When Karma Comes To Call

When Karma Comes Calling

Blurb

Rock singer Karma Good is looking to make a comeback after a battle with cocaine addiction and a long stint in rehab. Rebuilding her once prosperous career proves to be harder than she anticipated when a late night recording session turns bloody. After witnessing the murder of her crew, she narrowly escapes with her life and runs to the first person she can find for help.

After months working on a situation for a club up north, nomad Arsen Smarts is ready for a good time. He’s on his way to the clubhouse to party when trouble throws itself into his path. The steely determination in the girl’s brown eyes earns his respect. Moved, he decides to help her. But he’ll have to win the club’s approval first.

Add the sexy blonde, Chase, to the mix and who knows what will happen

Playlist

Leave My Body: Florence and the Machine

Let It Go: The Neighbourhood

Afraid: The Neighbourhood

Sail: Awolnation

Tainted Love: Marilyn Manson

Outside: Staind

Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums [Explicit]: A Perfect Circle

Dark Side: Kelly Clarkson  

Glossary

Cut—vest worn by Motorcycle Club members

MC—Motorcycle Club

Old Lady—Like a wife/ long term girlfriend

Sweetheart/Sweetie—Girlfriend or someone a biker is dating

Sweetbutt—Name of a girl who hangs around the club and is always available for sex. Can be the “Property of” one of the members.

House Mouse—Depending on their temperament they can be given as gifts to an old lady. They are used to clean up and do chores.

Slang: Black Wings -
Sex with a black female

Positions

President—Leader of the Chapter

Vice President—Second in charge. Fills in when President isn’t around.

Sergeant at Arms—Basically the club’s policeman. He enforces club policy and procedures in meetings.

Enforcers—There to help the Sergeant at Arms do his job. They often stand guard at meetings.

Secretary—Responsible for the club’s paperwork, including club records.

Treasurer—The chapter’s money man. He collects club fees, pays bills, etc.

The Wise One—He often looks after the club’s spiritual needs. He’s often referred to as the “Chaplin”.

Road Captain—He’s usually in charge of the logistics of the club. IE: Planning routes, fuel stops, etc.

Asst. Road Captain—Assists the Road Captain.

Patch Members (Riders)—members who’ve earned the right to wear the club’s color after paying their dues as a Prospect. They’re also known as Patches or members.

Nomad—A club member who doesn’t belong to any particular chapter.

Prospect—Man in training to become a member of a Motorcycle club after a probationary period

Chapter One

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Arsen

The full moon hangs high in the sky. Fat, round, and yellow, it illuminates the inky blue-black sky, breaking up the thick darkness as it peeks through the clouds. Out here, away from the crowded cities, stars come to life. More than tiny points of light far away from Earth, they become vibrant balls of blazing light. I glance up and bask in the beauty of nature. When I was a kid I swore I could touch them because they seemed to hang so low.
This is what I needed. Time on my bike in the middle of nowhere I call home. The best place to think and get your head on straight.
There’s nothing like the evening sky in New Mexico where the land is flat, the buildings are widely spaced, and the lights are sparse. Some people say Texas is God’s country, I’d argue that we’d give them a run for their money.

The cool night air is the perfect balance between refreshing and freezing my ass off. I let the wind cleanse me and the night baptize me with its shroud of concealment. Some people don’t like the darkness. But I prefer it. The light exposes everything and invites opinions and judgment. I sneer. Society is superficial and easily fooled. If the packaging is pretty enough, they’ll believe and forgive just about anything. I learned early on, the worst monsters hide behind a perfect façade. The past creeps back up unbidden and I rev my engine, pushing the bike as if I could outride the shit burned into my brain.

The sound of screaming and the thwap of flesh on flesh plays in my head. They’re imprints I can’t erase completely. They haunt me like ghosts, appearing in the quiet moments.
Bastard. I hope he’s rotting in hell where he belongs.
Things are heavy enough without adding my bullshit childhood into the mix.

