CHAPTER 29
SHADOW
When Storm and I pull out of Black Briar Motors, my eyes sting. I know the repairs to my bike couldn’t have been cheap, no matter how casually Storm brushed it off.
My stomach knots. Is that what this is about? Repayment?
I scoff at myself. Right. She didn’t spend thousands to get me into bed when she has plenty of volunteers.
That thought does nothing to soothe me. It makes it worse.
I shake my head and force myself to breathe. I won’t ruin the moment with ghosts from my past.
Storm rides beside me, taking it slow through Cinder Ridge. People wave as we pass, and the small-town warmth catches me off guard.
Storm said it was once a thriving logging town, but now it’s in a struggle to survive since tourism hasn’t found it. Despite evidence that this town was forgotten, some of the plywood covering the windows is painted with murals, and plants line the sidewalk, disguising the neglect.
As we make our way north toward Highway 3, we pass an abandoned factory with a rusted sign still clinging to the brick. Cinder Ridge Paper Mill. It sits empty, waiting for the elements to devour it.
The winding, tree-choked country road we’re riding is beautiful, but there’s a chill in the air since very little sun peeks through.
I notice patches of snow still under a few trees.
During the winter, this road would be tough to drive, even in a car.
It explains why there’s so many snowmobiles up this way.
When we drove into town earlier, I’d asked Storm why the roads were so winding here.
At first she said because motorcycle riders loved curves.
Then she’d explained that most of the smaller roads followed the curves of the forest. The fewer trees that needed cleared, the better.
By how close the trees hug the road, the road builders carved out the smallest possible path.
Even after we left town, Storm kept her speed down and pointed out the various potholes and patches for me to avoid. I’d be afraid to ride it at night, but I bet the Thorns know every blemish on this stretch of road.
It’s amazing how different things are just a few hours from Saratoga.
There’s something quieter and more peaceful here, yet also more desolate.
With the mountains surrounding the area, the air is crisper.
The journey felt like riding from civilization to God’s country.
Being here now, Saratoga feels like a lifetime ago.
Storm pulls her bike to a stop at the crossroads of Highway 3.
She narrows her eyes when she looks at my face. “I see wheels turning in that pretty head of yours. What are you thinking?”
I smile. “Just how different it is up here.”
“Different good or different bad?”
The sincerity of her question takes me by surprise. She wants me to like it up here, so I weigh my words. “A little of both. The countryside is beautiful. I can still enjoy the mountains where I live, but here you’re living among them.”
“They’re part of us,” she says.
“And I like that.”
“But?”
I smile again. She’s astute, and I’m certain she won’t let me dodge her question. “But the town…uh, there’s just a…” I’m at a loss for words.
“Heaviness?”
Thank god, she said it for me. “Yeah, I suppose there is. Looks like people are struggling. Hurting for money.”
“Work. They’re hurting for work. For jobs that pay enough to support their families.”
I know the feeling all too well, but I won’t feel sorry for myself in front of Storm, so I say, “It’s a shame since it’s such a cute little town.” I glance in my mirror, thinking we can’t sit here talking forever, but there’s not a soul behind us. Another reminder of how desolate it is.
“We’re trying to change that. Aces started working with the town board about eight years ago.” Storm points back the way we came. “Did you see the development south of town?”
“The heavy machinery?”
She nods. “Yeah. That’s where I work. I used to drive a truck, but I traded it in for a bulldozer. We’ve been working to develop summer rentals around Black Lantern Lake.”
“Competing with Tupper Lake?”
She chuckles. “Nah, complement. High-end, but secluded. Close enough to Tupper to draw tourists without becoming it.”
“You guys have deep roots here,” I say quietly.
Storm smiles, but it’s sentimental, not cocky. “We do. It’s a proud town, proud people, just like the Thorns. We go together.”
And suddenly, I understand. This isn’t a club occupying a town. It’s a town protecting its own.
“I like that.” While Saratoga accepts the Steel Graces, we never quite fit in, but it’s different here.
Storm points to the road in front of us. “Ready to see our clubhouse?”
“Absolutely.”
We pull onto Highway 3 going east. While the road cuts through the trees, it’s not claustrophobic like the road from Cinder Ridge. As we ride, even with the occasional car we meet, the dark green walls of the forest heighten the feeling of isolation.
