Ride Steady Read online

  “I can. Did. Done,” Joker replied.

  “Fuck me. Pussy.”

  Joker felt his spine snap straight.

  “Say again?” he whispered.

  “All of you. Chaos pussies. And it’s not a surprise. Everyone is sayin’ it. Your leader and his lieutenants are so whipped by their bitches, been led around by their dicks so long, it’s a wonder they have any dicks left. You eat enough pussy, fuck enough pussy, you become a pussy. That’s what’s happened to Chaos. Chaos is pussy.”

  “All right,” Joker said slowly, feeling the vibe in the room shift as his brothers felt the anger coming off him in waves. “You’ve got five seconds to assure me that I didn’t just hear what I just heard.”

  “You heard me,” Monk hissed. “I already took bets on you, motherfucker. You leave me high and dry, that’s… just… pussy.”

  Joker hung up on him and turned his attention to the men with him.

  Rush, Hound, Roscoe, Boz.

  “What the fuck was that?” Roscoe asked.

  Joker told them, finishing on, “Monk has three bouncers and a guy who looks after the money. They can fuck a man up, individually and collectively. Knowin’ that, who feels like takin’ a ride?”

  It didn’t surprise Joker that every man felt like mounting his bike.

  And they all did.

  * * *

  It would seem Joker was going to give one last show to Monk and his bloodthirsty crew.

  It just wasn’t the show Monk wanted.

  Hound had two bouncers down before they were five feet into the room, clearing the way for Joker to make a direct line to Monk.

  Rush took out the third bouncer.

  Boz was holding back the money man with the point of his knife.

  And Joker was bent over Monk, who’d long since lost his feet, holding him by the collar and pummeling his fist into the bloody, swelling flesh of his face.

  Before Monk passed out, Joker stopped, yanked him to within an inch of his face and demanded, “Tell me again that Chaos is pussy.”

  “J-Jo—”

  Joker punched him again.

  Monk made a moist noise that sounded like it came from his nose and throat.

  He jerked him back and ordered, “Tell me again, motherfucker. Say it. Chaos is pussy.”

  Monk shook his head.

  “Good,” Joker spat. “Now, you’re fucked up because I was havin’ a good night, settlin’ in, gonna down a few beers with my boys, and your bullshit put me on my bike so I couldn’t do that. What you said, though, that’s somethin’ else. That’s about Chaos, not me. And that means long-lasting retribution.”

  Another moist noise from Monk, this full of fear as he tried to pull away.

  Joker shook him viciously then held him still and stated, “Valenzuela does not rule this fight, and he doesn’t ’cause you had me fightin’. He’s not ready for his round with Chaos, so he’s steered clear. Now, he’s gonna get word there is no Chaos at this fight. What’s that gonna mean for you?”

  Another noise of fear before, “Do-don’t, Joke, he—”

  Joker cut him off, “You ran your mouth. I gave you a chance to take that shit back. You didn’t. Now you pay.”

  “I-I’ll give a c-cut to Chaos,” Monk offered quickly. “Buy peace.”

  “I’ll share that with Tack. He gets finished eatin’ his woman’s pussy, brings that to the Club, we’ll get back to you,” Joker bit out, reared back, and landed a powerhouse punch that had worked for him numerous times in the past.

  A man like Monk, it destroyed him.

  And his now-fractured cheekbone.

  He was out.

  Joker dropped him and straightened, turning to Rush, who was speaking to Monk’s only man left standing.

  “We didn’t make our statement and you consider payback, think again. You don’t come up with the right answer and we see you when we don’t wanna see you, shit’s gonna get ugly.”

  The guy looked around at the four men on the floor, only one of whom was groaning and trying to push up, two had stab wounds from Hound’s knife and were groaning, but not trying to push up, and it didn’t take a mind reader to know he considered shit already ugly.

  Their message conveyed, Roscoe stated, “Let’s ride.”

  They all moved out, and even though the crowd had pressed close, they didn’t waste time getting the fuck out of the way.

