Jaded: (Beautiful Biker MC Romance Series), page 30
Fork spoke up. “Pretty sure my uncle would take the prospect gig, no shame, if that’s his way in.”
A few other members spoke up, most in favor of Rob joining without having to wear a prospect patch. Then it was agreed on after a speech by Deke about how every one of us had to step up for the club, take dirty jobs sometimes, and that was whether we were fully patched or not. He reiterated that Rob had put his neck on the line repeatedly for the club running illegal goods around in our pursuit of bringing the Jackals down as well as hosting a number of guests for the club including the Valentines when the Roadhouse burnt down.
It was agreed he’d get his patch and he’d get it in the morning at a quick breakfast church sesh before the charity car wash. He wouldn’t have a prospect patch, but he’d be considered a spare prospect, expected to kick in when extra help was needed for at least six months, though it was understood he had a business to run where most prospects were considered full-time paid employees, Rob would not be in that category. And that caveat wasn’t necessary whatsoever because every single one of us would kick in whenever we needed to. But it seemed to satisfy the older guys like Little John who still had that old school biker mentality.
And the night was finally fucking over.
It was after three o’clock in the morning and I was meeting Archer at seven thirty to pick up Gigi. I needed a couple hours of z’s first.
15
I was sitting on my parked motorcycle beside Bront, who was in his VW bug at the Circle J gas station, when Archer pulled up. And it took a second for me to realize who was in the passenger seat. Because it wasn’t my mother, yet it didn’t look like my girl. And there was nobody in the back seat.
The door opened and when she folded out dressed in head-to-toe leather, I knew the body, knew the face, but it was the hair that threw me. Instead of blonde and to her waist, it was a burgundy shade and just touched her shoulder blades.
My first thought was that she was wearing a wig.
“Yo!” Arch greeted. “Load her gear into this? Hey,” he greeted Bront who got out of his car, extending his hand. “I’m Archer.”
“Bronto. Nice to meet ya. Hey, Gia. Nice hair,” Bronto gave Arch a hearty handshake.
“Look, babe,” Bront jerked his thumb back and turned to the side.
Gigi frowned on her way to me. “What am I lookin’ for?”
“Somethin’ different about me, too. No prospect patch. Got fully patched in last night.”
“Oh… congrats,” she said.
“Thanks for bringing my girl, Arch,” I called over.
“My pleasure, Jesse.”
I turned my gaze her way. She was approaching but way too slowly and staring at her feet. Finally, she met my gaze. But she wasn’t to me yet and since she was walking way too slow, I crooked my finger.
“Get over here, hostage.”
When she got to me, I sifted my hand through her hair and our eyes locked.
“Not a wig,” I remarked.
“I… cut it. Do you… like it?”
I flexed my jaw muscles.
Her shoulders dropped.
“Well, I had Fern do it. You hate it,” she whispered, face falling.
She unzipped her leather jacket halfway, and that’s when I saw the shirt she had on underneath. Black shirt stretched tight across her tits, more than a hint of cleavage, the shirt lettered with Property of Jesse.
And something twinged in my chest at the sight of that. Something I’d never experienced.
“I don’t hate it,” I replied, suddenly feeling the crotch of my jeans getting tight.
That shirt, those words on her tits? I fuckin’ liked that a whole lot.
“Why’d you cut it?” I asked. “Trench coat and fedora improv? This a covert mission?”
“For one, Aunt Francie.”
I stretched my neck, avoiding the urge to scoff.
She explained, “I called to check in on her the day before yesterday. Her hair is comin’ out by the handfuls. She’s really upset. Your momma knows a retired hairdresser who can have it made into a wig.”
“Cecilia. Lives down the street,” Arch put in from about twenty feet away.
Gigi nodded. “Yeah. She popped by and took it after Fern cut it off. She’s got wigmaker connections. I’ll be bringing it to Aunt Francie when it’s ready. Hopefully it’ll lift her spirits.”