I let the mountain air fill my lungs and let it out slowly. The air still holds a nip, so it burns my throat, causing me to cough.
Storm lets off the throttle, and I slow beside her as I continue to cough.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Too much clean air,” I joke, even though it’s true. Talking loud into the wind causes more air to rush down my throat.
“We’re almost there. Do you want to pull over?”
I shake my head, not trusting my voice as another cough threatens.
“It’s about two minutes up the road. We’re going off to the left.”
I nod and move my throttle up, hoping Storm will get the hint.
She does and powers ahead.
It doesn’t take long for her to turn onto a paved road. The lane to the clubhouse is peaceful and serene, despite the sounds of our bikes echoing off the trees. When we round the bend, I stop short.
“Wow,” I say when we park our bikes. It looks more like a wilderness lodge than a clubhouse. It’s massive, but not flashy. “How many members do you have?”
Storm swings her leg off her bike. “Eighty-seven, not counting prospects.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t what I pictured.”
She grins. “It never is. Aces got a deal. It might be three times the size of the Graces’ clubhouse, but I bet it cost a fraction.”
I stare at the impressive structure with my jaw open. “You bought this beautiful place for cheap?”
“Nah, we bought a butt-ugly place for cheap. Lots of blood, sweat, and tears went into making the clubhouse something special.”
“It is special—spectacular.” I stare. “What do you do with so much space?”
“The girls like to bring their families and friends here,” Storm says. “I told you I stay here. A few of us do.”
“You did. I just wasn’t expecting a luxury hotel.”
Storm grins and holds out her arm to me. “Wait till you see the inside.”
The inside is more impressive. A few women with Iron Thorn vests sit around an enormous wood stove, while others gather at tables in the bar area. Several who aren’t wearing cuts are intermixed with the group. Old ladies or hang-arounds? It’s not my business, so I don’t ask.
“Would you like a drink?” Storm asks as she leads me toward the bar. I feel curious eyes on me, but I keep looking forward. The bartender stares at the women’s basketball game on the TV, and two older women huddle at the far end of the bar.
It’s just past noon, so I say, “A diet soda for me.”
When we get a few yards from the bar, Storm calls, “Prospect. I need a Diet Coke and a regular.”
The prospect’s gaze snaps from the television, and she’s in motion. “Yes, President.”
Two sodas appear on the bar before Storm pulls out my barstool.
“I have a message from Dimples,” the prospect says before we can sit.
“What is it?” Storm asks.
“Um, would you like the full message, or can I paraphrase it?”
Amusement dances in Storm’s eyes. “Give me the full version.”
Color drains from the prospect’s face. “Uh, just remember these are her words, not mine.”
Storm nods. “Understood.”
“Uh, she said, tell you to get your fucking ass upstairs as soon as you get here. And not to get any stupid ideas of having a drink first or she’ll kick your ass.”
Storm laughs. “Anything else?”
The prospect looks up, but she doesn’t make eye contact with Storm. “Uh, she also said she hates you.”
“That tracks.” Storm chuckles. “Thanks, Prospect.”
Storm hands me my soda. “Ready to see what Dimples is losing her mind over?”
I take a sip and nod. “Lead the way.”
Storm guides me down a hallway, and once we’re out of earshot of the others, I say, “Is everything okay? What’s wrong with Dimples?”
“She’s pissed.”
“No, really?” My voice drips with sarcasm.
“I told you we have to work Casino Night. Well, Dimples has to be a cocktail waitress.”
“And it’s making her that angry?”
“She has to wear a skimpy cocktail dress.”
“Oh.” My eyes widen. “I thought you were serving, too.”
“Bartending. Tux,” she says.
“Oh, good.”
She laughs and swings her ass as we approach a staircase. “Don’t you think I could pull off a cute little skirt?”
The image running through my mind of Storm in a cocktail dress is cringy.
“Priceless.” She points at my face as we start up the steps. “I’m taking it me in a cocktail dress does not turn you on?”
“Not in the slightest.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “But you in a tux, that’s another story.”
She pretends to straighten a bow tie. “I’ll get lots of pictures.”
“Or you can model it for me before we leave here.” I can’t believe how blatant my flirtation is, but by the twinkle in her eyes, she doesn’t mind.
“I’ll see what I can do.”