Harm's Way: Riot MC Biloxi Read online

  HAR LIVED IN A BEAUTIFUL brick home with a well-maintained front yard and two-car garage. As the garage door went up, he signaled for me to follow behind him as he parked his bike. I stopped just outside the garage and he looked back to me with annoyed eyes. I walked my bike into the garage, not feeling right about it, at all.

  We cut our engines, and Har said, “I don’t put my bike in the driveway. Neither will you.”

  I nodded, but wondered how I would get into the garage with my crazy hours.

  As though he read my mind, he said, “Got a small clicker which doubles as a key chain. You’ll carry that to get in and out.”

  Brute finished backing his truck up the drive and he angled out.

  “Which room you puttin’ her in?”

  “The back room. It’s the biggest, other than my room, and it faces west so she’ll have as much darkness during the day as possible.”

  “Right. Well, grab some of your shit, princess. This truck won’t unload itself.”

  An hour later, I stood inside the garage watching Brute drive away. I needed to get my stuff out of my saddlebags, but Har’s voice startled me.

  “Can’t believe all your shit fit in his truck.”

  I looked up at him. “Not like my ‘slum’ afforded me tons of space.”

  He gave a half shrug, wandered to the wall, and hit the button to lower the garage door. I dug out my things and followed him inside.

  He threw an arm out toward a doorway. “That’s my room. Don’t worry about how late you come in. It won’t bother me, and every so often I sleep at the clubhouse.”

  “All right. Still, I’ll do my best to be quiet.”

  He was walking in front of me, but the tilt of his head told me he acknowledged my words.

  I moved past him when we hit the spacious living room and he sauntered into the kitchen. As kitchens went, this one was a showstopper. It was decorated in slate gray with four bright red bell-pendant lights over a huge island. A portion of the island had a cut-out which housed two chrome stools covered in Harley-Davidson-orange patent leather. I didn’t dare tell him the stools clashed with the red; besides, him being a biker, I knew he couldn’t care less. The stainless-steel refrigerator appeared to be top of the line and the stove looked new, too.

  His voice pulled me from my gawking. “Don’t want to hold you up, Steph, but you’re welcome to whatever food is here. Though, it isn’t much since I haven’t done a grocery run in a while. But, you cook it, you clean it. Not sure what kind of roommate you are, but I’m not doin’ your dirty dishes and I won’t make you deal with mine.”

  I nodded. “Got it, Har.”

  “You can call me Michael.”

  My chin dipped and a pang hit my chest. I didn’t know why he would say that.

  “When you’re here, I mean.”

  That lightened the pain, though it didn’t tell me why he wanted it like that.

  I nodded. “All right, Michael. I’ll keep that in mind, but like you said, we probably won’t run into each other much. Will we?”

  For once, his face gave something away when his brow jumped. “No. I suppose not. I’ll leave you to it.”

  I set my box on top of the nightstand and sat on my futon. Why Har had three totally empty bedrooms, I didn’t know. I remembered he had siblings, so it seemed he never invited them over to spend the night. The house had to be over twenty-five hundred square feet. Why would he buy so much house?

  I shook my head to stop dwelling on why Har did anything.

  My cell phone rang, the display showing Susan’s picture.

  I smiled. “Hey! How’s it going?”

  “You’re awful chipper for a Sunday.”

  “What can I say? Days off do that to me.”

  “Did you get my message?”

  “I did. Sorry I didn’t call you back. Brute got my address from Turk.”

  “What?” she cried in my ear.

  I chuckled. “Yeah. He’s getting a piece of my mind later. That’s for sure.”

  “I should say so. Talk about overstepping.”

  I shrugged. “Well, it kind of all worked out. Brute insisted I stay at the clubhouse.”

  “The Riot clubhouse? Why?”

  “Said my place was a hovel. Then this morning, the ceiling collapsed.”

  “The ceiling collapsed? Are you okay? I mean, you told me you’re in an efficiency so it didn’t fall on you, did it?”

