The Dust and the Roar Read online

  “Hmm. Is it for you or a gift?”

  “For me. I need…” I took in a long slow breath, my eyes on her.

  She waited, her head slanting. A thick lock of silky hair fell from a shoulder. “Yeah?”

  I need you, you, you.

  “A new bandana.”

  “Got a bunch right down here.” She turned and headed down the aisle. I tried hard not to look at her ass in those tight jeans, but I couldn’t help myself. It was the perfect ass, round, full. The perfect long dark hair, too. Thick, wavy, shiny, layered in front that gave it bounce and framed her gorgeous face perfectly. I could feel that hair sweeping across my chest, my lips.

  She stopped suddenly and pointed at a shelf. A fresh, clean scent wafted up between us, and my breath hitched as I inhaled it. Sunshine and pine trees. The woods in the morning. I’d like to fuck her in those woods. I got closer to her.

  “Blue, black, or red?” She plucked three neatly folded squares and held them up in front of me, a flush rising on her cheeks at my sudden closeness.

  “Black. Black is good.”

  She looked me up and down again, her eyes lasers emitting heat rays. “Right.” She shifted her weight.

  “You got a better idea?” I asked, unable to squelch the smirk forming on my lips.

  “I do. Red, for some contrast.”

  “I’m not looking to make a statement, fashion or otherwise.”

  “I didn’t think so. I didn’t mean it for that,” she said. “I thought maybe the red might give you a lift.”

  “A lift?”

  “You know, a perk.”

  “Do I look like I need perking?”

  Her cheeks reddened some more. “I meant for a change of pace. It might inspire you.”

  “I know what would perk me up and inspire me.”

  She shifted her weight once more on those insane legs. “What would that be?” her voice was low, rougher than before.

  “You on the back of my bike again. You want to come for a ride? We’re heading to the Badlands.”

  “I have to work.”

  “You don’t seem too busy, maybe you could get the day off—”

  “I have to work.”

  “Shame.”

  “How’s Josie doing?” she asked, her voice as sweetly bland as a Stepford wife’s.

  “I don’t know. Josie does what she wants.”

  “Does she still want to do you?”

  “That’s over.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since that time you stepped in and saved my ass from Ms. Marla. I’m sorry about the interruption last night at the party, but I felt I had to step in and make sure she was okay. Turns out she didn’t need or want my help.”

  “You don’t say.”

  I leaned in closer to her. “I’ll take the red.”

  “You will?”

  “Yeah, I will. And when I wear it today, I’ll think of you perking me up on the back of my bike.” Her eyes widened, gleaming for a sec, and I caught it. She liked that, and I liked that she did.

  “Everything all right over there?” Dave’s pointed voice rose up from the register counter.

  Her body straightened, her gaze remaining on me. “Everything’s fine, Dad,” she said in an even voice with a lift of her chin.

  Shit.

  The other man stood at the head of the aisle, glaring at us. “You have a good day, Mr. Hildebrand,” she said, and he shot her a scowl and left the store.

  “You need anything else?” she asked me.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your name, Ms. Dillon.”

  “Why?”

  I leaned in closer, whispering, “Cause when I kiss you again, and I will, I want your name on my lips.”

  She let out a low noise, and a surge of molten heat flooded my insides. The warmth of her breath hit my chest, we were so close. So close, but not touching.

  Not yet.

  Her heavy eyes held mine. “You fooling around with other married women?”

  “No. You still singing?”

  A deep, long rumble of engines outside the store interrupted the freight train of tension and whatever the fuck that sparked and bolted between us. She tore her gaze away from me, both of us turning to the big front window of the store. All the men were back on their bikes, putting on their helmets and goggles, starting up their engines.

  She stepped back, her body straightening. “There’s your bandana.” She handed me the soft red square of fabric along with a blank expression and a clipped tone. I felt like a kid getting off the bus at the wrong stop. Stranded. Lost.

  “You have a good day now.” She turned her back to me, tucking the black and blue bandanas back onto their shelf once more. “Sale coming your way, Dad!”

