3. Chapter 3
BONER
The minute I saw her, I knew.
I’d always ribbed King and Cyclops for goin’ on about how it only took one look for them to know their Old Ladies were the ones meant for them. It seemed fuckin’ ridiculous and, honest to fuck, pretty damn shallow. You like the look’a someone enough, you fall for them straight off?
No, thank you.
I’d been fucked by good looks in the past, and I was wiser now.
No pretty face was gonna rock my world straight off its axis.
I liked it just as it was, thank you very fuckin’ much.
But then, I walked into Evergreen Gas Station just like I had a hundred other times over the course’a my life in Entrance, BC. Only this time, I’d seen the girl workin’ the night shift.
She was just a little thing behind that plexiglass box, but the light had hit her blue hair in a way that made it shine like the inside of a flame. It drew my gaze to the rest’a her, the rounded figure beneath the black and blue vest, the unfiltered shade’a blue in those huge eyes the very same intensity as her dyed hair. There was a silver Medusa piercin’ in the divot above her top lip, a ring through the center’a her nostrils, and the blue ink of some tattoo curlin’ over the bottom curve of her neck under her tee. She looked like somethin’ outta a comic book, all exaggerated features and curves, a dream brought to life by a vividly coloured pen.
Pretty, fuck yeah .
But also different. Unlike the hordes’a hot biker bitches that flooded club parties lookin’ to hook up with one’a the brothers ’cause they were addicted to dangerous men like tweakers to meth.
And then she’d opened that little pink mouth and sassed me.
Trust me when I say that wasn’t the normal reaction women have to a man like me.
Usually, they scream at the sight’a me and run the other way or somethin’ kindles in their bellies, the roughness’a me like a strike pad lightin’ their lust into flames, and they’re all over me.
But little Miss Blue acted like I was only a mild irritant, a slightly amusin’ pest.
I’d always been a contrary fucker, and her dismissal’a my charms was heady.
Maybe, if those motherfuckers hadn’t come into Evergreen, we woulda flirted a bit, and then I’d’ve been on my way. Later, I might’ve made a point to go back in to press my luck again, but female attention wasn’t exactly hard to come by, and I was a busy guy. More than that, I didn’t do emotions. My heart was already preoccupied enough with my club, the family I’d made through it, and the sister I’d had to leave behind years ago who still haunted my thoughts every fuckin’ day.
But they did arrive, and they did threaten the blue-haired, blue-eyed girl.
When they did, all that chemistry and curiosity that lay like kindlin’ in my belly caught fire, and viciously protective rage filled me to the fuckin’ brim. I’d always been a fighter. Growin’ up in foster care with a pretty sister made me a fighter before I was a fuckin’ preteen. But this violence was different.
The snap’a one asshole’s radial bone beneath my hands and the howl’a pain when I crushed in the cheek of another roared through me in tandem with that primal fury.
It felt satisfyin’.
Right .
What kinda men threatened a woman like Blue, so pretty, so sweet and vulnerable behind that flimsy fuckin’ plastic screen?
The kinda men who deserved to die .
Only the thought’a Blue watchin’ with those wide eyes curbed my wild anger. She was an innocent, no doubt in my mind about that, and she didn’t need to see me snap any necks.
I could also get Curtains to hunt the fuckers down later and do it then.
Lookin’ at her huddled on the ground in that cage, fear in her eyes but resolve in the set of her chin as she clutched a baseball bat in her lap, somethin’ subtle but profound shifted inside’a me. Somethin’ I’d always had inside me to give meetin’ a reason to give it.
It was a no-brainer to take her outta that hellhole even though involvin’ myself in theft and assault was fuckin’ stupid. I was a known associate of The Fallen MC, and the cops were always lookin’ for reasons to put us behind bars.
Somehow, in ways I didn’t know and didn’t wanna think too hard about, savin’ this blue-haired girl was worth the trouble it might’ve bought me.
Which was really the only explanation for why she was curled up, knees tucked to her chest and arms wrapped around them, on the passenger seat in a stolen van filled with contraband jewels on the way to Whistler with me. I’d been on my way up the mountain on club business to meet with one’a our dealers who was havin’ a sudden change’a heart about his involvement with the MC.
I was gonna have a little friendly chat and remind him that our friendship was unbreakable.
Blue would wait at Bob’s Diner while I did business, and then I’d pick her up on the way back down the Sea to Sky.
After that, I wasn’t sure.
All I knew was, I didn’t want to let her outta my sight and the scope’a my protection ’til I was sure those thievin’ assholes, especially her fuckin’ ex-boyfriend, were safely behind bars. Somethin’ in my gut told me they weren’t done with Blue, and I wanted to be there if they came for her again.
