Bones by the Wood (5 page)

The thought of truly giving up any hope of finding someone, if only to share time with occasionally, filled her with a loneliness that spread an inky darkness over her soul, but the thought of being used and taken for granted over and over again depressed her much more.  Unfortunately, Thea had a bad feeling that Annelle had only been pretending to drop the subject of her romantic life.  Annelle wasn’t a meddler, she usually had more respect for a person’s boundaries, but Thea thought maybe she was motivated by the presence of new blood in town.  It didn’t matter, they were all the same, whether they wore MC patches or not, and Thea was tired of the whole goddamn game.

~o0o~

It had been a shitty week anyway, and Annelle’s revelation that morning had only made it worse.  To cap everything off, Thea was working a double shift, and if that wasn’t bad enough, a thunderstorm blew up in the early evening.  It was a brief exhibition of thunder and lightening, but the heavy rain soaked the dirt, and she’d spent the rest of her shift mopping muddy footprints away in an effort to keep the crappy floor of the convenience store clean.

It was getting close to closing time in the very early hours of the morning when three teenagers wandered in.  Thea’s nose told her as soon as they stepped in the doors that they were stoned, and she knew that meant she was in for a hell of a long wait while they sauntered up and down the aisles giggling at fuck all.  She bit back a stream of curses at the sight of all the mud that they’d tracked in.  Eventually, after the predictably long wait, they left, having bought armfuls of sugar-laden, munchie-busting junk. 

Thea set to mopping away their dirty footprints.  It looked like they’d made a deliberate effort to get mud over every inch of the floor.  What they’d been looking at frozen chicken fillets for, Thea couldn’t imagine.  She followed the footprints past the section containing toilet paper with some trepidation, but it seemed that they’d only been intent on relieving the needs of their stomachs.

She’d had to empty and refill the mop bucket twice to tackle all the mess.  As she swept the pine-scented water over the last muddy splotch, she looked up to check the clock over the doors to see if her shift was finally at its end, and that was when she saw the whole new set of dirty prints at the end of the aisle.  She slammed the mop back into the bucket, and used it to shove the bucket back down the aisle to the new patch of mess.  Doing so caused filthy water to slop over the sides of the bucket and she cursed again in frustration, having just made more work for herself.

As soon as she reached them, Thea could tell for certain that these were new prints rather than ones that she’d missed.  They were bigger for a start, and the print was closer to a work boot than that of a sneaker.

“Don’t folks wipe their fuckin’ feet anymore?  Ignorant bastards.”  She muttered loudly to herself, almost as mad that someone had come in without her noticing as at the mess.  She’d be lucky if the register hadn’t been emptied while she’d been playing Cinderella.  She took her frustrations out on the mess and swung the mop across the floor a little harder.

“Sorry.”

Thea looked up at the sound of the raspy voice at exactly the same time that she walked smack into Dizzy’s chest.

“Shit.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean....”  Thea could feel her cheeks glowing bright red as she took a big step back.

“S’okay.  I didn’t mean to make a mess of your floor.”  Dizzy hitched his thumb at the bald excuse for matting in front of the doors.  “But that shit’s worse than useless.”

“Yeah.”  Thea sighed.  “You’re right.”  She took another step back and froze as Dizzy took a step forward.  Cussing out the President of the new MC in town was not up there with her brighter moments.  He was close enough that she could smell the hint of whiskey on his breath behind the combined scents of smoke and leather and the faded spice of his cologne.  It was a very male aroma, and Thea caught herself almost leaning in to take a deeper breath to smell more of it.

“Still, I shouldn’t be cussin’ at the customers.  It don’t fit with the company policy and all that.”

“You always do what you’re told?”  His voice was so wonderfully low, and his eyes held a wicked glint.

He took another step forward.  When Thea tried to take another step back, she found herself trapped up against the shelves full of canned spaghetti shapes.  She was still clutching the handle of the mop.

Dizzy took another step and closed the distance between them.  She could feel the heat radiating from his body.  He leaned down, and for a moment Thea was sure he was going to kiss her.  Her heart was almost beating out of her chest, but whether that was due to arousal or fear, she wasn’t certain.  She froze as he... smelled her hair?  She was about to say something, but she felt his hot breath against the tender skin of her neck, which had been exposed by the ponytail she’d dragged her hair into, although it was mostly coming undone after the exertion of mopping the floor.  