  “I want to see you again, Ms. Dillon,” I said. “And I think you want that too.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  We took off for the Badlands, and the weather remained cooperative. The severe heat and humidity of the days before had vanished and left in their stead a breeze that transformed into a thunderous wind on the road. We respected the Jacks’ formation as we rode the dusty winding roads through the Badlands, sweeping past its twisted towers of ancient stone, flying through the dramatic valleys of rust-colored rock. It was exciting as all hell and, as always, humbling. The only thing missing was Ms. Dillon holding onto me on the back of my Harley.

  We stopped and got off our bikes and stretched out, taking in the wide, rusted valley beyond. Scout pulled up next to me. He rubbed a hand across his sweaty bandana. “Fuck, this is amazing country.”

  “That it is,” I said, gulping down water. “Riding time may be short ‘cause of weather, but when it’s on, it’s on in a big way.”

  The sunlight shimmered over the burnt red and orange dusty rock. A memory of Noah telling me how much he wanted to leave South Dakota flit through my mind. I couldn’t imagine leaving any of this behind me. Not ever.

  “You should come with us to Nebraska next month,” Scout said. “The Flames of Hell are having a blowout at their new clubhouse, and we got an official invite.”

  Something told me that if we attended a Flames party on the Jacks’ coattails, we’d be marked as “theirs.” All of this hospitality and friendliness had to have a payoff for him at some point, a payoff for the One-Eyed Jacks. “What’s it mean?” I asked Scout, pointing to his club colors. “That spark of light in the skull’s eye?” Maybe I sounded like a kid, asking such a question, but symbols fascinated me, and I knew bike clubs chose theirs carefully. You stood behind your club colors. It wasn’t only a badge of honor and a bond, it was your code. You fought for it. Stood up for it. It was you.

  “It’s the all-seeing eye,” he said. “Even in the darkest of times, in despair and death, there’s always a gleam of brotherhood to light your way. It’s a promise and a warning to never fuck with that.”

  “I like that.”

  “You all got a good thing going on here in South Dakota. You’re small fry, though. You could be something with our patches on your backs.”

  There it was.

  “You want the Black Hills?” I said.

  He slanted his head. Was he surprised by my spitting it out straight up? “It’s a prime location,” he replied.

  I knew that Meager was a strategic point. Close to Rapid and right off a main highway that led to points north and points west and south to Colorado and Texas. Did the Jacks want to spread their kingdom? Have a foothold here where plenty of traffic and plenty of clubs crossed?

  “I can’t make any promises,” I said. “I need to bring this to my bros.”

  “I’ll be straight,” said Scout. “We’ve got customers out west we’d like to get to easier.”

  “Does The Shepherd have anything to do with this?”

  He slanted his head. “Smart man, Wreck. The Shepherd doesn’t like us much, and we don’t like him.”

  “The Shepherd doesn’t like any kind of competition. He�
��s still living in the seventies when he was the feudal lord of the land. That just isn’t so anymore.”

  “It’s good to hear you talk that way, man. If you all are some local gang of boys in his territory, he won’t take you seriously. He’ll start biting and keep on biting and gnawing and won’t let go. Then he’ll step on you, and that’s being polite. Lately, he’s been forming alliances with other MC’s to keep his territory.”

  “Demon Seeds of Montana, maybe?”

  “That’s right, that’s one of ‘em. I got product to move through the Dakotas out west. We combine forces, show him a serious presence in the area, he’ll have to start moving out of the way.”

  “Are we talking about my way or your way?” I dug a heel in the dirt. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but fuck, I wanted to know in black and white terms. Did he want to swallow us for his own benefit?

  Scout’s eyes narrowed. “What are you guys up to in Meager? Not a hell of a lot, am I right?”

  I said nothing, only took in the gutted and clawed landscape stretching out before us.

