The Dust and the Roar Read online

I brushed my hands down my face and adjusted myself in my jeans for the tenth time before heading into the restaurant.

  “It’s all good, Ms. Marla. Got the generator up and running again,” I told her.

  “Wonderful. Thank you, Richie. What do I owe you?”

  “It’s nothing,” I said. Get me the hell out of here.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Ms. Marla went to her cash register and took out a ten dollar bill and handed it to me. “Josie, get the boy today’s special.”

  A smirk broke over Josie’s lips, her cheeks still flushed from our fucking. She darted into the kitchen.

  “You don’t have to do that, Ms. Marla.” I stuffed the money in my pocket. “Thanks, but I should be getting back to the garage. Another time.”

  “All righty. Suit yourself.”

  I took off, but that wasn’t the end of Josie and me.

  For the next four years Josie and I continued having sex, mostly whenever she was closing up the restaurant on her own, and I’d meet her in the back, or if I’d be closing up the garage on my own and she was still around, she’d meet me there. It was fun, convenient, and there were no strings. It was what I knew, how it had always been between women and me. A little careless, kind of hasty. Grabbing what I wanted.

  Until one day, that changed.

  Forever.

  Chapter Twelve

  1980

  I’d put in a long shift at Steve’s to finish the transmission on a Chevy Malibu and a tune up on a Thunderbird. It was Friday night at seven o’clock, and Steve had long gone home, and the owner of the Thunderbird had come and paid. As I cleaned up, I opened the almost empty bottle of bourbon that Steve kept in his office and finished it, making a mental note to get him a replacement.

  I pulled on the blinds of the window and checked out the back of the Luncheonette where the garbage cans were lined up. Josie squashed a big plastic bag into the can. I licked the last of the liquor off my lips. I wanted those full curves of hers in my hands right the fuck now.

  I’d hung out with a few dancers from The Tingle and scored chicks on the weekend runs we’d go on, but Josie had remained available. Locking up the garage, I crossed the street, heading to the back of the restaurant. I could use an early start to my weekend.

  I knocked on the fire door of Marla’s, and it opened a crack. Those eyes blinked up at me. “Oh, hey.” She grinned. That grin that said, let’s get it on.

  “You busy?” I said.

  “Just cleaning up. I saw you were working late. I would’ve come over myself, but Marla was here on the phone, and—”

  “She gone?”

  “Yep.” She slid out the door and closed it quietly behind her.

  I pushed her up against the brick wall, and we kissed. She rubbed a hand over my hard length through the fabric of my jeans and unbuckled my belt. “Want that in my mouth … you want that?”

  “Hell yeah.” My pulse jumped at the wicked promise in her voice.

  A scraping sounded from behind us. I flinched.

  “Josie?” came Marla’s voice. The door had pushed open.

  “Shit.” I lifted Josie from the ground, and she stumbled.

  “What the—” Her face flushed beet red.

  “Josie, what are you doing back here?” Marla stood in the open doorway. “Richie?” We froze under her inspection.

  In four years, we’d never had such a close call.

  An arm I didn’t recognize slid around my waist. “Josie’s giving me and Wreck a talking to…” came a voice from my side, a slim body pressing against my heated flesh. I sucked in a breath and looked down at my side.

  Holy shit.

  It was that singer from Dead Ringers. The girl … Cinderella. I hadn’t seen her again since that night, and that was four years ago. A grin twitched her lips under my hard gaze.

  Marla lifted her chin and crossed her arms. Josie’s eyes widened at us, and she stepped back.

  “Josie caught us,” said the girl. “We both just got off of work and couldn’t help ourselves. Sorry about that, Josie.”

  Josie’s hand went to her throat. “Yeah, I was putting out the garbage, and there they were.”

  Marla shook her head, glaring at the girl who had her arm slung around me, body pressed into mine. “Young lady, if your momma could see you now. Running wild, like some tra—”

  “Ms. Marla—” I doused her lash of fire with my sharp voice. “Have a good evening. We’ll get out of your way now.” I steered the girl away from the store, from Josie’s sullen pout and Marla’s icy scowl.