  “I’m okay, and no, it didn’t fall on me. Har was there.”

  “Har?”

  “Yeah, you remember Sammy’s friend, Michael?”

  “Oh, right. Why was he there?”

  “You know, I never found out. He showed up and bam! Chunks of ceiling everywhere. I left a message with the landlord before we cleared my stuff out. Guess I’ll hear from him tomorrow. He better give me back my deposit.”

  She groaned. “You better try calling again and again. Otherwise, he might come after you for damage to the carpet or whatever. Is it going to rain there again?”

  My brows furrowed. “I don’t think it rained last night!”

  “You need to keep calling, Steph.”

  My hackles were rising, but I kept my tone light. “All right, sissy. No need to get bossy with me.”

  She chuckled. “Okay. So, where are you staying?”

  “At Har’s. Or I guess I’m supposed to call him Michael. Or at least when I’m here, he says. Weird.”

  “Hm,” she muttered. “That is kinda weird, but if he doesn’t let anyone from the club into his house maybe that’s why?”

  I shook my head. “I guess. It doesn’t matter. Our schedules are different from one another, so I won’t see him often.”

  “If you say so,” she said in a tone that might have been mocking, but I ignored that, too.

  “Anyway, I got sheets to wash, so have a nice lazy Sunday. And don’t let those people at the gym work you too hard, got it?”

  “Whatever, woman. I gotta keep my job security.”

  I put the phone on the nightstand and gathered up my sheets. I carried them toward the door to the garage. Har had pointed out where his room was, but I’d noticed a couple other doors in the hall. The first louvered door I opened hid a washing machine.

  “Excellent,” I muttered.

  Bonus, I didn’t have to spend my quarters to do my laundry.

  Har

  FROM HIS ROOM, HE HEARD her loading the washing machine. For the tenth time that day, he wondered what he was thinking.

  He didn’t need her here. She would be distracting, but he had learned to control himself a long time ago. This would be no different. Control his urges and ignore her.

  Church hadn’t gone the way he’d planned. Hell, nothing in the last seventy-two hours had gone the way he’d planned. Seemed the undercover vibe Wreck had picked up was courtesy of him sampling the club’s product. To his bones, Har knew it was time get out of the drug trade. They weren’t going to peddle hardcore drugs, and with more states allowing for recreational as well as medical marijuana, the writing was on the wall. Not that his brothers would hear of it. They wanted to stick with the pot, for its known income. Yet, none of them had answers for distribution issues and when he mentioned getting out of it altogether, everyone complained rather than offer possible solutions or replacement ventures.

  The squeak of the louvered door as it slid shut told him Stephanie was done in the laundry area. He got off his bed and peeked his head out the door. She was nowhere in sight. Good.

  On his cell, he pulled up Volt’s contact info and called the president of the Jacksonville chapter.

  “Yo.” Volt answered on the first ring.

  “Yo, man. Got a minute?”

  He heard the distant sound of a little girl’s voice before Volt said, “Yeah. Gimme a sec.”

  After a moment, he heard a door closing. “What’s up, Har?”

  “How’d you convince your brothers to get out of the drug trade?”

  He chuckled. “Persiste
nce.”

  “Fuck,” he hissed.

  “Yeah. Though you should have plenty of ground to stand on, man.”

  “You’re right, but they like what they know.”

  “Well, I had plenty of allies when I pushed for the change. Cal was down with no more drug trade, as was Roll and others. It’s like any other change, brother. Figure out who’s with you and win the others over.”

  “Know all that, but I can’t even get these guys to consider alternative ways to generate income.”

  “Laziness.”

  “Exactly. Fighting that almost makes me want to give up the President position.”

  Volt was quiet for a while. “Seriously?”

  “Yes. No, not really.”

  He chuckled. “Keep at it, man. You want us to ride out there? It’s been a while.”

  Har grinned. “You feel like an eight-hour ride, have at it, man. We’d never turn you away. Later.”

