Temperance: Biker Romance (The Davis Chapter Book 2) (7 page)

“Plans change. I wasn’t exactly in a place to negotiate, Trask.” As Kyle spoke on the phone, he darted in and out of traffic. At first, it had me worried. The more I rode next to Kyle, the more I knew he was one of the best. “Tonight. It has to be tonight.” After a few seconds, he said, “Shit. When’s he supposed to be back? Fuck me. Yeah, we can still do it without Romero, but it might be a real fuck parade. I’ll be at the bar in twenty minutes. Trask, I need you. Send out a call. We’re gonna need everyone.” Kyle tossed me the phone. “Hope you know your mom’s number by heart.”

I wasn’t a total slave to technology. With a tiny bit of hope in my heart, I dialed her number. If she answered, it might not be the end of the world. Luck wasn’t on our side. After one ring, it went to voicemail. “Fuck.” I growled the word under my breath. “No luck. I think her phone’s off. That’s not usual for her.”

Ever since the accident, my mom never went anywhere without her phone, and she would never let it go below a twenty-five percent charge. If it wasn’t on, it wasn’t on for a reason.

There was a turn coming up, and Kyle made no move towards the brake pedal. Instead of slowing down, he jammed on the gas pedal. I heard the tires squeal behind me, and the back of the car broke free, tire smoke appearing as it did. I gripped the seat as Kyle slid the car around. He was smooth as butter behind the wheel.

His voice was anything but smooth. “You fuck with my girl or any of her people, I’ll fucking kill you myself.” Conrad might as well have been in the car. Maybe Kyle was practicing, but it felt more like he was trying to project that rage all the way to the Blythe mansion. He wanted Conrad to know he was coming for him.

True to his word, Kyle pulled the classic car into the gravel lot with one minute to spare. A normal drive would’ve taken an hour, but Kyle cut that down to just forty minutes. Even if time wasn’t on our side, he was doing everything he could. Kyle had the look of a man who would move heaven and earth for me.

The car clanked and sputtered even after Kyle shut it down. He had pushed it to the limits to get to Davis. The sun wasn’t nearly high enough in the sky for my liking. We had hours, not days. The line of Harleys outside the bar was a welcome sight. In a quick jog from the car to the door, I counted upwards of fifteen bikes. On any given night, Conrad had ten guards on staff. That was a normal night, though. Something told me it wouldn’t be a normal night. The more men on our side, the better.

Inside, the place might as well have been knee deep in Saturday night. None of the tattooed outlaws seemed concerned at all. Music blasted out of speakers, and every biker I saw had a beer in their hands. Were these the men who were going to go after Conrad Blythe? Based on what Kyle said, Conrad was ruthless and wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone in his way.

When the two of us walked in, a few of the biker saw us and arrested into drunken cheers, “Heeeey!” One of them raised his bottle and belched. These men were my salvation.
Dear God, help me.

Kyle took me by the hand and led me through the bar. He seems to know everyone. Not a single one of them seemed to have a normal name. He introduced me to one named Alcatraz, a huge guy named Deacon, Lucky, Thunder, and one that went by Stache.
 

“You know, short for mustache,” Kyle said with a shrug.

 
Even Kyle had a nickname once we walked into the bar. The man I had wasted a year being away from and had made love to me on the hood of his car that very morning was known as Bandit. Compared to Thunder or Alcatraz, Bandit didn’t seem all that tough.

“Aww, reminds me of a little raccoon or something.” I couldn’t help but poke fun at him. Tensions were high, and anything to ease the migraine helped. Even with a little joke or two, I was holding on tight to my sanity.

Everything felt rushed. Conrad had forced our hand, and I could see it on the faces of the bikers. Kyle had built up my expectations about Romero and his skills, but then Conrad’s threats against my mother derailed any confidence I had. Of course, every time I tried her phone, I got sent straight to voicemail, but I tried every ten minutes or so, anyway. I feared that Conrad already had her.

I was lost in thought when Kyle bumped into my shoulder. “You doin’ okay, kiddo?”

I let out a long breath. There was no need to tell him how I was feeling. “What’s up?

Turning back toward the crowd, Kyle said, “Trask wants to speak with you one on one. He’s a thorough prez.” When I looked into the crowd, the president of the Rising Sons Davis Chapter found me. He indicated to the back of the bar, and I gave an acknowledgement. I didn’t like the look in his eyes.
 

Kyle must not have, either. “Just answer his questions. The Sons don’t work for free.”

“What does that mean?”

Kyle shrugged, “It means what it means. We aren’t a charity.”

As I headed toward the back of the bar to speak with Trask, I figured that my $1,300 wasn’t going to cut it.

Trask leaned against the backdoor of the bar for a while. A bottle of Rolling Rock dangled from his hand. A small puddle of condensation spread on the floor beneath the bottle. If he was deep in thought, I wasn’t going to interrupt him.

