Axle Page 20

  “I see it,” Axle said.

  I didn’t need to ask what “it” was.

  “We gotta start working on the case,” he continued. “What have we got so far?”

  Not enough.

  “What you saw,” I said. “The sniper evidence. We can set him up for more. Or I can just kill him.”

  It was said far too casually to suggest I was trying to be a better man, but when I had my mind set on ending someone…

  “I’d like to, but it won’t be that easy,” Axle said. “Killing him is easy. Killing him and keeping the club in line won’t be.”

  Because of his son.

  “Pink Raven,” I mumbled.

  “The minute that we accuse Red Raven, his son will be looking for anything to protect him,” he said. “And God forbid if we kill Red Raven before informing Pink Raven. That’ll be the fastest way to start a civil war in this club.”

  The killer in me wanted to say “fuck that.” The killer in me wanted to do what he knew best. The killer in me needed to end that asshole’s life.

  But…

  Not yet. Be a wiser man. Be a thinker, not a killer.

  “I know you’re right,” I said. “But we will kill him at some point.”

  We discussed the merits of how we could set him up and present Lane with the evidence a little bit more, but we didn’t make too much more headway. We both knew talking wasn’t what we needed to do at this point. We needed to just get the job done.

  Eventually, at the end of my first and only beer, I stood and told Axle to start doing his own digging. I suggested that we avoid telling anyone else for now, and he agreed. He made me promise I wouldn’t so much as grab Red Raven’s shoulder until we had full evidence; I was in full agreement.

  When I got home, I opened the door, listening for the pattering of my little dog’s paws on the carpet.

  “Lucky!” I shouted as I shut the door behind me.

  The dog murmured and barked as me as he came forward and leaped on my leg. I laughed and picked him up, smothering him with kisses. Wonder what the club would think if they saw me like this. Probably wouldn’t know what to think.

  “Who’s a good boy, huh? Huh? You are, Lucky Luck! You are!”

  I placed Lucky back on the floor and gave him belly rubs as he rolled on the ground. I laughed some more, both in delight at my dog and in the fact that I could act freely here.

  It would have been nice to have been myself in the club. Actually, it would have been nice to have been myself in almost any situation away from my dog. It would make everything easier, from dating to socializing to just being at peace with myself.

  But if I did that, people would see just how dark of a person I could be. They would recognize that the image of Butch, the big, badass sergeant-in-arms, was practically a fucking teddy bear compared to the monster I could be. And if that happened, I doubted even the Fallen Saints would want me around.

  Someday, I prayed, I’d get rid of this darkness forever.

  Because I had no idea how the hell I’d live with it. It made suppressing it the only real option.

  Thea Parris

  It was of enormous relief when I woke up Friday to a message from Axle.

  I don’t know why, but there was just something about seeing a message from him that always warmed me, even as I knew he had found someone—apparently an old romantic flame of his—that genuinely made him happy. Maybe it was because I was just lacking so much in genuine human connection, or maybe it was because I was that desperate to be with someone I was attracted to, but getting a text message from Axle was like getting a splash of water after being dehydrated—but in this case, the dehydration wasn’t sex or even literal dehydration.

  It was just a lack of human connection.

  And the worst part about it? It wasn’t even like Axle was especially nice to me. The last time we had hooked up, he was distant and rude and kicked me out right after he had come. I wasn’t taking my drops of water from Axle, the man, I was taking them from Axle, the image.

  But, hey, sometimes imagination and our minds were the only thing that kept us from fully dissolving into something truly chaotic and dark.

  I opened up my phone to read the message.

  “Hi there—reminder tonight is the family party. Please come dressed appropriately. Imagine you are going to your grandmother’s house for dinner.”

  It was not a personalized message, though at least Axle had had the courtesy to not blast all of us in a group message. I was the only recipient of this message, although I was sure that Axle had copy-and-pasted that message to more than dozen girls or so.

  Nevertheless, I still felt happy that I’d get to actually show up in clothing that didn’t hang a scarlet letter around my neck. I could dress in jeans, a tank top, maybe even some nice heels. It would be a little warm outside, but not so suffocatingly hot as to mandate that I wear shorts. I could get away with casual jeans.

  Maybe if I did this, one of the club members would actually see me as a woman and not as a bunny.

  OK, I couldn’t get my hopes up that high. You could dress up a snake in a suit and a tie and it would still be a snake.

  But maybe, because of the casual wear that tonight’s party would entail, I might catch the eye of a man who saw my smile, or my face, or anything from the neck up and not how big my breasts were or how far out my ass stuck in my booty shorts.

  The first sign that this was not going to be a typical club party was when I didn’t hear any loud music bumping from the clubhouse.

