Snare: Road Kill MC (A Novel) (4 page)

“Because”—I capture her eyes in the rearview mirror—“Mommy is late too much to pick you up from school, and Teacher said I have to take you somewhere else.”

There, I've said the awful thing, revealed the truth of my inadequacies.

Jaylin opens the door as I huddle in the front seat, crying jagged pieces of my heart out.

She comes in beside me and takes my hand.

“I love you, Mommy.”

My four-year-old gives me comfort. Comfort I don't deserve.

I grab onto her like a lifeline.

It's her father I miss. Snare would make this all go away. But I love him too much to wreck his life.

We sit like that for a long time.

Finally, when half of Jaylin's ballet class is over, we pull out.

I almost miss a man sitting on a shiny black bike. The beast of machinery is chromed to the hilt. He doesn't look like he's doing anything but hanging out in the preschool parking lot. That's the thing, though. He looks out of place.

My eyes sweep the bike, landing on him. His gaze follows my little car as Jaylin bounces up and down in the backseat. My tears are forgotten as she proceeds with tales of school that day.

If only I could get rid of my sadness that easily.

My eyes move back to the guy on the bike. The man is huge. His long golden-brown hair is tied at his nape. His hard, pale eyes are like chilled fog and never look away from our car.

He blows smoke rings in the air. One after another.

I shiver, hitting my turn signal and pulling out into traffic. A few seconds pass, and I flick my eyes at the rearview mirror.

He's gone.

The breath that I'm holding eases out. I've gotta get a handle on my emotions. Nerves are screwing with me. New job, Jaylin's school issues. I don't normally look at a stranger and get a vibe that shakes me to my core.

Sometimes there's an indefinable presence about someone. That man had it.

And somehow, it reminds me of Snare.

Snare

“Works at The Crawl in downtown.” Pictures flow out of Noose's hands like playing cards, flipping onto the banquet-sized tabletop of the place where we meet for church. Me and the brothers circle the table as photos of Sara flutter down on the solid, polished wood.

Hurts to look at her. Makes something deep inside squeeze into a tight shitty ball.

Noose has some shots of her working her body in the club. Fucking perfect tits, hot ass—fuck. I scowl. Noose is bright enough to make sure she's wearing clothes when the brothers see her in these shots. I'm disturbed by the pictures. Mainly because I pop a fucking boner from the get-go. And because Sara looks way too thin. I remember Sara having soft curves. This girl? I can count every rib.

And what bites my ass the most is the fact that my stepsister is a fucking stripper.

Whistles all around.

My eyes cut across the group. “Shut the fuck up.” I seethe. “This is my sister you're fucking fantasizing about.”

They shut up. Except Noose. “The one you fucked?” His voice is soft in the sudden silence.

Every man's eyes find mine. Heat climbs my neck. Feels like someone could light a match and I'd blow up like a bomb. I glare at Noose.

He grins back.

I hold up a palm. “Stepsister,” I correct.

Viper, our prez, wheezes out a breath. “Thank fuck because I'm for a lot of sick shit, but dipping your wick in your own flesh and blood is
not
okay.”

Storm speaks up. “Fuck it, I did my cousin.”

I sigh, rubbing a palm over my face. About three times. “Shut up, moron. I'm talking about a girl that moved in when I was a teenager...”

Storm laughs, nodding his head. “Perfect. Built-in pussy.”

I stand, and the chair I'm sitting in tips over. “Sara is not and was never built-in, motherfucking pussy.” My head begins to pulse in time with my heartbeat, my vision trembling at the edges.

“Okay,” Storm says, making a push-away gesture with his hands. “Be a sick fuck, I was just saying...”

“Don't”—Wring admires his flint stone as he casually sharpens his blade—“say,” he finishes slowly, pegging his eyes on Storm. 

“Yeah, okay,” Storm agrees, casting his eyes at his tapping fingertips on the table.

I love my brothers, but sometimes, a few of them are as worthless as balls on a priest.

“The Crawl is a class outfit. She's new.” Noose taps his finger on one of the shots of her leg wrapping a pole, and a small piece of me drifts into my throat, lodging like a painful thorn. “Billionaire owner has a slice of this flesh pie. Jared McKenna. Married one of the strippers that worked at another high-end gig a couple of years ago. Big scandal.” Noose chuckles. “Every stripper out there wants to work at one of his clubs. He has health care, decent wages, protection, the works.”