“For one? What’s for two? A disguise for the covert mission?”
She put her index finger to my nose. “Yes to the disguise but no to the covertness. New start for the club today, you said, right?”
Arch grabbed her guitar, Bront grabbed her purple box and her giant bag of clothes, and they loaded up Bronto’s car and moved off to the side, giving us a modicum of privacy.
“Right,” I agreed and lowered my voice. “Turned to a new page last night. We haven’t lifted our curfew and we’re still avoiding traveling alone if we can help it. There are still a couple assholes out there that might try to pull shit. Like Sarge. Wild Will Forker. A couple others we know of that didn’t get pinched or get…” I sliced my finger across my throat.
She winced.
“But yeah, new page starting with cautious optimism.”
If the dregs of the Jackals were smart, they’d fuck off and accept their defeat. Our experience with them told us they were allergic to smart, hence the caution.
“Everything went well, though?” she asked.
I had not had time to talk to her last night.
“We did a patch-over. Jackals officially no longer exist.”
Her eyes bulged. “Seriously? But… a patch-over? That means some of them are part of your club now.”
“We’ve got just a few carefully chosen Ipswich members that are Jackals, but most of the rest of ‘em are arrested, dead, or have gone to ground.”
“Mantis?” she asked.
“Gone,” I replied firmly.
“To ground?”
“Gone, baby,” I gave it to her straight. “There’ll be club shit you won’t be in the know for but given everything, you get the facts with this. Mantis paid for at least a few of his crimes.”
I ran into Edge this morning in the men’s room right after my shower. He was just getting in, throwing me a toothy grin before he leaned against the wall to get his boots off, leaving a bloody smudge on the wall. Those clothes would need to be burned and that shower stall would need to be bleached. Edge obviously knew that given that he came in with a spray bottle of what I suspected was bleach.
Though he grinned at me, I heard a guttural sound the running water did not drown out. It was a sound that let me know the man needed privacy. I spat the toothpaste out prematurely and vacated.
He had to be feeling a fuck of a lot after all that. What started out as a rush likely ended with the adrenalin crash of all crashes after losing the woman in his life.
“I’m glad he got closure,” Gigi muttered, blowing out a breath and melting into me.
“Now to work on closure for you,” I said.
Her eyebrows went up.
I elaborated, “We’ll get to that later. Do some sort of funeral, yeah?”
She shrugged and bit her lip.
“So…” I went on, “no need for a disguise, but we’ll still be careful.” I dropped a kiss on the side of her head.
“Good. But … beyond making a wig for Aunt Francie, I figured maybe if I don’t look like the bunny with the hair, they won’t keep thinkin’ of me that way.”
“You’re only gonna be hoppin’ for me,” I told her with a grin.
Her shoulders shook with laughter, and she wiggled her nose in an exaggerated bunny way.
“Gimme that mouth, my little wabbit.”
She leaned in and put both hands to my jaw and gave me a sweet kiss.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
“Why’re you shaking?” I asked into her neck, taking in her scent. It was different. She smelled a little like Ma. I noticed her citrus shampoo and Pink Sugar shower gel were in my bag instead of hers when I got back.
“Nerves,” she whispered against my earlobe. “The hair. Worrying you hate it. Goin’ to the club. You know…”
“It’s all good,” I replied, running my fingers through her hair again, examining the strands as I did.
I fuckin’ loved her long blonde hair. I didn’t like that she lopped it off to give it to that miserable bitch. I also didn’t like that she also did it to change her appearance in the hopes people who are my chosen family treat her better. I’d be making sure they treated her better regardless. But no point bitchin’ since it was already gone.
Her blue eyes popped even more with the darker hair color. It looked like it’d been done at a high-end hair salon. Ma hadn’t lost the talent with the scissors despite the long hiatus.
“You kinda hate it, don’t you?” she pushed.
