When Karma Comes To Call (10 page)

“You were running from people when I met you.”

“Okay, but that’s not the norm.” I refuse to lean on him more than necessary.

“That mouth, babe.” He shakes his head. “I got just the thing to shut it.” He tugs on my hair forcing me out of the chair. I like the way he puts me in my place, though I’d never admit it. “Get on your knees. I have a better idea for that clever tongue.” I lower to my knees. My mouth waters, and I anticipate the salty, smoke-flavored taste of his flesh. “Unzip me.”

I lean forward, grab his zipper with my teeth, and work it down. His eyes darken with desire and his bulge increases, straining against his black boxer briefs.
You’re not the only one with the power, baby.
Keeping with the theme, I bite down on his boxers, and tug them down his hips and legs. His cock is at full mast, thick, and leaking pre-come. I swirl my tongue around the head, collecting the salty white droplets. He groans. I continue to tease him, tracing the veins beneath his shaft with the tip of my tongue, and circling the head and slit. “That’s a good girl. Take that dick in your pretty little mouth.” He thrusts forward and I open my throat, moaning. I like giving head. I get high off the control they hand over.

“Mmmhmm,” I agree, bobbing my head quicker and quicker. His eyes burn me.

“So good, babe.”

His gravelly tone has me slick and throbbing. Reaching between my legs, I rub my swollen clit and cry out around his cock. He jerks. A growl erupts form him and he fucks my face. I take it happily, struggling not to choke around him as I pump my fingers in and out of my pussy. I struggle to keep my eyes open to watch him as I’m wrapped in a sensual cocoon. He swells and I suction my mouth for all I’m worth. He goes off inside of me, flooding my mouth with a warm salty-sweet flavor I suck down.

“Karma.”

The sound of my name on his lips sends me over. The world explodes around me. Overwhelmed by sensation, my brain shuts down and I’m lost.

Chapter Seven

Arsen

I sit back, disgusted by the unnecessary decadence and the plastic quality of the people surrounding me. The green room is bigger than most people’s living space in an apartment. Black leather coaches, with silly as ruffled pillows, and a glass coffee table I know set them back a pretty penny dominate the center of the room. I opted to sit at the bar against the wall and watch the others who’re milling around. It’s some kind of bullshit meet and greet set up by the people putting Karma’s show on. She swears up and down its necessary, but I hate it. Seeing strangers cozy up to, touch, and flirt with her sets me on edge. Though, it’s amusing to watch her shut them down. It boggles my mind that people shell out money to meet her and treat her like she’s the Queen of England.

I smirk as a pimply-faced teen with shaggy blond hair, which he lets fall over his eyes, stares at her. Hands shoved in his pocket, he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet as he waits his turn in her small receiving line. She gives each one of them her undivided attention. Her hair drifts around her face as she nods at something the slender girl with violet-colored hair is saying. I watch her fans’ faces light up. I wonder if she knows the effect she has on these people. For a rock star, she’s humble. It’s not like falling off the wagon has ended some of the best careers. So I can only assume it’s her.

I cling to the sign that she’s different, hoping my mouth didn’t cash a check my ass can’t cover. I claimed her before I could think it out logically. Lydia did a real number on me, and the fall out afterward fucked my headspace. I can’t say I’d ever be ready to try it again, yet here I am. The purple-haired girl moves on, and the blond steps up. He leans in to hug her, and I hold my breath. One, two. He let’s go before three and I feel myself relax. She leans closer, places a hand on his shoulder, and talks to him softly. Her whole demeanor gentles and the wall I keep up to distance women falls a little more. She’s dangerous this one. Slips in when you’re not looking. They pose together selfie style for the kid’s phone. They all think I’m her body guard, and I’m good with that. I like to keep my shit private, and it gives me a legitimate reason to be around her without drawing too much attention to the club. I glance at my watch. Twenty more minutes of schmoozing and she goes out to perform. The venue is small and slightly seedy, but she’s treated it like it’s a packed arena. I dig her work ethic.
Shit, I dig her in general.
I shift in the seat and shove down the feeling of unease rolling in like fog.