The war in Oregon was a bloody affair. Shit went on too long, and the Skull Crushers got sloppy. They were green motherfuckers trying to drop in and take over a piece of territory they weren’t man enough to hold. It wasn’t a shock; we’ve dealt with this shit before. Their longevity had been the thing we didn’t see coming. They had a long line of dumb shits ready to die for them. Numbers talk and do damage. I flinch as I think of my fallen brothers. Our numbers up in Oregon had been on the thin side, and the last thing we’d expected was an all-out attack. Had to ship boys up from every charter to lock the place down.

After almost a year of skirmishes, I can still feel the hot, sticky liquid on my fingers and smell the unmistakable scent of copper. They came on the scene with visions of grandeur and tried to strong-arm us into a patch over where we’d combine clubs. Of course, we weren’t having that bullshit. They had good numbers, but no experience or leadership. The result was an all-out turf war with more casualties than I’ve seen in a long time. The pavements ran red with blood on both sides. The police rode our ass. When we weren’t defending ourselves, we were dodging the pigs, or being brought in for bullshit, harassed, and beaten. The situation stretched us to the breaking point. All of that drama, I could handle all that. It’s par for the course in this life. It’s the sightless baby blue eyes turned opaque in death that has me twisted into knots. Fuck. A weight presses down on my shoulders. I can never unsee her gray matter littered on the concrete or her blonde hair stained scarlet.

I put a bullet between the eyes of the sons of bitches dumb enough to put their hands on her. It should’ve helped, even if it didn’t bring the kid back.
Caitlin’s eyes are going to haunt me all the way to hell
. I focus on the white lines on the road. A few more miles and I’ll be off the road and drowning in pussy and alcohol.
If I keep myself busy enough, I’ll be able to escape the shit eating me from the inside out. At least for tonight. Letting my family down is unacceptable. They trust me with keeping people safe. If I start slipping, it’s all downhill
. I shove the thoughts aside. I can’t afford to lose my edge. I’m a nomad. I come in and take care of problems. I’m good at it. There will always be people who slip through the cracks. Logically, I get it, yet it doesn’t stop my failure from putting a lump in my gut.

I push the bike up to top speeds and the memories are quieted. The best way to clear your head is to eat up the road. The bike growls beneath me, the only lady I’ve come to depend on. I focus my thoughts on the good things about Newson as I get closer. I’ll be close to my sister, and my original charter. I like getting back here to my roots. There’s a special bond between you and the brothers you prospect and patch in with. Soon the only thing on my mind is getting to the Dueling Devils clubhouse and finding some relief.

The dwellings pop up closer together and the light begins to leak in, blocking out the clear view of the sky. The weight returns to rest on my shoulders. I need to put this shit to bed for the night and get over it fast. She wasn’t the first person I lost, and she won’t be the last. Caitlin was the only one who had an uncanny resemblance to my sister. That made everything personal. It allowed the death to get under my skin in a way I hadn’t experienced since I started this gig as a nomad. Next to my bike and my club, Arden is the only thing I care about. If anyone ever lays a hand on her, I’ll burn everything they care about down around them and then put them in the ground. She’s the other reason I decided to come down to my hometown. I want to put my eyes on her and make sure she’s doing well.

The knots in my back have me shifting my weight. I’m stiff, and achy from long hours on the road. Once again, I’m reminded I’m not as young as I used to be. I’m starting to see gray hair mixed in with my dark brown. Of course, pushing to make the three-day trek in a day and a half would punish the youngest body. I can’t shake the feeling I’m needed here. My gut’s kept me alive a million times, so I don’t ignore it. I stop at the red light, crack my neck, and roll my shoulders.
Ten more minutes and I’ll be slaking my thirst with beer, and neck deep in easy pussy.

A shadow catches my peripheral vision. I turn my head and reach under my jacket. My hand grazes the pistol grip of my .45 in my shoulder holster. A woman stumbles toward me. Her eyes are large, with dilated pupils.
Is she on something?
Damn shame, she’s too hot to be tweaking.
Tiny red dots cover her skintight white shirt.
Blood.
Black ringlets tumble around her heart-shaped face. Her full, red lips are trembling, and there’s something familiar about her. I narrow my eyes. There’s something about her face that tugs at my brain.

“I know you?” I ask.

She grips the handlebars. Her body shakes, but her eyes, those dark orbs are that of a warrior. There’s a fierce will to survive I can’t deny. I respect anyone that hell bent on survival. “Please, help me,” she croaks.

