excuse not to go. I wanted to fix this car while I worked on its new owner. “Well, I gotta babysit the new girl.”

“Ah, that’s nothing, Tatum is going hoggin’ tomorrow. She’ll take her.”

“Man, you got it out for Grace, offering her up to Tatum and wild boar.”

“She’ll be stronger for it. Besides, we gotta get eyes and ears down at the border. Derrick is your contact. It would be fucked for me to approach him asking all these questions without you there.”

Royal had a point. As much as I didn’t want to go, it would be unsuccessful for him to go down there asking all those questions to guys that didn’t trust him. As future Road Manager, it was my job to have the connections along the roads we might have to travel.

“All right, boss.”

Royal gave me a friendly punch on the shoulder then turned to walk out.

“Veesa said chow in twenty. Thanks, bro.”

“You got it.”

For dinner, Veesa prepared chicken enchiladas. My fucking favorite. The rice was a perfect mix of tomatoes and peppers. The enchilada sauce, Veesa’s well-guarded secret, I would literally perform armed robbery for if it wasn’t served up in my own kitchen. The girls were down at the end of the bar, and I needed to talk to them. That would have to wait, though. I loved these damn enchiladas.

“Did you break the news?” Royal nudged me with his elbow. He knew better.

“Nuh mmm.” I didn’t even take my eyes of the food. Hopefully, Grace didn’t see me eating like an animal. She wouldn’t understand. Not only did the Army drill eating fast and silent, but this was chicken enchilada night, damn it!

“You’re gonna do it before you leave, though, right?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“All right, I get it. Eat your damn precious food.”

And eat I did, every piece was gone, every grain of rice devoured. I was so full, I could have passed out on the bar right where I sat.

I eventually worked up the strength to push away from the bar then headed towards the girls. As I approached, I heard them talking to Grace about their philosophies and what not. I loved these girls to death, but I was pretty sure they might love their group more. They were the sisters to our brothers in the MC. They took a lot of shit, had to learn how to manage us men and our set ways.

Marley had an arm around Grace as she ate. Tatum picked at her drink nearby. Grace’s hair was still put up, and her slight makeup she did wear was fading away. She must have just gotten done behind the bar. When she saw me approaching, she kind of slumped down, trying to hide herself somehow. Not the reaction I got a few hours ago.

“Hey, gals. Hey, Grace,” I blubbered out, not sure if I had green pepper in my teeth.