  On a normal night, whenever I pulled my car in behind the shop, I could hear the music blaring from the clubhouse to such a level that nightclubs in Los Angeles would have suggested turning the volume down. The music would often be some old school 70’s or 80’s rock, never the modern hip hop or pop music that could be heard on most radio stations. Someone suggesting that music get played would get kicked out before they could have even touched a dial.

  The second sign that this was not going to be a typical party was that instead of having about half-a-dozen men eye-fucking me, with the winner being whoever happened to be closest to the door, I saw most of the men with their wives, girlfriends, or even mothers.

  That’s right—the club that typically had a bunch of boorish assholes running around, smacking asses, snorting drugs, and doing all sorts of other illicit activities was now the one that was on its best behavior with their mothers keeping a close eye on them.

  There were multiple other signs, of course. This party was primarily taking place outside—there were grills, cornhole sets, chairs, and other spots to casually lounge. There was music, but it was country music, something that could easily blend into the background. Loud laughter and dares were replaced by quiet conversations, short laughs, and genuine smiles and pats on the back.

  That didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be someone trying to make a move on me. Especially as the night went on, as the older crowd left and the biker crowd got more and more intoxicated, this was likely to morph into a more typical night. But to walk into something like this for at least a couple of hours was a nice change.

  I got in line for the keg, which no one was doing keg stands at or making remarks about women’s curves, and looked around at the rest of the crowd. I saw the two young guys, Lane and Patriot, standing with their arms around two girls—and the girls looked completely at ease. Girlfriends. Not just hookups.

  Lane’s girl still was in professional attire, as if she had just come from a white-collar job. She looked a little uncomfortable with his arm on her, but he looked at ease. Her appearance reminded me of my own back when I was a working woman—it took me back to what I could have been.

  Patriot’s girlfriend, meanwhile, was dressed much more casually. She looked far more relaxed and happy, although whenever she saw another Black Reaper approaching, her demeanor stiffened. I pegged her as someone who was likely to leave before the end of the night, whether because she just didn’t want to spend time with
the rest of the bikers or because she and Patriot had “places to be.”

  And then I saw Axle with his new woman.

  It was the first time I had seen her in person, though I had heard plenty about her. In many ways, her body was the exact opposite of mine, almost like… he had chosen me to forget about her? Or maybe the reverse was true.

  No, the reverse wasn’t true; I wasn’t that important to Axle.

  But what was important was that, to be honest, I was sadly jealous of what they all had that I did not. They had stability. They had happiness, or at least more moments of it than sadness. They had each other to lean on and depend upon.

  As for me? Well, I had guys that I would try and interact with, but as soon as their cocks had shot their load and they had finished, they were done with me.

  Maybe I just haven’t found the right guy in this club yet. I’ve gone through so many of the members… maybe one of the officers will be that way?

  There weren’t many options. There was the priest guy, who seemed nice enough, but I wasn’t religious. There was the older man, Red Raven, I think, but his son had already claimed me before, and as much as I was willing to do things with the club for their connections to jobs and what not, I wasn’t willing to bang the father of someone I’d already slept with.

  That left just one.

  A man so tall, so thick, and so intimidating that he might as well have been a bounty hunter.

  Butch.

  Unfortunately, that was about the extent of what I could say about Butch, because everything else was just a giant mystery, a box whose inner contents I couldn’t even conjecture at. He spoke very rarely, expressed emotion on a barely more frequent basis, and revealed next to nothing about himself. Rumors said that when outside of the club, he was actually quite gregarious, but in the presence of his fellow Reapers, he was as quiet as a sleeping dog.

  A dog that could chew you up and down to the bone if he wanted.

  Butch could—

  I saw Rose leaving Axle.

  I don’t know why, but I felt compelled to go say something to him. I didn’t even want to flirt with him or do anything sexual. I definitely didn’t want to do those things, actually—one thing I was not was a homewrecker. Rather, I figured that on some level, making peace with Axle might in turn give me the chance to relieve myself of the burden of… I don’t know, being a whore?

  Really, I just wanted the freedom to not feel like a slut and the freedom to do what I wanted—which was create short films—but as long as I was in the Black Reapers’ grasp, that wasn’t going to happen.

  Taking a gulp, I walked over to Axle, my hands by my side, my walk casual. Axle wasn’t looking at me at first, checking his phone and then looking around.

  And then he saw me approaching, and his eyes narrowed.

  “I’m taken now,” he growled. “Go away.”

  “I just—”

  “No, I don’t want to hear it,” he said. “You were fun while it lasted, but I’m not going to take any chances. Stay away.”

  And without another word, without saying my name, without doing anything to acknowledge me as a human being other than to talk in my general direction, he moved away, siding up next to Patriot and his girlfriend. I wished I could say I had never felt so humiliated, but the truth was, encounters like these were common enough that humiliation like this happened on a pretty frequent basis.

  I could, however, say that I had never been pushed aside by someone who’d had sex with me so often and then made the decision to ignore me entirely. Even with my ex, I’d been the one to break it off first.