  “Little tramp,” Marla’s voice sprang behind us.

  “Jesus,” I said under my breath, heading back to the gas station, still arm in arm.

  “Come on, Josie,” Ms. Marla bit out. “Don’t stand there. That floor isn’t going to mop itself.”

  We got to the garage’s back lot where my bike was parked. “You’re welcome,” the girl said.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Fancy meeting you here, Cinderella.”

  “I live here.”

  “You live in Meager?”

  “Yep.”

  “Meager is a tiny town. How come I haven’t seen you around then?”

  “I was living in Montana for a few years, now I’m back.”

  “Ah.”

  “So you and Josie, huh?”

  “Me and Josie nothing.”

  “That’s not what I saw. Josie was on her knees—”

  “It was a spur of the moment thing. Bad move. Big mistake.” I blew out a huff of air. It all suddenly did feel like a bad move and a big mistake. “Why’d you bother stepping in anyway?”

  “Although it would have been entertaining to see Ms. Marla drag Josie back inside by the hair screaming and go after you with her shotgun, I didn’t think that was good for anybody—especially you.”

  “Especially me?”

  “You’re a nice guy.”

  “Well, this nice guy just ruined your good girl status with Ms. Marla.”

  She only rolled her eyes.

  “You’re not a good girl?”

  She grinned. “Not as good as I used to be.”

  “Well, now the whole town will think you’re a tramp, to quote her.”

  She laughed. “You can’t do anything about town gossip. I know better than to give a crap. I’m done with definitions, and I’m definitely done with all the rules.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Good for you.” We stared at each other, a simmering silence between us. A simmering heat. “Thanks for the save. I appreciate it,” I murmured.

  She slid her hands in her back pockets and edged in closer to me. A hint of a soft powdery scent rose up between us and my muscles seized. “Ms. Marla and Josie are watching us from the front window,” she said.

  Straightening my back, I held her even gaze, a hint of gold gleaming from those caramel brown eyes of hers I hadn’t forgotten. Damn, she was even more attractive now. Not just pretty, but beautiful. A grown-up beautiful. More woman now than girl.

  “Get over here,” I said.

  She raised an eyebrow and came over to me, planting her feet in the ground.

  “Give me a kiss goodbye.”

  Her eyes widened slightly for an instant, but she moved in closer, her arms sliding around my shoulders, a hand in my hair, tugging. Chills went up the back of my neck at her strokes, my breathing picked up. Finally, she pressed her lips against mine.

  Warm, soft. Delicious.

  “Can’t do better than that, Cinderella?” I breathed against those lips, my arm going around her back, pulling her close. “You know, considering what we were just up to over there?” I nipped at her bottom lip, and she let out a low moan.

  Her lips met mine again, only this time, her warm tongue thrust between my lips, swiping mine. Urgent fingers dug into my shoulders, my neck.

  “They still watching?” I asked, a hand traveling up her back.

  Her gaze darted over at the restauran
t. “Yep.” Her breaths came shorter and faster as my other hands slid over her hip, the curve of her rear.

  “Let’s give them a grand finale, huh?” I released her and got on my bike. “You been on a bike before?”

  With a hand gripping my shoulder, she got on the back of my bike in one move. “Plenty of times.” She settled behind me on the saddle. “You ever had a girl on the back of your bike before?”

  “Well…”

  “Ooooh, am I your first?” Her arms rounded my waist. Smart ass.

  My body jerked at the press of her hands spreading over my middle. Steady, sure of herself. “You talk a lot,” I said.

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “No, I like it.”

  And I did. She was feisty and smart and talking with her made me warm inside in a different way than when I was attracted to a girl and wanted to get it on with her.

  “So you know, after this, you’re under no obligation to pretend again with me,” she said.

  “Shouldn’t I be saying that you?”

  She only laughed.

  “Are you trying to get out of kissing me again?” I asked her.

  “That’s right.”

  I chuckled. “That’s a relief.”

  “My mother used to say that tramps ‘date ‘em and drop ‘em after one go.’ So now that I’m officially a tramp, you’re good.”

