Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
L ion
I chased this fucking bike down across Louisiana, and into Alabama only to find the tracker on the back of a tractor-trailer. It was stuck behind the cab down where the trailer was hitched to it. Mother fucker! She’s a smart one, and that makes my ass itch! I legit want to shoot the tires off of this fucking truck, but I just barely refrain from walking back over to my truck.
“She found the tracker and put it on a truck, so I am here in Alabama, and the bike is nowhere to be found,” I grind my teeth at the sound of Bones laughing on the phone. I know he wants to find our dad’s bike as much as I do, but he is having too good of a time watching me run around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to track down one woman.
“Shut the fuck up,” I grind out.
“I mean, I know we gotta find Dad’s bike, but this shit is fun to watch. She has become more of a challenge than any of the men you have had to deal with, including the men you’ve dealt with for club business,” he says, and although he is right, I do not want to hear that shit. I should have found my bike, but a bullet in her head dropped her body for a mid-afternoon snack for the gators and made it home in time to have some crawfish etouffee over rice. But instead, I am in Ala-fucking-bama looking at the ass end of a truck with my brother laughing his ass off.
“Fuck off. I’ll be home tomorrow. I am too far to ride back home today,” I hung up without waiting to hear a response and climbed into the cab of my F-250 Harley Davidson Edition truck and pulled out of the parking lot, heading for a hotel. I don’t stay just anywhere. Just because I am a biker doesn’t mean I like to rough it. I pull into the Casino and Hotel and book the platinum king suite for a couple of days. I might as well get a short vacation while I’m here. I send Bones a text, put a reward out for anyone who sees the bike, do not approach, just call with her location…twenty-five thousand dollars to the person who locates it. All I get is a middle finger emoji but I know he’ll do it, so I plan a full body massage along with ordering dinner for later.
Ronnie
It’s been a few days, and I hope enough time has passed. I slowly drive the bike down a side street and park behind the hotel in a hidden alcove. It is ass crack of dawn, so there are not too many on the street, so hopefully, I can get in and get out without anyone the wiser.
“Girl!” Ms. Adalaide says when I wake her up. “You shouldn’t be here!”
“Are they still hanging around?”
“No, I think they finally left, but we can’t be sure, and that makes it too dangerous,”
“Him finding my box is even more dangerous. It’s worth the risk,” I tell her, backing up and giving her room to get out of her bed. I am in her arms as soon as she slips her feet in her house shoes.
“I’ve been worried about you, baayybee,” she says in that exaggerated way only an authentic NOLA native can say.
“I’m okay, Ms. Addie,” I tell her, calling her the nickname she only allows me to call her.
“I need you to get this handled. You have a life here now. You know I think of you as my daughter. I don’t want to lose you,”
“And you won’t. I know you don’t want this business…”
“It’s your business.”
“I know, but I need you to actually run it until I get this straightened out. If he finds me first, sell it and retire with the money. I left a will, and the lawyer will want to talk to you and the girls.”
“Ronnie,”
“I’m just telling you so you can round up the girls and you all aren’t worried about why a lawyer is contacting you. I love you, Ms. Addie, you and the girls. Now let me grab my stuff and get the hell out of here before the sun rises,” she walks me to her door and I slip down the hall to my room, I slip in, and find the locked box right where I left it, slide it in my bag and head back to the bike pushing it to the edge of the Quarter before starting it and heading back to the house.
Lion
Who could’ve guessed that the moment I returned to Nola, I’d get a call saying someone spotted my bike? The sky was still ink-black, not a hint of sunrise, as I threw the truck into reverse and pulled out of the driveway. My tires hummed against the quiet streets as I headed straight for the Quarter, just like the text said. And there she was, clear as day, pushing my bike through the Vieux Carré.
My grip tightened on the wheel. Every instinct screamed at me to gun it, to run her down and reclaim what was mine. But instead, I hung back, my foot easing off the pedal. I needed answers before I could satisfy the rage bubbling up inside. Why the hell had she stolen my bike?
I kept my distance, slipping into parking lots and alleyways, blending into the dark whenever she looked over her shoulder. She led me to the Causeway, where the houses grew larger and more expensive with every block. Finally, she stopped at a gorgeous home—a million-dollar home, easily. Who the hell was she?
I parked at the end of the street, engine purring softly as I watched the lights flicker on inside. There was no rush. I left to grab a coffee and a breakfast sandwich, letting my thoughts simmer. By the time I returned, daylight was creeping in, but I didn’t care. I parked right in the driveway this time, stormed up to the door, and kicked it in without a second thought. The wood splintered, the sound sharp in the quiet morning. The door hung crooked behind me as I stepped into the house, my footsteps echoing on polished floors.