  I looked around for something else to do. None of the bunnies were really friends; whenever we spoke to each other, it was always with false modesty. We were all competing for the top dogs in the club, and nothing could get in the way of that. Of course, I wondered why the hell I was even playing this little competitive game, but it was hard to snap out of it once you got dragged in.

  I decided to get a beer back at the keg stand, which was now about six people deep, and just casually stand on the outside, looking sexy on the outside, despairing on the inside. I got in line behind one of the old ladies of the club—or, more easily stated, a wife of one of the members—who did very little to hide her disgust with a bunny being present. Maybe she thought I was a threat to her man. I only assumed she was an old lady because of the ring on her finger and the smell of motorcycle oil; she could have just as easily been cheating on a man at home.

  And then, behind me, I suddenly felt a very tall man looming over me. It didn’t happen that often that men towered over me—actually, I had the opposite problem, where most of the guys I had gone on dates with in Los Angeles were shorter than me—and so when it did happen, I took notice.

  And sure enough, it was Butch. I smiled and nodded.

  “How are ya?” I said.

  “Good,” he said.

  There was something in his tone of voice that wasn’t as harsh or strict as I would have guessed. He was curt, sure, but he wasn’t rude; he wasn’t like Axle. I waited for him to say nothing more.

  But then nothing came. I turned back around, now about number three in line, and waited for Butch to say something else. I guess I should have put my faith somewhere else; maybe Axle had somehow spread the word that I was damaged goods.

  I got my beer, looked at Butch, perhaps hoping he would say something, and then sauntered over to a table with one other girl who ignored me when I sat on the edge of it. The girl had spiked green hair, and she looked pretty content to be alone.

  “Hey.”

  I looked over.

  It was a prospect I did not recognize. Perhaps the club had recruited someone new. I wasn’t impressed, though to be fair, I wasn’t impressed with most of the club members’ bodies.

  He was shorter than me, probably a couple inches under five-foot-ten. He was on the chunkier side, but he had an odd body shape—it looked like all of his fat was about three inches higher than it should have been, giving him something like skinny hips but an enormous gut. He had a ponytail, a goatee, and some sunglasses that looked like they had been bought at a knockoff store for under ten bucks.

  “What’s goin’ on, pretty lady?”

  He had a bit of a southern accent. When he spoke, I couldn’t help but notice the yellow teeth and the foul breath. As bunnies, we were supposed to engage with the men and go along with it… but…

  I just could not.

  “Ugh,” I said in as bitchy and nasty a tone as I could.

  To be frank, I felt bad being so rude. Whoever this prospect was, he did not deserve to have anyone, let alone a woman, treat him like shit so bad. But after everything that had happened the last couple of weeks with Axle and with me approaching my breaking point, I didn’t much fucking care if the Black Reapers kicked me out of their little circle. If I lost my job, fuck it. I’d find a way to hitchhike back to my parents’ place in Arizona.

  I’d repair my relationship with them somehow.

  “Well fuck you too, whore,” he said, spitting on the ground, just barely missing my feet. I wasn’t sure if his near miss was purposeful or just a happy accident, and I really wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.

  “You’re not good enough for me,” I said.

  He glared at me. I glared back at him. Do whatever you want to do. I don’t care anymore.

  Because I’m not good enough for myself either. For what I once was?

  I watched him leave and approach Butch. I didn’t care. I almost wanted him to rat me out.

  “I would’ve done the same thing,” the other bunny said. “That dude looked like a Big Mac with a ponytail.”

  I snorted with a chuckle.

  “I don’t know, you probably don’t want to get kicked out.”

  “Kicked out?” she said with a smile. “Oh, sorry, no, I’m not… no, I used to bartend at Brewskis. I’m just here on an invite from Lane. Said that he could give me work here helping to pass out drinks.”

&n
bsp; “Oh.”

  So much for that.

  “Do you…”

  “No.”

  I had no idea what she was going to ask. I didn’t really much care. Whatever she was going to ask was going to be embarrassing enough.

  And then Butch started walking my way.

  “Hey,” he said. “Come with me.”

  “Butch” is now available on Amazon. Click here to read:

  https://amzn.to/2ZsKpOo

  Free Prequel

  Learn how the Black Reapers story begins. Click here to read the free prequel:

  https://dl.bookfunnel.com/6te1n6yfc4

  Also by Trent Jordan

  Black Reapers MC, Season 1

  Lane (June 2020)

  Patriot (June 2020)

  Axle (July 2020)

  Butch (July 2020)

  Black Reapers 5 (July 2020)

  Cole (July 2020)

  More to Come…

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2020 by Trent Jordan

  Cover art copyright © 2020 by Talia RedhotInk

  Editing by Full Bloom Editorial

  Formatting by Vellum

  All rights reserved. Published by TJ Creations.