Chrome & Leather - The Novel (Adriana Ness ♯1) (Motorcycle Club Romance) (4 page)

"Come in,” said Jack.

I entered the dingy restroom. A naked flickering bulb hung from the ceiling, its watery light gave everything a washed out sickly look. Jack Stone stood before me naked to the waist. He held a bunch of tissue paper against the injury on his flank. Blood had completely soaked through the ball of tissue. I dumped the bandages into the adjacent sink.

"How badly have you been hit?" I said.

“I think one of my ribs is broken,” he said, “The bullets passed out through my back."

I gently pried the blood-soaked tissue away from his torso. His body glistened with sweat and his skin had a grey colour to it. I ripped open an alcohol wipe and began to clean around the wound. Blood oozed slowly out of the ragged hole in his side.

As my hands moved quickly across his body and the damaged area Stone began talking to me. His voice sounded slightly pinched as if he was holding back an undercurrent of raw emotion. Was it fear I was detecting or something else? What little information we had on him in his file had painted him as a coldly calculating killer. Right now the quiver in his voice betrayed the inner turmoil I could only guess at.

“It looks like you’ve done this before,” he said as I patched him up best as I could.

“I’ve had some practise,” I said.

Jack tenderly touched me under the chin and I looked up at him.

“What happened to you? Tell me to take my mind off this fucking pain,” he said through gritted teeth.

I cleared my throat and started.

“He was my high school sweet heart. We were both madly in love with each other, at least for the first couple of years. After college the cracks really started to appear. I was blind to them at first or maybe I just refused to see them. He started to drink more as life wasn’t going the way he had imagined. We had a few years when we both found it hard to find work. Money was tight and it was difficult for both of us. I kept strong during this period, I never stopped loving him and believed we would eventually prosper. Then the drinking started, slowly he changed. He became more gruff and aggressive with me. He had no patience with me anymore and began to make me feel weak and stupid. I blamed myself, I thought I wasn’t a good enough woman for him. I had self doubt and felt pitiful. Then one night during a stupid argument over a bill, he slapped me. One quick open handed slap across my face. That should have been my time to exit this toxic relationship.”

My hands worked quickly as I wrapped the bandage tight around his torso.

“I blamed myself. I never thought I would be one of those women. Things only got worse from there. He began to drink even more and totally stopped looking for work. My pay cheque was barely making ends meet and I knew he was stealing money from my purse. When he was really drunk he would slap me, always one quick sharp open handed slap. It was the punctuation he used to end an argument. Then last night it got worse. He was drunk and angry and looking to take it out on me. I was close to breaking point and about to walk out on him. As I turned to leave he punched me full force and split my lip wide open. I fell to the floor and he tumbled down on top of me raining punches down all over me. Bottles fell from the table and smashed on the floor. I picked up a chunk of glass and slashed at his face. He fell off me surprised that I was fighting back. I got up and ran to the kitchen. He was on me nearly immediately with his hands around my neck, squeezing tighter and tighter. My world started to fade away and then he staggered back away from me clutching at his side. I had buried a kitchen knife up to the hilt in his flank. My hands were covered in blood. I stood over him and watched as blood bubbled from his mouth.”

My voice hitched as I teared up.

“I cleaned up, grabbed all the cash I had and left. The rest you know. I came to that bar with no idea what to do next. I needed to get drunk to forget that fucker.”

I wiped the tears off my cheeks and looked up at him. A slight colour had come back to his face. I checked the bandages and I had done a good job. He looked like he was deep in thought as he mulled over my story.

I knew the what ever happened next would either ensure his trust in me or torpedo any chance I had of getting close to him.

I had finished bandaging him and he moaned loudly as he pulled his T-shirt back on, wincing as he lowered it over his bandaged torso. He stood up a little shakily at first and then pulled on his leather jacket.

“I need to make a call,” he said gruffly and walked out of the dirty restroom. The sudden change in him was abrupt, it was as if he had raised a shield around himself, regretting showing me any kind of weakness when I bandaged him. It felt like the ground beneath me was made of sand and I could be swallowed whole any second.

