Gideon: Ride With Me

Chapter One

Gideon

“Hey Big G! Some chick is stealing your bike.”

I glanced up from my card game, only partially interested in what our Prospect, Crash, was saying. He had a tendency to play practical jokes, regardless of the consequences. Thanks to repeated concussions from totaling his motorcycle one too many times, I swear the kid had scrambled his brains, resulting in a warped sense of humor, a complete lack of self-preservation, and no common sense.

“You better not be shittin’ me, boy,” I replied. “It’s dangerous to tease a man about his bike.”

Crash held his hand over his heart.

“It’s God’s honest truth.”

I sighed and tossed my cards into the middle of the table.

“I fold. If Crash is pulling my leg, I’ll wring every red cent out of his hide as compensation.”

Our President, Kingpin, chuckled and removed his cigar, blowing a ring of smoke into the air as he watched me push my chair back.

“Careful, Big G. You sound more like a grumpy old man with every passing day.”

I rolled my eyes and grunted good-naturedly. My club had been ribbing me ever since I turned fifty a few months ago. The youngest members of our crew—Crash, Tex, and Spike—acted like I practically had one foot in the grave already. Kingpin was only a few years older than me, so he could poke fun all he wanted.

Crash fidgeted by the door as I crossed the clubhouse. It was hard to believe I’d had that kind of restless energy once, bursting at the seams to make a name for myself in any club that would take me. After fifteen years with the Blackjacks MC as their Road Captain, I didn’t feel that desperate urge to prove myself anymore now that I’d found my brotherhood and a place to belong.

The one thing I didn’t have was a wife to come home to.

It takes a certain kind of woman to survive club life and everything that goes with it. Even though I almost tied the knot once or twice, my exes bailed when shit hit the fan and things got rough. I didn’t blame them for it.

At my age though, the chances of finding someone who was willing to brave this life alongside me were dwindling with every passing year. I pushed that thought from my mind as I stepped into the parking lot, with Crash trotting at my heels. There was no point in dwelling on what I couldn’t have. I was grateful for my club, my brothers. If I was destined to die a bachelor, so be it.

I raised my hand to shield my eyes in the glare of the late afternoon sun. My gaze swept the parking lot until I settled on my bike.

Sure enough, a woman was trying to steal it. She was crouched on the pavement, with her hands buried in the guts of my motorcycle in a hurried attempt to hotwire it.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said. “You weren’t kidding, Crash.”

“See? Told you I wasn’t messin’ around.”

I crossed my arms, watching the woman yanking fruitlessly at a jumble of wires. Hotwiring a motorcycle was a different ballgame than hotwiring a car. After a moment, I let out a piercing whistle.

Her head snapped up. She glared at me with dark eyes, narrowed and wary.

“If you needed a ride, sweetheart,” I said. “I’d be more than happy to oblige. All you have to do is say pretty please.”

“Fuck you,” she spat.

My eyebrows shot up in amusement at her sharpness. I’ve always appreciated a woman with fire in her belly and a scathing tongue. Docile and demure never suited me.

Despite the black grease smudges on her face, and the hostile pinch of her mouth, I had to admit she was cute beneath the layer of grime. Young, too. Probably close to Crash’s age—early twenties. Too young for me.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I countered. “But bad girls don’t get a reward for stealing my bike.”

She lifted her chin, defiant, even though she couldn’t hide the shadow of hesitation that crossed her face. She’d been caught red-handed. And that scared her. Just a little bit.

I turned to Crash, lowering my voice for his ears alone as I kept my eye on the woman.

“Do me a favor, Crash.”

“Yeah?”

“Cover the back of the clubhouse, nice and quiet,” I replied. “Our little thief is about to bolt any second now. Cut her off.”

“Got it,” he said, ducking back inside.

The woman rose to her feet, shifting in place as she continued to study me. I hadn’t closed the distance between us. She was skittish enough already. It wouldn’t take much to spook her. She scooped up a ratty backpack from the pavement and hefted it over her shoulder. Heavy. Probably carried her entire life in that thing.