“We’ll leave the van parked here,” I told her as I swung the cage into the deserted lot across from the diner. “Got a buddy who’ll lend us a car to get back down the mountain. Don’t need to get caught drivin’ a stolen vehicle associated with jewelry theft.”
“What if someone finds it?”
“I’ll send someone to deal with it.”
“And the jewelry?” Blue asked in that surprisingly low, buttery voice. “Are we just going to wear it beneath our clothes?”
I laughed, startled yet again at her ability to make humour outta shitty situations. Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as I’d assumed if she was unfazed by most’a the events’a our fucked-up night.
“I was thinkin’ we’d just take the duffels, transfer the loot, and figure out what we do with it when we get back to Entrance.”
Somethin’ about her demeanor changed then, a bristlin’ energy that cloaked her like a shield.
“You live in Entrance?” she asked carefully as if she was defusin’ a bomb.
“You gotta problem with Entrance?” My tone was incredulous if only ’cause my town was the prettiest damn place on the West Coast.
Nestled in the belly of a wide bay tucked up against sheer cliff faces and towerin’ mountain ranges clothed in thick forest, it was a natural wonderland. The town itself was what King’s Old Lady, Cressida, called “quaint”, with old-style buildings on Main Street and all things associated with small-town charm.
It was also, and this was most’a the reason for my pride in it, the home’a The Fallen MC.
One’a the biggest, most profitable motorcycle clubs in North America with chapters all the way to Europe. The club originated in Entrance decades ago and still housed its mother chapter.
My chapter.
Blue peered at me from under a lock’a electric blue hair. “No. But anyone who reads the news knows some shady stuff goes down in Entrance.”
This was true.
Human traffickin’, pornography operations, drug makin’ and dealin’, police corruption, and plenty’a violent events marred its history.
“Most of it seems tied up with The Fallen MC,” she continued, her mouth movin’ over the words too judiciously, as if she was strugglin’ not to speak her truth. “You know anything about them?”
“Some.”
Her gaze was hot on my face as I parked the van behind the veil’a two dumpsters and swung outta the car. The back door rattled as I slid it open to grab the bags, securin’ them crosswise over my shoulders. Blue appeared beside me, worryin’ her lip with her teeth as she watched me.
“You think schlepping around town with contraband strapped to your chest is the best idea?” she questioned when I finally turned to look at her. One’a her full hips was jutted to the side, sassy in tone and body.
It made me smile to see her like that, so full’a verve in the face of an unknown situation. I wondered if she’d spit in the eye’a death when he came for her one day.
My hand found that cocked hip and curved around it while the other went to the van on the opposite side’a her head, cagin’ her in with my body. When I dipped closer, the smell’a somethin’ sweet like sugared plums swarmed my senses and made warmth coil low in my gut.
“I’m not known for my good ideas,” I whispered hoarsely, caught off guard by the visceral reaction my body seemed to have to her. My blood practically fuckin’ hummed with desire, a song I could hear beatin’ against my ribcage like a drum.
“I’m not surprised,” came her breathy return, those huge eyes lookin’ up at me without fear. “I knew the moment I saw you that you were trouble.”
“The best kind,” I agreed. “What’s reward without a little risk?”
As if in answer to my own question, I found myself leanin’ forward, transfixed by the plump shape’a her mouth and the tiny dimple in the middle’a her bottom lip. My tongue snuck up to tap the indent ’cause I was sure it would taste sweet as sin.
And it did.
I hesitated for only a second, my body a question mark hoverin’ over hers.
And then she sighed, a little puff of warm air against my heat-seekin’ lips.
The next moment, she kissed me.
Fuck me, but I hadn’t been kissed since I was a boy. Girls didn’t often grab me by the chin, jerk to their tiptoes, and land a hot, wet kiss on my waitin’ lips. My aura didn’t allow for it. I was the one doin’ the huntin’, the sweet-talkin’, the kissin’.
But holy shit, bein’ kissed had its own kinda glory.
She quivered on her tiptoes in an effort to reach my mouth, to part my lips with her small, hot tongue.
I was tempted to let her orchestrate it all, just to watch how she’d come at me, struggle to have all’a me, but my blood was roarin’ too loudly in my ears, urgin’ me to take, take, take .
So I did.
My body slammed hers against the metal with a bang. Her groan exploded into my mouth, a spark I swallowed that flared brightly in my belly. When I hiked her higher with the hand on her hip, anglin’ it down over her sweet, round ass, she moaned and squirmed like makin’ out against a shitty van was the carnal delight’a her fuckin’ life.
It took my mind to a darker place, imaginin’ all the noises she’d make if I had my proper way with her. If she had her way with me. Somethin’ told me she’d be a goddamn wildcat.
I rocked my hips into her denim-covered groin and ate her gasp off her pretty pink tongue.
“Oh my God,” she said, pullin’ away with panic in her eyes, a flush painted high and bright on her cheeks.