  I laughed, revving my bike’s engine longer than I had to. “Let’s make this real good then.” I rubbed her leg, and she pressed closer against my back. Her firm hold on my waist tightened, and the warmth of her body against mine ignited something inside me. Not just desire, but something else, I didn’t know what, but I took it and tore out of the parking lot past Marla’s, ripping down Clay Street. Her long hair whipped around us, her body melded to mine. I accelerated, and her whoop of laughter filled my ears along with the roar of my pipes shooting a rush of heat through my veins.

  All of it a rush. A new kind of rush.

  She directed me to where she lived, and I came to a stop in front of an old-fashioned birdhouse mailbox at the end of a secluded lane lined with overgrown bushes. “This it?”

  “Yeah, right up the path here.” She gestured toward a great big two-story house at the end of the lane with turrets and a stone veranda wrapping around it. An old house from another era—a house that had probably been the grandest in Meager once upon a time. She got off my bike, and I felt the loss of her weight against me, her heat on me. Her enthusiasm.

  “You don’t want your momma to see us, right?” I asked.

  “My momma’s dead.”

  “Sorry. That’s what Ms. Marla meant, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  We held each other’s gaze. I’d found Cinderella again, and she was right here in Meager. I’d kissed her, and I didn’t want to say goodbye yet. “Thanks again for the save,” I said. “I don’t want Josie getting into trouble. You won’t tell anybody about—”

  “I won’t tell. My lips are sealed after that kiss.”

  My eyes went to those lips of hers that I’d tasted. Lips that I wanted to taste again. Lips that wanted to be devoured and coaxed. Lips that could devour me and coax a hell of a lot out of me, I was sure of it. Her hands jammed in her jeans pockets again.

  Was I being obvious? Maybe she was thinking it too? I hit my starter again, and she grinned at the rumble of my engine. “I’m Wreck. What’s your name? Never got it the first time we met.”

  “Tramp.” She winked at me and turning, tracked up the weed-filled path toward her house.

  “Am I going to see you again, Tramp?” I shouted out.

  “We could have lunch at Marla’s tomorrow!” she shot back.

  I laughed as I watched her stride away.

  “You don’t have to wait. I’ll be fine,” her voice rang out, clear and strong,

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Such a gentleman, who knew?” she shouted back.

  “Yeah, the gentleman and the tramp,” I replied.

  She let out a rich laugh. “Good one!” She darted up the steps of the house, and her hand extended in a farewell wave. She opened the door, and the old house swallowed her up.

  “See you,” I murmured to myself. Oh, I definitely wanted to see her again.

  And I would.

  Chapter Thirteen

  We were on our way to Sturgis, the greatest bike rally in the world.

  By society’s standards, I suppose we were a group of misfits, working to make enough money to fund our booze and drug purchases, food, and most importantly, spare parts and gas to ride. At Sturgis, we would be with our own kind.

  Heading north now we were a pack, like wolves or dogs who were in sync with their communal pulse, that hum of our engines the rhythm of our souls. The sun blazed over the blacktop. We were the speed, we were the wind.

  Cars passed us, tried passing us. We cut off a couple of guys in a pickup truck who thought they could get past us. They kept up alongside Jump who was up ahead of me, shooting him the bird, swearing. Jump ignored them, which was smart. I didn’t like drivers trying to cut us off, getting close to us, or shitting on us. Fuck that and fuck them.

  I accelerated and Jump swiftly moved to the side, giving me room to pull up close alongside the truck. I pulled up real close, maintaining my speed. The two men glared at me from behind their dirty glass windshield and partly pulled down windows.

  Stuck inside.

  “You assholes are always hogging the road! Think you’re something!” spat out the guy in the passenger side.

  I turned my face, my expression stony, and shot him a cold glare. His jaw tightened, and then his and his buddy’s gaze went to my hand reaching for the fifteen inch Crescent wrench that I kept sticking up out of my saddlebag. Suddenly the Jimmy veered off far away from me and the rest of us. Jump pulled back and joined me, the two of us grinning.

