The Dust and the Roar Page 7

  We were outnumbered in a huge fucking way, but so the fuck what. We’d stand up for our own. We had to.

  The Jack pushed at Cheezer and Cheezer reared back, stumbling. Terry grabbed Cheezer, and the rest of us formed a wall of resistance. “You don’t touch my brother, you hear?” I spit out. “You do not touch my brother.”

  “That piece of shit is your brother? Says a lot about y’all, then!”

  Howls and laughter rose up around us. Jump, Willy, Mick and I shared quick looks. Be cool. Keep tight. More Jacks converged around their brother. A towering wall of hostility and hate built around us.

  “There’s plenty of room up here in these Hills for a dead body, I reckon,” said the Jack.

  “You got that right,” I replied. “This is our country. We know the Hills better than anyone. There’s plenty of room for you too, and your bros won’t ever find you, but maybe a mountain lion will.”

  “Oh yeah, you motherfucker, is that a threat? Who the fuck are you to—”

  “That’s enough,” sliced a deep voice through the haze. All eyes turned on him. A tall, older man, heavily bearded, heavily tattooed, a bandana around his head. “These guys are my guests tonight.”

  The instant the words left his mouth, the young Jack pulled himself up, tightened his face, and slunk away. His compadres did the same, one after the other. A few stayed and gawked, faces grim. No fight—what a fucking disappointing evening so far.

  Willy’s hand landed on my back, and I met his gaze. At that moment, we knew what we had done was important. We had stood firm together for one of our own even when we disagreed with what he was doing, even though we knew what he was up to was wrong, stupid. We’d been outnumbered badly, ridiculously. But that hadn’t mattered, together we’d stuck it out, and that’s what mattered.

  The wall of Jacks broke apart and receded. Whoever our “savior” was, his word was gold with everybody in the goddamn bar. “Much obliged,” Willy said to him.

  His eyes glinted. The patch on his vest said “President.” Ah shit.

  “My name’s Scout,” he said.

  “Willy.”

  “Wreck,” I introduced myself and the rest of my bros.

  Scout gestured at the bartender, and within moments, long neck beers appeared, each of us grabbing one like the lifeline it was. “Where y’all from?” he asked.

  “Meager, a couple hours south of here,” Mick replied.

  “South of Rapid, right?” Scout said. “The valley of The Shepherd?”

  I met his hard gaze. “You know The Shepherd?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.” A grin formed on his lips, relaxing his features. “So you all a club, part of a riding federation up here?”

  “Started out tooling around, our bikes, a van,” replied Mick. “Now we’re in Meager and part of a local riding federation.”

  For the five years that we’d been together, we were good with how things were. Nothing too formal or official. No politics, no rules. Just us, the Bleeding Eagles, hanging, and most of all, riding. Riding was the thing that made sense, was the air we breathed, the jet fuel in our veins.

  “I like the Black Hills a lot,” said Scout. “That Needle Highway is—”

  “Best riding there is,” I said on a tight grin.

  “Those fucking tunnels, huh?” Scout said.

  “Been through the Badlands?”

  He tilted his head. “Not enough of it. Would love to see more.”

  That was an opening I had to take. After all, we were obliged to him for saving our skins, weren’t we?

  “We could show you around sometime,” I said.

  “Sounds good.” He raised his chin. “You got yourselves a clubhouse?”

  “We have our own place. Always got room,” said Mick, picking up the steps of the dance we were dancing.

  “All right.” That grin of Scout’s got wider. He got us a pen and slips of paper from the bartender, and we scribbled our names and phone numbers and exchanged them.

  “We’re moving the party up to our campsite in a few. You all should come,” he said.

  That was a bad idea. Us in a mob of Jacks and fuck knew who else.

  Mick said, “That’s real generous of you, thanks—”

  A wave of yelling and screaming rumbled from the road, and people pushed to the windows and out of the bar in a tidal wave. A line of cops tried holding back a crowd of very angry and very drunk men. Booths lining the street were flipped over, gunshots rang out, firemen who were standing by their trucks yelled and ducked for cover, holes were shot through their trucks. Naked drunk folk laughed and fell over on the street corners.