Thea wasn’t sure what Dizzy was planning on doing, but she did take a moment to take her own deep breath of his delectable scent, and that almost made her not care if his plan might have been to fuck her up against the Spaghetti-Os.  He was so close she thought she felt the brush of the shadow of his morning stubble as he pulled away before taking a step back.

“My turn to apologize again.”  His voice was low and rough.

Thea couldn’t make words.  Apologize for what, smelling her?  He must be drunk, that was the only explanation for such behavior.  He was either stoned, or smashed right out of his sexy, Harley-riding mind.

“You....er... find what you need?  She stuttered, trying to get the moment back on any kind of polite, let alone professional, level.

He smiled, but as much as there was humor, there was something predatory in it.   “Yes, I believe I did.”

“Good... er... yeah.”

Thea simply abandoned the mop and bucket and tried not to run behind the counter.  That man had affected her, in all the best ways. But she really didn’t want to get involved with another biker.  She was going to swear off men full stop until Josh was out of school at the very least.  Not to mention that this guy was way out of her league and way more than she could handle.

He followed her and set a bottle of whiskey down.  She rang it up, trying to keep from dropping the bottle, since her limbs suddenly felt completely disconnected from her brain.  As much as her head was trying to talk sense, the rest of her was still in ‘fuck me now, cowboy’ mode.  Just the thought of his heat, his scent, caused a purely physical reaction in her, made her clench down low.  She fought not to squirm with him standing right there in front of her, that sexy little half-smile twisting his lips.  She tried not to think about those lips at all.  Eventually Thea managed to complete the transaction and give him the correct change without embarrassing herself.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Thea.”  He rasped before he left.

And God help her, but she was looking forward to it.  The crash and slop of the mop finally sliding from its resting place against the shelf, and taking the bucket full of grimy water with it, brought her back down to earth with a resounding bump.

Saturday had been a lazy day for Dizzy.  Having gotten home in the early hours of the morning, he’d slept in before heading back to the clubhouse to put in some time in the garage.  They were building a steady customer base for local repairs, and the Louisiana charter had passed over some restoration jobs for clients that were closer to the Texas charter.  Word had begun to get around that they were a growing business, and they were looking at taking on a couple of full-time mechanics to make sure that there was no pressure on the patches to put in full hours, six days a week, but in the meantime they were all having to pull their weight in the garage.  He spent the afternoon rescuing a truck from its transmission while bantering with Ferret, who was trying to find the oil leak in a car that should have bitten the dust a few thousand miles previously.

He’d stayed at the clubhouse for a few hours that evening, enjoying the chance to relax, have a drink and shoot some pool with his brothers.  It was nights like that, as much as the wild parties, that built a tight bond within a club.  The strippers were nowhere to be seen, but that was to be expected on a weekend night.  The three regular sweetbutts had turned up again.  The blonde that didn’t look like Porn Star Barbie took on bar duty after Little Miss Purple Streaks and an obviously stoned Reba were cornered by Scooby and Shaggy.

They had mounted their bikes in the pre-dawn to travel down to a truck stop near the Mexican border, except for Easy who had drawn the short straw for driving the decoy van.  They’d kept watch as men from the Rojas family had ushered ten people under the siding of a truck parked in the farthest reaches of the lot and had passed several large boxes to the illegals to stow along with the existing cargo.  There would be no pantomime with the decoys here, that wasn’t required until they met up with the Louisiana contingent.  Dizzy wondered how much the Rojas had had to pay out in bribes to enable their men to be openly carrying semi-automatics, and what the threat level was that they felt they needed to.  He wasn’t the only one with that question on his mind.  He saw that his brothers noted the weapons, and Fitz mentioned as much in a quiet undertone.

They’d set off on the Interstate, as the half-light developed into a clear and bright morning.  It was a good day for the run, their first as a full club.  As much as he disliked having all the patches together for these runs, Dizzy knew it was important that they did the first few together until they were all comfortable with the rhythm of the work.  When he and Samuel had been recruiting for the charter, they hadn’t accepted anyone that they didn’t feel they could trust implicitly, but it would have been lazy and complacent and seriously inept on Dizzy’s part to fail to ensure that the whole crew had been thoroughly guided through the protocols and expectations for both the Rojas and the Louisiana Priests.

Dizzy checked in with Samuel at every opportunity so that the President of the mother charter would know when to mobilize his own crew.  Each time he called, he put the phone on speaker so that the other members, particularly Cage, could hear and understand the conversations.  Eventually Cage and Dizzy would alternate leadership of the runs.