  I had my brothers’ backs, and they had mine, and we flew together. I was covered in grime and dirt, grease, sweat, dead bugs, and I’d never felt more alive.

  * * *

  “This is fucking amazing,” said Mick. “Gets me every time, every year.”

  “I think it always will,” said Willy.

  Bikes filled the boulevard. Rows and rows and rows of bikes. All sorts of shapes, colors, models. Sturgis, South Dakota at Rally time was like no other place in the world.

  My dad had taken us a couple times, the first was when I was about eight years old. We’d walked around, and he’d pointed out bikes that he thought were interesting choppers to me. It was the most talkative I’d ever seen him. He even engaged bike owners in conversation too. On the streets of Sturgis, I’d seen my first topless lady who seemed dressed more for a beach carnival than a town, and groups of bikers with lots of tattoos and club patches.

  Back then the focus of the rally was racing and all sorts of crazy stunts. I loved the ramp jumps that made me gasp as I sat on my dad’s shoulders so I wouldn’t miss a thing. I drank it all in, the risky danger, the excitement of the crowd yelling, the bikes screaming and spinning.

  Even my mom had enjoyed herself. “It’s like the circus has come to town,” she’d squeezed my hand.

  “That’s right, sweetheart.” My father smacked a kiss on her cheek and hooked an arm over her shoulders as we watched a rider prep for a board wall crash. I remembered that day so clearly.

  Now I tracked down this boulevard of bikes through the thick of this festival of good rides and good times with my bros, my own motorcycle crew, beer in hand. Sturgis was no longer a spectacular adult fantasy playing out before me to my oohs and ahhs. Now it was my reality. Riders from all over the country were here. Big clubs, bike riding federations, families, couples young and old. Chicks in amazing bikinis and leather, tits and ass showing proudly, bare legs striding in amazing boots. Incredible tattoos on every body part of almost every man and woman.

  “Hey man, what’s up?”

  “Kip!” Our hands slapped together in a high-five. Kip was from Meager
and was a regular customer for tune-ups. He was good people. When I first got to Meager, Kip was selling the best quaaludes money could buy, but lately, it was all about the blow.

  “Was hoping I’d see you here,” Kip said, shaking hands with Willy, Mick, and the guys. “Is this amazing or what?”

  “It’s crazy this year, huh?”

  “Totally jammed. Wild,” Kip said. He introduced us to his girlfriend, Sandy.

  A cop glared at us on the street. “Keep it moving, keep it moving.” He muttered to his fellow officer at his side: “This damn rally is out of control. They’re starting to park on the second block of Main Street!”

  That was the least of it. There were loads of people, maybe up to a thousand camped out in the park, loads of riders on rat bikes had pitched tents on the grass. It would be a hell of a night, that was for sure.

  We’d checked out exhibitions, races, saw loads of people we knew, and after sunset, we headed for a bar. There were plenty of bars, and each one jammed with crowds. Didn’t make a difference to me which one, just as long as I got in and got myself a drink.

  Mick led the way into one, all of us plowing through the front door behind him. All at once, we came to a halt. It was too late to turn around and look like idiots. The bar was packed with members of a single bike club. A skull with one sparkling eye was patched on every leather vest in the room.

  “One-Eyed Jacks,” Willy said in a low voice. “From Colorado.”

  A zillion eyes stared us down. Women checked us out and were quickly nudged out of our sightline. An ominous vibe grew in intensity like a wide rubber band getting wider and wider, squeezing us all tighter and tighter.

  “Be cool,” I muttered to my brothers. “Be. Cool.”

  We headed for the bar. There was nothing else to do. Of course, we weren’t able to get through to the bar, nor did the bartenders pay us any heed.

  A young bearded Jack shoved himself into Cheezer. “Time for you to move.”

  “I just wanna order a drink, man,” Cheezer said. “Get the fuck off.”

  Cheezer liked two things a hell of a lot: Cheez Whiz and bragging. Mostly he bragged about his connections to “real” bike clubs. I didn’t know if his connections to these clubs were real or in his mind, but he always seemed eager to make contacts in the 1% world. This was not the way. Man lacked social skills and brains.