  “Gotta check out the park, man!” someone shouted.

  We headed over to the park where a sea of blue-red flame roared on the road. A fire had been started with gasoline, and men were running their bikes through it. No ordinary men, but bikers from big, hardcore clubs in California and the Midwest. Legendary clubs.

  “Fuck yeah!” shouted Scout. How the hell was he still next to me? “This is getting to be like Daytona Beach. You all been down to Daytona?”

  “No, not yet. I’m looking forward to it, though.”

  “You’re gonna love it.”

  “I know, I will.”

  I also knew it wouldn’t be long until we heard from Scout.

  And I was right.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “We’re heading up your way in a couple of days. You all gonna be there?” Scout said to me over the phone.

  “We’ll be here. What’s your ETA?”

  “Friday evening, most like.”

  “Let the party begin.” I put down the phone, and six sets of eyes were glued to me.

  “Who was that?” asked Mick.

  “That was Scout. They’re coming.”

  “The Colorado One-Eyed Jacks?” he said.

  “All of them are coming here to party?” asked Terry.

  “Party, ride. Hang.”

  “Friday?” said Mick.

  “Yep.”

  “It’s Tuesday. Shit … we gotta be ready for anything…” Terry ran around the barn collecting all our guns.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

  “I think it’d be a good idea if we stashed our goods just in case. I mean, you never know.”

  “Jesus,” said Willy.

  “Being cautious,” muttered Terry.

  Cheezer’s eyes landed on me as he popped Good N’ Plenty candies in his mouth. “Well, this could mean big things. You sure about the Jacks though?”

  “Not a respectable enough club for you? Maybe you’ve set your sights on some other MC?”

  Cheezer waved me off with his empty candy box. “Chill out, man.”

  “Scout’s keeping in touch. He’s got to want something out of this,” said Willy.

  “I’m sure he does, but we won’t know until he gets here.”

  “What we better do now is pool our cash and get as much booze and food as possible,” Terry said.

  “You’re right,” muttered Mick.

  “Spruce up the place a little.” He gestured at his prized Farrah Fawcett poster on the wall next to a couple of posters of bikini models advertising beers. “Farrah could use some more company.”

  Cheezer scowled. “I’m out ’til next week, you guys. Don’t got it.” Cheezer never got it. When it came to pitching in, he was always broke. Did he realize there would be dues to pay in a formal MC and excuses would not be acceptable?

  “Well, you better get on it, man,” said Terry. “You still owe me money that needs paying back. Thank fuck payday is Thursday.” Terry had been unemployed for a long time, but he’d finally gotten a temporary job two months ago with a small local company maintaining Amtrak’s train tracks in our state.

  “I’ve got to finish this bike I’ve been working on today and get paid myself,” I said.

  We got ourselves organized, got the necessities for a weekend party, and Terry got more posters for the walls. Bobby had th
e Tingle girls invite their friends, and Willy rented a couple of portable toilets to have available. Friday night arrived.

  Terry gnawed on his lower lip as Scout led ten of his brothers onto our property, the beams from their headlamps bouncing over us, lighting up the grassy field where they parked side by side. My heart drummed in my chest as I went over to Scout. We shook hands, embraced.

  “Good to see you,” he said.

  “You too.”

  The women were already there, the booze and food set up, music loud. Our party was on.

  The Jacks had brought their special liquid acid with them, and everyone was tripping. We had a great view of the whole party from the picnic bench where we’d parked our asses. Everyone had a girl wrapped around them. The music was loud, the laughter was louder. I’d say our first major inter-club party was a big success.

  Scout’s attention was riveted on two girls who laughed, kissed, and touched each other as they danced together. It was a good fucking show. “I’m gonna hit that,” Scout jerked his chin at the women. He stalked over to the women and got in between them. They didn’t drop their rhythm for a second. They welcomed his intrusion with touches, laughter, and grinding hips. He pulled them around his burly body, the three of them swaying together. Hands groped, tongues flicked over skin.