If I let the past screw this for me, Lydia will win, and I’ll be damned if I let her control any part of my life. She’s a ghost haunting past her prime. If nothing else, Karma will cleanse my pallet. I wonder how she’ll see me once she knows what I’ve done. The blood that covers my hands is scarlet. The buckets shed for my club will never rinse off. There’s a reason not many women can handle this life. Even the girls that hang around the club are in it for a good time. They can cut and run whenever they’re ready as long as they keep their mouths shut. I know who her father is. There’s no way she didn’t grow up seeing whacked out shit. The question I need to ask is how she feels about it now. Some people grow up and avoid similar situations at all cost. I’m not an evasive man by nature, but the thought of losing her gives me pause. That in itself makes me uncomfortable. I know I shouldn’t compare her to Lydia, but I can’t help it. She was small and blonde, with bright blue eyes, and an easy smile. Hailing from Georgia, she had a southern drawl that used to make me melt. I thought she was the sweetest girl I’d ever met. We’d hooked up at the start of senior year. She’d gone through my prospect period. I’d been so certain she was my ride or die. You can have many loves in your lifetime, all in varying degrees of intensity, but a ride or die is a rare gem. I didn’t get that then. I was too young, stupid, and naïve. As the years passed, and I saw more blood and death, my faith in her remained unwavering. Perhaps that was why her disloyalty killed something inside of me.

~~

Past

The woman who strides toward the stand is a stranger. Her carefully styled blonde locks are a contrast to the usual wild curls she rocks. Running my fingers through the silky mass is a nightly habit I’ve missed. Her make-up has her looking like a Stepford wife, and the tailored black suit lends to the image. Her heels click over the floor and I can’t help but think the stems are digging right into my heart. I don’t recognize her. Maybe I never knew her. The woman who lived in well-worn tight jeans, rock T-shirts, high heels, and red lips is nowhere to be seen. She climbs up to the wooden bar, sits and peers at me. Her blue eyes are devoid of emotions. She’s sold her soul to the devil, and I’m the one who’s going to pay for it. She places her hand on the Bible, and the desperate hope I’ve held about her as the informant being wrong imploded.

“Do you, Lydia Sarton, swear the truth, the whole truth, and nothing by the truth so help you God?” the judge asks. A man in his sixties with mostly white hair, and a stern face, Judge John Allen was a real hard ass. The club lawyer told me he was a conservative who had no sympathy or understanding for bikers. He was going to throw the book at me. I’d prepared myself for that. But watching her sell me down the river was worse than the promise of jail time. She repeats the oath and I watch as shit goes downhill at an alarming rate. The only thing I could commend her for was keeping the club out of it. Everything was pinned on me.

My love turned to hate that day. I was sentenced and marched out in my orange jumpsuit the same day. Only my lack of a record and a few character witnesses claiming, I’m an upstanding citizen interviews from business owners we partnered with kept me from receiving a longer sentence. Five years for a first offense was still over the top. Law enforcement had a tendency to go on a witch hunt when a club was involved. They liked to demonize us without taking a look at all the good things we do for the community. We keep the hard shit out of our territory, and raise thousands for families in need and cancer patients who can’t afford the cost of treatment. We’re more than the heartless fucks they like to make us out to be because we don’t fit into society’s ideal of upstanding. I walked out of the courtroom a different man. The cell bars closed behind me, and Slayer was born.

~~

Present

I blink and return from the start of my hell burned into mind. Karma is tall and curvy. Her hair is thick, black, and her countenance is strong. Her eyes are brown and full of determination and honesty. She’s been straight with us from the beginning.
Doesn’t mean she won’t crack under pressure.
Lydia had been born with a silver spoon. While her parents weren’t loaded, she never wanted for anything. She’d never been tested. People like Karma were forged in fire.
There’s a huge difference.
I don’t do uncertainty, but my picker was proven to be bad a long ass time ago. It’s putting me in a situation that pisses me off. Karma glances over at me and flashes a quick smile. For peace of mind and her life, if she’s stringing me along I need to have another conversation with her, after I put her through a couple of tests. The signing wraps and I follow her onto the stage. I remain off stage watching her. She’s a siren on stage, with her sultry, growling voice, and the look of ecstasy on her face. She sings like she fucks—hard, loud, and thorough. I can tell she’s giving it everything she’s got, and means each word she sings into the mic.

I pull my phone out and shoot a text to Lefty. He’s all about testing the new people on the scene. He’ll send a prospect to me with what I need. We don’t deal in drugs, but for the right fee, we do transport. My phone buzzes.
Prospect will be there in twenty, brother. The gift will be taped under the bumper
. Satisfied, I resume my place against the wall and wait. She returns to me sweaty, blissed out, and slightly silly.

“This is like sex for you, isn’t it?” I ask.

She chuckles. “I never thought of it that way. In a way, yes.”

“Just remember who fills that pussy of yours the way you like,” I say as we walk back down the hallways while the roadies get to work breaking down the equipment.

