DAMON: A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel (10 page)

“
H
ey
, Jenny, let’s get s’more beer,” Four-Story called, slurring his words. Jenner stood behind the makeshift bar in the clubhouse. He was on cocktail waitress duty. Scowling, he opened up four more beers and brought them over the men gathered around a poker table.

“Anything else?” Jenner mumbled.

“Fuck off,” Rock growled, taking the beer and swilling from it, hard. The men were intent on getting wasted that night, it seemed.

“Wait,” Crow said as Jenner turned around, an evil smirk on his face. “Has anyone told you yet?”

“Told me what?” Jenner asked, feeling his shoulders sag. Whatever it was, it was probably bad news.

“Shut the fuck up, Crow,” Rock said, finishing off the rest of his beer and reaching for the fourth that Jenner brought over. He always planned ahead when Rock was drinking. It saved him a trip.

“What?” Crow said, glaring at Rock. “I think our little maid deserves to know what’s going to happen to his lil’ buddy.”

Jenner’s interest rose.

“Don’t think Roper wants ‘im to know,” Rock growled, meeting Crow glare for glare. The men were well into the bottle by now, and as much as Jenner liked seeing his captors taking a beating, especially at each other’s hands, he didn’t look forward to the clean-up.

“Why not?” Crow spat back. “Not like he can go runnin’ off to warn nobody. ‘Sides, he’s gonna find out anyway.”

“How’s he gonna do that?” Rock argued.

“Well, who the hell is gonna watch ‘im when we off to Miami? He’s comin’ with us, ain’t he?”

The conversation was making Jenner’s head spin.

“Like hell he is,” Rock said, slamming the half-empty beer down. “We ain’t draggin’ no pansy-ass gypsy traitor along with us.”

“That’s for Roper to decide,” Four-Story said, adding his two cents to the argument.

“And it’s for Roper to decide what to tell ‘im, and when,” Rock grumbled, glancing up at Jenner with pure malice.

“What’s for me to decide now, boys?” called a fourth voice entering the room. Immediately, the three men straightened up in their seats; Jenner, too, stood up a bit taller, caught by the gravity of the man’s countenance as he approached.

“Crow here wants to go blabbin’ to our pretty lil’ housemaid about Miami,” Rock said, throwing a sneer in Crow’s direction, his voice not unlike a younger brother tattling on his older sibling.

“Beer,” Roper demanded, fixing Jenner in his gaze. Jenner made his way back to the bar and returned quickly, handing the President a frosty beer. Roper didn’t try to hide his smile as he took a long sip; before Jenner could see what was going to happen, he felt a thick spray against his face as Roper spit the booze back at him, making the whole table laugh. Jenner bit back the curses in his throat, knowing they’d only make more trouble for him. He wiped his face with his shirt sleeve and turned to go back to the relative safety of the bar.

“Hold up,” Roper barked, stopping Jenner in his tracks. “Crow’s got the right idea. You wanna hear something to help keep you warm at night, Jenny?”

Jenner opened his mouth but closed it without speaking, knowing that the question was rhetorical. He glanced down at the three men around the table, their shit-eating grins causing acid to bubble in his gut. He hated them. He hated all of them. He wanted to see them burned alive.

“We finally got a fix on your boy,” Roper said, sliding into a empty seat and taking another slug of his beer. He kept that sip in his mouth, at least. “The big stupid one. The one who offed our Rig. He’s got some fight with some shithead. Thinks he’s gonna waltz in there, one-two and done.”

Now, Roper looked up at Jenner, his eyes cold and steely and hateful. Jenner fought back the urge to return that hate twofold. It wouldn’t do him any favors, he knew. Roper leaned forward, a grin on his gnarled face.

“But he don’t know,” Roper said, his voice a sadistic sing-song. “He don’t know that his opponent is willing to fight dirty for a big enough paycheck. That’s right, Jenny. We’re gonna have that boy skewered in the first round. He’s gonna fall right on his gypsy ass, and he’s never gettin’ up again.”

