Know Me (DEFIANT Motorcycle Club) (2 page)

The beat up Corolla was the first vehicle I found with an open door and I coaxed it into starting, relieved to see there was a full tank of gas.  Because I would need to
drive a long way to get beyond the reach of the SF Outlaws.  I had no money.  Even my phone was left behind.  Anybody I could think of to turn to would only be endangered by helping me and going to the cops would have been useful as going to my third grade teacher.

I found Interstate 5 and kept driving south.  It was
just starting to grow light outside by the time I reached Los Angeles.  The sun and the hundreds of miles of distance made things seem slightly better, or at least my heart stopped threatening to thump right through my chest.  I pulled into a rest stop and started poking through the glove box.  Perhaps the car’s owner had stowed some food somewhere. 

There was no food, but an oily
clump of bills added up to $40.  Enough to put some more gas in the tank and get something to eat.   

In the restroom, my wan reflection stared back at me in the mirror.  I would be twenty next week but knew I looked younger.  I pushed my dark blonde hair behind my ears and patted my face with a coarse pap
er towel, weighing my options and shoving away the agony which threatened to swallow me.

Later there would be time for grieving.  Right now I needed to remember that
I was Crest Tolleson’s daughter.  And I would figure out how to survive.

Of course returning to Berkele
y was out of the question.  The SF’s would either be waiting or would show up soon.  My mother lived in San Diego with her husband but even if I wasn’t afraid of imperiling her, I couldn’t be sure that she would welcome me in the first place.  And all the brothers of the club, my father’s friends, the men who had helped raise me, were dead or likely soon to be dead. 

Except
, maybe, one. 

His
name was seldom spoken.  He’d been my father’s best friend since they’d grown up together in a rough Oakland neighborhood.  Two tough-as-nails white boys trying to make it out of there alive, they were natural allies. 

I remembered Orion Jackson as an impossibly large man with startling blue eyes.  He was one of the few Warlocks who didn’t choose to wear a beard but the set of his jaw and the tense outline of his broad shoulder
s was fearful enough a picture.  When I reached back into the deepest origins of my memory, Orion Jackson was there alongside my father.  He used to make me ice cream sundaes with piles of colored sprinkles and read me fairy tales in his raspy baritone.  Still, Orion wasn’t the stuff of rainbows and butterflies.  Once I saw him nearly rip a man’s arm out of the socket for being a suspected poker cheat.

It had been ten years since I’d seen him, since that awful night when I woke up to the rough sounds of a struggle
in the clubhouse and hid in the shadows, watching as my father beat his best friend bloody. 

I had thought it odd that Orion didn’t fight back.  He stayed on his knees and let Crest pummel him again and agai
n.  Every once in a while he spat out a stream of blood. 

“Take it off,” my father growled and without a word Orion
removed his cut and tossed it across the room. 

My father picked it up and handed it off to Talon, another original club member.  “Burn it,”
he ordered.  The he reared back and punched Orion so hard a spray of blood landed on the wall next to me. 

The man I thought of as practically an uncle rose once more, blood dripping from his battered face.
His blue eyes locked on mine and he gave me a terrible grin which haunted my dreams for years. 

“Now,” said my father in a voice which was half a sob, “you’re fucking gone, Orion.  You get that? You were my brother.  And now you’re
fucking nothing.”  Crest turned toward the wall but I could hear the misery in his voice. 

Orion got painfully to his feet.  I still didn’t understand why he didn’
t fight back.  My father may have been the leader but Orion was larger, stronger. 

Crest continued to stare stonily at the wall as Orion spat a mouthful of blood one more time.  The other Warlocks watched with identical pitiless expressions.  Orion finally tipped an imaginary hat in farewell and left the clubhouse.  A moment later I heard the roar of
his bike.  He never returned and my questions were never really answered. 

“He did something bad, right?” I’d asked Crest. 

He only looked off into the distance and nodded.  “He did.” 

And for a long time that was all I knew of Orion Jackson.  He had crossed Crest Tolleson in some way.  His punishment was expulsion.  It could have been worse.  I was under no illusions about my father.  I
knew damn well he had done more violent things to other men. 