She moans and bites her bottom lip. I want to push her up against the wall and take her, but I have more important things on my mind. I stop at the dressing room they’ve given her.

“Go in and get cleaned up. I’ll bring the car around, and come get you. Don’t leave this room without me.”

She nods her head and I scowl, and grab her hair, pulling lightly. “You hear me?”

“I heard you, Arsen. You’re so freaking bossy.”

“Babe, you haven’t seen a damn thing yet.” I release her and slap her ass. “Now go.”

She rolls her eyes, but disappears into the room. I hear the click of the lock behind me.
Good girl.
Ten minutes later, I have a baggie of coke in my pocket, and a heavy heart. I’m risking opening a Pandora’s box in more ways than one, but I need to know. Avoidance is for pussies. I knock on the door.

“Yes?”

“It’s me.”

The door opens and I smirk. “So you have been listening to me.”

“I’m not stupid, I just like to keep you on your toes. If I rolled over and showed you my belly, you wouldn’t like me as much as you do.” She winked.

“That mouth,” I mutter, shaking my head. Things with her are never boring. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and guide her outside. She’s poured herself into a pair of jeans with knee-high black boots and a black tank top that showed off her rack.
Keep your mind on what you’re doing.
I open the door and she slips into the passenger seat. After closing the door behind her I take a second to enjoy the peace that exists between us.
Time to get my shit in gear.
I move to the driver’s side, and the white powder burns a hole in my pocket as I start the car, and pull out of the parking structure. I drive down the street taking the route I’d mapped out with Lefty. We have some pull and people on payroll. The blueberries and raspberries flash in my rearview.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Cops are always looking to give us a hard time, babe. This time, they’ve got probable cause. I was doing a drop off for someone.”

“What did you do, Arsen?” 

I pull over, dig into my pocket, and toss her the bag. “Hide this.”

“I … what?”

Her voice shakes.
Don’t fuck up, Karma.

“Arsen, I can’t have this,” she hisses.

“It’s that or me spend jail time. Guaranteed they’re hauling my ex-con ass in for shits and giggles.”

“Fuck.” She shoves the bag into her bra, smoothing out her tank top as the cop approaches.
Part one of the test, passed.

I roll down my window and look at the officer in Aviator shades.

“There a problem, officer?” I ask.

“Sure is. You have a busted taillight, Mr …”

“Smarts,” I supply. Rusty Barton is on our side, but she doesn’t know that. We scratch each other’s back. He gives us heads up, and we let him drag us into the station from time to time, so he looks like he’s doing his job. The money we send to his account keeps him quiet.

“License and registration?” he asks.

“This is my girl’s car, but I have a license,” I say coolly.

She passes me the registration from the glove compartment and I hand over my card. He looks them both over and steps back.

“Why don’t you step outside of the vehicle nice and slow?” he asks.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and do as he asks.

“You have marijuana in the car?” He sniffs dramatically.

“No, sir.”

“Funny, ’cause I smell it.”

Karma remains calm and quiet.
Good girl, you’re passing with flying colors.

“You know the legal limit for marijuana in New Mexico?”

“Zero percent?” I ask sarcastically.

“I need you to turn around for me. I’m going to handcuff you. There’s two of you, one of me, and I get the feeling you’ve done some time. Most of your kind have.” He sneers.

“You know what they say about a book and a cover.”

“Spare me,” he says, shoving me up against the back of the cop car.

His hands are rough as he pats me down, and I drift into the headspace that kept me thriving in the pen.

He walks over to the passenger side and begins to talk to Karma, asking her if she’s okay and if she needs help. She answers like a pro—polite, sweet, and charming.

“Ma’am, I need you to step out of the car, please. It’s routine that I search you as well.”

She complies without hesitation and allows him to spread her over the back of the car. Anger rises I me. I don’t like seeing any man’s hands on her.

“It looks like you’re both clean. Stay here while I run your names.”

“You doing okay, babe?” I whisper.

She nods. Her silence raises an alarm.
Is she going to crack?
I hate the handcuffs. It brings back a time when they were a way of life. For a man like me, who has to be in control, being told what to do and how to do it every second of the day was the worst kind of torture. But I endured it to show that bitch, Lyd, she hadn’t broken me, and for my club. That was when they earned my complete dedication. While I was gone, Ardy didn’t want for a damn thing. I learned a tough lesson about loyalty and trust with Lydia. As Rusty runs my info, I let my pride swell. My instincts were spot on with Karma.
Or she plays a good game.
I shift my weight, wondering how far Rusty plans on taking things. I don’t want to go to the station. I avoid them at all costs.