Jenner’s mind raced.
This is it,
he thought.
This is what I need.
He kept his face set, impassive, while inside his heart raced and his blood rushed.

“Why do you think I care?” he said. “I told you once and I told you a thousand times, I wasn’t on
their
side. I was always on your side.”

Roper snarled, drank from the bottle. When he pulled it away, a thin line of foam remained on his upper lip. He licked it off before speaking again.

“I don’t care
if
you care, Jenny,” Roper growled. “You’re a shit-licking, two-faced, pussy-ass motherfucker either way. Just remember, whatever we do to him, we can do to you…double. I wanna see your whole damn troop wiped off the face of this earth. Every last gypsy scum is gonna taste our shit before I’m dead.”

Jenner blanched, fought the emotions Roper’s words incited.

“And you’re gonna be the last one to go, Jenny,” Roper went on. “We’re gonna give you a
parade
of bodies to look at before we let you eat dirt. Gonna pick off the big guys one by one, and then we’re gonna start on all your slutty, diseased women and your snot-nosed, inbred kiddies.”

Jenner’s hands fisted slightly; he quickly released them, but Roper noticed, and smiled at the reaction he was getting. Slowly, the man rose and leaned closer to Jenner.

“You got a mother, Jenny? Of course you do. Everyone’s got a mother. I bet you miss her, don’t you? When we’re through, you can lick her nasty twat all you want down in hell,” Roper said. Jenner felt bile rising in his throat, waged civil war with his own instincts to keep calm. The table had grown poignantly silent, and Jenner glanced down; all eyes were on him, the smirks and smiles gone.

Roper sat back down with a audible thump, eyed Jenner carefully. He swallowed the rest of his beer.

“Why don’t you go get me another one, gypsy?” he said, twirling the empty bottle on its base. “Make yourself fuckin’ useful.”

Jenner turned, relieved to be excused from the tension. He heard conversation start up behind him, but didn’t have the nerve to try and listen. His mind was too occupied by the throbbing, drumming blood in his ears as rage flooded through him. Behind the bar, he allowed himself to look at Roper while he uncapped the beer. Roper wasn’t looking back.

I’m going to make you pay,
Jenner thought.
I’m going to make you pay so hard you’ll still be in debt when you meet the devil.

A
s they pulled
up to the hotel, Tricia looked at Damon, curious.

“No camping tonight?” she asked, cocking her head.

“No, no more until Miami,” he said. “I sleep well outside, but it’s not the best for my back.”

“Ooh,” Tricia teased. “Old man with back problems, huh?”

He smiled at her, but it was a tight smile.
Okay, so age jokes are off-limits,
Tricia thought, filing the thought away. She put away the book she’d found in the backseat, a collection of poems by Jack Gilbert. Some of the lines sounded extremely familiar, but she couldn’t imagine herself ever having coming across them before. When she asked Damon, he gave her a cryptic smile and told her she’d probably dreamed them.

They were just outside of Charleston, South Carolina. They had driven through the city already; Tricia was bemused by the almost-too-nice scene there, an antebellum swagger inviting a nostalgia the viewer couldn’t possibly feel. Damon pointed out a restaurant he wanted to take her to while they were in town.

“Husk? What kind of restaurant name is that?” she asked. “It looks fancy.”

“It is fancy,” Damon said with a smile. “I hope you brought a nice dress.”

Tricia hid her blush by looking out the window.

“I still think ‘Spaghett About It’ is a better restaurant name,” she said, turning back to him when she felt her cheeks had returned to normal. Damon laughed.

“Our house special tonight is ‘penne for your thoughts’,” he said, flashing her with that contagious smile.

“We can split an order of ‘one cannoli hope’ for dessert,” she offered back. They both groaned, letting it devolve into laughter.

“We should be put in jail for this shit,” Tricia said, shaking her head with a smile still broadcast over her cheeks. “These puns are criminal. You’re a bad influence.”