Then a few years ago I h
eard Talon and Crest speaking in low, slurred voices.  I heard the name ‘Orion’ and the next day dared a question. 

“So Orion’s alive?”

My father’s eyes narrowed and he poured himself a shot.  “He is.”  Crest took the shot and stared into the glass. “He’s in the Mojave desert, outside Quartzsite, got his own club now.”

“Oh,” I’d said, blinking with surprise that the question had been answered at all. 

Crest Tolleson looked me straight in the eye.  “Kira,” he said, “I pray like hell this never happens but if you ever find yourself in a spot where there’s no one left to turn to, go to him.”   

Mojave desert, outside Quartzsite.  Go to him. 

Quartzsite would be easy enough to find.  It was a straight shot on the I-10, just on the other side of the California/Arizona border.  As to where exactly I could find the former VP of the Warlocks was another matter but I supposed I could tackle that problem when I’d cleared the distance remaining between me and possible safety. At any rate, I would feel better if I got out of California altogether. 

Though it was only early April the heat of the desert seeped into the car as I drove deeper into the brown landscape
of Death Valley.  When I tried to turn on the air conditioning a hideous noise from somewhere in the vehicle’s bowels forced me to switch it off quickly.  I figured I had another hour or so of driving ahead.  I could only hope that the police weren’t ardently scouring the state for a battered Corolla. 

But they might be actively searching for the sole survivor of a bloody
motorcycle club massacre. 

I took a deep breath and prepared to cro
ss the border into Arizona.  I still couldn’t allow myself to grieve properly.  Right now I needed to focus on getting to Orion Jackson. 

The state border turned out to be only nominally attended and I was waved through without a second glance.  I breathed with relief and looked ahead.  Arizona greeted m
e in all its barren glory.  To me it was the possibility of safety.  It was beautiful.  I squinted into the morning sun and saw a crookedly painted white Q on the side of a small mountain.  I was closing in on Quartzsite. 

As I reached what I presumed to be the center of town
I saw a lot of dilapidated trailer parks.  A few white-haired residents lounged outside leisurely.  What buildings there were all looked old and many were run down.  None looked any more likely than the other to host the former Vice President of the Warlocks. 

A slight sense of panic began to bubble in my stomach.  I’d counted only on getting to Quartzsite.  How did I mean to find a man who didn’t necessarily want to be found? 

As I piloted the car through the sandy side roads of the town, I worried further.  It seemed to be a haven of snowbirds mixed with a handful of hardy residents who eyed me suspiciously.  Just as I started to think I’d become hopelessly lost on the winding, narrow streets, I braked hard. 

The one story building was low-roofed and unassuming.  A larger, sprawling stucco structure lay just beyond the place which was identified with a crooked sign as ‘Riverbottom Bar’.  And lined u
p in front were at least ten motorcycles.

It was the first hint
that I might have come to the right place after all. 

As I parked the car crookedly I had the prickly
, unpleasant feeling that I was being watched.  I crossed my arms protectively across my chest as I walked to the door, feeling very self-conscious about my meager attire.  It couldn’t be helped.  I had nothing else. 

The interior was very dark and covered in a thick haze of smoke.  I squinted into the dim room and saw that a few hulk
ing shapes at the bar had swiveled around at my entrance. 

I cleared my throat.  “I’m looking for Orion Jackson.” 

The silence which greeted me seemed deadly.  It might have just been my nerves which were understandably shot to hell but I didn’t think so.  The stares seemed distinctly hostile. 

“Who the fuck are you?” growled a low voice at the bar. 

I saw no point in being coy.  “Kira Tolleson.” 

Somewhere a fork clattered to the floor. 

The man at the bar who had spoken to me rose from his seat.  His voice hadn’t grown any friendlier.  “You related to Crest Tolleson?”

I beat back the sob in my throat.  “He was my father.”

“Was,” the man nodded.  “Yeah, we heard.”  He pointed to me.  “Sit the fuck down and wait.”  He disappeared down a hallway.  I noticed he wore a cut with large red lettering spelling out ‘DEFIANT’ across the back. A few seconds later I heard a door slam. 