Why doesn't this make me feel better?
Oh yeah, don't give a fuck about health care. “I don't want Sara taking off her fucking clothes for guys.”

Silence suffocates the conversation.

“Sara Thomas hasn't seen you in five years, Snare. She doesn't want to be found,” Noose goes on quietly. “Goes by the name Kitty Reynolds, seems like she's doing okay. It's maybe not what you want for her, but she's making bank.”

I twist my head, looking at Noose like I could incinerate him with my gaze. “Yeah. Okay. Got it. So Rose suddenly says she wants to give up banking, use those fucking hot gigantic tits to bring in some heavy tips—”

Noose has me in a fisted stranglehold before I can get the next word out. “Rose doesn't get naked for anyone but me.” His pale eyes darken to pewter smoke.

I didn't think it could get more quiet.

“Boys,” Viper says, lightly rapping the wood table. “Stop the bullshittery, and let's get a course of action. Between having to come up against Chaos last year, and our regular needs, Snare's stepsister is not a huge priority. She is not—how would a fancy pants like you say it?—ah yes, in peril.” Viper flips up his hands.

Noose retreats and promptly lights a cig, blowing a few trademark rings together and pushing them toward the high, sloped ceiling.

“I thought Rose was trying to get ya to quit?” Lariat asks, his bright eyes taking in the smoke.

“She is.”

Everyone laughs. Noose, the immovable object.

Back to Sara.
“I know, I understand. We have other business.”

Viper raises his hand then lets it fall back on the table. “Good that ya do, because when you guys get a pussy fixation, all the regular club shit gets shuffled. And let me tell you, Chaos is not going away. Diablo got dealt his end, and that's fucking dandy. But there's more info about new shit. Shit they're starting again. And they're looking for some payback.”

Viper's eyes meet each man's.

I can't hold his stare. I'd been avoiding going after Sara for years. Finally, her welfare became more of a concern than my pride. She dumped me. Sara made it clear she didn't want me, but I—Snare, the man—have to know. Fuck that, I
need
to know if she's okay. Working at a titty bar, no matter how classy, is not okay. Not by any stretch. The Sara I knew was hesitant, innocent.

I glance at the photos. This girl is a siren. Sultry. My gaze caresses her face, her eyes holding more than they should.

I've done enough running from what happened. I'm done with school. I have my degree in business management. I do a lot of stuff Lariat doesn't do with the accounting end. Keeps shit legit. The brothers know better than to tease me about my creative writing minor. If it weren't for my journal, and what it’s full of, I would have slit my wrists a hundred years ago.

My journal is full of every love letter I've ever written to Sara. Every wound my father put on her, I take away with another page of my writing. I don't type my shit out. I write it. Longhand. I suffer over each word, sweating out my feelings silently, on paper.

How's
catharsis
for a fancy-pants word? That feel-good circle I write toward never seems to close, but I still want it to. I want
her.

“Mover wants to meet,” Viper announces.

Low groans sound around the table.

I don't comment that we haven't closed the conversation about Sara. Viper will get back to it.

I turn my attention to him as Noose stacks the pictures of Sara into a neat pile then slides them into a large manila folder.

Our eyes meet as he stabs out his smoke in a glass ashtray.

“No way, Viper,” Storm says. “Two presidents coming together in one place? No like it. No like.” Sometimes Storm can say shit that makes sense. I don't want Viper meeting with the president of Chaos Riders.

The space fills with mutterings that echo my thoughts.

“They want to reel us into their game. Girls, drugs—hell, we're already doing guns. We don't need their action.” Lariat shrugs. The voice of caution.

Noose shoots him a look. They glare at each other. They don't seem to have mended fences over what happened in Afghanistan.

“Problem is, if we don't meet with them, it's a silent answer. They'll think we grew uteruses.”

I snort and Noose laughs, breaking the tension.

Noose looks at his crotch. “Nope. No uterus here.”

Wring chuckles. “Not yet,” he says and winks.

Noose scowls, baring his teeth.

“Anyways, let's concentrate on the meeting. In a very public place and see what this Mover's got to say.”

“I don't like giving him an audience,” Lariat says quietly. “He might not have been informed about everything Diablo did, but he knew about Ned's flesh trafficking, and he did nothing. Same as consent.”

“Mover was a good man.”

Wring looks at Viper. “Past tense.”

Viper nods. “My guess is he felt like someone had to run that shit, it might as well be him.”

“Practical.” Lariat's eyes are flat.

“Very,” Viper says but not like he's happy, like he's tired.

