...or something: Ronacks Motorcycle Club (3 page)

"Bobbyjean is taking over your job. Tomorrow, you'll sit in the ticket booth from eleven to seven o'clock." Bill patted Bobbyjean's ass and followed her walk to the booth with his gaze. "You're off for the night. Stay in the backyard and out of the carnival and don't cause trouble."

She stepped into his line of vision. "You can't do that to me. What about Carrie and Viv? They work the tickets."

"Carrie left an hour ago." Bill scratched his chest.

"Left?" Bree exhaled harshly over the news. "Where did she go?"

Bill swung his gaze to Bree. "That's none of my business or yours. Go, pack your things. Bobbyjean is moving in with Delilah. You can have Carrie's tent."

"A tent?" She stomped her foot. "I'm not sleeping anywhere near the ride carnies."

The thought made her lightheaded. All the younger men—who were still older than her by ten years or more—lived in the tent camp. They had an open door policy, popped beanies every night, and ran on adrenaline for three days straight before they even slept. She'd end up fighting off every single one of them. At least with Delilah, her virginity was safe.

"You're attracting attention." Bill put his hand on her back and pushed her in the direction of her temporary home. "Go get your stuff so I can have someone put Bobbyjean's belongings away before night falls."

"Bill...?" She dug her tennis shoes in the ground, refusing to accept her lowered position within the carnival. "Don't change my position."

"Girl, we need money and Bobbyjean's got the looks that'll bring in the big bucks." Bill shooed her away.

"But, I've brought in more money than anyone else running the dart game."

"Go," he said.

She marched away, angered over the changes and disgusted at Bill's opinion that somehow Bobbyjean—what a stupid name, had a better personality than her to work the booth and bring in the money. There was more to working the darts than boobs and a pretty face.

"I hate him," she muttered, breaking out into a jog.

She'd earned more than anyone this week. Bobbyjean would never earn more than her, even if she offered herself to every man who approached the counter. The slut. Bill was probably getting blowjobs from her every night.

"Hey, Bree." Tommy stepped out of his trailer parked in front of Delilah's old fifth-wheeler and gathered his long hair in a ponytail. "Whatcha doing?"

At eighteen years old, Tommy traveled with his dad who ran the Ferris wheel. The only person close to her age, he had given her a kiss—her first—when she signed on with CrazyTown Carnival, and then promptly told her she needed to practice kissing more. She eventually forgave him for insulting her, but by then he'd hooked up with a local girl and had stayed faithful to her, despite only seeing her on the weekends.

"I got fired." She reached under the metal step of the trailer and removed the hidden magnetic key box for the trailer.

"No shit?" Tommy leaned against the trailer and tucked his dingy, white tank top into his jeans. "How come?"

"Bill put some big ass, big titted, big haired woman in the booth," she mumbled, unlocking the door. "Her name is Bobbyjean, and she's moving in with Delilah, and he's sending me to the ticket booth. The ticket booth! Only women who have a man working here get sent there because the pay sucks."

"Sorry, Bree." Tommy sighed. "Maybe he'll change his mind. You're good at your job."

"Obviously, not good or pretty enough." She flung the door open. "He's kicked me out of the trailer and put me in Carrie and Bo's tent."

"Fuck," mumbled Tommy. "Do you want me to ask my dad if you can stay with us?"

Bree stared at Tommy without saying a word. Everyone knew Tommy's dad had a drug problem. She tried to stay away from trouble and the rougher crowds. "No, but thanks."

"Yeah. Okay. I hear you." Tommy pushed away from the trailer. "I need to go put in my hours. I'll check on you later."

"Don't bother." She put her foot on the step. "Maybe I won't be around."

"Are you planning on leaving and quitting the carnival?"

She shrugged, not knowing what she was going to do or where she could go. "Maybe. I don't know."

"I hope you don't." Tommy pulled at his shirt. "Bill will change his mind."

She rolled her eyes. "I need to get packed before they start bringing in the other woman's stuff."