I found the kitchen easily enough and sat down at the table, taking a slow sip of my coffee. Minutes passed before I heard the soft pad of bare feet on the stairs. She appeared at the doorway, a gun in one hand, her brow furrowed. Her gaze swept over the broken door, then me, cool and unfazed.
“Who the fuck are you?” she asks, her eyes scraping over the patches on my cut.
“The owner of the fucking bike you stole,” I clip out. I watch her eyes widen slightly before her shoulders drop. She takes a look at the table to see both my Desert Eagles and breakfast.
“Have a seat, eat,” I tell her, using the barrel of the gun to push the bag over to her.
“I’m not hungry,”
“Yes, you are. Consider it your last meal,” I tell her and watch her resign to her fate, but I do not see a sliver of fear at all. She puts her gun on the counter before walking over to the table, taking a seat. She takes the sausage, egg, and cheese bagel out of the bag, unwraps it, and takes a singular bite.
“I know it doesn’t matter at this point, but I had no idea the bike belonged to a biker. I mean, don’t most of y’all ride Harley’s and Indian’s?”
“Normally,” I reply, not elaborating. “Why did you steal the bike,”
“I needed to get out of the Quarter, fast, and your bike was there with the key in it. It was like it was meant to be. I mean, you left the key in it. Who does that? Why would you do that?”
“Because no one has been stupid enough to touch that bike, let alone steal it,” I tell her with her mouth opening and closing. “Everyone knows who that bike belongs to. I guess not everyone. You do know the consequences of stealing a biker's bike?”
“Yeah,” she says once again.
“So why did you need to get out of the Quarter?”
“Why do you care? You’re going to kill me, right? Just kill me and get it over with, hell I am dead anyways,” she says aggressively, repacking the sandwich, throwing it in the bag so forcefully it tore right through it, rolled across the table, and landed unwrapped on the floor. “I should have been dead, and then I should have been gone from New Orleans, but when I couldn’t find Judah, I stayed. I loved it here, but I’m tired so just get on with it. My only request is to not shoot me in the face, let my friends be able to give me an open casket.” she says, falling back in her seat.
That name stops me dead in my tracks. Judah . There are only a few people who know that name and even less who would dare call me that. Loki, Bones, Uncle Lenn, and my dad. She’s on the run, and she came here to find me? Is she connected to whatever happened? Does she know what happened to my dad? She didn't realize it, but she gave herself a couple of days reprieve.
“Judah, huh? I’ve heard the name before. I tell you what, I’ll help you find him, and depending on what he says, you may make it out of this alive.”
“Why?” she asked mistrustingly.
“Cause I’m curious. But until we find him, you are stuck with me, and if you try to run, you’ll be dead before you can take three steps.”
“Whatever,” she says, pushing back from the table, legs scraping against the floor.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Back to bed!” she yells, already halfway up the stairs. “And until you either let me go or kill me, this is my house. I expect my door to be fixed by the time I wake up.” Then she was gone, and I chuckled to myself. She has steel in her spine, that one, she’d make a good ol’ lady. What the fuck? She’s a means to an end. A way to possibly get answers about my dad no more, no less. I am not thinking about how those thick thighs will feel up on my shoulders or how my dick sprang to life when she came fully into view. When I saw her in the Quarter, it was dark; she had on a hat and a hoodie, but in the bright lights of the kitchen, she was perfect. Skin touched a beautiful brown by the sun, hips, ass, and thighs for days. She’s what Uncle Lenn would call bottom-heavy, son, she’s thick as a bowl of cold grits ! And that’s pretty damn thick. The twists framing her face were a gorgeous way to frame her beautiful face. Cute nose, expressive eyes, and full soft soft-looking lips rounded off the arresting…damn, I didn’t ask her name. I decide to follow her upstairs. A house this size has to have more than one bedroom, and I am exhausted from the trip. But then again, I can’t risk her running, so when I get to the second floor, I try every door until I find hers. Closing it behind me, I shuck off my shoes, pants, and shirt, pull the covers back, and get in the bed with my sexy prisoner.
“Get the fuck out,” comes her sleepy protest.
“No, now go back to sleep,” I tell her, turning on my side, laying a leg over hers, and falling asleep almost instantly. If she leaves the bed, I’ll wake up, and she will regret running from me.