“Don’t know that your aunt deserves that kindness, baby, but that’s your call. It’s your hair; you do with it what you want; at least there’s still enough to grab onto,” I mused, clenching my fist. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d make sure it stayed that way.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as her teeth sank into her bottom lip.
“And do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“When we get back to the clubhouse, take a shower. You smell like my ma. Know it’s cuz you had to use her shampoo and soap, but it might kill the mood.”
“I should hope it’d kill the mood or else you might need a bit of therapy,” she said, deadpan.
I kissed her.
“I missed you,” she repeated in a husky voice.
“Good,” I said. “And same.”
She clenched my shirt.
“Those words look good on your rack, baby,” I added.
Yeah, I was looking forward to reunion sex.
She looked down at her chest and then smiled. “I think I want one in every color of the rainbow.”
“Tell Ma to make it happen. I’ll foot the bill.”
She giggled.
“Music to my ears,” I told her, then said, “Here,” as I passed her a helmet.
I then turned to a smiling, watching Archer and jerked my chin. He moved toward us. I shook his hand.
“All good?” he asked, “Cleanup a success?”
“Good progress,” I replied.
“Excellent, Come for a weekend soon.”
“Definitely. Thanks for everything.”
“Any time.” He pulled Gigi into a tight hug and whispered something to her and then he waved before he got into his car.
“What he say to you?” I asked, taking in the gentle expression on her face as she watched him pull out.
“He’s just real sweet. He and Fern know how nervous I’ve been about today.”
“Need help with that?” I gestured to the helmet.
She’d been examining it in her hands. At my offer, she bit her lip and looked at me before swallowing and blowing out a hard exhale.
And I didn’t know how to read the new expression on her face, so I jerked my chin up questioningly.
“Last time I was on the back of a motorcycle was when I was a little girl. Great Uncle Billy used to take me for rides.”
“No shit?” I asked.
“No shit,” she confirmed.
A so-called biker bunny that never got on the back of a bike as an adult.
“Well, you’re the first to ride on the back of mine.”
“I am?”
“I don’t let casual hookups on the back of my bike.”
“Or hostages you’re not fucking?” she retorted cheekily.
“Never had a hostage I didn’t fuck,’ I fired back.
She laughed hard and looked gorgeous doing it, the new fringe of her hair swaying sexily over one eye like Jessica Rabbit.
Yeah, the new hairdo was growing on me already.
Bront had a smile on his mug when I looked his way. He was in his car with the windows up, and I could feel the bass thrumming from his stereo, so he had music on loud. He wasn’t eavesdropping, but you couldn’t look at a girl that gorgeous with a big smile on her face, laughing, light in her eyes and not feel something warm slide through you. Unless you were a salty prick like me. Seemed I wasn’t feeling so salty today.
“Today being a new start for the club, time was ripe to give you a ride.”
“I like that,” she whispered.
I put her helmet on her head, put mine on, climbed on and then held her hand while she got on behind me. I signaled to Bront and we rolled out.
It felt very fucking right having her arms wrapped around me the short ride back. And I was looking forward to having her sleep in my sheets tonight, too. Though, I didn’t expect we’d be just sleeping.
16
A line of cars waiting to be washed circled the block. The parking lot was crawling with bikers and their families as well as local folks along with a camera crew. There were even squad cars, the cops looking at ease rather than watching hawkeyed for biker bullshit like they’d typically do.
“Get a load of that,” Speedy mumbled as we were assembling for the picture. This picture would have the entire charter post-Jackals patch-over. It’d be blown up and framed to go on the wall in the new clubhouse hall.
“Get a load of what?” Deke asked.
“Bacon feasting at the donut trough.”
All of our heads swung that way and there were three cops with donuts in their hands, one of them had powdered sugar all over his chin.
That was when the photographer called out, Say cheese, guys! so the picture that was published in the paper, which got plastered all over the internet, and that also later wound up on the wall in our new hall didn’t look like a bunch of intimidating badass bikers. It was mostly laughing faces.