  “How would you like if The Shepherd invited the Demon Seeds into Meager, gave ‘em free rein. Huh? Sound good?” He leaned in closer to me. “Talk to your boys, Wreck. Y’all want to be a force, have a plan, a way to make a buck? Survive? You need to decide. And decide quick.”

  “This an invite?”

  “It’s an invite.” Scout went back to his bike. “You get your numbers up, you’ll get a charter.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “The Jacks are friendly with the Flames of Hell?” asked Mick. “The Flames are serious one-percenters.”

  “And the Jacks aren’t?”

  “The Flames have major history, legendary, national status. People whisper their name, you know what I mean?” Terry was worried. He’d finally calmed the fuck down about hanging with the Jacks, but now with the prospect of hanging with the Flames up ahead, shit was real.

  For all of us.

  “Them introducing us around is their way of testing us out,” said Willy.

  “Yeah, it is,” I said. “But on the other side of that is us stepping it up, being what we were meant to be. Isn’t riding and loyalty what the Bleeding Eagles are all about? This is that on a bigger scale.”

  “We’d be a link in a shiny chain,” quipped Willy.

  “I don’t care about shiny anything,” I said. “We got a chance to meet the Flames of Hell, we should take it. They’re just a ways over from Chadron, Nebraska. A couple something hours.”

  “It’s definitely worth getting introduced, being friendly,” Mick agreed.

  “Yeah, because one day they could roll right into Meager and bulldoze us under their wheels if they wanted,” said Terry.

  “They could, yeah,” said Jump.

  “So we got to be smart,” I said.

  “You want this?” asked Mick.

  “I know I want what they have,” I said. “A real community, a loyal brotherhood everywhere they go. Bottom line, I like meeting other men who have the same dedication to biking and the road that I do. Don’t you?”

  They stilled, digesting my words, tasting new flavors.

  We’d never discussed principles before. We’d just hung together. But now I’d spelled it out.

  Someone had to.

  * * *

  We met up with the One-Eyed Jacks outside of Chadron and rode together onto the campgrounds where the Flames had organized their big party. We entered the area, hundreds of bikes parked everywhere, small tents. So many people. My grip tightened on my handlebars. This was more like some kind of mini Woodstock.

  We parked in a spot not too far from the Jacks and cleaned our bikes of the mud that we’d plowed through to get up here. We barely spoke. Music blared up in the distance, and we headed farther into the property toward where a platform had been set up for the bands and a little ways beyond a crowd was clustered around jumbo kegs and a trailer with prospects grilling hot dogs. We recognized people from the road and other runs we’d been on. A couple of big clubs from the Midwest were here too. We finally spotted Scout and his brothers.

  “Hey, there you are!” Scout introduced us to a group of Jacks from another charter in Colorado. Everyone looked us over. Stiff, but friendly enough. Of course, I understood that if Scout was being friendly to us, everyone else fell in line if they wanted to or not. Mick took out the weed he’d brought and shared it all around. Others took out small plastic film containers filled with different goodies. We partied. Night fell.

  The bands were good, playing all sorts of covers of classic rock hits including new songs from the Allman Brothers that everyone loved. Through the haze of smoke and the glare of a couple of spotlights, the lead guitarist of the third band up jammed something slower than the previous driving rhythms. A woman’s voice slid through the thick night and grabbed me, like a velvet fist around my heart. “Love hurts…” she sang Nazareth’s song, her voice aching over the chords and the electric piano.

  A chill razored around my neck and down my chest as that clear voice soared.

  It was Tramp Dillon. My rock and roll Cinderella.

  Now the ache in her voice lessened. No more pleading, she’d had enough. Her strength took over, but a hint of her vulnerability still seeped through.

  I strained to get a clearer look at the band in the distance, to see her. She was fully lit under the spotlight. Wavy dark hair shining, her hand wrapped around the microphone. There was a confidence, a maturity in her voice and body language that was a notch above what I’d seen her sing in Dead Ringer’s over five years ago. Her rich, easy voice filled my veins, cleared the haze. My heart beat faster, harder.