  Jesus. Heat stung my hand and I blinked. My roach had burned to the end between my fingers and I hadn’t even noticed. I tossed it.

  A group of girls with big, teased hair wearing shiny tight pants and brightly colored halter tops passed around a drink between themselves as they checked out Scout and the two women getting it on. One of the girls didn’t take the cup but smoke a doobie. Her hair was natural, wavy and long, and she wore a ripped black T-shirt, ripped jean shorts, and unlaced black combat boots. Black rubber bracelets lined her wrists. She turned as she let out a stream of thick smoke, our eyes snagging. Those eyes burned through me.

  It was Tramp.

  All right.

  A feathered eyebrow hitched, a slow smile growing on those lips of hers, lips I remembered moving against mine. Lips I remembered tasting. My pulse jacked, and I grinned, stalking over to her. “Hey, Tramp.”

  “Hey there, Gentleman.”

  I let out a laugh. “Good to see you here.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah. You looking for trouble again?”

  “Yep. Looks like I came to the right place. Quite a turnout you have here.”

  “It’s our first big party.”

  “You guys with the One-Eyed Jacks now?” she said.

  “They’re visiting, and we’re giving them a tour of the Hills.”

  Her eyes glimmered at me. “Aren’t you the host with the most?”

  I leaned into her. “I can be, yeah.”

  She laughed softly, and I took what was left of her joint and smoked it.

  A familiar high pitched roll of laughter broke out behind us, and I turned. Josie and another girl were surrounded by three Jacks. One gave Josie his drink, and she took the big plastic cup and drained it quickly, handing it back to him. They all hooted as she wiped at her mouth. Fuck knew what was in that drink and how much, I was sure it was more than the liquid acid.

  There were plenty of locals here, why was Josie taking the chance to be seen, at a party like this in her own town? Not to mention, getting high on whatever she’d just ingested.

  Dammit.

  “I’ll be right back,” I muttered, handing her back her joint.

  “Sure,” said Tramp.

  “Josie? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Oh, hey!” She grinned. “Great party.”

  “You sure it’s a good idea for you to be here?”

  She laughed, a hand flicking over my chest. “Oh, come on. Nobody here cares.” She curled in closer to me. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “You should go home. Isn’t your family—”

  Josie’s body jerked back. “Hey man, back off. She’s with me,” growled the Jack who had pulled Josie firmly into his body.

  Josie’s eyes flashed. She liked that. “I’m with you tonight, baby. Let’s party.” She snuggled into the Jack, and he grabbed at her ass and brought her in for a kiss. Josie took off her jean jacket, revealing a tiny spaghetti strap top, her full tits ripe under the thin red fabric, the curve of her bare ass showing from the edge of her tiny skirt.

  “I’m buzzing,” said the Jack, palming her ass under her skirt. “You buzzing, too?”

  Josie hitched herself up on him and kissed him hard. Everyone laughed and hooted. So did Josie once she came up for air. “She’s buzzing, all right!” someone shouted out.

  And in that brazen look of accomplishment stamped on her face in that second, I saw it. Recognized it. That desperate I-can-find-it-if-I-only-had-the-chance obsessiveness. That you-don’t-get-it-and-you-never-will triumphant disdain for those she shocked and lied to. The it that was somewhere over the fucking rainbow from wherever she happened to be. Josie was my mom all over again, wasn’t she? She didn’t need or want saving. She knew what she was doing. She was driven. She and the Jack headed to the other side of the big fire pit alongside Scout and the two girls. A free for all orgy was going on over there.

  “Hey man, shit’s getting wild,” Willy had an arm slung around a young blonde in a bikini. “You coming?”

  I turned, and my gaze snagged on Tramp tossing a cigarette into the fire pit. “No,” I said to Willy and darted over to her. “Hey.”