  They were at their bikes when Joker looked to Boz. “You want me to call this in to Tack?”

  “I’m on it,” Boz answered.

  Joker nodded.

  They mounted.

  Then Chaos rode.

  Tack

  In the dark, Tack sat on the side of his and Red’s bed, talking into his phone.

  “No. All good. But I want the brothers gathered in the morning.”

  “You got it, man,” Boz replied. “Later.”

  “Yeah, later,” Tack said, took his phone from his ear, hit the button, and tossed it on his nightstand.

  Then he slid the fingers of one hand through his hair, followed instantly by the other hand, and he left both at the back of his neck while he rested his elbows to his knees.

  Chaos is pussy.

  That could not stand.

  He felt Tyra slide her hand from the small of his back up his spine before he felt her position, on her knees, those knees spread, the insides of her thighs pressed to his hips. He felt her front hit his back as her lips touched his hands at his neck.

  “Talk to me,” she whispered. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” he replied and it was no lie.

  It was.

  For now.

  His brothers sent a message. The right one. And they didn’t fuck around doing it.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  It was time.

  And he fucking hated it.

  Tomorrow, they’d go over what happened, what was said, what was done, and what they’d be doing.

  Tack’s new message would be to anyone else who thought that shit.

  It would also be to Valenzuela.

  Chaos was claiming more territory. They were going to clean it up. They were going to keep it safe.

  Once the Club voted, no longer would Chaos be five miles around Ride.

  It would be ten.

  Valenzuela held firm positions to the north, east, and west.

  He would retaliate.

  But it was time.

  The Club would meet, then Tack would sit with Hawk, Brock, and Mitch. Mitch was going to lose his mind. Lawson wasn’t a straight arrow, but he was as straight as they came. Tack and Brock were working this to bring an end to Valenzuela that would not mean blood but would mean jail time, dismantling Valenzuela’s operations in a way it would decimate him.

  But that shit took time.

  Too much time, apparently.

  “Kane, you’re kinda scaring me.”

  He lifted and twisted, dropping his hands and curling his fingers around her thigh.

  “Boys had some trouble tonight, they neutralized it. Not happy about the trouble they had, but they took care of business,” he told her. “But, Red, you gotta know, something’s comin’. There was never any way to stop it, but the time has come for us to stroll out to face it. And what’s comin’, you gotta brace.”

  “Baby,” she whispered, sliding a hand around his side to his stomach.

  “It’ll all be good,” he promised.

  “I know it will,” she replied.

  Zero hesitation.

  Just, I know it will.

  That was his wife. The mother of two of his sons.

  His dream woman.

  He tipped his head back and he didn’t need to do more. She gave him her mouth.

  He twisted further to take her to her back on their bed.

  Then she gave him everything else.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  That Hasn’t Changed

  Carissa

  I SAT ON a barstool at the Chaos Compound, wondering
how I was remaining seated seeing as I was so exhausted I could barely think, when Tack strolled in.

  As usual, his eyes went right to Tyra, who had commandeered Lanie and Hop’s baby boy, Nash, and was bouncing him, cuddling him and cooing to him.

  “Jesus, woman, every baby that gets within ten feet a’ you you claim. Do I gotta knock you up again?” Tack asked her.

  She gave him eyes that were easy to read.

  Tack read them. I knew this when he looked to the ceiling and muttered, “Fuck me. This rate, I’ll live in a kid-free zone when I’m eighty.”

  “Like you don’t love it,” Tyra returned.

  Tack took his eyes from the ceiling and gave them to his wife.

  He, too, was easy to read.

  He loved it. But he loved more giving her what she wanted.

  I started to feel warm just watching them together as Tack looked to the bar and asked, “What the fuck?”

  “Carissa cleared out the day-olds at LeLane’s bakery,” Lanie said, a half-eaten cream puff suspended three inches from her mouth. “And everyone knows day-olds at LeLane’s are better than fresh everywhere else.”