“What?” I growled, unable to pull back on the animal desire surgin’ through me. How was it possible for a girl to taste like sugar and rum all at once?
“Your, uh, your…” She struggled with the words, her blush flarin’ higher.
It only took me a second. A grin slid across my damp mouth, and masculine triumph swelled inside my chest.
“Yeah,” I murmured against her mouth, nippin’ at her lower lip and pressin’ the length’a me she was commentin’ on a little harder against her belly. “Told ya they call me Boner for a reason.”
“Oh my God,” she said as her head thudded back against the metal so she could look at the sky as if actually talkin’ to the Big Man himself. “Why is your ridiculousness so charming?”
One shoulder lifted in a shrug as I pressed my smile like a stamp into her cheek. Fuck, she smelled so good, felt so good all soft and warm against my hard edges. “People usually don’t expect men who look like me to have a sense’a humour.”
“Why?”
It was a good question but a hard one to answer. Why was a man riddled with tattoos and scars, a man who lived by a code of honor not written in law books and bibles but in blood and leather, judged to be a certain way?
“’Cause it’s safer to look scary and be scary than it is to be vulnerable. Humour is its own kinda vulnerability. What if you don’t laugh?” I murmured, lookin’ down into those brilliant-cut sapphire eyes and unable to stop the thought that I’d found more treasure that night than I had secured to my back. “We all choose our masks, yeah? It’s safer that way.”
“You don’t get so wise without living through some shit first.” Her small fingers were in my hair, tuggin’ and twirlin’ the long ends floppin’ over my forehead. It was a small intimacy, but it seemed profound in our dark corner’a the abandoned parkin’ lot. As contraband as the stolen jewels.
“Yeah,” I agreed easily. “You don’t.”
We stared at each other from inches apart, our passion coolin’ but intrigue burnin’ up in its wake. I couldn’t shake this rabid curiosity I had about her. There were questions I wanted answered and moments I wanted to witness with her. It wasn’t just sex, and that was usually more than enough to freak me out and send me runnin’.
So what was it about this girl with blue hair that hooked my soul like a caught fish?
“Don’t you have shit to do?” she asked, still twirlin’ my hair, still holdin’ me close like she wasn’t keen to let me outta her sight.
“Yeah.”
A tiny smile. “Are you going to do it?”
“Pretty comfortable as I am,” I noted, flexin’ my hips forward, smoothin’ my palm over her lush ass.
Her eyes danced, dark like the night sky filled with stars. “The sooner you get done, the sooner we can get back to kissing.”
I stepped away abruptly and hiked the straps of the duffels back into proper place on my shoulders, already walkin’ backwards away from her.
“In that case,” I called out as I put space between us. “I better hurry the fuck up.”
Her laughter followed me outta the lot, warmin’ my back as I turned down the street toward my destination. I waited ’round the corner just outta sight for her to reach the warm glow’a Bob’s Diner ’fore I headed out to Beaker’s place.
Beaker was one’a many cogs in the wheel’a The Fallen Men MC. He wasn’t a member, but we used guys like him as dealers and informants. They always had their ear to the ground ’cause they were down there in the gutters doin’ shit none’a the brothers would ever be caught dead doin’.
Case in point, I found the bastard inside his trailer in a pair of loose, stained briefs that belonged in a toxic waste pile and a dishwater-grey wife beater that hung off his skinny frame. He was bent over the stove where an array of glassware you’d find in a high school chemistry lab was bubblin’ away. An acrid odour filled the entire trailer with fumes that had stained the walls brown over time.
Beaker was—unsurprisingly, given his name—a big-time drug user and producer.
The club didn’t use him for any’a his own product. We didn’t deal in hard-core drugs that ruined lives like meth and heroin, but a lotta other criminals sure as fuck did.
That was why I was payin’ him a visit today.
“Yo,” I called to him ’cause he still hadn’t noticed me. My knuckles rapped hard against the open door ’fore I shut it behind me and dropped the duffels filled with stolen shit to the ground by a wobbly table. “Beaker.”
He twirled so fast, he upset his balance and crashed into the laminate counter across from the stove. A howl cut through the air as he rubbed hard at the sore spot on his hip. He leveled a glare at me ’fore he discerned exactly who I was.
Then he smiled real pretty.
Or as pretty as a meth head with half his teeth rotted out could smile.
I cocked a brow at him and watched that smile slip, then fall off his face like a mis-hung paintin’.
“B-Boner, man!” he crowed, lurchin’ forward to offer me his hand. When I didn’t take it––there was mysterious brown gunk caught beneath ragged fingernails and some kind of infection on a cut across his palm––he shifted from foot to foot and tried to grin again. “What brings ya to my humble abode?”
“You know why I’m here.”