I knew my cover story was in place and would hold up to any scrutiny from Stone. Still… I couldn’t help but feel the creeping dread cast its shadow over me. This would be my only chance to get close to him and his gang and if I blew it now the operation would be fucked before I even begun.

I cleaned a spot in the smeared and stained mirror and looked at my reflection. My face was in tatters, swollen and bruised. It hurt to talk and when I did white hot pins of pain flared throughout my broken face.

I silently mouthed “You have got this” and left the restroom to go and wait by the bike for Stone.

He was pacing back and forth in front of the convenience store with a cheap looking phone to his ear. It was most likely a burner. He probably used the phone no more than a handful of times before disposing of it and switching it out for a new one.

He glanced in my direction a few times as he spoke. His face looked taut as he nodded along to the conversation. Once it ended he dropped the phone in a trash can as he walked towards me. With each step he seemed to straighten up more, any sense of weakness melted away from him as he strode towards me. This would be the moment of truth.

Once he reached me he did something surprising and which caught me completely off guard. He bent towards me and gently kissed my broken lips. The pressure he applied was so soft and gentle that I felt no pain. For the briefest of moments my senses were filled with the intoxicating aroma of his musk.

He stepped back and said “You are with me now”.

I stammered back a weak sounding “OK”. If my mouth wasn’t so sore I'm sure I would of stood there with it agape. What I hadn’t been expecting was the rush of feeling when he kissed me. Tingles ran up and down my spine with the initial gentle brush of his lips.
 

My training told me that this was to be expected. Traumatic situations could usually form a strong bond between strangers. Even with that knowledge I was a little off balance with the surge off feelings I had felt.
 

“Your husband is still alive. You punctured his lung and he is in a chemically induced coma.”

He locked eyes with me and spoke with conviction “He can never hurt you again. Not while you are with me”.

He got on his bike and revved the engine. I got on and wrapped my arms around him, being careful not to squeeze too tight. His body language was solid and assured. He seemed energised after our brief kiss.

He looked back at me and said “It’s time to deal with a rat,” and gunned the engine. We left the lot in a cloud of billowing dust and dirt.

I had always been attracted to strong women. I think it was because of my mother. She raised three of us while also working a full time job in a back breaking factory position. My father had bailed on us when we where all young, because of the pressures of family life as my mother told it. Fuck that guy. I had grown cold and hard towards this man as I grew older. My brothers spoke about tracking him down, they had a need to confront him. Not me. He became meaningless as soon as he turned his back on us.

My mother dated sporadically as we grew older. The guys always seemed shifty from my young perspective. I suppose a single mother of three isn’t going to attract a good man.
 

The longest she was with someone was for a year or two with a dude called Sam Finch. He was a tall rangy looking guy who always seemed to have one eye on the door as if he was waiting for someone to kick it in and drag him off into the night. I never liked him.

One night he raised his hand to my mother. He did not hit her, he never got the chance. I was in the next room watching Tv and I could hear them both getting agitated as they squabbled about money.

My hands balled into fists in my lap, my nails digging into my palms drawing blood. I could feel my breathing increase in rapid little wheezes. My vision strobed in and out flashing white inside my skull.

The next thing I knew I was on Sam, sitting on his chest with a broken beer bottle at his neck. I was foaming at the mouth. I remember my mother screaming in the background “Jack get off him, don't hurt him Jack,” she wailed.

I pressed the shard of glass into his neck, the skin dimpled under the pressure. His eyes were huge saucers of fear.

“Get out of my house” I snarled into his face.

Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. He never blinked while I straddled him. My mothers screaming rose and fell in waves. I came close to plunging the bottle into his neck and ending that piece of shits life there and then.

I got off him and waved the glass back and forth, pushing him towards the door.

“You are fucking crazy kid. You will never amount to anything” he said as he backed towards the door.

He opened the door without turning his back on me and then he was gone. My mother sank to a heap on the floor balling her eyes out. I dropped the glass shard and it went skittering across the floor sending glints of light off it as it spun.