“The worst,” Damon agreed, rolling down his window. The air outside was dry and hot. Tricia followed suit, letting the breeze catch her hair. “But I’ve heard girls have a thing for the bad boys.”

He winked at her and she laughed again, feeling a now-familiar flush through her body. Soon enough, they pulled up to a chain hotel and Damon parked, leaving her with the keys so she could use the air conditioner if it got too hot. Tricia took the chance to stretch her legs and saw, behind the lobby, the shimmering blue of a pool.

Perfect,
she thought, stretching with the sun on her cheeks. There were times that she could forget that she and Damon had any destination at all, that there were any secrets between them. There were times she could imagine that they were on a honeymoon of sorts, even though the idea made her a bit ashamed of herself. It was silly.

There was something between her and Damon; something sexual, of course, but also something deeper. But she wasn’t the kind of girl who wondered how many kids she’d have with a guy as soon as they started dating. Still, the easy, relaxed nature of their days, the constant change of scenery, the feeling of freedom that came from being together and knowing they would soon be somewhere new and exciting…

Her moment in the sun came to an end as Damon reappeared dangling a key on a ring.

“They still use old-fashioned keys here,” he said, sliding behind the steering wheel.

“Charming,” Tricia mused.

The room itself was basic, with two double beds. The carpet was mauve. The bedspreads were thin and almost crispy, patterned in a noxious, “Saved By the Bell” geometry. The paintings on the wall were yard sale-worthy landscapes. It smelled like a hotel room. It reminded Tricia of nothing at all except other hotel rooms. She loved it.

Putting her bag down, she moved to the curtains covering one wall and pulled them half-open. They were on the shady side of the building, and the windows overlooked the pool. Three men were down there, two sitting together and one apart. The single man had an open cooler. The water glistened in the sun, too blue and very inviting.

When Tricia turned, she saw that Damon had picked one of the beds for himself, sitting on it and leaning back slightly. She plopped herself down on the other one, looking at the clock. It was just past 3.

“What time is dinner?” she asked.

“7:30,” he answered. “I made a reservation.”

Again, Tricia felt a nervousness, a redness in her cheeks that had nothing to do with sun exposure. It was a date, wasn’t it? Everything about what she and Damon did seemed backwards. Usually, you went on a date
before
you hopped in a car with a guy,
before
he gave you an orgasm that rocked your whole world,
before
you felt comfortable sharing a hotel room with him; even one with two beds.

“I think I'm going to swim,” she said, lifting herself off the bed. “Come with?”

He shook his head.

“Didn't bring my trunks,” he said. She bit back a smile. Damon would look exceptionally good in a pair of swim trunks. “I can't believe you brought your bikini.”

“Bikini?” Tricia scoffed. “No, I'm a strictly one-piece sort of girl. And of course I brought it. I'm a girl. We always bring everything.”

“Shame,” Damon said, glancing up at her. For a moment, she wasn't sure what he meant; why would it be a shame that she over packed? Then she realized, and she couldn't bite back the smile any longer. She was enjoying this prolonged flirtation a lot more than she should have. Damon offered a very particular sort of sweet torture, and she loved it. He offered tastes, just nibbles, and each one melted in her mouth, left her wanting more.

Tricia dug through her bag, finding the modest black swimsuit she'd thrown in during her whirlwind packing. Passing by the beds again, she felt Damon's eyes following her to the bathroom; they followed her again as she emerged, wrapped in the far-too-tiny towel provided by the hotel.

“Have fun,” Damon said, laying on the bed with his hands behind his head.

“You know, you can see the pool from the window,” she said, nodding towards the big window that covered one wall of the hotel room. “Just in case you get bored of looking at the ceiling.”

Damon lifted himself onto his elbows, gave her a level stare.

“Do you want me to watch you? Make sure everything is okay?”

Tricia's brow furrowed. That's not really what she'd meant at all. She just thought he might appreciate the view of her without the towel around her waist.

“Uh,” she said. “No, I'm alright. It was just an idea.”