There was little choice but to do as he had ordered.  I placed my hands on the table and stared at them, willing them not to shake.  After a moment a
lovely black-haired woman brought me a beer and a shot glass full of amber liquid. 

“Oh,” I stammered.  “Thank you, but I’m actually not twenty one.” 

She smiled at me pityingly.  “Drink it anyway, hon.”  She glanced toward the dark hallway.  “You’ll need it.” 

I closed my eyes and took the shot, chasing
it with a swallow of beer.  It burned going down.  My eyes were still closed when he reached my side. 

“Kira Tolleson,” he clucked softly. 

I looked up into a face I’d seen nearly every day for the first decade of my life.  The years since then hadn’t done him any harm.  Orion Jackson was as broad and muscled as ever.  His dark hair was still short and his chiseled jaw wore only a shadowy hint of beard.  His sharp blue eyes searched my face and then traveled lower. 

I rose from my chair, hoping for some sign of affection from the man who had once been
almost a second father to me, but the hard set of his jaw reminded me that was a long time ago.  Orion grabbed me around the wrist.

“Come with me,” he demanded. 

Orion pinned my arm behind my back and pushed me down the dark hallway and out a back door.  I scarcely had time to blink into the bright sun before he was practically shoving me into the neighboring building. 

A quartet of men sat around a table counting piles of money.  One was the first man who had greeted me in the bar.  They looked at us with interest as Orion propelled me down another hallway and into a small bedroom.  He slammed the door behind him. 

I tore out of his grasp, rubbing my wrist.  There would be no friendly reunion.  Orion glared at me with something between suspicion and anger. 

“Hello to you too,
Orion,” I managed to say with an edge of sarcasm. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Kira?”  He crossed his arms, waiting.  I didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t like my answer. 

“My father is dead.”

Orion nodded.  “Yeah, I know.  And despite all the shit that went down between us I’m sorry to hear it.”  A look of grief washed over the big man’s face
and his voice lowered.  “He was the closest thing to a real brother I ever had.”  The grief evaporated and he regarded me coolly.  “Now how about you answer my fucking question?”

“I-“  My voice broke and I took a deep breath.  “I didn’t have anywhere else to go, Orion.
SF Outlaws will hunt me like a dog. Crest told me once that if things were ever that desperate I should find you.” 

Orion’s eyebrows shot up and his face broke into a
grin.  “Did he? And what did Crest Tolleson say I ought to do with you in your, ah, ‘desperate’ state?”

I licked my lips, thinking.  Though he was smiling, there was something distinctly cold about Orion’s expression, as if I was nothing more than an object to toy with for a few minutes. “He didn’t say.  But I thought maybe because I am the daughter of a man you used to hold in some esteem-“

Orion burst into loud laughter.  “Shit, listen to you.  Girl, you think this is some sort of underworld Ronald McDonald house where I’m gonna shield you from all the terrors of the night?”  He took a step closer and leaned over.  My face grew hot he reac
hed a large hand out and touched me under the chin. 

“Maybe,” he said softly, “if you were still a child I might have had a heart.”  There was no mistaking the way his eyes traveled over my body.  I began to wish more desperately I was clothed in something more substantial than a pink tank top and cutoffs.  Orion grinned nastily.  “But you’re not a child anymore, are you, Kira?”

I swallowed.  “What do you want?”

Orion’s blue eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms.  I stared at the tattoos which snaked from his wrists to his biceps.  His voice was low with a vague threat.  “Don’t play your little college girl games with me
, Kira.  You know goddamn well what I want.” 

I
was disgusted.  He couldn’t be serious.  I looked him square in the eye.  “Why don’t you just take it then?”

Orion pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and leisurely lit the end.  “So you did get something of your daddy’s spirit.  Glad to see you’re not just a tired rag like your mother.”

“Fuck you.” 

Orion bent over me and blew a cloud of smoke in my face.  My hands clenched
into fists at my side, trying to brace for whatever would come next.   I gasped when he abruptly cupped my right breast.  He ran his thumb idly over the instantly hard nipple and I bit my lip, trying to will away the rising heat between my legs. 

