Hard Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 1) (18 page)

“I noticed.”

Mikhail sat forward. “I don’t know that you did. Ace and the prospect were up at that bar on Seventh Street last night,
Wrappers
. He was there too, and telling everybody who’d listen that he was gonna kill you.”

Ram frowned. That was extreme, even for a cop.

“Kill me?”

“He thinks you did in his boy back at
The Hammerin’ Nail
. He’s convinced. Won’t be told otherwise. Thinks you killed him and now you’re getting close to June to kill
him
, Theo, and his whole...” Mikhail waved a hand. “...kith and kin.”

Ram brought his fingers under his chin, considering. It was possible—probable, even, that Theo was just blowing hot air. Lots of men did that when they were drunk. But it was also just as possible that he was being deadly serious. It wasn’t ever proper to count out a man with a badge and a gun.

“We’ll stay away from him for the time being,” said Ram. “See what happens. Keep your guard up. If you see him anywhere,
leave
. I ain’t kidding. Don’t start anything.”

“You’re sounding like Howitzer, Ram.”

“The old man ain’t exactly full of shit.” Ram stood up. “That’s what makes him so goddamn annoying. It’d be easier to ignore him if he was just talking from his ass.”

He grabbed his keys from the nearby dish, readying himself. “I’m gonna need you tonight for something, okay? Got an idea about how to get a bike in a hurry for Ace. Something clever.”

“I hate it when you smile like that. You get me in trouble when you smile like that.”

“Trouble? Me?”

They stepped outside and mounted up. Slow thunder filled the small subdivision as they kicked over their bikes.

“Why can’t we do it now?” asked Mikhail.

“Night’s better for this mission. Grab the prospect and Ace. Make sure the prospect is straight, though, all right? This ain't gonna be no pony show.”

“Got it.”

“Besides,” said Ram, enjoying the slow look of shock that came to life on Mikhail’s face. “You're gonna be too busy helping me get married today to do anything else.”

––––––––

J
une looked at herself this way and that, huffing impatiently and tussling with her hair. When she had put the green dress on this morning for the job interview, it had seemed more than fine. It was modest and flattering, cinching tight around her waist and flaring out in long pleats that went past her knees. She wore dark tights underneath and, for a little extra flair, tied a green ribbon through her hair.

In Marlowe, most every employer loved a woman who presented herself with a little extra sympathetic femininity. It was a stupid, sexist game to play, but she had to play it anyway.

Now that she was getting
married
though...it felt almost too girlish. Would she do better to put on white again? Ram certainly
loved
the white dress she had on a few nights before. Or, perhaps, given the nature of their wedding, red would be better?

June had a business idea. It involved hiring a man who would sit in a corner of your room during the hours you dressed, telling you what was and was not socially appropriate in your wardrobe that day. He could be reading an RSS feed of all your tweets, invites, messages, and emails all day long so he could form a proper opinion.

There was a knock at the door—her mother. She walked in directly after knocking, the noise more to announce her arrival than to ask for any sort of permission.

“You’re looking nice, dear,” said Sheila. “How goes the job search?”

“Fine,” said June. “No real biters. I’m really interested in this job with this Pet Luck place, but I’m not sure they’ll want me. I don't think I nailed the interview.”

Probably because I was horribly distracted the whole time, thinking that I'm getting fucking married.

To a criminal.

Who is hotter than the actual goddamn sun.

“You did always like dogs,” said Sheila, voice a bit tired.

Probably she hoped not to retread a very old argument. Sheila had insisted as June was growing up that having a dog was too much responsibility.

“Your father could probably make a few calls, maybe get in their ear...”

“
No
.”

June’s voice had a harder bite than she intended. She wasn’t especially happy with her father at the moment.

“No,” she said again. “Thank you. I’d prefer to do it on my own.”

“We’re all working with someone,” said her mother. “Do you think you’d rather do it on your own and have nothing or get a little help and push yourself the rest of the way?”