“Are you running from someone?” I asked.

She snorted.

“None of your fucking business, grandpa.”

Oh, she was definitely a handful. I took one cautious step forward, moving slowly.

“It’s Gideon, not grandpa. My friends call me Big G. And since you’re the one with your grubby mitts on my bike, that automatically makes it my business. Besides, I know a thing or two about runaways, and you’ve got it written all over you. I’ve been on the run myself a few times in my life.”

She grumbled and looked away, shaking her head.

“You say that like I’m supposed to care, but you’re forgetting the part where I don’t give a shit.”

I breathed a faint laugh. This woman had balls of steel. I liked her spunk.

“Why don’t you come inside and get a bite to eat? On the house. You look like you could use a stiff drink, too. If you’re old enough for that.”

The woman hesitated, scrubbing her thumb over the strap of her backpack as she deliberated. I recognized the hunger in her eyes, the ache of longing for a hot meal and a full belly.

“No,” she replied at last. “I have to go.”

I remained silent and didn’t budge, watching as she started to march away. Then I spoke again.

“Can’t let you do that.”

“Last I checked, it’s a free country,” she shot back without missing a beat. “You can’t stop me.”

“That’s the problem, sweetheart. You tried to take my bike, right out from under my nose while I was enjoying a friendly game of poker with my boys. You might be living in a free country, but when you mess with a Blackjack’s bike, there are consequences.”

She gritted her teeth, setting her mouth in a hard, thin line. For a split second, she tensed. Then she took off, disappearing around a corner of the clubhouse.

After a moment, I heard a shriek of rage.

“Let go of me, you fucking creep!”

I came around the clubhouse to find Crash with his hands locked around the woman’s wrists. She flailed and kicked at him but he swore under his breath and held on.

“A little help here, Big G?” His voice was strained as he tried to dodge another kick from our thief.

I hooked an arm around her middle, and lifted her clean off her feet as I tossed her over my shoulder. Her shrieking turned even more shrill.

“Put me down!”

She beat her fists against my back, squirming like a worm on a hook. I could feel how bony she was beneath the multiple layers of clothing she wore. When was the last time she’d had a proper meal? I kept my arm locked tight around her as I carried her into the clubhouse. Everyone turned to stare as we entered the room.

“Looks like you caught yourself a pissed off stray cat,” Kingpin said. “Is that the thief who tried to steal your bike?”

“She thought she could make a run for it,” I replied.

Kingpin clucked his tongue.

“Bad call, little miss.”

I plopped the woman into a nearby chair. She immediately tried to push back onto her feet. I clamped a hand on her shoulder and shoved her down again.

“Sit,” I growled through my teeth.

She glared at me, sullen.

“Hate me all you want, honey,” I said. “You brought this on yourself.”

“I didn’t take your stupid bike,” she protested.

I leaned in closer until we were nearly nose to nose.

“Tell me why you tried to steal it in the first place and I’ll think about letting you go.”

She slouched in her chair and scowled to indicate she had no intention of cooperating.

Kingpin hummed a low, faint laugh and shook his head.

“Be careful throwing that attitude around, little miss. Big G likes the challenge of taming a brat.”

“You can’t keep me here,” she said. “It’s illegal.”

Tex snorted from his seat a few feet away. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, his chair tipped back, chewing idly on a toothpick.

“Do we look like we give a damn about the law around here, darlin’?” he drawled.

The thief glanced around the room, taking in the sight of ten men and one woman, wearing black leather cuts, heavy biker boots, studded with piercings, and riddled with tattoos. Not exactly upstanding citizens of Buckeye Junction, Montana.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” Baby Doll said from behind the bar.

She tucked a rag in her back pocket as she approached. Baby Doll was our secret weapon—friendly, charming, flirtatious, and smart as a whip. She knew how to play people like a fiddle, leveraging their weak spots to her advantage.