Damon nodded, but his expression remained firmly determined. Tricia left wondering if she'd somehow messed up, if Damon's mixed signals weren't mixed at all, but she was just reading them all wrong. She decided to put it out of her head while she swam; perhaps the kinks in her back from a long day of driving were clouding her senses.

T
he few men
she’d seen loitering around the pool hadn’t seemed to move much in the time it took her to get changed and walk down to join them. She lay her towel out on a lounging chair, aware of but unbothered by the looks she attracted. A look was just a look. It couldn’t hurt her.

Slipping into the pool, she sighed from the reprieve it gave from the heat, the immediate sensation of weightlessness afforded by the water. She’d been on the swim team when she was younger, before nature gave her a body that didn’t cut through water as easily as her flat-chested, rail-thin teammates.

Now, as she pushed off the wall, she just enjoyed the natural rhythm of her body, acting off long-instilled instinct, her arms turning into knives that sliced the still, blue surface, her legs propellers. She did a few laps back and forth, wishing the pool was larger, then settled herself along the far edge, where it was deepest.

She let her legs drift below her, scrunching and releasing her toes. She gave a friendly wave to two of the men as they left the pool area, their voices seeming muted in the thick air. They’d been talking about a fishing trip. Tricia closed her eyes and thought about going fishing with her father when she was younger, her mind drifting along just like her legs, easy and free. This was a nice moment.

Until she felt a blast of chlorinated water against her face. Shocked, she opened her eyes and blew hard from her nose to clear it of the intruding water. The third man, the one with the cooler, had jumped in right beside her, splashing her with the wave he created. His laugh hit her just as hard, and she bit back her irritation to return his grin.

“Nice day for a swim, huh?” he asked. He couldn’t have been more than 22, with a bright red head of hair and a spray of freckles across his nose. Cute enough that Tricia would have flirted with him – four years ago, if she wasn’t already interested in another man. A
man,
not a
boy.

“Sure is,” she answered as he paddled away, swimming backwards. She closed her eyes, hoping it would tell him she wasn’t in the mood for making friends. But when she opened her eyes again, she saw that he hadn’t paddled away very far. He was swimming in a line a few feet away from her, his blue eyes fixed on hers.

“You from around here?” he asked, keeping his chin above the ripples.

“No,” she said. “Delaware. If I was from around here, I wouldn’t be at a hotel, right?”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, kids sneak in here all the time. I don’t have to, my mom is the housekeeping supervisor.”

“Cool,” Tricia said, pressing herself back as far as she could against the wall. She was a little annoyed about the interruption of her Zen moment.

“I’ve never been to Delaware,” the kid said, stopping his mini-laps and floating in place.

“Yeah,” she said. “Well, it’s not exactly the place to be. If you’re driving through, you blink once and it’s gone.”

“You go to school there?”

Damn, the kid was persistent. Still, she had to admit to being a little flattered. At 26, she rarely got taken for a college girl anymore.

“No,” she said. “I graduated years ago.”

“Aw, shit,” he said, splashing a bit of water around. “What, did you skip some grades in school?”

Tricia shook her head. This had gone past the realm of friendly conversation. She should have known.

“I go to school over at Trident Technical. Graphic design,” he said.

“Cool,” Tricia said, looking away now and wondering if she should just get out. She wanted to swim a bit more, but not if it meant she had to endure much more of this.

“You want a beer?” he asked and swam over to her side, mimicking her posture against the wall.

“No, thanks,” she said, and pushed off, leaving him behind as she swam towards the opposite side of the pool. To her consternation, she saw him following her when she turned her head during her stroke, his own swimming sloppy and splashy. He followed her to the far end and back, was panting by the time they had made a full round. When she pushed off the end again, meaning to outswim him until he gave up, she felt his hand on her arm, stopping her mid-stroke.

“Hey, you’re a good swimmer,” he said through labored breaths. “Wanna show me a few tricks?”

She yanked her arm free, glaring at him.

“Not really,” she said. “Sorry, but I’m just trying to relax.”

“Oh, I get it,” he said. “You’d relax more with a beer.”

