Below the Line

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

Below the Line copyright @ 2014 by Candice Owen. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

CHAPTER ONE

The door to the trailer had a piece of duct tape with her name written on it in Sharpie marker. It was small, dirty, and probably had questionable plumbing-- but it was home for the next few weeks.

Across the lot was a much larger, much cleaner trailer with the name of a bright young star on the door. She was billed as one of the most promising new action stars with killer good looks and moves to match. Marissa Karls did all the star’s stunts and had even once been her body double for a nude scene.

It didn’t bother Marissa that no one praised her for all the hard work she put in. That was the life of a stunt actor. It was a lonely life with little recognition and a lot of hard work.

It was the life she had chosen and loved more than she could explain. The adrenaline rush of the stunt appeased her wild and restless side, while the detailed precision of designing the stunt appeased her creative nature. One day, when her body was willing but unable, she would use what she had learned to teach others the craft that she loved.

For the next three weeks, she would get to do all the things she loved: design, teach, and execute stunts. The director of the film had come to her personally with several ideas, and she had pounced on one in particular. To make the film seem realistic, he wanted her to bring in several bikers from the local motorcycle clubs to play the parts of the “gang” members. Marissa would get to train them and design the stunts for their action scenes.

It was a dream come true. Sure, there were plenty of female stunt doubles, and the work they did varied. Still, it was rare for a twenty-seven-year-old female to not only perform the stunts but also choreograph the scenes and teach someone who wasn’t trained in the art to do those scenes safely.

Today, she would unpack her stuff and make sure her trailer got stocked with the things she would need for the next couple of weeks. Tonight, she was going to the Tarmac Angels Motorcycle Club to scope out some potential whom she could work with. She already had three other bikers lined up from two other local motorcycle clubs. They fit the part look-wise, no doubt. She would have to see if they showed up and cooperated with her.

In a few days, she would become a teacher. Adrenaline poured into her system. She loved a new challenge.

***

The Tarmac Angels Motorcycle Club was a small biker club with longstanding ties to the community. Started by a group of veterans in the early Fifties, it had always been a place that welcomed those who felt like outsiders in a world that liked to pretend life was all lollipops and rainbows. Despite some pretty serious ups and downs and some run-ins with the law over certain life and liberty issues, the club had thrived.

The Sixties had come and gone, breeding a lot of discrimination against bikers and their gatherings. Granted, some of it was well-earned but much of it was nothing more than people judging bikers based on appearances.

No, they weren’t all angels; but, today, you were as likely to run into a lawyer or even a cop as you were a felon inside the clubs. Addiction still caused a lot of problems; but, as a member of a motorcycle club, you had family and friends to help out until you got on your feet again.

To people like Nate Bodrum, it was paradise. He hadn’t been born to this life. At thirteen, tired of being a punching bag for his step-dad, he’d run away from his Northern California suburban hometown and wound up in L.A., hungry and tired.

After walking all day, trying to find a safe, dry place to sleep, he stumbled on the club. Two burly men wearing leather vests were standing outside when he came up to the building. They took one look at him and brought him inside. They gave him food to eat and a cot to sleep on in the back. It had been his first full night of sleep since he left home. So, he stayed. The group took him in and gave him a chance to start over with people who genuinely cared for and protected him.

Now, years later, he was their president—and he was the one doing the protecting. He made sure that the people who had lifted him up were taken care of and made to feel needed, despite some of the members’ advancing ages. They had supported him and raised him into the man he had become, and there was no way to repay that debt. He gave them what he could—his time, his hard work, and his loyalty.

***

Sitting at a small table in the corner, Marissa watched the way he worked the room. He was confident, a little cocky, and an accomplished flirt. The women swooned over him, taking every chance to touch him somehow. Smart women knew power when they saw it, and this guy pulsed with it.

He definitely fit the part she had in mind. The perfect example of a bad boy biker. He had heavily-muscled arms and legs, a taut stomach, and a strong jaw. Tattoos covered his left arm. The entire look was somehow softened by the flash of dimples and lush lips.

He walked smoothly and easily with a manly roll of the hips and a long stride. All-in-all, his gait was very fluid. He had real potential,
if
he could be taught. She worried how these bikers would feel about a woman training them. There were still a lot of men who didn’t like the idea of women doing typically male jobs.

Adjustments could be made for the extras. Her team had several male members who could easily train them for the group stunts. There was one part, however, that was big enough that there could be problems if she couldn’t find a biker willing to train under her.

Off to her left, the sound of angry voices and breaking glass caught her attention. A fight was brewing, and it looked like it was going to be a nasty one. The men were equally built, and neither seemed willing to back down. She kept one eye on the brewing storm, because it wasn’t going to end well.

CHAPTER TWO

Nate had steadily moved closer to the two men across the room, conscious of the brewing argument over a pool bet.
He was beyond frustrated. Billy and Frank, the two brothers arguing, weren’t shy about busting a place up while fighting, and Nate wasn’t going to let that happen tonight. He already had more repairs than he could afford, and replacing chairs, tables, and glasses just wasn’t in his current budget.