Not waiting for a reply, she went inside the trailer and ground the heels of her hands against her eyes. More than the upset at losing her job, the thought of moving to a tent scared her. All alone, there would be nothing to keep the perverted men away from her. When they all got to drinking and doing drugs, nothing stopped them from harassing her. She'd heard the stories and witnessed the victims that walked away after spending a night in the backyard in the tent section.

She stepped over to the couch and picked up her blanket. Bill wouldn't keep the men away from her. Nobody would. She'd be better off leaving the carnival and trying to find a job somewhere else.

A
woman about Battery's age posed with her breasts over the counter inside Bree's booth and flirted with two men lined up to throw darts. Battery's forehead pounded at finding a change in Bree's routine, and he scanned the area looking for her. He had a bad feeling.

The tension continued to intensify the longer he went without finding her.

The men strolled away from the booth without winning and elbowed each other talking about the looker doing her best to get them to play the game again. Battery walked over before another surge of men came to check out the woman orchestrating the booth.

He placed his hands on the plywood counter. "Where's Bree?"

"Well, hello there, sugar." The woman smacked her gum and leaned toward him, displaying overlarge breasts. "I bet you could pop a balloon without even trying."

"I asked you, where's Bree?'

She reached over and stroked his forearm. "Bree who, sugar?"

He grabbed her wrist, removed her touch, and squeezed hard enough he got her attention on the question. "The girl that runs the booth. Where is she?"

"Ow." She rolled her shoulder and stuck out her lower lip. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Think hard."

She whined and stuck out her lower lip. "Bill fired her."

Fuck. He let go of the woman and walked down the main strip of the carnival. His gut feeling about Bree paid off, and he'd need to find her fast.

Just a young girl, she could be anywhere, licking her wounds, or making a bad decision. Nobody paid attention to Bree. Though she noticed everything and if she acted before thinking, she'd find herself in a dangerous situation without anyone to help her.

He scaled the roped off area and entered the parking lot full of trailers. Enough people loitered around; he wasn't worried about security. Though he had no idea where to even start looking for Bree without drawing everyone's attention and he needed no trouble from the carnies. The fewer people who took notice of him, the better.

As he drew closer to a group of four men, he lit a cigarette. "Hey, anyone know where Bree is hanging?"

"Whose looking for her?" said a man half Battery's size.

"Bill," Battery said, knowing there was only one name that would get everyone talking. "He wanted to see Bree five minutes ago and sent me after her."

The shorter man shook his head. "Nah, I ain't seen her. She keeps to herself over at the trailers."

"Which one is Delilah's trailer?" Battery tossed the cigarette on the ground.

The man rubbed his forehead. "Uh, you go back about—"

"I'll show you." One of the ladies nearby stepped forward.

Battery walked with the woman in the opposite direction. Between the curious glances and her checking out his body, she delivered him to an older fifth wheeler attached to an even older pickup with rusted out panels.

"This is where Delilah stays, but you won't find the girl in there." The lady propped her hand on her hips and winked at him. "I didn't want to say anything in front of the others, cause I know the girl tries to keep to herself and out of everyone's business but she won't be back with Delilah, and if it were me, I'd be happier than hell to get away from that slut. She's so far up her cousin's ass, she reeks."

"Where would I find Bree?" He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "Is she in a different trailer?"

The lady shook her head.

Battery reached into his pocket, removed his wallet, and handed her a hundred-dollar bill. "Start talking, cause that's all you're getting."

"Bill fired her and put Bobbyjean in Bree's booth. Just so you know, Bobbyjean is Bill's latest bitch, and she gives him what he wants, unlike Bree. Last I heard, Bill shoved Bree out into the ticket booth starting tomorrow, and she was forced to move to the tent area," said the lady.

He had no idea why the woman said the word
tent
like it left a bitter taste on her pierced tongue. But, he was going to find out.

He walked away, but the lady grabbed his arm. He stared down at her hand touching him until she let go.