By the time the truck driver stopped for the day it was early evening and he was far enough away from the Louisiana Priests’ clubhouse that Dizzy and the others checked into the same motel as the driver rather than double back to the clubhouse and risk missing the driver if he chose to start as early the next morning.

The sky had only just begun to lighten in the east when Samuel, accompanied by Chiz, Tag and Sinatra on their bikes, and Scrat the Prospect in the club van, pulled into the parking lot of the motel.  Dizzy and the others were forcing down the dregs of what the vending machine had promised was coffee.  For Samuel’s sake, Dizzy hoped that Morse would be recovered enough to undertake the long runs sooner rather than later.   Despite his youth, Morse would be far better in an emergency situation than Tag.  They couldn’t leave Tag at home on every run, but it’d be good to have an extra body around if he was along for the ride.

Dizzy and Samuel greeted each other first with a firm clasp of each other’s wrists.

“Good to see you, boss.”

“Likewise, brother.  Good run?”

“Yeah.  Better now that it’s cooler.”

Samuel nodded and turned to the other men with Dizzy.  “Good to see you fellas again.”

The six men nodded in return. 

“Hey,” Chiz asked, stepping forward.  “Someone want to show me where the caffeine is?”

“Brother, this ain’t coffee, not in any sense of the word, but if you’re desperate...”  Fitz tailed off with a shrug.

“It’s the ass-crack of dawn.  I’m desperate.”  Chiz replied. 

“They’re your taste buds.”  Fitz replied with another shrug.

“And theirs,” countered Chiz as he hitched his thumb at the rest of the men that had accompanied Samuel.  “Not sharin’ caffeine before noon is an offense punishable by a beatin’.”

Fitz and Chiz left in the direction of the motel lobby to load up on the required supply of coffee.  Dizzy figured they’d probably end up chatting about football, but given their shared proclivities, they could just as easily end up comparing notes on the best way beat a man to death. 

Samuel glanced at the two men departing, but when he started to speak again Dizzy gave him his undivided attention. “Brother, Eduardo’s been in touch.  Those Los Perdidos bastards are gettin’ pesky again.”

“Pesky?  Shit.  Thanks for the heads up.”

“Of course.  Oh, and Ashleigh asked me to give you this.” 

Samuel reached inside the leather jacket he was wearing under his kutte and pulled out a small, plain, cream envelope.  It wasn’t fancy, except it was, simply because it wasn’t the usual thin brown or white paper.  Dizzy slid a nail under the seal and opened it.  He pulled out a pretty card with gold edging.  It was an invitation to Ashleigh and Shark’s wedding.  Dizzy smiled when he saw that the venue for the whole thing was going to be the clubhouse.  He was immediately filled with sympathy for Terry; Dolly must have been throwing a shit-fit at the lack of fancy.  Movement caught the corner of his eye, and when he looked up he saw that Chiz and Fitz had returned with coffees and were distributing them amongst the group.  It hadn’t been unfriendly before, but the men simply hadn’t spent a great deal of time together, so they hadn’t started to mingle.  Now the shared experience of the abomination that was the product of the vending machine acted as the perfect ice breaker.  Dizzy heard laughter and knew it was the beginning of them getting to know each other.

“Thank you.  Tell Tink ‘Thank you’, and that I’ll be there.”

“The whole charter’s invited, and anyone else you care to bring.”  Samuel replied with a wink, “But she wanted you to have an official invite.”

“She’s a good kid.”  Dizzy chose to ignore Samuel’s extremely unsubtle hint about a plus one.  Samuel would never have even thought to nag him about his personal life, but Moira had made some cracks about new blood, before he’d left and that seemed to have given everyone else permission to add their two cents or their feeble attempts at humor.  The image, or rather the memory of a scent, hurtled through his brain for a moment as he remembered his encounter with Thea in the store, but now was not the time to be thinking about pussy.

“Yeah, she is.”

Dizzy was about to ask after everyone’s well-being when Easy shouted up that he heard movement from the trucker’s room.  They set about the transfer of the fake cargo from one van to another.  They were done before the driver exited his room, and with salutes and waves they parted ways.  Samuel and his crew left the motel lot behind the truck in a thundering cloud of diesel fumes.