He was less than fifty feet away when all hell broke loose. Billy, the older of the two, lost it first and slapped Frank’s beer out of his hand. Frank, in retaliation, grabbed a pool stick and began to swing it at Billy’s head. Instead of the pool stick making contact, it went flying out of his hand and across the room.

In slow motion, Nate watched the stick head right for the face of the gorgeous redhead he had planned to hit on later. He was already flinching when the redhead calmly reached a hand up and snatched the stick from the air, setting it across the table in front of her. Cool as a cucumber, she picked up her drink and sipped, hands as steady as a rock.

Distracted by the slick stick snatch, Nate missed Billy’s big fist heading straight for his jaw. He turned in time for his mouth to take the hit and felt his lip bust open and start to bleed.

***

Marissa repeated her assurances that she was okay to the man who had accidentally let the pool stick slip from his grip. He and his brother had apologized to her at least ten times in less than forty-five seconds and were falling all over each other to buy her a drink. Putting up her hands, she told them to buy each other a drink and call things even. They scampered off to do her bidding, talking to each other as if their fight had never happened.

Shaking her head, Marissa leaned back in her chair and acknowledged the man who had been standing quietly off to the side, watching her deal with the two large men. She motioned him over, keeping her amusement masked and her face serene.

“You handled that well. Those two are pretty good guys when they aren’t trying to pound each other into the ground. They hated that they nearly hurt a woman,” Nate said. He smiled and sat when she indicated he should join her.

“No harm, no foul,” Marissa responded. She watched him closely, taking in the way he moved, as he settled his body into the chair. Watching people was a bad habit she had, but this time it felt more like a pleasure. He was smooth and graceful without looking the least bit feminine.

“Nate Bodrum. I’m the president of this club.” Nate held out his hand and wasn’t surprised to find that her grip was firm. “The boys have apologized, and I know you’ve let them off the hook, but I feel the need to say sorry, too. I’m responsible for what goes on here, and you could have been hurt.”

“Apology accepted, even though I’m not hurt. You couldn’t have predicted that the pool stick would slip and come anywhere near me or anyone else.” Taking her hand back from his, Marissa sat back and finished off her drink. “Nice to meet you.” She gestured to his mouth and said, “You have a little--”

Before Marissa could finish her thought, a waitress stopped at the table. She handed a wet rag to Nate and placed a drink in front of Marissa, smiling as she indicated that it was from the brothers. Marissa thanked her and handed her the empty glass she had been holding. From the bar, the brothers waved, and she saluted them with the glass, smiling. “You must get in a lot of fights around here for the waitress to know to bring you something to clean up with.”

He used the rag to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth. “Enough. That was one hell of a catch earlier,” Nate said, smiling at her. Now that he was closer, she looked so familiar. He was almost positive that he would have remembered meeting her before, but something about her struck him as having seen her somewhere recently.

Marissa paused, as that smile of his hit her deep. It was potent—and practiced to perfection. There was little doubt that he used it often to get his way. She liked it a little too much. She couldn’t afford to be attracted to the man if she was going to work with him. Cocking an eyebrow, she picked up the glass, tossed the iced whiskey down, and gently set the glass back down. “Thanks.” She got up, pulling on her jacket.

Dumbfounded, Nate got up, as well. “You’re leaving?”

She gave him a half smile. “Yeah. It’s a little loud in here for my taste.” Turning, she headed for the door. Halfway there she stopped and looked back to where he was standing with an odd look on his face. “You coming or not?”

She didn’t have to ask him twice. Shooting a glance at his second-in-command, Nate followed her out the door, a happy little swagger to his walk. 

They didn’t go far. She sat down on an old picnic bench off to the side of the club and watched the confusion spread across his handsome face. He really was perfect for the part. “Do you want to sit? I can move over.”

“I’m confused. I thought--”

“That I was going to seduce you in the parking lot? Wow, you think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?” She chuckled when he struggled to find a retort. Cutting him a break, she put up her hand up. “Relax. I’m teasing.” She noticed the light come back on in his eyes and rushed to continue, “But no, that’s not happening. I do have an offer for you though— of the business kind.”

Damn.
My luck tonight sucks.
First the missing shipment of beer, then the fight, and now the chick I’d planned on trying to hook up with is going to try and sell me some crappy vacuum or something.
“Look,”—
shit, I don’t even know her name
—“I’m really not in the market for whatever you’re selling.” He moved closer, turning on the charm that worked so well on so many other women, “Now, if you want to have some fun…” He stepped between her thighs and leaned down. One moment he was thinking of kissing her senseless, and the next he was wondering how he ended up face-down on the rough wood of the picnic table. 

“I’m not here to sell you Tupperware, Nate. I have a legitimate job offer.” She let go of his arms and let him stand. “You ready to listen?”

He straightened his shirt and gathered his pride. The part of it he could find. She was a real hellcat—and he liked it. “I’m ready to listen.”