  This was true.

  As much as my Chaos friends said I didn’t need to do anything for payback, I still needed to do something for payback.

  And today was moving in day so I really needed to do something for payback.

  Tack and Tyra’s renters were out a few days early so the boys were going to get my stuff out of the storage unit and my apartment.

  Tomorrow would be filled with me unpacking, cleaning my old place and doing the chores I didn’t do when Travis was around but now needed to do because I hadn’t done them in a week.

  And then Travis and I would finally be in a nice place. The kind of place you’d want to give your baby.

  I couldn’t wait.

  I still wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere and take a nap.

  This was because the flu had hit the cashiers at LeLane’s and was now sweeping through the store. It was not the twenty-four hour flu. More like the ninety-six hour flu. Another two cashiers had gone down, a produce guy, two butcher boys, and a floral technician. It was all hands on deck at LeLane’s and I had hands, so they used them. I’d taken extra shifts, double shifts or shifts and a half.

  This would be awesome normally. I was racking up a ton of time and a half.

  But I also had my son. I didn’t mind working like that when he was with Aaron, but I hated doing it when I had him.

  Not to mention, I had boxes to pack and all sorts of stuff to do, like find time to make a half a dozen calls to switch over utilities.

  So I’d been on the go for days, sorting things out on breaks and lunch, forcing myself to pack at least five boxes before calling it a night, thus getting minimal sleep and dragging myself out of bed and getting on the go again.

  Just to say, if I never packed another kitchen up in my life I’d be happy. It seemed like nothing but all the stuff was hidden behind the cupboards. When you had to take it out, wrap it up and box it, it seemed like it could fill ten kitchens.

  Because of this, I hated to admit it, and tried my best not to, but when I handed Travis over to Aaron the day before, I’d actually been relieved. I needed a break any way I could get it. And I’d been so preoccupied with the move, I hadn’t really noted that it was Aaron I handed him over to. He’d answered the door. He’d also tried to engage me in conversation, taking a close look at me and asking if I was all right.

  I’d allowed this (though I didn’t share how I was doing) since he needed to know I was moving so I told him that and that I’d text my new details to him. Then I’d bent in, given my boy a kiss, and took off, my mind filled with what I had to do next (a shift) at the same time battling the desire to crawl into the backseat of my car and sleep for a week.

  Not surprisingly, Joker noticed the toll all this was taking and stepped in, bringing Chaos with him. Big Petey, Joker, and once Tabby and Shy looked after Travis while I worked. And after Joker saw me nearly fall into a box, losing my fight against sleep, Tyra, with Lanie and Tabby, came over to finish packing the boxes when I was at work.

  So, obviously, buying a bunch of cream puffs, éclairs, mille-feuilles, and petit fours at half off because the customer who’d ordered them hadn’t picked them up, plus my extra twenty percent employee discount, was in order.

  It had already been in order but it was currently more in order.

  And luckily, due to my next paycheck being augmented, I could actually (mostly) afford it.

  LeLane’s still was in the throes of the flu epidemic, but the two cashiers who’d first gone down were back, which meant I had two days off.

  Two days off where I’d be moving stuff in, unpacking it, doing chores, and running errands.

  I couldn’t wait to live in that house.

  But I needed another day off.

  Or three.

  I was dead on my feet.

  Or, more aptly, dead on my behind on a stool at Chaos.

  I was also faking it. I was getting to know these people, and if they got one whiff I was struggling, they’d kidnap me, take me to the nearest luxury hotel, lock me in a room, and only disturb me to send up a massage therapist and, maybe, a skin technician.

  “Babe, this is cool,” Tack said, and I focused on him to see him tipping his head to the bar laden with pastries but he was looking at me. “Unnecessary but cool.”

  I pinned a bright smile on my face as I contradicted, “Necessary and the least I could do.”

  He grinned.

  Boz, with a ring of chocolate stuck in the long whiskers around his mouth, declared, “Never stepped foot in that store. Thought they were up their own asses. They got éclairs like this, I’m goin’ every day.”