The charity carwash was raking in the dough for the club’s Biker Big Bros mentoring charity as well as raking in the goodwill in Aberdeen. Pudge was dressed like a biker clown, blowing up balloon animals for a gaggle of kids. Rider’s and Spencer’s girls were painting kids’ faces like superheroes or animals. Food was being sold by Ella and a few other women, while bikes, cars, and trucks were getting washed by shirtless bikers. The best looking of the bunch. And I was lumped in with that group when Deke handed out assignments.
During our quick church sesh, Deke suggested the ‘lookers’ be the ones who washed the cars, getting attention that way. Apparently a few of the women got together and made a list of a dozen ‘lookers’. The others would support the rest of the fundraising efforts.
“I’m more than a pretty face, you know,” Nico piped up after learning he was not on that list, and this got a lot of laughs because Nico was one ugly motherfucker. Bald, tattooed head. Crooked smile. Deep-set dark eyes. Big nose.
“You’ve certainly got a sparkling personality,” Deke fired back, and Nico howled with amusement.
Me, Deacon, Rider, Spencer, Nolan, Fork, Brady, Edge, Scott, Justice, Deke, and Skip were washing cars. Pudge was entertaining kids. Bronto, Bick, Rob, Nico, Speedy, and the rest of the guys were handling security as well as refilling supplies for all stations. Deke’s woman Laura was handling the money.
This would be good for business. Very good. It’d also help transform our reputation, which wasn’t all that bad in these parts, but some people didn’t know much about us since the charter hadn’t been here that long. Now, they knew a little more about who we were and what we were about.
When I finally got my girl down the stairs to join the festivities, I got a kick out of seeing two old smiling grandmothers having their picture taken with a wet and shirtless Brady. Not long later, this had garnered enough attention that a line formed, and a giant whisky jug acted as a donation jar beside Brady’s shirt. It was nearly full of bills.
Justice got in on that action with a line of his own, but the rest of us either declined, me included, or got told no by their women. Rider’s woman got pretty verbal about the no. And judging by the gleam in Rider’s eyes, I’d say her possessiveness would earn her a good time that night. The fucker soaked that up and paraded like a peacock while he washed cars.
“Time for me to stop being a spectator and wash some cars,” I told my girl.
“Oh yeah. You, the spectator; me, the spectacle.”
I reminded her, “You belong here.”
She smiled and put her forehead to my throat and snuggled in.
“And I’m about to be objectified,” I grumbled.
She smiled and it touched her eyes. “Take your shirt off and the charity’s take might double.”
“Enjoy the ride this morning?” I asked.
“So much,” she replied softly, squeezing me.
“Me, too,” I whispered into her hair.
When we made eye contact after arriving, she asked me to take her on a longer ride later, so I informed her, with a not small amount of innuendo, that she would definitely get a ride or two.
When we got in, I took her straight upstairs through the empty clubhouse to my room to drop her guitar and clothes up there, telling her I’d like nothing better than to fuck her, but that I had to do a quick church sesh in the kitchen at 8:30. She fake-pouted and then waved me off, telling me she’d clean my room, shower, and get herself settled in.
Shortly after the meeting where Rob Forker was presented with his cut and we did the rundown of who was doing what along with the safety plan for the day, brothers who had women either wandered out of rooms or arrived. Then, things got going and everyone moved to the parking lot.
Gigi and me were probably the last to get down there as it took a pep talk to get her out of my room where she was trying to unpack her clothes and shoes, taking up two drawers in my dresser and making tall but tidy piles on the dresser and beside the clothes rack.
“My room in the new clubhouse has a closet,” I’d bragged.
“Go ahead,” she’d muttered, sorting through tank tops, “I’ll just try to make some sense out of this mess and then I’ll be down.”
“Come now. This can wait.”
“But…”
“Rip this Band-Aid off, baby. It’s time.”
She chewed on her lip and continued sorting through a tangle of stockings.