“I love pussy,” Storm begins, and we groan. He ignores us, going on, “But I'm not in love with kidnapping, drugging, and raping chicks. I don't care if Mover thought he'd control things better. Look at the fuck-up with Ned?”

Assent all around. That bastard's role in the trafficking thing put the spotlight on the bank, our account. Good thing Ned had been playing both MCs for money, and since
his
interest was involved, he'd buried things. Too well.

Road Kill MC lost everything.

“We had great money. Ned ended that. Four hundred K—gone.” Viper's watery eyes, pale like diluted pool water, skate over all of us. “We won't do time—hell, the boys in blue don't even know of our involvement, so thank fuck for that. But”—Viper waves his finger in the air—“we have dick for capital, thanks to that putz. We need to meet with Chaos. We must show that we've got the balls, and we have to explore the possibility of doing business with them. They're in the same rough-and-tumble mess we are.”

He'd said it.

Noose pushes away from the wall. “Diablo was the cocksucker that killed Anna. He... fucked with Rose, touched her.” Noose's voice vibrates with contained emotion. All eyes are studiously on their hands. “I'm not gonna support taking long showers, getting up close and personal with these fucks. Vince,” Noose says, using Viper's real name, “ya can't be serious. Chaos?” He snorts. “No. Just—no.” And with that, he leans back against the wall, one knee bent while his foot is propped flat against it.

Noose cups his hand around a cig, and a flame glows like an orange eye then is gone. He fires a smoke ring out of his mouth like a vapor cannon.

Viper drums his fingers on the table. “Back to this in a minute.” His eyes study my face for a handful of seconds.

“I'll be straight with you, Snare.”

Like there's another way with the prez
. Viper folds his hands, leaning forward. “Like I told Noose, we took a chance on Rose a year ago. Being as how he figured she'd be his old lady, it worked out. They got hitched, got a kid, whole nine yards. But this shit with Chaos will take resources.” His shrewd eyes meet mine. “We need to get back on top of the heap here first. Your stepsister”—God love him, there's only a slight pause—“is of secondary consideration.”

I dip my head, breathing to calm myself. She's of utmost consideration. I got that now. No lying to myself. Sara's the only family I have. But I admit I don't feel very
brotherly
toward her.

Not. One. Bit.

I feel possessive, protective. All the old feelings that have been dormant come rushing back like they never left. Choking me.

Suffocating. 

I stare him down. I know I'm challenging. I know we're going to vote on this.

This is the life I wanted. I chose to be an outlaw. A one percenter. I didn't know that I would be handicapped without Sara. “I have to feel like my brothers will back me.”

Viper frowns. “You know we're here for you. Here for life. It's about manpower. There's fifteen brothers and a few prospects. You want Trainer to tail stepsissy? Fine.”

I stand.

So does Viper. “Don't blow your fucking stack, Snare. She's a girl you protected when you were young. Fuck, you weren't even a man yet.”

“His dick worked just fine,” Storm comments.

I punch him. Knocks his ass out of the chair. Storm lands on the floor in a pile of limbs. “Hey!”

“Stop!” Viper roars. He glares at us, finally sighing—weary. “I'm not saying she's not important. Sara was important.”

“She still is,” I say through my teeth.

“All I'm saying is she's got a life, son. She's made a new life without you in it. You going after her is going to reopen old scars.”

The one on my face itches with his words. “You think this is the worse thing we suffered together?” I bellow, slapping my forehead where the jagged proof of childhood abuse is etched on my face.

He doesn't flinch, doesn't take back the steps that put him in front of me. “No. Never said that, Snare. Only that leaving well enough alone is the better choice.”

“What if I can't, Viper? What if I have to know if Sara's okay?”

His exhale is rough. His hands go to his hips, and he looks down, not saying a word.  

“Then you gotta know on your own time. Noose is willing to help because the dumb fuck is suddenly Mr. Sympathy.”

Everyone laughs but me and Noose.

Viper's good humor at my expense fades. “But Trainer is all I can spare until this meeting happens with Chaos. I need you to be my sergeant at arms. No waffling about having a vagina, no wailing or gnashing of teeth.”

“I'm not a pussy,” I bite out.

Viper nods. “None of us are until we're worried about one.”

“Isn’t that the fuckinʼ God's honest truth.” This from Noose, practically a speech.

“Got something to add, Chief,” Noose says. The emptiness of his voice causes me to turn. “That peril shit you were talking about?”