“What have you done Jack” she sobbed into her hands.

“What have you done?”

“He was going to hurt you,” I said as I bent to hug her.

She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close. I felt safe and loved in her embrace. I felt needed, I had made a difference for her. My emotions spilled over and I cried into the folds of her shoulder as she stroked my hair and calmed me down.

That had happened when I was twelve years old. A door was opened up inside me that night. I had gotten a thrill out of protecting my Mother, it had felt like the right thing to do. Even more I had gotten a bigger thrill out of the violence. I wouldn’t fully say that what happened put me on my current path, but it was another totem that showed me that I wasn’t destined to live a regular nine to five life.

I was dragged back to the present by a sharp pain in my ribs. The bullet had passed right through me but I was pretty sure two of my ribs had been broken. I could feel a raspy sensation every time I breathed in as if something was loose inside me. Blood had continued to trickle down my side and pool in my boot.

I didn’t believe in luck but if I did Linda Lake would be luck personified. Without her help back in the bar I might not of made it out of there alive. I knew who the culprit was. Only one member of our gang knew where I would be today. That rat fucks hours on this planet were limited. He deserved nothing less than the liars tomb.

Linda shifted on the bike as we entered a long flat bend. It felt good to have her pressed against my back. A warm reassuring presence. Back at the gas station I had spoken to my contact in the police department. I had some dirt on him when he was caught with his trousers around his ankles with some young guy. This is something his pretty new blonde wife might not want to see pictures of.

He had access to some of the police systems and could get his hands on most files if we needed them. We had built up a nice collection of intel on various members of the vice squad.

I had gotten him to do a quick background check on Linda and her dead husband. Unlucky for her she only put him in the hospital. Judging by her face he was the kind of bastard who deserved to be killed. This is something I could arrange if she wanted.
 

I had gotten my source to check if there was any heat out on Linda. So far it looked like nothing major and if the husband recovered it would be up to him to press charges if he wanted to take it any further.
 

The roads where empty of traffic and I gunned the engine as we headed up into the mountains. My gang had a simple wooden shack on a couple of acres of scrub land that we used from time to time. We had several of these places around the county. I didn’t like to meet at the same place too many times in a row. After today I wouldn’t be returning to this place as it would be too risky.

I turned off the main road and slowed down as I got near to the thick chain strung across the road. I pulled the bike to a stop and got off.

“How are you doing?” I asked as I unwrapped the chain from a tree.

“I could do with a drink. I’m still shook up about my husband being still alive. I felt sick to my stomach that I had killed him and at the same time I also felt huge relief that he was gone. Is that messed up?” she said.

“Any man that did what he did to you doesn’t deserve to feel the sun on his face. Fuck him I say. Don’t waste your time feeling guilty about him,” I replied.

“What if he comes after me?” she said.

I locked eyes with her and said in a calm and steady voice “He is never going to hurt you again.”

She lowered her gaze and I could see tears welling up. My first instinct was to hop on the bike and head straight for the hospital. I could feel my vision begin to strobe with bright flashes of white in the corners.
 

I could feel my hands wrapping around his neck. See his eyes wide in fear as I squeezed every last bit of hateful life out of his frail and broken body. His windpipe creaking and then snapping as my fingers crush with all my force. Only then would the strobing white light in my vision recede and the beast within stop beating against my chest.
 

It was a familiar feeling. A pressure behind my eyes as if I was filling up inside with a thick and viscous fluid. My fingers would feel fat and unwieldy as if I was made out of thick slabs of meat. The pressure inside would grown and grow and unless I did something about it I would explode. I had never let it get to that stage. I was afraid to let the pressure build. I did not want to let it obliterate me, ripping and tearing at my flesh as it found the point of least resistance and ripped through my soft weak body. I had found a way to relieve the building pressure. The crushing and breaking of weak men, the kind of men who took advantage of women, these where my pressure valves. I would rend them until they where nothing but a grease stain on the ground.