June pushed the closet door closed, shutting the mirror from view. “I don’t want his help, mother.”

He poisons things. I’m surprised as to how he hasn’t poisoned you
.

“I’ve heard you were at a bar brawl yesterday. That must have been exciting.”

Her mother’s voice kept its pleasant lilt as she spoke. This was the kind of low-grade, obvious sarcasm that passed for wit in small-town Texas.

“It was great,” said June, goading her. “You should have seen me. I look great with broken glass in my hair.”

Now her mother's countenance changed, immediately concerned. “Oh June, you didn’t...”

“No, Mom, I really didn’t. And I’d thought you’d
know
I’m smart enough to avoid that.”

“Well. You
are
engaged to a biker criminal. You do know he
is
a criminal? He hasn’t served time, but it’s only a matter of time...”

“Aren’t you always going on about how the right woman can change any man?”

June thought this sort of logic in itself was a kind of awful sexist quandary, but she saw no shame in using her mother's logic against itself.

“Dear,” Sheila took a hold of June’s hands. Her grip was warm. “Some men just won’t change.”

“If you want to talk to men who
should
change,” she said, “why don’t you talk to Theo?”

“Theo?” Sheila looked confused. “What’s he got to do with anything?”

She and Ram had been exchanging texts all day. He had updated her on the situation with Theo—and all his threats. Quickly, she filled in her mother, who’s face became paler by the minute.

“I see,” she said, after hearing it all. “Well, that won’t do, will it? No nephew of
mine
will be laying out threats to my daughter’s fiancé, I don’t care
who
he is.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I’ll take care of him, don’t you worry. I know
just
what to say to him. We’ll see how tough he feels after I’m telling him stories about wiping his poop-covered behind for a half-hour or two in front of the whole police department.”

“And that was just last week, right?”

Sheila shook her head. “What? He was three, June, and—oh. I see. You were joking.” Her mother turned her head down slightly, not looking at June straight, her mouth crooked. “Very funny, June.”

Maybe a good talking-to would stop Theo. June certainly hoped so.

––––––––

R
am hopped up through the window in the Colts' house, feeling a bit like a teenager. By grabbing a hold of the gazebo just beyond the house, he snatched across a thick oak tree and rolled over to the roof. He had spent the day in different stages. Much of it was spent on all the planning he had to do—mostly in the gathering of information. If he wanted to get Ace his new bike with the insane plan he had in mind, then he needed to know exactly where the Black Flags were going to be.

It was more work than it sounded, gathering information. People had to be tracked down, either on the phone or by foot. And then when you tracked them down, you actually had to get them to talk. Sometimes this was done through intimidation—which Ram was naturally quite good at. But more often, it worked better to offer favors or call favors in. This was more difficult—knowing how many favors the Crew had available to just keep out there in the ether of the criminal underground, and how many he could cash in on this one project without screwing himself over for something later on.

Luckily, it all seemed to work out for now—and he knew right where the Flags would be later tonight after his and June's marriage.

Inside the house, he realized very suddenly he had misjudged—this wasn’t the window leading inside June’s room. It was the hallway
outside
June’s room.

And that was how he came across her mother, leaving June's room with her arms suddenly crossed.

“We have a front door, you know.”

Ram smiled, a little embarrassed. “I’m not the most popular guy with your husband right now, Mrs. Colt. And I figured you wouldn’t want to see me either.”

“I certainly don’t want your footprints all over my roof.”

“Yes, ma’am. No ma’am.”

Normally, Ram wouldn't give a fuck about “ma'am”s and “sir”s. But even if Sheila Colt already hated him, it pleased him to give her as little fuel to hate him with as possible. He knew it pissed off cops when he was polite with them, so it probably pissed off her, wife of a cop. They would prefer that he trash-mouth at them so that they could rage in righteousness.

She raised an eyebrow, gathering up a tossed blanket on the floor and folding it up neatly.

“I don’t suppose you actually care about my daughter, do you?”

“I do, ma’am. That’s a fact.”