  His stomach growled, and he saw it was closing in on six o’clock. He went to the kitchen but stopped short at the sight of Stephie’s round ass in the air. She had her head craned almost inside a cabinet under the island.

  “What the fuck are you doin’?” he asked.

  She yelped, banged her head, making her mutter a curse, and then she fell onto her ass holding her head.

  She glowered over her shoulder. “Jesus! You scared the fuck out of me, man!”

  He swallowed his chuckle. “Sorry, but what were you doing?”

  She opened her mouth and her eyes got big, but then she closed her mouth, not saying anything. He wanted to laugh at that too, but didn’t.

  “You can tell me, Combes.”

  “I just don’t get it. You have this beautiful, ginormous island, and only two cabinets. I mean, I get that the other side has the cut out so you can pull up a stool, but why so much wasted cabinet space?”

  He offered her his hand. “Get up, babe.”

  She arched a brow, but put her hand in his. Her soft hand sent a strange feeling up his arm. When she stood in front of him, he let go of her hand to knock on the counter with his knuckle. “That’s not veneer, Steph. It’s a solid slab of marble. And it’s fucking heavy, so I’m lucky I got the two cabinets beneath it.”

  Her head cocked as her eyes narrowed. “But why do you have a marble countertop?”

  He grinned. “The original owners put it in. She was an aspiring caterer or some shit. They had to move due to the husband’s job. I bought the house because the price was right and that back yard has enough room for me to put in a pool, if I’m so inclined.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Are you so inclined?”

  His brows pulled together. “Come again?”

  “To put in a pool?”

  He chuckled. “Not yet. That shit’s expensive even before you get the first jacked up electric bill from the pool pump.”

  She nodded. “True that.”

  “So, what were you looking for in the cabinet? Or are you just as nosy as you were as a kid?”

  Her lips pursed. “I forget how much you might remember about me. No, I wasn’t being nosy. I was hunting for a baking dish. In the freezer, I found —”

  He lifted a hand in the air. “Stop. I’m ordering pizza. You got a preference?”

  She whirled to the fridge, opened the door, then turned back to him as she let the door close. “You have no beer. It’s not right to have pizza without beer.”

  His brow arched reflexively. “Not everyone believes that, Combes.”

  “Sure they do!”

  “Snoopy.”

  “What?”

  “Charles Schultz? You know, Snoopy. When he’s fighting the Red Baron, he’s having pizza in France.”

  She pointed a finger at his chest. “Exactly! And he’s drinking root beer. See, even Snoopy knows the drill.”

  He shook his head. “All right, well, my intention is to go get the pizza so, I can pick up beer along the way.”

  “On your bike?” she demanded.

  Now he was opening his mouth and closing it, debating what to say.

  “That beat-up pick-up truck in the street belongs to me, hon.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t—”

  “Yeah. And it isn’t my business, but I gotta tell you. Not sure why you’re on a bike, but you need to look into a cage for when the weather’s bad around here. Sucks riding in the rain. Winter’s comin’ and the only thing that sucks more than riding in the rain is riding when it’s cold and rainy.”

  She grinned. “Yeah, I’m aware, Har. Had my girl for three years now, and never relied on a cage to get me through rainy days. But, I appreciate the advice and I’ll keep it in mind.”

  He closed his eyes trying to obliterate her words from his mind. When he opened his eyes, his mouth ran away from him. “Your ‘girl?’ You think of your bike as a girl, even though you’re a woman?”

  Her grin turned placating and her head tilted. “Women get shit done. She gets me from point A to point B and back. Damn straight she’s a girl.”

  “Who painted her?”

  “Sorry?”

  He lowered his head a touch. “You heard me. Who painted her? No way you bought that bike with a custom job like that. So, who painted her?”

  Her grin became a Mona Lisa smile. “A place back in Jacksonville, but I drew the design for them.”

  That surprised him.

  “You did?”

  She nodded.

  “Didn’t know you drew.”