"I was young once, and on my own like Bree. I'd give you the money back if Bree proved she was eighteen years old, but I guarantee the little shit is still underage, and she's taking a job away from someone who needs it." The lady leaned closer. "Though she's going to grow up right quick after tonight. The ride carnies in tent town will age her overnight if you know what I'm saying. It's a shame, really, cause that girl still walks like a fucking virgin and I have no idea how she's held out this long. If she's smart, she'll hang out tonight amongst the carnival goers and stay far away from Bill and his cronies."

He left the woman standing by the trailer and jogged through the encampment to the field where he'd seen the tents the other day. The way Bree ran her mouth, teasing and tempting him, she'd find herself flat on her back with any other man she talked to like that.

At least twenty tents circled an open area. He walked the boundary, looking for any clue that Bree was inside one of them. Kicking the edge of each tent, he listened for her voice and ignored the empty ones.

When he returned to the spot he'd started, he looked around. "Where the hell are you, Bree?"

A kid, her age with a night off, could be anywhere. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes and found it empty. There were three more hours until the carnival closed. He'd run back to his bike, grab another pack of smokes, and scour every booth and square inch of the place until he found her.

The woman at the gate stamped his hand for re-entry. Parked an aisle away from the gate, he hurried between the cars and stopped at the front of his motorcycle. The pressure in his chest over losing Bree right after he found her eased.

Bree sat on the ground by his rear tire. Cross-legged and hugging a backpack to her middle, Bree had propped her chin on the bag and was fast asleep. He ran his hand over his face, caught in the mayhem of his thoughts at recognizing the girl sleeping and admiring the woman who sat beside his Harley.

He stepped closer and squatted, brushing a wild strand of her hair out of her face. Bree never stirred. Poor kid. She must be beat because she was fast asleep despite the noise and sitting outside with traffic going and coming all around her.

He tilted his head and exhaled, his decision made. He no longer had to wait for her to come around to accepting him. She came to him, and now he'd stop her from walking back through the gate. There was no way in fucking hell he would allow her to remain at the carnival.

Rubbing the back of his knuckles over her soft cheek, he cleared his throat. She let her head fall in the direction of his hand, pressing against his touch. He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb, following the curve of her jaw. She looked so young and innocent while sleeping.

"Hey, carny-girl," he whispered.

Her long eyelashes blinked to life and in a few short seconds, she recognized him in front of her, pushed her backpack off her lap, and threw her arms around his neck.

Aware of being in public where anyone could walk past and misinterpret the situation, he stayed hunkered down between the two cars and held her slim body, shielding her from anyone passing by.

"Take me with you, Battery," she whispered in his ear. "Take me to Montana. I want to stay with you and see the mountains."

He pulled her head out from the crook of his neck and cupped her cheeks. "Can you stay awake long enough I can get us away from here?"

She nodded.

He stood her up and grabbed her bag. After securing her pack with a bungee cord to the back of his Harley, he flipped down the passenger foot pegs. Keeping an eye out for anyone paying attention to him, he wound Bree's hair up on the back of her head and slipped his helmet on her, securing the chin strap. With her red hair out of sight, they'd bring less attention their way. As far as anyone would think, he could be a father taking his daughter home from visiting the carnival.

"When I start the bike, climb on behind me. Wrap your arms around my waist and hold on to my belt. Whatever you do, don't let go." He tilted her head. "We'll stop in about an hour and see how you're doing."

She nodded, catching her full bottom lip between her teeth.

He slowed down. The last thing he needed was Bree to panic and cause a scene. He'd have the cops on him within minutes. "I won't let anything happen to you, Bree. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered and stepped closer to the motorcycle.

He sat the bike, started the engine, and lifted his chin for her to get on. Once he had her situated and made sure her hands had a good grasp on his belt, he rode off through the field of vehicles and entered the main road going to the interstate.

The wind dried the sweat in his hair, and his passenger plastered herself against his back. He'd push the miles for an hour, and then he'd stop for the night. His girl would need her rest before they hit the road tomorrow morning. In two days, if Bree rode fine and they had no problems on the road, they'd arrive back at the clubhouse, and she'd be safe.

He'd take care of her.