X Marks the Spot (Executioners MC Book 1) (3 page)

Fruit orchards lined both sides of the highway. I passed my old high school on the outskirts of town. The archaic, dilapidated building appeared a lot smaller than I remembered. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of school. Now, I’d trade almost anything to go back to a simpler time. The sight of the huge oak tree on the corner, smokers’ corner, opened a flood of memories. I snickered thinking about the things my friends and I got away with under that tree. The plotting and planning. Lying about where we were going on the weekend and making sure our stories matched up before heading home. Practicing our parents’ signatures to forge absentee excuses. The boy/girl angst. Standing near someone you crushed on, thinking you looked cool while sucking on a cigarette and playing coy. Ok, maybe some things never got any easier.

I drove down the side streets, surprised by how well I still remembered my way around. Some sights weren’t as sweet. For every new restaurant or store, there were at least three abandoned buildings. The D&K Diner on the corner where I used to meet my boyfriend on my lunch break hadn’t changed. Two old timers rested on the bench outside, talking with their hands and puffing away on cigars.

The streets were dotted with oak trees, giving the town a down home, southern charm in the middle of northern California. It was a drastic change from San Diego. I rounded the corner of Second Street. My heart fluttered as I spotted the familiar wall of Harleys that lined the curb in front of the old hangout. My old stomping grounds, a bar aptly named The Clubhouse. Pop had always thought it was a brilliant play on words since the Executioners’ actual clubhouse was right upstairs.

My hands shook as I gripped the steering wheel of my new Audi A3. I pulled into the alley that looped around to the back of the building, leading to a small gravel lot that also acted as a driveway to my father’s house out back.

The bar was already packed for late afternoon. I tried to ignore my trembling knees as I pulled open the heavy, metal door. It took a matter of seconds for all eyes in the room to be locked in my direction.

Allowing my own eyes to adjust to the dark cave, I scanned the dim area. The air smelled of grease and stale cigarette smoke. Leather filled the seats, whether it was chaps, club cuts, or halter-tops, it didn’t matter. The Clubhouse was a legit biker bar.

It was also a great way to filter unreported funds, as well as being a moneymaker since the customer base was comprised of independents and 99%ers. The only 1%ers allowed on The Clubhouse turf were Executioner patch holders. Even prospects had to use a side door. Any posers who attempted to cross the threshold were spotted within seconds and promptly reminded not to return. Depending on how open they were to receiving the message, dictated how the message was delivered.

It wasn’t a pretty sight.

Now, by the way all of the bloodshot eyes were on me, I immediately regretted my wardrobe choice. The cream-colored blouse matched the russet colored pencil skirt and black pumps perfectly. It was one of my favorite power outfits, until today.

“Hey, baby. You look a little stuffy. Let me help you loosen up.”

I turned to find myself staring at a tall, snaggle toothed man grinning at me as if he was a fat kid in a candy store. With a dazed look on his face, he stepped in close enough for me to smell his hot, musty breath scorching my nostrils. His dilated eyes bounced.

“I’m fine, thanks.” I offered a slight smile. As I turned back toward the bar, a plump, sweaty hand gripped me by the wrist.

“You got that shit right.” He snaked his other arm around my waist and attempted to pull me in.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” I squirmed, but his grasp tightened. No one noticed, or cared. One of the hazards of being a female in a male dominated world.

“You and me are gonna have a little fun.” His face slithered closer, with one hand gripping my ass.

My heart pounded in my chest, feeling as if it might explode.

The ogre’s hand moved deeper, from my backside past the hem of my skirt. I struggled to swallow, but the bitter taste of bile in my throat left me queasy. I squeezed my eyes shut, chambered up my knee, and with one swift movement, fired, making full contact.

Expecting to see the man on the floor, curled up in the fetal position, all of the blood drained from my face as he stood before me, hardly phased.

Fucking tweaker
.

