The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) (11 page)

“Come on, darlin’.”

The bell above the door rattles when we walk through, and the smell of leather and grease greet me. Letting the door swing closed, it hits the frame with a loud crack. Lennon is hot on me heels, her hand on my back, holding on to me.

The little time I’ve spent with Lennon, I’ve learned she’s a toucher. Not the type of woman who flirts with her hands, seeking attention, but the type who needs the contact, needs to touch things. She has no fucking clue she does it, and I’m not going to stop her.

“Come on, babe.” Taking her hand, I lead her inside and in front of me. I don’t mind her touching, but I hate her behind me where I can’t see her.  

“Welcome to—” Tinker starts to say, walking in from the back. His phony smile drops and his shoulders drop when he sees me. “Oh, it’s just you.”

What a welcome.

“Nice to see you too, old man.” I respond back sarcastically.

“Eh, fuck you.” He waves me off while puttering off to the register, the chain on his wallet rattling in the quiet shop.

Lennon’s looking up at me, waiting for lord knows what, with curious eyes and a big smile.

“Yeah?” I implore. I hate when she stares at me like that. I can’t tell what she’s thinking.

“Can I look around?” Don’t see why she’s asking me now.

“Sure.” Letting go of my hand, she smiles and mouths, “Thanks.” I’m caught watching her walk away when Tink asks, “Got yourself an old lady or somethin’?” He’s looking at me with that knowing old man stare he’s perfected over the years.

Yeah she’s my somethin’ alright. 

“That a yes or a no, brother?” Elbows planted on the counter, he lifts his chin towards Lennon, and he starts staring, all interested and shit in her. He’s not even fucking close. Lennon and me aren’t much. Not even sure you’d call us friends.

Leaning my back against the counter, I cross my arms and start watching her too.

“Nah, she needs adult supervision is all,” I tell him. I have no idea why she landed here in my lap, but I’m learning it isn’t the worst thing that could have happened to me.

“A favor,” he grunts in understanding. Tinker knows how this shit goes. Occasionally we gotta help some outsiders out, and usually that outsider is linked to a brother or an old lady. Rule two, we protect our own and that shit extends to family and friends.

“Yep.”

“Tough break,” he says, grinning. I get it, she’s fucking hot. But she’s still a woman—a needy, whiney woman.

“You wanna live with her?”

“Sure, send her my way,” he offers easily without hesitation.

Tinker, an old-timer, semi-retired bother, has owned the local bike shop in town for years. He sells just about anything you could need for a bike; parts, leathers, bike accessories, helmets, and all that good shit. Anything you need, he’s your man. But it’s his knowledge about bikes and the world that has us young motherfuckers coming here. Tinker knows everything there is to know about everything.

“She ain’t hard on the eyes, brother.” Yeah, but she’s hard on everything else.

“No, that she is not.”

Lennon is a handsy little thing today. I’m pretty sure it’s impossible for her to keep her fucking hands to herself as she walks around the store. I watch her touch everything in the goddamn place within arm’s reach. She’s browsed a rack of leather jackets, checked out the isle of boots, and now she’s perusing the helmets.

Picking up a full black helmet, she inspects the shit out of it before setting on her head. I watch her and laugh to myself. I have no fucking clue what she’s doing, but she’s having fun, something she always seems to be able to do, no matter what she’s doing.

Turning towards Tinker and me, she puts her hands on her hips and shouts through the shield, “Does this helmet make me look fat?”

She’s trying to set me up to fail with that question.

Lennon has to bite her lip. She’s trying desperately not to laugh. She’s fucking with me. She’s funny, or at least she thinks she is.

Tinker stands up and starts shaking his head, chuckling to himself, “She always like this?” Yeah, I’m starting to think so.

“Well ... does it?” Lennon laughs, walking back over towards the footwear isle, the helmet still bobbing around on her head.

“Nah, babe.” Shaking my own damn head, I fight my own smile. This chick is definitely something else. Her laugh and that smile are so goddamn infectious, I find myself mirroring them all the fucking time since she’s stormed into my life.

Two hours, a long list of parts ordered, and thirty questions from Lennon later, we’re about ready to head back up the mountain, but she isn’t done.

“Buck?”

“Yeah, babe?” Turning away from the counter, I catch sight of Lennon walking up next to me with an armload of shit piled up in her arms. She has so much shit, I can’t decipher what it all is. Dumping it on to the counter, she sighs, pleased with her haul.

“The fuck is all this shit?” I ask her, picking up a jacket, just one of the twenty things she’s dumped on the counter. She wasn’t just browsing, she was shopping.

“Gear,” she replies, like it’s no big thing. Looking from her to loot, I must give her a funny look because she widens her eyes in challenge.

“Lennon—” I start to say, but she lifts a brow, begging me to argue. But that cute little brow doesn’t do shit to stop me from opening my mouth.

“What is all this shit?” Although I can see a few shirts and a jacket in the pile.

“I want to buy some stuff.”

“You got money, babe?” Fuck, wrong question to ask. Her face screws up, but seriously, it’s a valid question. She shows up here wearing clothes that look years old, two small bags in tow, and not a damn thing else. Why the fuck would I think she’s got any money. 