  “Now you do.”

  He took a deep breath. “So, what do you want on your pizza? I normally order a meat pizza, but I’m feeling more like supreme or something with mushrooms and olives.”

  “Mushrooms, olives and ground beef sounds good,” she said as her eyes slid to the side for a moment. “But the beer is important.”

  He laughed. “Think I got that, Miss Priss.”

  Chapter 6

  Thank You Suzy Junior

  Stephanie

  MISS PRISS? If he thought I was prissy, he needed to think again.

  As soon as he left to get the pizza, I put together a bag of ice for my head. I didn’t let him see, since I already felt foolish, but I conked myself a good one when he scared me. Never occurred to me that the counter of the island was so heavy it demanded extra support.

  Holding the bag to my head, I took my sheets out of the washer and put them in the dryer. As I was loading my uniforms into the washer, I heard the front door open. Great. The only thing I had at my disposal as a weapon was a laundry basket, a bag of ice, or detergent.

  “Steph!” Har yelled.

  I exhaled my relief. “I’m doing more laundry,” I called back.

  Once I had the washer going, I grabbed my ice bag and went to the kitchen.

  As he pulled two bottles of Coors from a case, his eyes narrowed on my hand. “What’s with the ice?”

  I smiled. “Nothing. I’m done with it.”

  “You needed ice for your head?”

  “It’s no big deal, Har.”

  “Michael. And it is a big deal. You should’ve told me about it. Not let me drive off for pizza. For fuck’s sake, you could have a concussion.”

  I shook my head. “It wasn’t that bad, and hate to break it to you, but I have a far thicker skull than you realize.”

  He rolled his eyes at me, but then his hand cupped the crown of my head and slowly moved down my scalp. My body froze and I felt my nipples tighten.

  Crap. I shouldn’t react this way to him stroking my head. I had to get a hold of myself.

  “You’ve got a goose egg. You sure you’re okay?”

  The air felt thicker between us, but surely my imagination was in overdrive.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s eat. Where are the plates?”

  His hand at my head reached out to nab a beer and he handed it to me. “Sit over there. I’ll plate up the food.”

  I didn’t expect him to eat with me, but after he slid my plate to me, he sidled around the island to s
it next to me.

  We ate in silence for a while.

  He put his bottle down with a loud thunk. “Why are you living out here?”

  I swallowed my pizza. “Better tips out here, than in Jacksonville.”

  “Okay. Let me be more specific. Why were you living in that dilapidated building? Surely, you could afford something better than that.”

  I sighed and stared at his shiny stainless-steel refrigerator. It wasn’t easy to ’fess up to what pushed me out here.

  “As it so happens, I couldn’t afford anything better than that. The last man – and I use the term loosely – I was with cleaned me out. I should have protected myself better, but stupid is as stupid does. At least that was what Mom had said.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” he whispered.

  “It was close to two years ago. Mom passed away little over a year ago.”

  He downed the rest of his beer, watching me closely the entire time. I finished my pizza, not about to show him any discomfort.

  “Didn’t you save up your money?”

  I did a slow nod. “Yeah, but bills are bills. So, I took the cheapest place I could tolerate. It really wasn’t so bad in the daylight.”

  He grunted. “Funny. The ceiling fell in the daytime. I’m sorry to hear about your Mom. It’s not easy losing a parent.”

  I pressed my lips together and gave him a sympathetic look.

  His father, a firefighter, had died in the line of duty when Har was fifteen. He talked endlessly to Brute about the tattoo he’d get to honor his dad, while they fixed up that first bike years ago.

  Thinking about it, I blurted, “Did you ever get the tattoo in honor of your Dad?”

  He stuck his forearm out my way. A Maltese cross with his father’s number took up the bulk of his inner forearm. I was glad he finally got a tattoo, but I didn’t let myself take it in too long because it would rekindle those buried feelings I had for him. They were the feelings of a young girl, but you never forgot your first crush, did you?

  Har