“You haven’t,” he said softly.  “Have you?”

“What?” I whispered. 

“Been fucked, Kira.” He took his hand away from my breast and I almost moaned with complaint.  Orion took another drag of his cigarette and flashed me another amused grin. 

“I’ve been fucked plenty,” I lied but my voice squeaked at the end. 

“Bullshit.  You’re so tight you might crack.  Should have known.  No man in his senses would dare screw the daughter of Crest
Tolleson.  Your daddy would have ripped his ever loving legs off.”  Orion laughed.  “If the prick was lucky.” 

I’d had enough.  Something broke in me at the mention of my father.  Orion Jackson wasn’t going to help me for nothing and I sure as hel
l wasn’t going to eagerly pay whatever fleshly price he had in mind.  I had Crest’s spirit all right and I’d be damned if I’d open up and get plowed by some lousy biker hood who was twice my age just on the off chance he might save my skin for a little while.

I didn’t realize I had stood and was actually yelling these things up at a man who could easily break me in half until I felt his hard palm against my mouth.  As he silenced me he pinned my arms behind my back and pushed me against the wall.

“Kira,” he warned, his breath hot on my neck.  “Don’t say something you can’t take back.” 

But I was still thrashing with fiery anger.  I just wanted to get in my car (well, the car that I’d stolen) and peel out of this desert hellhole.  I wanted to go someplace clean, someplace where there were no bikes and no jackets, no patches, no brotherhoods. 

And then I realized Orion’s breath had quickened and that my breasts were pressed against the firm, heaving muscles of his chest.  He pushed a knee between my legs and moved his hips so that I could feel exactly how big he was, how hard he was.  And I stopped struggling. 

Our mouths met
in a fury of tongues and need.  The part of me which was shock that Orion Jackson’s tongue was in my mouth was silenced by the part of me which was dying for him to do more. I answered the grinding motion of his hips with movement of my own.  Orion broke the kiss abruptly. 

“I’m no fucking gentleman, Kira.”  His forefinger traveled underneath the flimsy strap of my tank top and with one fluid flick of his wrist the strap broke.  “But I will help you in more ways than one
. If you say yes.” 

My breath was coming in hard gasps.  With each one I felt the strain of my nipples against what remained of the flimsy cotton fabric
separating my breasts from his naked chest.  I fought to steel my voice.  Orion Jackson wasn’t a tender man.  Crying wouldn’t do any good.  “What exactly would I be agreeing to?”

Orion’s hand snaked around my head and he pulled my hair slightly so that I had no choice but to meet his gaze square on.  “The way I see it, darlin’, you’ve got a few options.  I’ll let you leave right now and you can take your chances with the cops and the SF Outlaws and whatever the fuck else is out there.”   Orion
leaned in and ran his tongue along the line of my jaw.  I tightened every muscle in my body, trying not to respond.  “Or, you can become clubhouse entertainment.” He jerked his head toward the outer room where the other Defiant members remained.  “There’s always room out there for a girl willing to spread wide as long as she isn’t choosy.  And we’ll even let you serve drinks in the bar and get your ass groped as a way to earn some cash.” 

Orion
released me and paused, waiting to see what I would do.  My head dropped.  Who was I kidding?  Sure, I’d watched men like these my whole life.  I’d listened to their harsh words, heard the contents of their dirty minds.   I’d seen the way they casually acquired and discarded their women, rarely sinking into anything resembling a relationship.  But I’d always been kept separate.  Crest had seen to that.  He had wanted something different for me; a good life.  In my two years at Berkeley I’d studied like hell and avoided the messiness that comes with sex and partying. 

I chewed on my lower lip. 
Look where Crest’s careful attempt at a sheltered life had gotten me.  To the same place I would have ended up all along; an accessory to the whims of hard and violent men.  My father was dead and there was no one left who gave a shit what happened to me.  Still, I had some fire in my gut.  I’d walk out that door and do what I had to in order to survive.  Unless…

“Is there a third option?”  I asked Orion, flatly meeting his stare.  He had watched me through my inner struggle with an inscrutable expression.  But at my question a flicker of something I couldn’t read lit within the depths of his eyes.