  She was finishing up the song, but she wasn’t done yet. Hoots rang out in the crowd for her. Holding a long note, she tilted her head, and the guitarist jammed down hard. The two of them threw each other a charged look, and the music suddenly exploded into Foghat’s “Slow Ride.”

  Cheers and yells went up. The burst of her voice made a smile stretch my lips. Here she was singing a song that was from a man’s point of view about enjoying a fuck, and she was enjoying the hell out of making it her own. Her voice pitched high and strong, filling the air with electricity and her authority. She gave the lyrics a new spin, the guitars and drums jamming alongside her in agreement.

  She hit the words in just a way to make a point. Her point. There was a dare in her voice and in that dare was a sexiness that had you crazy to go along for her ride. A subtle thing, not crass or in your face, but it was in there, under that warm, full roll of her formidable voice. She could handle whatever you dished out, and if she didn’t like it … oh, she’d let you know and leave you in the dust.

  This girl.

  The drums thumped, the guitars droned, and she held onto that final note, raising one hand high in the air, the other gripping the mike. The crowd went wild, and so did I. I whistled hard, clapping and cheering loudly. She was fucking amazing.

  “Thank you!” she said into the microphone, a blazing grin on her face. She’d run her best race. What a fucking high. As her hand released the mic stand, she gave the guitarist a quick hug and hopped off the stage. The band didn’t let go of the rhythm and slid right into another.

  I had to find her.

  “We heading out?” Willy turned to me.

  “Huh?” I tore my eyes away from the edge of the stage where she’d disappeared into the throng. Yeah, Cinderella.

  “What is it?” Willy asked.

  “Nothing.”

  We found Cheezer having a serious conversation with a young dark-haired guy. The guy’s eyes were as big as baseballs as he listened to Cheezer yak on and on. Was he even listening? I doubted it. He looked like his mind was racing a mile a minute. Cheezer put a hand on his shoulder, and the guy shrugged him off like he’d found it very disturbing, threatening even.

  “’Who’s that with Cheezer?” I asked Bobby.

  “Oh, that’s Leo. He’s from Meager. Town freak. Sells weed to t
he locals when he is in town. Vanishes off and on.” Bobby made a face. Leo was inconsequential.

  Cheezer shoved some bills into Leo’s hands, and Leo swiftly shoved the money in a pocket of his drooping jeans. With his other hand, Leo whipped out something, and Cheezer swiped at it. The greedy addict. Leo receded into the darkness. The seasoned dealer.

  People danced everywhere, some draped over each other as if a slow song was playing, others jammed to a song by Kansas the band now played. Everyone was having their good, wild time.

  And that’s when I saw her.

  My Tramp.

  A guy had his hand around her arm, pulling on her. Jaw tight, she yanked her arm back. He wouldn’t let go, he got in her face.

  “Fuck off!” her voice seethed.

  Fuck no.

  I tracked over and grabbed his arm, jerking his body back. “Get your hands off her.”

  They both glared at me.

  “Who’s this guy?” the man snarled at her.

  “I don’t know!” She rubbed at her arm.

  He grabbed her again. She twisted. I punched. He went down.

  “You didn’t have to go that far,” she said to me.

  “Didn’t I?” I replied.

  “Who the hell do you think you are, big man?”

  “Nice.”

  “Go to hell!” She marched off.

  “Hey!” I caught up with her, the groaning of her attacker rising up behind us. “Hold up—” I reached for her.

  She twirled on a grunt in the dark, and a flash of silver spun by my vision. A sharp edge nicked at the bare skin of my chest under my vest. I grabbed her wrist. A small knife was in her fist, my blood on the blade.

  “What the—” I snapped the tiny blade from her grip as I slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Her hard breaths fell on my bare chest where she’d cut me. “What the hell was that for?” I said.

  “Did you expect me to swoon for you because you defended my honor? Get on my knees and—” She shoved back at me. “Get real.”

  “I’m very real, honey.” I smashed my erection up against her. “You feeling my real?”