It was. He was surprised by his own easy admission.

“And do you love her?”

That
made him hesitate.

“I see,” she said, nodding slightly. “Well. At least you care about her. But let me tell you something.” She was directly in front of him now. Sheila Colt was not a large woman by any means, slight and short, and yet somehow she seemed twice his size.

“If you’re going to marry my daughter, you need to pretend love harder than that. And I know, better than many, that just because you don’t want someone hurt doesn’t mean you truly want to be with them forever. Trust me on that. So you think long and hard about what you’re doing with her. And you make the right choice. There’s better men for her in this town. I know it. Her father knows it. And she knows it too, whether she'll tell you or not.”

––––––––

T
he city hall was located in the middle of town, about a fifteen minute drive from the Whistling Pines neighborhood where the Colts resided.

They arrived at three forty-five in the afternoon and quickly hopped upstairs to the third floor where the marriage proceedings were handled. City Hall was a small, squat, cylindrical building with a great glass ceiling at its top. Outside, there was a massive hum of generator power and air conditioners as they pumped coolness to fight the constant assault of the heat of the day.

Inside, it was well lit and depopulated. They had, by chance alone, chosen a time to get married when there would be no traffic court later that night and so there were no lines or crowds of people. Occasionally a stern-faced man would swagger by holding sheets of paperwork, or a woman might wander through the thick pillars of the interior with her head lost in a tangle of bureaucratic folders and forms.

Mikhail met them there, waiting in the hall and sitting across from Kyle, June’s brother. Mikhail actually put a shirt on, for once—a dark blue button-up—though he still had his colors on his back.

Kyle, in a dark polo and black jeans, looked like the same kind of man who had always harassed Ram as he was growing up.

“Hey June,” said Kyle, standing up. “This had better not be what I think it is.”

June pulled on his arm, keeping her voice low.

“You didn’t tell anyone you were coming, right?”

“No. You said not to. But if you think—”

“What I think,” said June, “is that you are my brother, and I need your help with something. Can you help me?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then please, help me. And be quiet. We’ll start in just a minute.”

The fight left Kyle almost as soon as it had entered him. Mikhail took all this in with some mirth, hiding his smile behind his palm.

Now it was Ram’s turn for a hurried conversation. He took June by the waist and led her over to a small alcove where neither Mikhail nor Kyle could see them.

She smiled, giving him that wild glint again.

“I don’t think we really have time, but if you really want to make out, I’m game.”

Wild Girl
.

He smiled and shook his head.

“I want to be straight with you.”

“Okay. Remember, this is a pretend marriage we’re doing.” Her voice was hushed. “It’s not, you know, I’m jealous of anything, or scared, or—”

“I have a long, bad past, June. I've sold drugs. I've stolen more stuff than I can count. People have died because of the things I've done and how I do them. Some of them I’ve put in the ground. You understand me?”

After a moment, she nodded. “Yes. Does it have any chance of catching up to you?”

“I don’t think so. The people I’ve killed...cops let it go. It's one less criminal in the world. They were gang members.”

Her face twisted for a moment. “Did they deserve it?”

“Yes.”

She took a long breath and reclined back against the wall, fanning her face for a second. “Christ. A killer. I’ve sucked off...”

Again she took a breath, shaking her head and smiling. “That’s...god, that’s weird. It makes me...”

“What?”

But he knew, could see the flush on her cheeks, that glittering spark in her eyes.

Wild Girl
.
Turned on by her Trouble Man.

“I don’t want you to hurt anyone else,” she said. “Ever again, really. But that’s your business and you...you live your life, pilgrim. But knowing I’ve
been
with someone like that, it’s kind of...”

Her fingers traced up and down the line of his bicep, squeezing

“Hot?”

“Yeah.” She looked ashamed and turned on at the same time. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” he said, pulling her in by the waist. He kissed her, slow and heavy, loving the feel of her crushed against his body. His cock was hard in seconds. “Just wait until we consummate.”