The man picked me up, leaving my feet dangling in midair. I flinched as he slammed me into the brick wall. Before I knew what was happening, the back of his massive hand came crashing down against my alabaster cheek, the sting leaving me dazed.

I thought I heard the click of a gun, but couldn’t be sure due to the ringing in my ears.

“Take your hands off that girl.”

My body went numb as I fell to the floor.

“What’s it to ya, bitch’?” The man bellowed.

“You got the bitch part right. You don’t know the world of trouble you just brought on yourself, you slimy piece of shit. Get the fuck out of my bar.”

Ruth
.

“That cunt just nailed me in my fucking balls, and now she’s gonna pay!”

“That cunt is my daughter. Yeah, that’s right. You just laid your hands on Jesse Miller’s kid.”

The man’s face fell. “You’re lying. You ain’t got no say around here anyway. You’re just a cock rider.”

Ruth smirked. “Considering whose dick it is, the way I see it, my being a cock rider works in my favor and not yours. I could put this bullet through your pea-sized brain, but I think I’ll leave the fun for the boys. They need to let off a little steam. My suggestion would be for you to go ahead and tuck that mangy tail between your legs and run.”

He stared at Ruth before backing away. She aimed the locked and loaded pistol at his head until the metal door closed behind him.

“Anyone else want to question my authority at The Clubhouse? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Susie, get the house another round,” she hollered to the bartender.

Once the cheering stopped, she turned to face me. “Jo, honey, what are you doing here?”

I took Ruth’s extended hands and managed to stand on shaky legs. My body ached as my muscles attempted to ease. I blinked back the hot tears brought on by the searing pain of my wounded cheek.

“Yeah, sorry about that. You know how I like to make an entrance.” I tried to smile, but winced instead from the slight facial movement.

“Oh please, I think you’re confusing yourself with your sister. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

I followed Ruth up the narrow stairwell that led to the MC’s actual clubhouse. It was like being in a time warp. Posters and neon signs littered the walls, with the exception of the Veterans’ wall. That was reserved for pictures of old patch holders that dated all the way back to the sixties. The same red felt pool table from my childhood still sat in one corner and an old sectional lined the wall.

Ruth returned from the small kitchenette with a first aid kit. “Let’s get that gash cleaned up.” She dabbed peroxide on a cotton ball and grazed my cheek. The cold sting made me lightheaded and I dropped to the couch.

“Well, no one will have to worry about that dead weight again.”

I knew the comment referred to the man from downstairs. “What’s going to happen to him?”

Ruth squinted her soft eyes and gazed at me through a pinched brow. “You know how it goes. A bitch knows nothing, and I like it that way.”

I cocked my head to one side. “Really?”

Ignoring my question, Ruth cleaned up the kit. She took a step back and appeared to survey me. “Honey, no offense, but an outfit like that makes you stick out like a sore thumb in these parts. I think there’s some of your old stuff in the back bedroom. Why don’t you get changed and then you can fill me in on what you’re doing here.”

Typically, I would have been offended if someone had challenged my choice of attire, but not Ruth. She was the only mother I had ever known and I took great comfort in knowing Ruth’s concern came from a good place.

“Beer?” Ruth asked as I headed down the hall.

“Whiskey.”

Ruth chuckled. “Whiskey it is, then.”

The smell of weed and dirty laundry billowed out from the rooms. The hallway was dark with dim lighting and paneling. It didn’t surprise me that nothing had been updated over the years. The Executioners didn’t remodel unless it was necessary. You know, like a shootout, a bomb, or a fire.

I stopped briefly outside of Ronin’s old bedroom, placing my hand on the door. My heart skipped a beat and my cheeks flushed, remembering our time together, locked away in that room for days.

He had been living at the clubhouse since he was fifteen years old. His stepfather beat the shit out of his mother and Ronin stepped in, only to have his mother press charges against him rather than his douchebag stepdad. That was the kind of fucked up shit Ronin spent years trying to escape.