  Bonus, I’d bought LeLane’s a new customer.

  He shoved the second half of his fourth éclair in his mouth and I turned my bright smile to him.

  “Shee-it! What the fuck?” I heard hooted by Hound (who was at the other end of the bar, annihilating the petit fours).

  After that I heard a catcall and a low whistle.

  And finally, Boz shouted, “Fuck me. Joke cleans up good!”

  That made me grin genuinely though I didn’t understand the reaction to Joker since I hadn’t seen him yet. Still, any promise of Joker in my vicinity would make me grin and do it genuinely.

  Joker had told me he had something to do that morning and would come and get me around nine thirty. I told him I had something to bring to the Compound so I’d meet him there.

  Now he was there.

  And that made me happy.

  Until he came into view.

  That made me freeze.

  It was him. I knew it was. I could see his eyes. The color of his hair. His usual faded jeans, tee, and leather jacket.

  I could also see his face.

  All of it.

  He’d shaved.

  He’d also had his hair cut. It was trimmed at the sides, not a crew cut or anything, but a lot shorter, messy and long-ish on top but not as long as it used to be. It still fell over his forehead, but not like before.

  He had a very nice jaw.

  He even had attractive ears.

  And last, he did not look like him. Even if he still did.

  No, he now looked like a boy I once knew. A boy grown up.

  Carson Steele.

  His eyes fell on me and his lips moved as he kept coming toward me.

  “Hey, Butterfly. You ready for today?”

  I didn’t answer.

  I was busy staring.

  This couldn’t be true.

  I kept staring wondering how I could miss this. Wondering how this could be real.

  But I hadn’t missed it. The very first time he got close on the shoulder of I-25, I knew I knew him. And later that first meeting, I’d felt the same way. And again and again, repeatedly.

  I knew that I knew.

  But I couldn’t put my finger on it because he’d
changed. He had the years since we’d last seen each other written on his face, in every inch of his frame.

  But it was more. The hair. The beard. The bulk on his body. The way he held himself. The way he dressed. The company he kept.

  Carson Steele had been a loner.

  Joker had a band of brothers. A huge family of good, kind people.

  Suddenly, it occurred to me with blinding clarity that Aaron had sensed the same. That was why he’d studied Joker so closely. He’d even asked him if he knew him!

  And last, Joker knew me. He’d known who I was the second he approached me on I-25. He’d gone completely still, staring at me.

  He knew me.

  Then.

  And since.

  And he didn’t say anything. I told him my name, and he didn’t say he knew me and I knew him.

  He didn’t say anything.

  Why didn’t he say anything?

  He’d even pretended he’d forgotten my name!

  “Carrie?” he called when he stopped close.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I whispered, looking deep into his eyes.

  They hadn’t been blunt steel back then. He was too young to have had time to build up that guard. Every girl in school could read the tortured brooding of the mysterious outsider who was Carson Steele right from his eyes. Every girl had wanted to soothe his savaged soul.

  Every girl in school.

  Including me.

  It was then I knew. I knew in the single most humiliating moment in my life why he’d done what he’d done.

  Back in the day he’d liked me. He’d smiled at me. He’d been cool with me. He’d given me chin lifts. And that awful night when I saw him beaten up (again) and set on running away, he’d given me his time.

  And so much more.

  That more being the next day in my locker when he gave me beauty.

  And hope.

  Hope that had died but I’d felt it, knowing that he’d taken his time to get to my locker and give that to me.

  So it wasn’t that he’d wanted to make a high school mean girl pay (though, I wasn’t a mean girl, I just hung with them so I was guilty by association, still, Carson Steele was smarter than that).

  No.

  It was because he felt sorry for me. The cheerleader. The homecoming queen. The quarterback’s girl. Reduced to nearly nothing, stranded on the side of the road, in her twenties and divorced with a baby, no friends, no family, no money, a horrible car, cheap clothes, a job at a grocery store.