Even without the tether of the truck to follow, the men from Texas kept to the speed limit on their return journey.  An early finish was always welcome, but they didn’t need any hassle from the law if they could help it.  Ravensbridge was too small to warrant any police presence of its own; it came under the jurisdiction of the wider county area. That was both a blessing and a curse.  The eyes that might have looked their way had a lot more ground to look at, but they also had more authority behind them.

Dizzy didn’t quite have a sense of homecoming as they pulled up at their clubhouse, not yet, but he was glad to be back.  It wasn’t yet home to him, but it was his place.

Cage spoke up as he backed his bike into place and cut the engine. “I heard Samuel mention the Perdidos.  How worried do we need to be, boss?”

Dizzy, still astride his stationary bike, ran his fingers through his hair as he sagged back on the seat.  He could hear people moving about inside the clubhouse, but they were the only bodies outside it.  “I’d say very.  We’re closer here, and they have Samuel’s son’s blood on their hands as far as I’m concerned; plus the blood of a lot of townsfolk after they blasted a crowded park with semi-automatics.”

“Christ!  They don’t give a shit about collateral damage then?”  Easy had locked up the van and wandered over.  Concern clouded his blue eyes, and he was rubbing the scruff of his red-brown beard.

“No, they do not.  Keep your eyes and ears open and watch over anyone close to you.  These guys have no morals at all.  Last time they got ‘pesky’, they boiled two of Eduardo’s men alive.”  Dizzy had no illusions about their ability to stay off the Perdidos radar; they were certainly already well on it, they needed to be alert.

“Boiled alive?  How do you even...?”  Shaggy shook his head without finishing his thought.

“I don’t know, but I damn sure know I don’t want to find out.” Dizzy finally dismounted, retrieved and donned his Stetson, and led the group into the clubhouse.

The people he’d heard moving around were the sweetbutts.  Scooby and Shaggy broke into wide smiles as they headed to the bar to help themselves before commandeering themselves some female company.  Dizzy briefly considered the release of a fast fuck, but decided that the offerings simply weren’t all that appetizing.  Instead he opted to crash for a couple of hours in one of the dorm rooms to sleep off the ride.

His rumbling stomach woke him.  He showered quickly in the adjoining bathroom and made his way into the main room.  It was empty of people.  The sun had set, but only about half of the lights were turned up.  He wondered about the whereabouts of his brothers.  He didn’t like not knowing where everyone was, or should be, given the threat from the Mexican cartel.  He spotted a pile of pizza boxes on the bar.  He initially thought to check if anyone had left a slice, as unlikely as that would be, but he found a note in Ferret’s cramped scrawl inside the top box, which was empty of pizza.  Ferret had left the note to let Dizzy know who had opted to stay at the clubhouse and who had gone home.  Dizzy added a line to inform whoever found the note that he was headed home, and trapped it under a half-full bottle of tequila that hadn’t been returned to its shelf.  He was going to have to call everyone in to the Chapel tomorrow.  They would need to start being more organized, watching each other’s backs and keeping track of where everyone was or should be.

He could have remained at the clubhouse and ordered takeout, but he wanted the comfort of his house and he had a desire to eat something that had once mooed.  He still had the majority of the bottle of Jack Daniels that he’d purchased on Friday night, or rather, Saturday morning, but stocking up on whiskey wouldn’t hurt either, and he would enjoy it more in the privacy of his house.  He kept his drinking steady in the clubhouse.  It was not a good example for the President to be seen stumbling around or turning his stomach inside out in the john.  Years of drinking his liquor straight had given him a high threshold even for tipsy, but he didn’t want to even approach that level in front of his brothers so he kept his pace sedate and careful.  He preferred to have a couple of extra drinks in the privacy of his house before sinking into bed.

The brief rest had eased most of the kinks of the long ride out of his body, so he was able to enjoy the short ride in the darkness from the clubhouse to the convenience store.  He wondered if Thea would be on shift, and berated himself for the thrill that coursed through him at that thought.  He was old enough to know better.

He truthfully hadn’t thought about whether he’d dirtied the floor inside the store until he’d heard Thea cursing.  He’d emerged from the aisle stocked with the booze to see her furiously swishing an old fashioned mop across vinyl flooring which was way past being worth anyone paying attention to it.  Truth be told, he’d been quite impressed that she was so adamantly proud about the condition of her workplace.  When he’d glanced across to the door and noted the lack of any other muddy prints he’d figured he was either the first person in that night, unlikely, or she’d been mopping repeatedly.  He’d felt bad so he’d apologized.