When he looked up, Trask looked tired; almost sick. He had large bags under deeply bloodshot eyes. “If Bandit says you’re worth it, you’re worth it.” Another long pause. “I’m sure he told you that we don’t work pro bono, especially on something like this. We know Blythe. We know what he does for a living, and we know that this won’t be easy or quiet. We aren’t the A-Team, but we can definitely handle ourselves pretty damn well in a fight.” Looking over Trask, I could easily see that. He filled out his t-shirt with plenty of muscle, and his Devil-may-care attitude was clear.

“Whatever you need? You’ve got it.” My poor mother was at the front of my mind. “I’ll go back to the house with you, if you need. I’ll draw you floorplans, and give you all the codes to the house.”

“I get that, I get that. We’ll talk about the plan later on. Right now, I want to talk about payment. Bandit makes it sound like you don’t have much green, so we’re going to make it look like a motorcycle club raided the place. We’re taking any weapons, cash, and valuables we find there.”

I lowered an eyebrow. “I don’t understand. You don’t want to cover your tracks?”

“Not cover them, just a little misdirection. There’s another club in town that could use some attention from the law. The right evidence in the right place, and we kill a few birds with one stone.” A smile replaced some of the weariness. “Here’s some free advice. Always try to make the most of a bad situation.”

“Take whatever you want. I don’t want a dime from Conrad. Burn the place to the ground for all I care. You just tell me what you want me to do. Conrad means nothing to me anymore. I want him gone.”

Trask’s smile grew. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Tonight isn’t going to be easy. It’s going to be hell, actually. If what you say is true, we’re going to be going up against some trained men. I’m not worried, but I’d be stupid if I wasn’t a little scared.”

“Like I said, I’ll give you whatever info will help take Conrad down.”

Trask studied my face for a while. His eyes were hard, but it wasn't the kind of look I had gotten used to from Conrad. Trask was looking for strength, not weakness.
 

I followed him back into the party, my confidence all over the place. There was a redness to Trask’s cheeks that I didn’t like. The bottle that dangled from his hand swayed, too, and he seemed to be the one keeping it together the best. Some of the other bikers were downright skunked.

I hated to do it, but I pulled Kyle aside. Speaking in a voice only he could hear, I asked, “Are they drunk?”

Kyle looked around. “Most of them, yeah.”

“Please tell me they're not going to be drunk tonight. I hate to sound bitchy, but my life is in their hands and their hands can barely hold up their beers.” My confidence in the Rising Sons and the plan wavered, to say the least.

Kyle had a slight smile. “They will be stone sober tonight.”

“Then why are they drunk now?”

“They're celebrating life.”

There was a lot about the biker culture that I didn't understand. I never tried to stop Kyle from living that life, but I did have to let a lot of it go. I didn't get this at all, though. “Why are they celebrating life?”

“Because,” the smile disappeared from Kyle’s face, replaced with the hardest look I'd ever seen, “Because there's a good chance some of these men won't be around to celebrate tomorrow.”

As Bandit—the name was starting to grow on me—had promised, the boys were stone sober at sundown. Many had gone home before the evening began. When they returned, it was like a different group of men. They were dressed in black, some with black bandanas adorned with skulls. I knew bikers loved their skull imagery, but it felt like a bad omen to me.

They came packing heat, too. Kyle’s father ran a gun shop, so I expected weapons on him, but some of the others had some serious firepower, too. Every second that passed, I grew more nervous. I kept my hands in my pockets because I wanted to Rising Sons to feel confident in me, since I was inexplicably leading the charge.
 

Bandit dropped into a stool beside me. Reaching over the bar, he grabbed a glass and a shot of Four Roses. As he poured, he leaned in, “Something for the nerves.” He knew bourbon was my drink of choice, and he also knew I’d never pour one for myself.

I managed a smile. “If you’re gonna pour me something, make it a real drink.” I stood on the rail and reached for the Elmer T. Lee.
 

Bandit rolled his eyes. “This shit ain’t free, Celeste.”

As I pulled back, I brought a second shot glass back with me. That calm was washing over me even before the warmth of the bourbon could. It was tinged with sadness, though. I poured two shots of the beautiful amber liquid. Bandit didn’t need to be told. He grabbed the one close to him and held it up.

I did the same. “To old beginnings.”

Bandit smiled. “Old beginnings.”

We threw the drinks back and slammed the shot glasses back down on the bar. I closed my eyes and felt the bourbon sear its way down my throat. It was a lovely burn, reminding me that I was alive. Reminding me that I was young and alive. When I opened my eyes and looked to Bandit, he seemed to read me. If we were going to die tonight, we were going to live first. The biker lifestyle was making more and more sense to me.