“Why do you want to know?” the thief demanded. “So we can be besties and braid each other’s hair at a sleepover while we giggle over cute boys? No thanks.”

Baby Doll let out a low whistle and held up her hands, backing away.

“You picked up a prickly one, Big G. She’s all yours.”

I shifted into the thief’s line of sight until she had no choice but to tear her attention away from Baby Doll and focus on me.

“It’s called an introduction, you feral little shit,” I said. “Or have you lived in the gutter with the rats so long that you forgot how to behave yourself?”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” she replied, biting off every word. “I don’t give a flying fuck. I just want to leave.”

Kingpin stubbed out his cigar in an ashtray.

“What do you plan to do with her?”

“I bet she’s wanted for something,” Spike put in. “You could talk to the police. Maybe there’s a cash reward for turning her in.”

Our thief frowned harder, but that didn’t hide the fact that her face went a little pale. She definitely didn’t like the idea of getting the police involved.

“I didn’t steal that fucking bike, okay?” she spat. “Sure, I thought about it, but I didn’t do it. So, you have to let me go.”

She fixed me with a fierce stare. I gazed back, studying the rigid tension in her body language, and the way every muscle in her body strained to get the hell out of here.

“Vlad, hand them over,” I said without looking away from her.

The hulking, dark-haired Russian made a noise of acknowledgement from his seat in the corner, with his tattooed forearms folded across his chest. His skin was etched black with crows in mid-flight, soaring from his wrists and fading into mist at his biceps. As our Enforcer, his skillset involved breaking bones and breaking up brawls. He’d earned his road name, Vlad the Impaler, for good reason.

The clatter of metal echoed in the stillness of the room as Vlad pulled out his handcuffs. I looked away from the thief just long enough to catch the cuffs as he tossed them to me.

Worry flickered across the thief’s eyes for a moment. Before she could dart for the door, I scooped her up into my arms, bridal-style. She wiggled, squirmed, and howled protests, but I ignored her and proceeded to the bathroom at the back of our clubhouse. I plunked her in the tub. In one smooth motion, I locked one cuff around her wrist, and the other around the shower pipe.

“Wash up. We’ll figure out what to do with you after that.”

She yanked at the cuffs. The metal rattled against the pipe but held firm. Even if she managed to get out of the cuffs by some miracle, there were no windows in here. She’d have to escape through the door, and I intended to have someone on guard duty to make sure that didn’t happen.

“What kind of bullshit is this?” she hissed. “Do I have to make myself presentable before the rigged jury out there declares I’m guilty without a fair trial?”

“God, you’re really good at being a pain in the ass,” I muttered. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Every damn day of my life. If that’s supposed to hurt my feelings, you’ll have to try harder than that, tough guy. Sorry to disappoint you.”

I stepped closer and grabbed her chin, tilting her head up to look at me. She clenched her jaw, nostrils flaring, seething with anger.

“If you don’t get cleaned up on your own, sweetheart,” I said. “I’ll strip you down and scrub every inch of you myself. Every. Naked. Inch. Your choice.”

For a split second, I could have sworn her pupils dilated.

Oh.

Was the little spitfire turned on beneath that venom? Did she like being manhandled and told what to do? Was she the type to push boundaries and act up in order to get the attention she craved?

Too young, my conscience whispered in the back of my mind. She’s too young for you, so get your head out of the gutter.

Then she yanked her chin out of my grasp and huddled in the tub, curling in on herself like a cornered wild animal, scared, hungry, tired, but willing to lash out if I pushed too hard.

So, I backed off. For now.

“I’ll check on you in about twenty minutes,” I said as I turned to leave. “Don’t forget to wash behind your ears. And if you’re still a filthy little fucker by the time I get back, you’ll find out that I’m a man of my word. I don’t give a shit if you scream your goddamn head off for half the neighborhood to hear, I’ll get you clean, one way or another.”