“I might be a hitchhiker, but I’m not a fuckin’ hobo, Buck. I’ve got money, don’t you worry.” Well that’s news to me.

“Where’d you get money?” I ask. Immediately the word stripper pops into my head.

“Around,” she says cryptically, keeping her eyes from mine. She’s pulling at her lip, looking like she got caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Around?” I repeat. Rubbing at my beard, I try to rub the tension in my jaw away, but it’s not working. Lennon’s a fucking mystery.

“I’m crafty,” she says with a shrug. I drop it. She isn’t giving me shit and I’m not in the mood to torture it out of her right now.

“Sure, darlin’.”

Digging into the top of her shirt, she goes for her tits and pulls out a wad of cash. Fuck, that’s gotta be one of the sexiest things I’ve seen in a long, long while. Slapping it down on the counter next to my hand, she smirks up at me. “Ring it all up, please.”

Finally back at the club, Lennon’s busy chatting it up with Cinnamon, a club whore. They’re starting to filter in. Little by little, the tribe is starting to show. It’s Tuesday, and Lennon’s been here almost two weeks now. She’s just starting to settle in.

She fits and it works ... for now. 

“Forty years, brother.” Dan announces proudly, slapping me on the back as he saddles up next to me. I haven’t been here but a fraction of that time, but that doesn’t mean those words don’t make me fucking proud.

I bleed this shit. My bike, my brothers, my club. It’s in my veins, my DNA. Without this, I’d be lost.

“Forty goddamn years,” I repeat, lifting my beer in a toast.

“Got Chapters comin’ in from all over,” Dan says after a minute. And by all over, he means Montana, Alaska, the Dakotas, Texas, and Florida.

“Shit’s gonna be outta control,” I confirm.

“Fuckin’ hope so.” Laughing, I nod at that. Me too.  It just isn’t a Disciples party if a fight doesn’t break out, something isn’t broken, a baby isn’t conceived, or a keg isn’t demolished. We party hard.

The Hell’s Disciples Oregon Chapter is creeping up on its forty-year mark. In just a few days, the whole goddamn gang will be here to help us ring in the event. Brothers from Chapters all around this grand country will be here to welcome in our forty, and a party is the only way to ring it in.

“How’s it goin’ with the little wild child?” Dan asks, eyeing Chatty Cathy over at the bar. Lennon is talking and the bitch Cinnamon is actually laughing. Cinnamon never laughs. Lennon seems to make friends wherever she goes. Hell, the whores even like her, aside from Jess.

“It’s goin’. I ain’t killed her yet.” If that’s what he’s worried about. She’s still breathing. I think I deserve some sort of an award for that alone.

“She can’t be that bad.” He’s right. She isn’t that bad. In fact, she’s fuckin’ working. She cooks and cleans and she’s nice to fucking look at. So far, so good.

“Just not interested.” Not looking for another headache. Lennon and me, we’re cool, but that’s about it.

“Well good. It’s not like she was some sorta gift for your ass anyways,” Dan tells me. Yeah, didn’t figure she was. “But ya know, Buck, you’re gonna have to put that shit behind ya someday. She was a cunt. They ain’t all like that.” No shit, but it isn’t gonna be today that I find me a non-cunt.

“Thanks,” I tell him. I’m not fucking sure what else to say to that.

We drink and we talk. It might be a party, but there’s always a purpose. We’ll get our brothers here, strengthen our alliances, and get some perspective on the situation we’ve got brewing with the Raiders.

“We good here?” Dan asks.

“Yeah.” Grabbing his beer from the table, Dan stands up, babbling, “These bitches need to get this shit cleaned up before the brothers get here. Don’t need ‘em thinkin’ we’re pigs. Cleanin’ time, ladies,” he bellows, walking off towards the back. “Get up off your asses.” Cleaning this shithole isn’t going to help, but whatever makes him feel better.

Lennon

I make my way to where Buck’s hiding in the corner, sliding into the booth across from him. Looking up from his beer, he gives me a nice, tolerable smile. The corner of his eyes crinkle and his lips tip slightly.

Tonight he kinda likes me.

“What was Cinnamon bitchin’ about?” Buck asks, sliding his glasses onto his head. He must really want to know if he’s giving me his eyes.

Cinnamon, a sweet butt, as she put it herself, was trying to fill me in on the local drama; who’s who, and who’s sleeping with whom. I listened. I was being nice, but I wasn’t interested until she started in on Buck’s business. She had my full attention then, but of course she had nothing worthwhile for me. The woman was holding out on me, I could tell.

Buck had been in a relationship a year or two back, and she was, and I quote, “A fucking bitch.” I pushed for more, but got nothing.

I also learned that this club has five resident whores. Jess, the head whore and Buck’s ex-bitch, Cinnamon, the next in command, then Lady, Tandy, and Kitty. I was informed that they weren’t looking for anymore to add to the group. Apparently I’m welcome as long as my stay is temporary. They seem nice enough to my face, but it’s my back I’ve gotta watch.

“She was just welcoming me.” Bucks eyebrows hit his hairline in surprise. “We’re going to have a sleep over,” I tell him. “I’m gonna need to borrow your sleeping bag.”

“I’m sure,” he laughs, and it’s not some quick, broody laugh. He fucking laughs, deep and raspy, and it’s music to my ears.