Jesse sent a couple of soldiers over to persuade them to drop the charges, Executioner style, and gave Ronin a permanent place to live. Ruth and I had even made sure he stuck it out and graduated high school.

I rummaged through a couple of tubs until I found one labeled “Jo”. I slipped on a pair of jeans, thankful they still fit and an old ‘Ride or Die’ tank top. Since it wasn’t exactly the appropriate ensemble to wear with heels, I continued to dig until I found my old, leather boots. I pulled my hair up into a ponytail with a tattered, black bandana.

I caught my reflection in the mirror, stunned. I had been back in Jericho for less than an hour and had already been transported back to sixteen years old.

Voices from the main hall lured me out from the bedroom.

“So, the Queen Bee is really here, huh?”

“Don’t you go starting any trouble,” Ruth responded. “Maybe you should give me some alone time with her. It’s already been a rough homecoming.”

“Oh, hell no. This shit’s too good. Let me guess, that rich bitch car in the lot belongs to her. Am I right?”

I stepped out from the dark hallway and eyed my sister for the first time in eight years. Jessa was a mere three years older but looked to be pushing forty instead of twenty-nine. She was frail and thin. The years of cheap dye jobs made her bottle blonde hair brittle. The denim mini skirt hung loosely on her pointy hips. The caked on make-up and signature red lipstick only added to her weathered look.

“Gets me from point A to point B.”

“Ah, there’s the Jo I know. Always practical.” Jessa tapped her heavy boots, shifting between both feet.

I watched my sister fidget, picking at her arms and running her fingers through her hair. She was high.

“Well Jessa, I’m here. What’s the big emergency?” I stepped closer. The nauseating smell of my sister’s sweet, floral perfume overpowered my senses.

Ruth planted her hands on her hips and faced Jessa. Her eyes widened. She inhaled and released the air slowly. “Are you shittin’ me?
You
called Jo and asked her to come home?”

Jessa rolled her sullen eyes. “Someone had to, and you know it.”

“The only damn thing I know is you have stepped way outta line. You heard what your father said and you disobeyed him. Worse, you disobeyed your President. You know how he feels about the current situation.” Ruth narrowed her eyes.

I was taken aback by Ruth’s hostile response. “Hello? Still here. Someone want to fill me in on this current situation?”

The two women chimed at the same time. Jessa with a yes, and Ruth with a resounding no.

This shit’s getting old. I was tired of playing games. I clenched my jaw. “Look, I may not live here or play by club rules, but someone better tell me what’s going on. Especially if it involves Pop.”

Jessa’s gaze fell on Ruth. “She needs to know. Besides, she’s here now. The cat’s halfway out of the bag.”

Ruth huffed and waved her arms in the air, signaling defeat. I folded my arms across my chest and waited.

Jessa crossed the room and perched herself on a bar stool. “It’s not exactly Pop who needs the saving. I just said that to get you here.”

I glared at my older sister. “What the hell, Jessa? I have a life at home. I have a boyfriend. I can’t just pick up and haul ass just because you feel like starting trouble. I’m done with the games. I’m out of here!” I turned to leave.

Jessa smirked and arched a thin, penciled on eyebrow. “It’s Ronin, and I wouldn’t exactly call murder a game.”

Ronin.

I came to a dead stop, just as Ruth mumbled something under her breath.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s gonna need your help, he just doesn’t know it yet.” Jessa downed the shot of whiskey Ruth had poured earlier.

I rubbed the base of my neck. I couldn’t piece together what was happening. My mind raced as Jessa’s words sank in. “He wouldn’t want my help anyway.”

Resolving this was not my problem, I bolted for the door. I swung it open and the sight of the familiar frame stopped my heart. My breath stalled in my throat. The heavy, black, steel-toed boots. The worn out Levis that fit perfectly in all the right places. The broad chest where I had once rested my head at night, covered by a snug white tee. The recognizable club cut that smelled of spice and leather. The beard was thicker and the deep, chocolate eyes a little harder, but it was him.