He blinked rapidly. Click, click, click of dry lids over bloodshot eyes. “Yeah, yeah, maybe Zeus mentioned somethin’ about it. Can’t seem to remember now.”
Normally, I was a patient man, but that night I had a pretty girl waitin’ for me in a diner a few blocks down the road, and I was already tired’a Beaker’s bullshit. So I took one step forward, right hand lashin’ out to grab him by the skinny neck.
He squawked, flailin’ dramatically even though the hold was a threat instead’a an attack.
“You know why I’m here,” I reiterated. “You’ve been dealin’ weed that doesn’t come from the club. You know our agreement, don’t ya, Beak? Or do you need me to remind you that the only green product you sell is Fallen product?”
Tremblin’ like a leaf, it was no surprise he bit his tongue in his haste to answer me. When he spoke, blood was smeared across what remained of his yellowed front teeth. “You know all I got is loyalty to the club, man! But some shit came into play, and I got no choice, you see?”
“There’s always a choice,” I murmured, pulsin’ my grip on his neck a little tighter. His hands flew to my hand, scramblin’ to lessen my hold. “You made the wrong one.”
“I-I’m fuckin’ sorry, man,” he croaked weakly. “What can I say? I’ll never do it again.”
“You’re damn right. But you know how we are about loyalty. It’s our way or the highway, huh? So you want me to leave here with a smile on my fuckin’ face and not your blood all over my hands, you start talkin’. Who the fuck approached you about dealin’ weed for them?”
Beaker’s eyes rolled in his head like loose marbles as he scrambled to decide who was the worse threat: the unknown supplier or the man holdin’ his neck in a vise-like grip.
“Name’s Rooster,” he finally gasped. “President of the White Raiders MC.”
Now, that was fuckin’ interestin’.
The White Raiders were a white supremacist club outta southern Alberta that dealt with toxic street drugs like heroin, meth, fentanyl, and stolen prescription drugs. They were still small-time criminals, but they’d been in the papers a time or two for beatin’ up people’a colour at bars from Medicine Hat to Lethbridge.
I hated them the first time I heard about them.
Racist pieces’a shit who deserved to die fiery fuckin’ deaths.
Lotta biker clubs were white-bred, but The Fallen family didn’t discriminate by skin tone but by the quality’a a man’s heart. It burned in me somethin’ fuckin’ fierce to think’a these lowlifes encroachin’ on Fallen territory.
Without warnin’, I cocked my left fist and sent it crashin’ into Beaker’s drug-ruined face. My right hand on his throat kept him from reelin’ back, but his legs went limp, so I was the only thing holdin’ him up.
“What the fuck?” he gargled through the blood pourin’ into his mouth from his broken nose. “What the fuck , man! I told you what you wanted!”
“Yeah,” I agreed easily. “The hit was for workin’ with assholes like the Raiders.” Then again. The second punch landed on Beaker’s left cheekbone. He wailed like a fuckin’ baby. “That was for betrayin’ the club. You don’t want more’a the same, you tell me everythin’ there is to know about that club. Startin’ with what the fuck they’re doin’ in BC.”
Beaker kept cryin’, holdin’ his bloody face as if he was afraid pieces’a it were gonna fall off. I sighed heavily, then shoved him into a chair and started to root through the drawers in his tiny kitchen.
“You know,” I said conversationally as I rummaged. “I get it. Lotsa people think Wrath and Priest, or Zeus, Axe-Man, and Bat are the scary motherfuckers. It’s the pretty face,” I explained, gesturin’ to my features. “That trips people up. Same thing happens to Nova and King. People take one look and think shit, but those pretty boys don’t know pain or misery, let alone how to dole it out.”
Beaker watched me with blood drippin’ from his nose to his stained briefs, his hands twistin’ on top’a the Formica table. He was already jonesin’ for another hit, but he was too afraid’a me to ask for it.
“It’s funny,” I continued, shootin’ him a consolin’ smile as my hand finally encountered somethin’ worth usin’ in one of the dirty drawers. “People always assume bein’ pretty means bein’ good as if beauty can’t be evil.”
My laughter echoed through the cramped trailer as I stalked over to Beaker and crouched in front’a his cowerin’ form. When I brandished the pliers, his sickly yellow flesh went white.
Even though he clambered to get away, I pinned his left hand against the table with my forearms and brought the pliers to his index fingernail.
“I’m evidence to the contrary,” I finished with a wide, wicked grin as I pinched the nail between the metal teeth and pulled .
Beaker screamed as the nail peeled away from his flesh. Blood spilled to the table, bright and metallic-scented.
“I’ll do anythin’ to protect my family and my club, Beak,” I told him earnestly as I flicked the discarded nail onto the floor and pinched the next one. “Even if it ain’t pretty. Now, tell me what you know about the Raiders.”