  “You couldn’t get your girl, huh?”

  “What? No, Josie’s not my girl.”

  She let out a dark laugh. “Not tonight she isn’t, poor guy.”

  “I was just looking out for her.”

  “What a gentleman,” she murmured as she brushed past me.

  “Hey wait, come on—“ I reached out for her arm, the edge of her jacket sleeve, anything. But I missed as she jogged over to a couple of girls she’d been with earlier. They all headed out, casting me glances over their shoulders. All of them except for her.

  Walk away this time, babe, go on. But I’m not letting you slip through my fingers again.

  No. Not again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning the stink of liquor, burned grease from the barbecue pit, and piss was rank. A few of the women were picking up cups and trash and stuffing them into big plastic bags.

  “Thanks for doing that,” I said to them.

  “It’s gotta get done somehow,” said Shirley. “There’s coffee inside if you want.”

  “Lifesaver.”

  Eventually, everyone woke up and started crawling around. Scout found me, a cup of coffee in hand. “You up for a run through the Badlands today before you head home?” I asked.

  “Hell, yeah.”

  A few of the Jacks needed oil for their bikes, and I got Willy to help me see to it. Their machines were beautiful, built to ride. There was no excess for showing off purposes. There was only personality in the custom paint jobs, the variety of handlebars, experience in the weathered chrome, so much road in the tires.

  “Before we head out, let’s stop in town and get some water bottles,” said Mick.

  “And some coffee, this shit sucks,” said Scout, dumping the remains of his brew on the ground.

  “No worries, there’s a decent coffee shop in town,” I said.

  We were a sight to see on Clay Street. People stopped on the sidewalks and checked us out. Scout and Mick and a bunch of the men headed into Drake’s for coffee while a few others headed into Tibbets for water and cigs and snacks. Willy and I lit cigarettes hung at our bikes when out of Drake’s walked a tall brunette with two cups of coffee headed down the street. Not just any brunette.

  My brunette. Tramp.

  She got looks of appreciation from the Jacks who stood outside smoking, and a few low whistles, but she ignored them and walked on. I sat up straight, a burn racing up my spine. She cooly strode on and entered the five and dime.

  I tossed my
cigarette. “I’ll be right back, man,” I said to Willy and headed for Dillon’s General Store.

  A little bell rang as I pushed open the heavy door. An elderly man in a dress shirt and a vest sat at the cash register with the two Drake’s coffee cups on the counter.

  Another man leaned over the counter. “I’m telling you, Dave, it’s a good deal,” said the other man.

  “I’d have to think about it,” said Dave, casting me a sharp glance as he raised a coffee cup to his lips. “Morning.”

  “Morning,” I replied, lifting my sunglasses onto my head. The other man’s stern eyes narrowed at me as he looked me up and down. My boots made a hard clomping noise on the scuffed flooring of Dillon’s as I moved down an aisle. Where was she?

  All kinds of Black Hills souvenirs lined the shelves. Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse mini sculptures, keychains, T-shirts, wooden buffalo nickels, tiny flakes of gold suspended in small bottles of water. Housewares, kitchenware, candles, and basic clothing items. Vitamins, shampoo, and aspirin.

  “Can I help you find something?”

  My body seized at the sound of her voice, and I swung around. A grin overtook my mouth.

  Her eyes blazed as they traveled over me from my messy mop of hair which now fell past my ears, down my black leathers to my heavy boots. She licked her lips, pressing them together.

  “So you work here, huh?” I asked.

  “The name over the door? That’s my family.”

  “You’re a Dillon?”

  “I’m a Dillon.”

  “Cool.”

  “I think so.”

  Her tongue swept over her bottom lip. Oh that goddamn tongue, those lips. A slight smile broke over those full lips. “How can I help you today?”

  My mind blanked.

  “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?” Her voice had that touch of gravel to it that went straight to my balls. Damn, I was getting a hard-on in the middle of the five and dime.

  I grinned at her. “None of the above.”