“I don’t think so,” she said and dove underwater, swimming away from him again and hoping that her kicking legs sent a good dose of chlorine his way. When she got to the shallow end and turned around, he saw he was still waiting for her at the deep end. Now, he looked a lot less friendly.

Tricia groaned and stood up.
So much for getting the kinks out,
she thought, splashing her way towards the stairs. The noise she made covered the sound of the kid lifting himself out of the pool, but she heard the slapping of his feet as he trotted towards her across the wet cement. She didn’t look back, though, making straight for her towel.

“Hey, I’m sorry if I ruined your swim,” his voice came from behind her as she wiped the towel across her face. “Just don’t usually get pretty girls around the pool. Usually it’s all old ladies who wanna do water aerobics or whatever. And parrotheads asking where the Tiki Bar is.”

“It’s alright,” Tricia said, running the towel over her hair to get the worst of the wet out.

“C’mon, let me make it up to you, have a drink, it’s a good day for a cold beer,” the kid said. “I’m Ron, by the way.”

“It’s really okay, Ron,” Tricia said. “I’m just going to go back to my room and…”

“Hey,” Ron said, and the tone in his voice forced Tricia to look at him. He reached out once more, taking hold of her arm. Firmer now. “Don’t be a bitch. I’m trying to be a nice guy here.”

“I’m not being a
bitch,
kid,” she hissed, trying to shake free but finding his grip tight. “I’m just not interested in…”

“Fuck off,” a voice said from just outside the gate. A voice Tricia recognized in an instant. For a moment, she forgot about the boy’s hold on her arm and turned to look at Damon, striding towards them. “Can’t you see she’s not fucking interested?”

Before Ron or Tricia could react, Damon was on them, pushing the kid away so hard that he stumbled backward, nearly falling into the pool.

“What the fuck, man? Who the fuck are you?” Ron’s face reddened, anger contorting his features. “You her fuckin’ bodyguard or something? I think the lady can decide for herself if…”

“Keep talking,
dilo
,” Damon growled, advancing until he was nearly on top of the kid, leaning in so far that Ron’s heels dangled over the side of the pool. “You really wanna know who I fuckin’ am? I don’t think you do.”

“Where the fuck did you even
come
from, man? I’m gonna tell the fuckin’ manager and he’ll kick you out of here so fast…”

Tricia stifled a cry as Damon pushed again. This time, there was nowhere for the kid to go but down. His back hit the water with a splash, a splash that was followed by the sound of Damon jumping in after him. Tricia rushed to the side of the pool, worried that the kid had hit his head; it was the shallow end. When Ron didn’t surface immediately, she began to panic, her heart kicking up into double time.

“Damon! Damon! You have to…”

But then she saw
why
he hadn’t come back up for air. Damon was holding the kid by his red, red hair. Bubbles floated upward to the surface and Ron’s hands slapped at the surface of the water, the shivering image of his legs under the water frantic as they kicked. Damon was soaked up to his chest, still wearing his clothes, as he held the boy’s head underwater.

“Jesus Christ, Damon, let him go!” Tricia cried, slipping into the water and trying to push Damon until he released Ron’s head. “For fuck’s sake…”

Damon’s fingers uncurled and his hands lifted, a grunt escaping his throat. Ron exploded out of the water, gasping for air and coughing. Tricia went to him, helped him get his footing in the waist-deep water, and walked him to the side of the pool where he could cough out whatever was left in his lungs onto the concrete. Then she turned back to Damon, disbelief and anger in her eyes.

“Take this as a lesson,” Damon said, avoiding Tricia’s gaze. Still coughing but no longer wracked with the pain of suffocation, the kid turned to face the older man. “Don’t bother women who don’t want to be bothered.”

With that, Damon made his labored, soggy way towards the stairs, his movements slowed by the wet denim covering his legs. When he slogged out, Tricia quick at his heels, he didn’t look back.

Jesus, Damon,
Tricia thought, trying to figure out what she could possibly say to him now.
You really know how to make a girl feel safe…