“Help you with what? You high?” I inquire, narrowing my gaze. She looks more scared than high. I’ve been around enough users to know the signs.
Is she crazy?

She shakes her head, sending her large spirals flying. “No, they’re trying to kill me. We have to leave now.”

I snicker. This situation sounds like a bad movie.
You’ll have to try harder to con me, honey.
“I think you need to go sleep it off somewhere, girl.” The familiar zip catches my ear. I scan the area. I’m not the type to stop and play Good Samaritan, but they’re shooting at me now, and that makes it my business.

“Get on,” I say.

She scrambles on behind me and I gun it. Whoever is after her is semi-professional. The shots are silent. There are no pops afterward, which means they’re using some sort of silencer. That’s bad news. I turn off into an alleyway and continue to weave my way down back roads and slender openings no car could hope to fit through. The last place I want to lead them is back to the clubhouse. After an hour, I feel relatively safe. The woman behind me is clinging to me like a barnacle on a ship. I thought she was a kid, but the press of her breasts against my bike, and the grip of her shapely thighs against mine made me change my mind. I pull over in an alley, hiding the bike behind a rusted green dumpster.

“You want to tell me what that was about, girl?” I ask, turning to look over my shoulder.

“I don’t know. I came in to do a recording session. We’d been at it for an hour. I went to the bathroom, came back and saw men in suits, s-shooting my crew. It’s their blood all over me.” She tugs at her shirt, fidgeting. Her pupils are dilated, and I know she’s bordering on going into shock.

“Hold that shit together, girl. Now ain’t the time for a freak out,” I bark.

“Y-you’re right.” She nods her head in agreement and takes a deep breath.

Good girl.
“Why would someone want to hurt you?” 

“I don’t know. I mean, I’d say money, but if I’m dead how the hell are they going to get their hands on it?” she asks, turning those brown eyes onto me. I notice flakes of lighter brown mixed in, and I know I’m on dangerous grounds. Once my objectivity is compromised I’ll have to watch my step. It’s not like me to get so into a damsel in distress thing, but fresh on the heels of Caitlin I’m ripe for the picking.
Shit.

“You going to tell me why you look familiar?”

“Karma.”

“Bitch, you getting smart with me right now?” I sit up straight.

“No. I’m Karma. Karma Good? Rock singer. Caused a scandal about a year ago when I got caught with coke on my tour bus and then spiraled.”

“Yeah, that means shit to me. I’m sure the bitches like you though. Probably saw your face because of them.”

“Bitches?” Her brow wrinkles.

I chuckle. “You judging me? You want me to talk fancy for you? I got myself a diva?”

“No, just trying to understand,” she says quietly.

“Don’t. Just do what I tell you to and keep your mouth shut. My boys aren’t going to take shit from you, no matter how much money you have.”

“I’m not a diva,” she growls.

“No? Prove it, and keep that spark. You’re going to need it where we’re going. Whether I like it or not, you got me involved. I don’t like being shot at, and I can’t risk putting my family in danger. We’re going to get to the clubhouse, and you’re going to tell me everything you know.” I already made the decision in my mind to protect her.

“I don’t know anything—

“Think long and hard before you say that again.”
Demon isn’t a man who likes loose ends, or outsiders. Fuck. I’m bringing trouble to their door
. “You know what this means?” I ask, tapping the one percent diamond on my vest.

“You do things on the other side of the law,” she whispers.

I see a healthy dose of wariness in her eyes. She’s not entirely ignorant to my lifestyle.

“And this?” I tap my unholy one patch.

She looks up at me. Her lower lip trembles, but she balls her fists and meets my gaze regardless. “Are you going to kill me?” she asks.

“Now why would I keep your ass intact just to blow you away? I could’ve let them have you.” I shake my head.
This little girl has some cajones. Maybe that’s why I like her.

Her shoulders relax, but the caution remains.

“Then why are you trying to scare me?” She tilts her head slightly to the side.

“I’m trying to educate you. Not everyone has my patience. Most people with an old lady who are settled don’t do the Friday night parties so you need to stay by me and keep your head down. You get me?”

She nods.